For his part, Draco simply shrugged and answered "Sounds like a plan." because... sure, it would require some people he didn't really know to die, but honestly he had a bad feeling about them since the moment he had laid eyes on them so their removal as a factor wasn't any weight off his back.

However, something that Victor said struck him as something that... honestly he would have been better off not hearing. That the charge that he was so dedicated to getting to safety was a Saint. While he had nothing against whomever the Church decided to name a Saint for whatever reason, people could get weird about what sort of thing... weird and desperate. Looking towards the woman in question... he took a deep breath as he calmed himself before saying for both her benefit and Victor's "Okay... We're going to go through with this plan with only one addition. For the rest of the night, between heading for this shelter and hiding out there, no one here is going to mention the fact that we have a Saint in the group. Because all mentioning that will do is possibly put a target on your back and make life more complicated then it needs to be. Sound good?" He asked, a small degree of hope in his voice that his point was driven home.

Marcus glanced towards the clinic and it’s mess. The memory of the fight inside still in mind, he glanced over the cots and beast’s body to see where the rifle could have stayed. A small shiver ran through his spine; Marcus in a reflexlike motion turned his eyes and head slightly to watch Victor. His face had a sight of displeasure. He saw small movement of his lips but couldn’t make out what he was muttering. The experienced hunter unnerved him. Marcus didn't dare to keep the stare, so he quickly turned his eyes away.

Focusing again to find the rifle, on the floor he now noticed another rifle. It wasl quite similar to the one he had held some time prior. He walked towards the rifle and noticed two pouches. Another one had opened out and spilled some pellets on the floor. Marcus grabbed one of the pellets and rolled it between his thumb and index finger. Round and small enough to fit a rifle. Good quality pellets, similar to what he had used back in the gang times. Marcus collected most of the pellets from the ground and put them inside the pouch, before tying it shut.

He paused for a moment to listen what Vicor had to say. Seemingly he was ready to go with this plan. Lead civilians to shelter after killing the madmen that had priorly tried to kidnap them, and then he would move to Cathedral Ward. A place where Marcus could get better armaments. Marcus liked the idea. Though he was confident with his sword and rifle, he had seen the Fire Dancers use complex, deadly weapons to great effect. He remembered a cane that had hit his gang member’s head, then turned into a whip of blades that went around his neck and sliced it open. And an axe which gained twice it’s length suddenly. And looking at Victor’s enormous sword, there were probably many artifacts that the church might offer to a hunter like Marcus. As long as they got there safely.

Draco pointed out that a saint among them would attract attention. And sure, Marcus could imagine such a thing. He had heard of their blood and such had been reason for people to come to Yharnam from far and wide. Marcus had never had a sip of such a blood but it’s value was known. However in times like these there might be demand, but reward for such a blood wouldn’t be much. And looking at Victor, the risk for such an action would be too much. And even if he somehow survived from such a task, Church would send men after him for sure.

Going through this thought he remembered his sister and the hunter that had hurt her once again. And somewhere deep inside a sense of guilt hurt him like a sudden cut from a sword. Marcus, suffering from this tought, hastly grabbed the rifle. He took two deep breaths to get whole thought out of his head. Trying to act calm he placed the rifle hanging from his shoulder by a leather strap that was attached to rifle’s side. Still trying to keep calm he then grabbed another pouch and tried it in his hand. As Marcus turned to see Draco, he squeezed it a little to get a figure if insides were powder and smelled the pouch’s opening to try to get an aroma, if it were gunpowder. He grunted as an approval to Draco's suggestion.

Draco's words seemed to cause Victor to freeze in place, his previously rapidly shifting eyes instantly homing in and locking on the huntsman's form. His expression was strained but unchanging, though a quite visible reaction still managed to occur when it turned out that Draco's alteration of Victor's plan was a thinly veiled admonition against him speaking so casually of Adelicia being a Blood Saint. For just a second after this his eyes adapted an inhuman quality, only for Victor to tear his gaze from Draco and turn away, walking over to near where the Pthumerian had fallen.
“Like it matters,” he scoffed, moving to an overturned and mostly destroyed glass cabinet on the floor. “Anyone tempted to get near her would have to go through me first. Besides...” He looked back over the others assembled in the room. “It's a Night of the Hunt. Anyone still in the streets is assuredly already an enemy or an ally; the presence of a saint isn't going to change that. But whatever makes you feel better, I guess.”
With that Victor crouched down and started rummaging through the debris, shoving aside broken wood and glass in search of anything that might still be intact.

Torquil simply stood in place through most of this, even more reluctant to speak up now that there were new people around – one of which was a young, attractive girl – and demonstrate his broken speech. He clearly listened to what was being said, looking at each person as they spoke, but even then his attention still seemed to be continuously drawn back to the strange lantern that held the pride in place of the room. Once things seemed to calm down a little and the dangerous new character, Victor, seemed otherwise occupied, Torquil quickly approached the lantern to take a closer look.
Immediately upon approaching the Messengers crowded below the lantern seemed to react, bursting into a flurry of activity as they all seemed to reach up toward the lantern, waving their arms wildly in its direction. It took Torquil a moment to realize that the little ones were not just waving, but were doing something with their hands as they did so... like snapping their fingers?
Hesitantly the newly transformed Hunter reached his left hand toward the lantern and, copying the gesture made by the Messengers, snapped his fingers. Upon doing this the lantern was instantly filled with pale blue light.
Torquil chuckled, strangely amused by this, and now seemed completely transfixed by the lantern.

To say Arcturus was lost would be an immense understatement.

At first he had merely been alarmed. Alarmed and impressed as what had before been a dying man suddenly sprang into action, rolling into the corner with a vigor even the most fit of persons would envy. Even after what he had seen during the previous fight, Arcturus had never expected that the blood would have such a swift, dramatic effect. The scarlet drenched man's many mysterious wounds were now nowhere to be seen, closed and healed as if they had never been inflicted. It was a baffling wonder to behold.

That would not be the last thing to baffle the young man, however. When the newest face, apparently a 'huntsman' named Draco, stepped into the doorway Arcturus had sprung to his feet and scrambled for his saber. As far as he figured it was most likely that a sudden new pitchfork wielding intruder would be associated with the party that had attacked them. Luckily, and somewhat confusingly, he was wrong. As the men around him continued to exchange words, the lone foreigner in the room became increasingly puzzled.

He got the impression that the very streets of Yharnam were unsafe, which made no sense to him, necessitating that armed men escort civilians to safety. Was the city under attack? What in heaven's name was a church giant? Why would the girl's identity as a 'saint' paint a target on their backs? All of this while that word, 'hunter', was thrown around with little explanation.

According to this man of the 'White Church', Victor, he was now one of those hunters. No explanation beyond that, but...
Something about the title felt right.
Although that might simply have been because he now knew what the odd smell was.

Whatever was going on it seemed to have to do with some ominous sounding 'Night of The Hunt.' An event that put people in danger and sounded like it necessitated the intervention of these 'hunters.' Arcturus had no idea what to make of all this information. However he wasn't about to reveal just how totally in the dark he was, and remained silent through it all. He could get the information he wanted later. In the meantime there were more important matters to focus on. Getting those civilians to safety, protecting that saint, getting himself some equipment beyond his sword, and most importantly staying alive.

One more thing, as well. Shifting the base of his weapon's blade to his left hand, so he could carry it more easily without brandishing the thing, he steadily approached the man called Draco. While he didn't fully trust this newest arrival, the pitchfork wielding man seemed to have good intentions. Although perhaps 'pitchfork' was a disservice to the tool held in the huntsman's hands. It seemed to be designed for more than just farm work and held his curious stare for at least a good couple seconds.

Strangely Draco had seemed quite apprehensive when he first approached them. Was it because they were 'hunters?' Otherwise he seemed solid. Perhaps a bit lacking in confidence, but definitely experienced. By that garish scar on his face it seemed the man was certainly no stranger to combat. Surely the mark of a nasty injury sustained from an enemy he had withstood.

"Those... 'madmen' you came across, did they say anything of note?" Arcturus asked quietly, the piercing blue of his eyes peering inquisitively into Draco's. While his words were spoken in a clear, even refined manner, they still bore his distinct foreign accent. Immediately giving away that he was not from Yharnam. "Who they were? What they were-"

Suddenly the most unusual of noises sounded out from behind him, causing Arcturus to trail off as his attention was pulled away. He turned to see the lamp now projecting an ephemeral blue glow, with Tor-... The other man who had awoken with them standing before it. At first he was set on edge by this new development. However as he regarded the lamp, observed the pale blue light within, he was gradually set at ease. It was a comforting color. Like a cozy fire, only blue and not nearly as warm.

Was this what the message had meant? 'The lantern's pale gleam?' Remembering the words that Marcus had read aloud, Arcturus averted his gaze from the lantern, instead curiously watching the man next to it. Watching to see if anything else happened. It made him feel somewhat silly. Just what exactly was he expecting?

Marcus felt a familiar smell through the back. Gunpoweder filled his nostrils and made him nostalgic to times when his gang hand first time gotten hands on them pistols. Feeling as they put bit too much powder, then the pellet. Spark, flash, kick and a hole in a wooden fence. That power filled him again. The rifle was now operational. However he could shoot only once before reloading, so he had to make sure that the shot counted.

He opened the pouch and started to pour slight amount of gunpowder down. As he carefully shook the pouch, he listened at Victor talking about the Night of the Hunt. Whatever that meant. That outside was full of either allies or enemies. But his determination to keep the Blood Saint safe was unbreakable. Marcus started to believe that helping Victor keeping her safe would turn beneficial. Perhaps a good word to the White Church.

The Warrior started to ask something as Marcus pulled the gunpowder pouch shut and reached for the pellet. He was asking about the madmen. "Who they were? “ He asked. A valid question, and something that Marcus had not considered asking before. When he had gotten outside he had prepared to fight them, but as they had ran away he had felt only relief. He had considered only killing them, not what they were after. The Warrior was smarter than that, however. He had found something interestin, out of picture. And he pressed on. "What they were-" he continued, but made a pause.

Torquil had taken an interest to the lantern. The weapon, artifact, whatever it was was still full of ghastly light. Marcus had taken a ramming rod from beneath the barrel and pushed the gunpowder down tight. As he removed the rod and dropped the pellet in, he saw the lantern fill with blue light. Torquil had just snapped his fingers inside the lantern. Somehow he had activated the lantern and now it was going to do it’s magic.

Marcus took a step back, pulled the weapon on the floor and put the stock against his shoulder. He aimed above and to the left of Torquil, prepared for whatever would come. ”Careful Torquil! It’s going to... ” Marcus yelled, but he never finished the sentence. Partly because he didn’t know what it was going to do.

Torquil's eyelids had been closing slowly as he stared at the now-lit lantern, his breathing getting slower and deeper as his posture relaxed. Marcus' exclamation disturbed and distracted him, however, and Torquil's eyes went wide as he gripped his axe, looking around confusedly for the supposed danger he was in.

Victor had had just enough time to let out a frustrated groan as he unearthed a pile of particularly fine shards of glass, marinaded in crimson liquid, before he, too, looked up at Marcus' warning. He looked from Torquil to Arcturus – not actually knowing who Marcus was talking to since no one but him and Draco had introduced themselves yet – before figuring that neither of those two appeared to be doing anything even remotely dangerous.
“What are you yammering about?” he grumbled, glaring at Marcus with displeasure. “Ever heard the story about the boy who cried wolf? Don't go around crying bloody murder when nothing's happening.”

Marcus dropped the aim on the rifle towards the floor. ”Didn't you see that lantern emit blue light? ” he yelled, released his left hand and pointed with it towards the lantern. ”Or do you know what it does, then?” Marcus said, tension in his voice.

Victor's brow furrowed into a confused, somewhat irritated frown as he looked around – his gaze sweeping straight past the point where the skeletal arm held the lantern – before he returned his attention to Marcus. “Are you drunk? There's no blue light in here, and I don't see any lanterns either. Good thing, too, or those bastards would've probably torched the place.”

Victor was not the only one who was clearly confused by talks of blue lights and lanterns. Unlike the brass, crass hunter dedicated to the protection of a blood saint through, Draco had enough common sense to keep his mouth shut on the matter. Hunters could be rather weird folk after all, the process having some kind of effect on their mental state alongside the physical 'improvements'. He wasn't honestly sure exactly what those were, but as long as these hunters kept sane enough to escort him and his civilians to safety before heading off into the night that was good enough for him.

"I don't know who those men who attacked you are or why exactly they did so. Their logic and reasoning is completely their own. However, I suspect at the core they are driven by fear. Despite all the good that Hunters do, there is an old saying of 'Power corrupts'. A hunter that decides to use their... 'gifts' for purely selfish desires or who goes insane can do a great deal of damage." There was... another possibility and Draco's hand seemed to nervously trail up and down the haft of his weapon as before he committed himself to saying it "It... might also be a sign of the beast plague... twisting the mind before the physical signs appear but please don't take my word for that. I don't have that much experience with the beasts or their plague myself. I was in Hemwick dealing with the witches when the plague was first flaring up."

The gaps in his knowledge and theories offered, he took a deep breath as he turned towards the door and... paused as he looked over his shoulder. "I'm going to go and try and convince the people I'm escorting to come out of hiding and come here. With the incense burning it'll give them a relatively safe place to catch their breath and for us all to figure out how we're going to move to the nearby shelter... it'll hopefully also mean you won't have to kill those men that attacked you in front of them. I'll be back shortly."

Marcus looked at Victor dumbfounded. Either Victor was lying or then he didn’t see what Marcus had seen. And Marcus couldn’t find reasons why he would lie, so case was more likely latter. At first Marcus thought it was he who was seeing things, madness or stress taking over him. But thought went by as he remembered that Torquil was the one who had also reacted to the Lantern. And activated it, somehow.

Creeping thought went through his spine. They had made him and Torquil hunters, but unlike Victor, who was also one, they could see things that… Marcus didn’t know. Weren’t real? Were otherworldly? He took a look at the pale warrior, who also had waken up in the clinic. ”Did… You see all that?” he said, some tension in his voice, still shaken from the prior experience.

Draco also seemed confused about what Marcus had yelled. He too didn’t look like he had seen the lantern and had taken approach to ignore Marcus’s ramblings. This made Marcus even more agitated, but with best efforts he controlled himself not to react any further. Draco wisely changed the subject to the matter at hand. Marcus listened Draco’s ramblings about the reason why the men had attacked the blood clinic. Fear towards the hunters, or the Beast Plague. Marcus had heard rumors of the plague also, but had never experienced nor seen it himself. But there was one thing that was bugging his mind.

He listened as the Draco continued the plan. The escorted civilians should be brought here. And those who had attacked Marcus, Victor, Torquil and the Warrior should be slayed preferably not in front of them. As Draco was making his leave, Marcus said the thing that had been in his mind. ”Those men wanted us alive. Capture us. Take us somewhere.” he said out loud. He didn’t know what the implications were, what would they want from them. ”There are many questions they have to answer before their end.” He continued.

As much as Draco would have liked to make a witty response, he paused his exit of the building to look at the hunter that was talking about questioning the men. The look on his face matched his words and the tone of his voice perfectly as he responded "What happens to those men isn't my concern, but I would prefer you save it until after I've gotten as many innocent people as possible out of the way first."

Torquil looked around confusedly, mumbling something inaudible under his breath as he slowly lowered his axe back into a more passive stance. He seemed just as taken aback by Victor's reaction to Marcus' words as Marcus did, if not more, and stared at the lantern before him with newfound wonder and distrust. He moved a cautious step closer to it, gripping his axe by the bottom of the handle as he used its blade to gently tap at it. Unlike the Messengers the lantern seemed to have a physical presence, however, and it produced a sound that seemed in accordance with what one would expect to hear when tapping glass with metal.

A little ways off Victor watched this, still wearing a frown over the strange behavior of these fresh Hunters, only for his eyes to widen in surprise as he, too, heard the sound of Torquil tapping the lantern, as would Adelicia and Draco. He looked at Torquil, Marcus and Arcturus in turn, then looked out the front door – privately recalling his and Adelicia's encounter with the invisible entity outside – before looking back at the three of them with a deeply concerned expression.
As he stood up from his place sitting on the ground, he accidentally scraped his the blade of the small sword in his hand across the floor, unintentionally using it to quickly brush through the debris he had been searching, only for it to hit something solid and wooden. He looked down briefly, seeing that his sword seemed to have found a mostly-buried, but intact wooden box among the destroyed cabinet. He inwardly estimated that the box seemed about the right size to house a pistol, maybe, but that it seemed remarkably reinforced yet ornate in its design. He made a mental note of checking on that box later, though for the time being his attention seemed better spent on these three Hunters and their apparent ability to see the invisible.

“All three of you see it?” he asked, trying desperately to make sense of what was happening. “But you only just... you can't possibly have enough insight to...”
His eyes widened even more, his entire stance growing tense as he took half a step back. He swallowed, quickly scanning the room around him – filled with Messengers he could not see – and asked: “Have you... have you seen, uh... little... men? Since waking up?”

Amidst the chaos of the recent fight within the room, a young man clad in a fur coat had ended up being thrown from his cot to the floor amidst several ghoulish looking dead bodies that had also been knocked over. Compared to the thrashing and wailing of the other, newly turned hunters, the body of the Greywood heir was relatively quiet. He had squirmed somewhat, and if you listened real close you may have heard a faint whimper, but he was uncharacteristically calmer than others. To the waking world that may have come across as strange, or a bad sign. However, if you were to peer into his dream you’d understand why.

Yarrow couldn’t move. In his nightmare he was a corpse. His body laid up against a stone alleyway in a sitting position. He was in another country, far from Yarnham. Next to him, and all along the wall in front of him as well, were other corpses in various stages of decay. The sight of corpses had never really bothered Yarrow, nor the scent, and survivor of the blood moon would be fairly used to the sight. Nor had the smell, for that matter, as the thick, sweet smell of incense could often cover it easily if you burned the right quantity. No, the most important factor in this situation were their faces, the faces of his family.

Yarrow’s nightmare felt like hours, years even. The corpses around him decayed, bloated, crawled with vermin, and he couldn’t close his eyes. Yarrow watched on in abject horror as his mother’s body shriveled, his father’s body eaten away by maggots till only half his face had been left. His grandparents, his cousins, his nieces and nephews… Yarrow could only watch them. He lost track of time, his nightmare lasting eternities. Time had slowed for him, it almost stopped. He was denied the thrill of life, the joy of pursuit. Yarrow was forced to live through, to internalize, and finally face the emotions. He had the time to break, his mind shattered, if his heart had still been beating it would’ve stopped. His mind collapsed upon itself in this hell… and yet the nightmare proceeded unabated.

Eventually, in this long nightmare, his mind came back. Yarrow was exhausted, his will to live almost gone, but he was trapped in limbo. In a long eternity of nothingness until finally his family was nothing but dusty bones. Then, for the first time since he came here, something changed. A shadow sprawled across the alleyway, vaguely human. Yarrow began to hear a soft crying. He could not turn his head to look, he could not stand and move, he could only listen and wait.

The shadow grew larger, the crying became louder, and Yarrow could recognize the voice… the voice of a lover he’d rather regret. Once again, he could feel his now-fragile mind begin to crack. If he was alive in this dream he’d have hyperventilated, or possibly screamed. His soul was on fire with fear as the creature making the shadow finally shambled into vision.

It was a humanoid, yes. It was ashy and grey, like a corpse, shriveled even. It looked bloodless, exsanguinated, but it still walked. Yarrow could tell it was meant to be his lost love, but it was twisted, disgusting, disturbingly genderless. It bent down to look him in the eyes. Their own eyes were nothing but hollowed out sockets. It moved closer to Yarrow. Yarrow could see its arms, slit from wrist to elbow. An inky black ichor leaked from the wounds. Thick like oil, it smelled like pus. Yarrow wanted to disappear. He could not stand to see this abomination. In the waking world Yarrow began to thrash amidst the other dead in the clinic, it hyperventilated.

What was once Yarrow’s love began to wail, slowly its hands reached forward for Yarrow’s hands. “You couldn’t protect me!” it screamed, sounding strangled. “You couldn’t protect them!” it said, referring to his family. The walking corpse grabbed his hands, squeezing hard as if to crack bones. Seemingly ignited by contact, the abomination was suddenly lit aflame and fell back screaming curses. “You couldn’t even protect yourself! Look at you! You’re not a man Yarrow! You’re a walking corpse! You have never had a life of your own! You are a black pit of despair and loathing!” Its words were like lashes to his soul. Deep in his chest he finally found breath in this hell of a nightmare.

Yarrow’s bones surged with flesh, he was no longer a corpse, he was awakening to purpose, to fight. Messengers appeared from the ground and from the alley walls. They shambled towards Yarrow. Some lifted at his arms, he could feel them surge from the ground to push him. The spark of life finally came to him in his dream and he screamed. It was bestial, guttural, and carried all his despair. He surged to his feet in the dream, crying out at the flaming abomination before him.

Yarrow awoke from his nightmare on his feet, screaming at a wall. Around his feet were corpses and those that were still dreaming, he could see others still on their cots, and an open door. He was full of adrenaline, every breath deep and labored. His blood seemed to burn in a way it had never before. Every inch of his body felt new, like he had been reborn. The cracks that had formed in his mind during the nightmare seemed to have disappeared, his control being restored seemed to offer some sort of stability he had not had in that blasted eternity.

Yarrow’s sanity seemingly restored, he calmed himself, slowing his breathing, looking to the door, believing someone was just on the other side. He straightened his back and popped his neck, gathering his bearings quickly, and hid his anguish with a quickness that would be unnatural to most. Anyone who would have been able to notice the change in his appearance would likely be perturbed, had they not had experience as a merchant prior of course. Such control over one’s dignity was second nature for those with his upbringing. If only you could see his soul, you would see how twisted he remained.

The human forms surrounding Yarrow seemed mostly intact, asleep and dreaming, despite the fact that many were bloodstained from the struggle that had preceded his awakening and had fallen from their overturned cots. One in particular towards the center of the room was very obviously dead, his abdomen torn into ribbons of flesh, marking him as the likely source of the intestines that lay draped over some of the surroundings. Another had had their slumber ended by an obviously broken neck. A few who still lay squirming in their dreams, even fallen to the floor, bore some minor visible injuries – bruises and scrapes, mostly – many of which seemed to be slowly healing before Yarrow's very eyes. Three still human bodies were notably different than the rest, being deathly pale with visible black veins under their skin, dead despite the lack of injuries.
Each of these human shapes around Yarrow had its own little gathering of what seemed like diminutive ghoulish humanoids, no bigger than infants, with misshapen and horrid features that marked them as anything but human. Their torsos seemingly emerged straight from whatever surface they were sitting on, except the ones surrounding the human corpses. The dead bodies, more so than those who seemed to be merely sleeping, seemed to be positively swarmed by these little creatures, so much so that they were climbing on top of them, and crawling on top of each other, in an effort to get a closer look at these lifeless forms.
A little further away lay one body that seemed mostly ignored by the little ones, much bigger and hairier than the others in the room. A grotesque half-man, half-beast that would be obvious to Yarrow, a native Yharnamite, as someone badly afflicted with the scourge of beasts. It lay still and lifeless, however, its head in an unnatural angle.
When Yarrow awoke, jolting to his feet screaming, several of these little figures had recoiled from him and vanished into the floor, leaving no mark of their passing. But a second later more figures appeared, emerging from the floor as effortlessly as if they had merely been swimming in a puddle, not breaking through the fabric of reality itself. They stared at Yarrow – as much as creatures with no eyes can be said to “stare” at anything – and seemed to very curiously watch his movements.

But a few seconds after Yarrow's awakening, hurried footfalls could be heard approaching the single door to the room he was in. A sturdy, shortish man in peasant's clothes appeared, wide-eyed and wielding a hatchet in his hands.

---

Barely had the halting question left Victor's lips before a scream of horror pierced the relative silence from the back room, where Marcus, Arcturus and Torquil had emerged from just minutes prior. Victor frowned and clutched his sword more firmly, but made no move to investigate, instead keeping his focus on Marcus, who seemed the most forthcoming of these new strange fresh Hunters.
Torquil reacted immediately, however, seemingly forgetting about Victor's question and the strange lantern all at once, instead running back to the door. He stopped in the doorway, axe in hand, and stared at the newly awakened figure in there as if suddenly uncertain what he was going to do.

Marcus was surprised by Victors reaction to the Torquil’s hit to the lantern. If he couldn’t see the lantern, the voice coming out of nowhere… Marcus tried to imagine how he would react to a sound of invisible glass being tapped, but couldn't. He wondered now if Victor too could touch the lantern despite not seeing it, but one look at Victor’s concerned face made him not even joke about such a request.

Victor then stood up, something catching his eye on the bottom of his eye. But Marcus shifted his attention to Torquil, who made the important question: “Have you... have you seen, uh... little... men? Since waking up?”
Marcus looked at Torquil. Before he had made the comment of their harmlessness to Torquil, but things had been going too quickly forward that he hadn’t given too much thought to them. ”Yes… Since waking up, never before. He said. The creeping thought came back, as he didn’t want to think about what they had done to him, to all who had been sleeping – or rather, seeing nightmares – to have them be capable to see otherwordly people. The grip from the rifle tightened as he tried to not think about what kind of things they could have injected in his body…

A Sudden scream, one of anger and rage instead of that of fear and torment, made Marcus’s mind go blank. By pure instict he turned towards the door and pointed the rifle towards it. Torquil had rushed towards the door, axe in his hand, and Marcus made sure he didn't aim at him accidentally. He took quickened steps towards the door and quickly checked around the room, rifle tilted upwards ready to be lowered towards an enemy. But then he noticed, among some struggling and dreaming patients, one that was sitting straight in his bed. Marcus slowly lowered the rifle until stock hit the ground. His eyes were towards the now extremely calm man, who was bald from his head and whose face was decorated with eyebrows thick as caterpillars and goatee on his chin.

He took a good look at the man, before turning towards the others. ”Another one has awaken.” Marcus stated to the group outside the Hunter’s clinic. ”A screaming man.” He said, referring to The Screaming Man.

Could it be... Victor thought breathlessly, chewing furiously on the inside of his cheek as he tried to figure out what the best course of action was in all of this, painfully conscious of every second that passed during his deliberation.
It was not as though he knew a lot about the matter... or anything, really, since all he had were rumors and hearsay. He, as well as most Hunters, knew about these rare, supposedly immortal Hunters that showed up occasionally, and he had heard that these immortals had a legion of small men at their beck and call that only they could see. That these special Hunters could see things others could not in general, and that they could bloody teleport! Their existence was almost mythical among Hunters, except for the fact that every now and then a bunch of people would start talking about the same person being killed over and over again, yet that person was provably still among the living.
But those immortals were rare! In the last five years, even though the Healing Church had been churning out more Hunters than ever before, he had only heard of two of them: the False Vicar and Gerlinde the Dreamrider. He had never actually met Moira, mostly because he tried to stay away from the Black Church as much as he could, but he had seen Gerlinde once, plainly walking around despite numerous reports of her being slain. Apparently Moira was not immortal anymore, or so he had heard, which left just Gerlinde.

And now? Were these three all immortal? Two in five years, and now three in one night? It seemed entirely unbelievable... except, of course, for the fact that he was here. Him and Adelicia, by order of Dietrich of the Shining Wing himself. For Adelicia to bestow her blessing, obviously with the intent of getting these Hunters addicted to her blood. Special treatment not given to any of the hundreds of Hunters that came before this batch.
That dirty rat, he knew! He knew these Hunters were special, and he didn't tell me! Victor's eyes shifted rapidly, going everywhere and nowhere in particular as his thoughts raced, his fingers clutching the hilt of his sword tightly.
The scream before... Victor's eyes widened, his mouth going even drier than it had already been. There was another person in there besides these three who, according the one called Marcus, had “just awakened.” Which meant that he had been sleeping in there... undergoing metamorphosis. Becoming a Hunter.
So far they were three out of three for immortal Hunters, or at the very least Hunters that could see things beyond the realm of ordinary visibility. What were the odds that number four was the same? And number five? And... how many Hunters were in this batch? A dozen? Two? Had Dietrich and the Vicar somehow managed to secure a unit of immortal soldiers for their fight for supremacy in Yharnam? It sounded insane...

His eyes darted to the young, thin, well-dressed and sword-wielding fellow who had been the last of the three to confirm his ability to see these little men with a nod. “Do you know something?” he asked Victor, his manner of speech seeming to indicate suspicion and determination to obtain whatever information could be garnered. Victor once again, in what he knew only too well would be a suspicious manner, hesitated.
What should he say? On one hand he could not just refuse to tell them anything, or they would definitely realize that something was off. But at the same time, it felt like it would be a very bad idea to tell them that there was a possibility of them being immortal. Victor's gaze darted to Adelicia. Her blood. He needed these Hunters to taste her blood, to get them addicted; after that they had to help the Healing Church, no matter how many times they could die and come back. But for them to accept her blood they had to trust her... and trust Victor. He had to give them a little bit of the truth, but not so much that they would realize how important they might be.
“Not much,” he admitted quite truthfully, returning his gaze to the as-of-yet unnamed Hunter who had inquired about Victor's knowledge of the fact. “Only rumors, really, but apparently some rare, special Hunters can see things others can't. I heard one of the things they see are little men all over.” He swallowed, shooting a glance at the door to the back room. “Are there... a lot more of you in there?”

Marcus listened at Victor as he started to tell what he knew. Hesitant at first, something clearly weighting his mind. But before long, the he took the look at the Warrior, and stated what he knew.

“Not much. Only rumors, really, but apparently some rare, special Hunters can see things others can't. I heard one of the things they see are little men all over.” He said. Marcus felt a void inside him sucking his intensities as the horror that he was and mystery of what they had done to him deepened. What exactly were they doing here and why they wanted them to see these otherwordly beings? If he was not human or hunter, what was he?

Then Victor swallowed, perhaps out of nervousness, before he asked “Are there... a lot more of you in there?”. There being the room with clots. Marcus looked at the Hunter. The dread inside him had made his heartrate rise, so he tried to change his focus on this question and turned his head towards the clinic. He started to count, but stopped when he got to ten as there were many of them and Marcus couldn’t focus well.

”There are many. Tens. Many of them are dead, but some are still...” Marcus paused for a minute. He remembered his nightmares again. He somehow knew they all were seeing one or another kind of horror under the closed eyelids. Those that were alive, at least. ”Sleeping.” he finished. Marcus put the rifle on his back again. Leather strap felt tight on his left shoulder. He fingered the sword on the waist underneath his leather belt. Not too securely sheathed but would suffice until they made it to a haven. ”There's too many of us to carry to the church.” Marcus stated. He wanted to get away from this wretched place.

Victor's eyes narrowed in disbelief at Marcus' words, stepping over the debris he had been searching and around the carved corpse of the mad Yharnamite he had slain earlier as he approached the entrance to the back room to see for himself. Surely this Hunter was exaggerating or miscounting, he reasoned. Far from everyone in this world had much of an education; even Victor himself struggled with counting things if there were too many, and only learned to read and write clumsily after joining his mercenary company in his late teens. It was quite possible that these random people could not count... though Marcus' demeanor and inquisitiveness did not feel in accordance with how someone ignorant would act.
He strode up to the mostly-empty doorway into the back of this clinic – for the first time fully realizing how thoroughly this seemingly quite sturdy door had been smashed to bits – and froze in place. Had he not been so dirtied with blood, the color draining from his face would have betrayed his shock and awe at the sight that met him. Not only was he surprised that Marcus had not been exaggerating, but the state of the room was much worse than he had assumed, too. Though most of the human forms in there were still on their cots, restless but undisturbed, there were quite a few overturned cots, obviously broken bones and, rather strangely and disconcertingly, what appeared to be at least one person's intestines scattered across the room.

Some ways away, across the room and toward the rightmost wall from Victor's perspective, his eyes fixed on one particular corpse that undeniably stood out: a person deeply corrupted by the scourge of beasts, mutated and enlarged almost to the point of being unrecognizable as having once been human.
Victor's breath caught in his throat, involuntarily impressed by the fact that these three fresh, inexperienced Hunters had managed to slay such a dangerous creature without even possessing proper Hunter gear. These wolf-men, as Victor had nicknamed this type of creature, were some of the most dangerous prey Victor was willing to face if given the choice; he was quite familiar with how hardy and powerful they could be. In fact, the only “normal” beasts that were worse than wolf-men were the actual full wolf-beasts, which Victor tended to flee from rather than try to fight, unless he was backed up by at least another couple of Hunters. Wolf-beasts had terrified him since his first encounter with one, when one had crippled him.

He tore his gaze from the dead wolf-man, glancing quickly at the newly awakened Hunter before turning back to Marcus. He cleared his throat. “Yes, well, it's usually a bad idea to move Hunters during their change, so it's probably for the best.” Then he had an idea.
He pointed at the dead wolf-man. “It's pretty impressive that you managed to kill that thing. Must've been tough for you.” He scratched the back of his head, doing his best to pretend to be thoughtful and apprehensive. “Well, since you used my last blood vial to save my life, how about we return the favor? The Bl-, uh, Lady Adelicia has extremely potent blood; a few drops and you should be back to full strength, regardless of how much you were wounded during the fight. It's a trek from here to the Cathedral Ward, and I'd frankly rather that you could defend yourselves.”

---

As Victor finished speaking his offer of the Blood Saint's blood, a faint whooshing sound announced the appearance of another duo of Messengers in the reception, just a couple of steps from where Marcus was standing. The little creatures turned their eyeless faces toward him and, with combined efforts, offered Marcus another rolled-up piece of parchment.

Hesitation. Arcturus paid close attention to the way Victor answered his question, noting the pause before any information was revealed. A pause of reluctance? He got the impression there was more to be said, even if this particular man truly didn't know much. Secret lamps and little men hardly warranted such apprehension in his opinion.

Although perhaps it was unusual to look another man in the eyes and tell him he was special because he could see little men. He might've hesitated too, if the roles were reversed.

Arcturus glanced at Marcus as the apparently church affiliated hunter headed over to the broken down door, taking the opportunity to try to gauge what the other man thought of all this. It truly was surreal. Just when he thought he was beginning to adapt, another unsettling secret made itself known. Not only had the blood transfusion made them hunters, it had done something else to them as well. Something that caused them to see phantom lamps and little white men. Something that may have even turned that one woman's veins a sickening black...

His bright blue gaze began to sweep the scarlet splattered room as Victor began talking again, those still asleep in the room occupying his thoughts. What would happen if, after they left, another party came to raid the undefended clinic? They couldn't just leave so many people defenseless in their cots. So while he listened Arcturus silently evaluated the furniture in the room. Shelves, tables, anything that could be used as a barricade. Those people needed some kind of-

Did he hear that right? Arcturus looked over from his inspection of an intact looking cabinet, distracted by talk of blood. Specifically, the blood of a girl named 'Lady Adelica.' The young man glanced between Victor and the girl on the other side of the room, visibly shocked by the suggestion. Perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised. Yharnam was renowned for its blood after all. Still the idea of drawing from a young lady's veins to inject into himself was... appalling.

"Ah, that-... I-... I'm afraid I must decline." The young man quickly answered, momentarily struggling with his words. He quickly threw on a politely apologetic smile which he flashed at both church hunter and church saint, not wanting to look like the culture shocked foreigner he was. Saint. Blood saint. All of a sudden he had a slightly better appreciation of the significance that title carried. "In any case you needn't worry about me, I can handle myself. Blood or no." Arcturus went on to insist, despite having recently been booted across the room by that very beast on the floor. Although he was mostly just trying to provide an excuse to not take the poor girl's blood.

Saint they call her...

"On the other hand, we should be worried about the others." Now quickly trying to change the subject, he gestured towards the smashed doorway. His voice quickly shifted from polite uncertainty to confident authority as he spoke, and he began to slowly pace across the room. "If whoever tried to capture us sends another force once we're gone, the patients-... The hunters in that room could be left defenseless." He explained, his foreign accent on full display by now. "Whatever we do, I suggest we make an effort to barricade them in before we leave."

Victor stared at the lanky Hunter blankly, uncomprehendingly, for probably a good ten seconds before finally blinking, his mouth opening but without him having the words to express his absolute disbelief of the fact that someone had just declined blood! And from a Blood Saint, too! He did not know a single Hunter, or Yharnamite for that matter, who would let such a chance pass them by unless they already knew that there was a downside to receiving that blood. This guy had no way of knowing that Adelicia's blood was just that little bit extra amazing that it would make all other blood bland and disappointing in comparison. Victor would certainly have jumped at the chance...
Foreigners, he thought, barely even registering the irony of him, who had only lived in Yharnam for a couple of years, considering another newcomer as such. And only just received his first blood treatment... the craving probably hasn't set in yet. Rats. I can't bring Adelicia with us... I'll need to draw a vial or two from her, I guess, and save it for when they start to need blood. They're Hunters now; special or not, it's only a matter of time.
“Okay,” he said, allowing himself to sound about as shocked as he was at the declination. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

When he argued that they should probably do something to keep the sleeping Hunters safe from more outside intruders, Victor responded with a shrug and another cursory look around the room, as well as another glance into the back room with the patients. “We could put something together, but we'll be barricading it behind us when we leave... so from the outside. It'll do more to keep anyone waking up inside than it'll keep danger out.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “The front door is intact, though. If we can find a key or something we might be able to just lock it behind us. And, unlike the stupid clods that run this clinic, we'll light the bloody incense outside to keep beasts away.”
While a single censer would not be a guaranteed way of keeping beasts away, it would at least make it rather unpleasant for them to be around... and if the door did not budge immediately when they tried to enter it would make them much more liable to give up immediately, just to get away from the incense. He also thought it would work on Pthumerians, if any more of those showed up... but regular Yharnamites? Yeah, those guys from earlier definitely had to be killed.

Nigel jolted awake, or rather he suddenly became aware of his surroundings. He wasn't sure if he was even awake at this point given the cloud over his senses but he was at least lucid for the moment. Getting his bearings, Nigel raised to his feet as he came to find he woke up laid on his back. A chill ran down his spine as his hands connects with the ground that felt more like flesh than earth or floor.

"Right then. Let's see if we can't find our way out of here." Nigel said to himself, just so he could hear something and prove he hadn't gone deaf. With slow, cautious steps Nigel walked with his hands outstretched in the hopes of finding a wall to guide him out of this oppressive place. After a few minutes of hoping his eyes would at least adjust to the darkness, Nigel's hand connected with a surface similar to the mushy ground beneath him. His hand immediately recoiled from the soft wall, the texture being revolting to any sane person. Powering through it, Nigel ran his hand along the wall as he continued to make his way through the dark. The time in the dark got Nigel thinking, if only to take his mind away from the horrific present. His thoughts drifted from hobbies to life experiences but this thinking brought another harrowing revelation with it; there were significant gaps in Nigel's memories. He still retained a rough outline of his life prior to this pitch-black labyrinth but nearly all the specifics were now lost to him. Tears began to well in Nigel's eyes as his pace slowed and his mind began to slip into dark thoughts of never leaving this place.

Just as Nigel was about to break something inside him seemed to hold him together. It wasn't a voice but it was to sophisticated to be just a feeling. The best approximation Nigel could come up with was an inner drive perhaps a fragment of his former life sending him a lifeline. In the blink of an eye Nigel's pace began to quicken once more, eyes focused on the darkness. His fear was still ever present, threatening to wear him down further, but a low and constant rage against the unknown of the situation kept Nigel ever defiant of the apparent fate forced upon him. After what felt like ages, Nigel's eyes began picking up a sliver of light. It felt blinding when he first saw it, a meter tall slit that allowed a small beam to slice through the darkness in front of it. Nigel stayed cautious as he kept running his hand along the mushy wall but his pace was all but a jog at the point. Finally coming to the slit of light, forceful hands dug themselves into the slit and began to tear away at the wall to let more of the light in and get Nigel out. Once sufficiently large enough, Nigel began to push his way through, feet first to his hopeful salvation. As he struggled to leave his prison, Nigel's eyes glanced back into the now better lit room and was met by a horrific sight. The floor, walls, and ceiling were all flesh; unidentifiable in origin but undeniably so. This was horrifying enough but the true horror came from the massive eyeball staring directly at Nigel, unblinking but always moving and jittering. Nigel felt frozen in place for a moment, unable to deal with the implications of what he has just seen. The all too familiar drive brought Nigel from his stupor, who in turn locked his own eyes onto the gaze of the massive eye and turning his face to a scowl. He continued to make his way out through the hole, refusing to break eye contact.

Nigel jolted awake, or rather he suddenly became aware of his surroundings. This looked a lot more realistic now, wooden floors, cabinets and medical equipment that was familiar enough to convince Nigel he was awake. Fighting this conclusion was the multitude of small beings the shirked away from him as his eyes fluttered open. Nigel was drenched in sweat but the feeling was much more welcome than the feeling of a fleshy room of his dream. Nigel struggled to a sitting position and shakily hopped off his gurney, looking around the horrific state of the room he now inhabited.

"Any of you lot awake?" Nigel asked into the stillness of the room, hopeful but not expecting much.