Chapter Text
Mark lunged to the side, avoiding the great beast’s sweeping attack. Bouncing on his toes, he stretched out his massive axe and brought it down on the creature’s spine, coating himself in blood. Mark bounced back, trying to keep on his toes and away from flailing, rage-filled appendages.
As the beast flailed, Mark darted around it. Breaking his axe down so he could hold it with his right hand, he slipped his blunderbuss from its holster on his back. He aimed at its head and fired.
The Cleric beast groped its head in agony and dropped to its knees. It bowed, bracing its elbows on the ground and trying to compose itself.
Mark ran up to its head and with no hesitation, shoved his axe into the thing’s skull, twisted, and snatched it out, effectively killing it.
The beast screamed pathetically as it died, falling to Mark’s feat in a giant mountain of fur, blood, and exposed bone. A gust of wind blew Mark’s coat out and lifted his sweat-coated hair from his face. His prey was slaughtered, and it was time for him to move to his next victim.
A lantern rose from the cracked ground behind the beast, being hoisted up by the small messengers that he had come to see as friends.
He climbed around the fallen nightmare in front of him and stepped over to it. Crouching down, he lit the lantern and smiled. Looking down at the small skeleton-like creatures hovering around him, he asked them to take him to hunter’s dream. His axe was in need of repair and he was in need of a small rest.
He felt a sharp tug in his chest and suddenly he could only hear wind rushing by and the wails of the damned as he was thrown head first into the only area of somewhat peace he knew of.
He had grown used to the sensation after only being through it twice, but he still stumbled slightly when his feet hit hard stone. Straightening himself, he once again took in the church before him and the headstones around him. Some were falling into disrepair and some held strong and true, but nothing had changed since he had left.
Except that the doll he had thought so very beautiful on his first few visits was not limp and lifeless against the stone wall.
He stood near his resting place, smiling and seemingly welcoming Mark into the dream.
Mark decided not to trust him just yet. Nothing could be trusted. Everything would kill him given the chance, even in the dream.
The doll was about his height but slim, dressed in simple clothes and a small smile. He had brown hair that was speckled in grey and a bit of scruff on his jaw. Mark found him captivating and too lifelike, he almost looked human. Was he really a doll? Or a human who was so perfect and smooth that he was considered to be a doll.
As he stepped closer, the doll spoke and Mark came to a screeching halt.
“Hello, Good Hunter.”
That voice. That captivating Irish accented voice was none other than the voice he had heard when he first woke up in the clinic. Right after his blood transfusion.
His heart stopped. What did it mean? Who was he? Had the doll brought him to Yharnam? Or Gehrman? Or was it someone else entirely?
The doll continued as if Mark hadn’t been shocked to his very core.
“I am a doll, here in this dream to look after you.” so he WAS a doll, Mark was a little surprised and disturbed that he was so entrapped by a stupid fucking doll.
“Honorable hunter, pursue the echoes of blood and I will channel them into your strength.”
Oh really? And how will you do that? Mark thought.
“You will hunt beasts, and I will be here for you. To embolden your sickly spirit.”
He held out both of his hands “Let me stand close.”
Mark hesitated for a moment, still not trusting the thing before him. The doll just stared, waiting patiently for him.
Eventually, he put his weapons away and took a step forward, placing his hand into the doll’s waiting ones. His hands were as cold as ice and as fine as the lace that adorned his sleeves.
The doll smiled softly once again, somehow reassuring him. “Shut your eyes.”
Mark watched the doll kneel before him and bow his head before he closed his eyes as instructed.
Nothing happened for a moment and he felt his heart start to race. It could be a trick, the doll could be trying to kill him after all. Eventually, he felt an enormous power rip and flow through his veins, silencing his doubts.
He felt as if he could take on any beast in Yharnam with the power the doll provided for him using the blood echoes that he had found.
As the power subsided and settled into his blood, he opened his eyes and found the doll standing.
Blinking, Mark whispered a small “Thank you.”
The handsome doll smiled brightly, “You are welcome.”
Slowly stepping around him, Mark climbed the steep path to the church to repair his Axe and snatch more silver bullets from where he had stored them.
When he stood before the first headstone of awakening, he felt ready and willing to slaughter more of the beast that had invaded the cursed town. He looked over his shoulder and back to the doll who he found watching him.
He nodded once before kneeling. He reached out a hand to trace his fingers along the words engraved on the stone, the words that would take him to where he wanted. The messengers rose again to throw him into Central Yharnam, atop the Great Bridge and back into the blood soaked streets.
As he was hurdling through the void, he heard the voice again, wishing him farewell. He smiled as he landed at the bridge, full of confidence and power.
“Farewell, good hunter. May you find your worth in the waking world.”