[h3]The Hunter's Dream[/h3]
For as dangerous as the evil spirit's ability was to dematerialize and reappear, and with how quickly it was able to act after rematerializing, it turned out that even its powers – like a Hunter's quickstep and superhuman strength – had limits. It barely had time to release Torquil and withdraw its dagger before Ophelia was upon it, and the Holy Moonlight Sword descended upon it once more. It was too close to Torquil for the tether between them to be visible, but that did not mean that the spirit itself could not be targeted.
The great blade of light tore straight through the creature and scattered a huge amount of the luminous matter that made up its body. So much so, in fact, that it and the damage it had taken upon first appearing seemed to be enough to destabilize the bloodwraith. This time it did not fade away as it had before, but rather let out a ghostly wail as the thousands of particles that made up its form seemed to disperse into the air and vanish.
As the creature disappeared, something dropped to the ground where it had just been: a small blood-red sphere that reflected the twilight of the Hunter's Dream as though made of glass.

Torquil, meanwhile, dropped to his hands and knees with a spout of blood flowing from his open throat, only for the wound to naturally regenerate long before the blood loss or lack of oxygen to his brain would have become fatal. But even with the wound closed, Torquil still dug his fingers into the ground where he lay, his entire body convulsing as the hidden power of the dagger he had been cut with did its foul work.
His thoughts raced uncontrollably. All the different Caryll Runes he had learned flashed through his mind, not just in form, but their entire essence; the entire eldritch concept and power that they represented. The golden mannequin head staring at him. The darkbeast and the lightbeast. The dead beasts from the Industrial Ward. The talismans there. The doll and the Shopkeeper. Skinner. Pallid. The beast-man. The Mad One. The bell... the bell... the bell...
He could hear it, he could hear Pallid ringing that bell, that ethereal sound. It was so loud, so deafeningly loud... [I]Ding-ding, ding-ding...[/I] It hurt his ears, he struggled to breathe, [I]why could he not breathe, he needed to breathe, HE NEEDED TO BREATHE![/I]
Torquil threw aside his axe and shield to grab the front of his helmet with both hands, digging his fingers into its visor and – with his arms, shoulders and back swelling obscenely as he did so – tore the metal apart, shredding his helmet and throwing the destroyed bits of metal aside. He breathed deeply and rapidly, hyberventilating. Now that he was not wearing anything on his head, the others would plainly be able to see the skin on his neck and face writhing as if with a life of its own.
And his mind... it kept racing, kept turning on itself. The emotions, the memories, the knowledge, the [I]insight[/I]. He could hear screaming, then stifled, panicked breaths. He saw brown eyes staring into his. Sadness, loneliness, anger, arousal, frustration, fear, hate, [I]hate, hate hate hate [color=#B1B1B1]HATE[/color] [color=#747474]HATE[/color] [color=#444444]HATE[/color] [color=#0A0708]HATE[/color]!!![/I]
He let out a primal, desperate scream as his skin darkened, and then – as everything in him, muscles, tendons, bones, teeth and skin – all seemed to clench, then shift to a hundred different shapes all at once, independently of each other. His body tore itself apart, and blood practically [I]exploded[/I] out of his head and sprayed out of every crack and opening in his armor.
Then he collapsed on the ground.