[h3]Outside the Hunter's Clinic, in the outskirts of Yharnam[/h3]
By the time Ophelia had finished her grizzly attack against the beast-man and was moving to help Victor, she would find that the White Church Hunter was already in the process of getting back up. Though he had taken a blow that would likely have partially crushed a normal human's skull at best and partway carved through the head at worst, and though he was still bloody from the injury, the wound itself had already all but completely healed. He gulped the mouthful of his own blood that had spilled from his wounded cheek, spat out a scattering of fragmented teeth, and bared his teeth in a grimace of pain and frustration. Rather notably, despite him having just spat out some of his teeth, he did not appear to be missing any.

The beast-man did not fare as well as his victim did, however. Farren would witness the wound he had just inflicted on the creature's leg practically just vanish before his eyes, so quickly did it regenerate; Torquil would see the gouge he had inflicted mend itself as soon as the axe-head was dislodged, causing its limp left arm to twitch and come back to life. But both of them would also likely realize that though the hole left in the beast-man's abdomen from Ophelia's attack was regenerating rapidly at first, the healing soon slowed, gradually grinding to a halt as its regenerative potential had reached its limit.
“Help...” the beast whined weakly, its voice somewhere between human speech and the whimper of a beaten dog. The cleaver fell from its right hand and clattered noisily to the ground as it sat in place, too weak to stand back up, but still alive.

And meanwhile, long, clawed, inky-black fingers snaked their way around the inside of the broken doorframe, grasping it loosely, as the Mad One – its movements sluggish and lethargic, its eyes still dark and lifeless – awkwardly ducked its way through the doorway.