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My entire body is sore. The ache seeps into my bones. My brain feels like it's swollen and pushing against my skull. I drag my legs over the side of my sorry excuse for a bed. With a deep breath and a hand on my dresser, I pull myself to my feet. Blood rushes to my head. My vision blurs. A guttural groan escapes my throat. I shuffle towards the bathroom. Don't do that again, don't do that again, don't do that again. My brain won't stop chanting it. I pushed myself much too hard. Again. I spend every night on the hunt these days. Carving, slicing, crushing bones, splitting skulls, knocking out sharp teeth. It brings me joy like nothing else can.
Every breath I take sounds like a howling wind to my ears, and my joints have been replaced with sandpaper. I stagger to the sink to support myself. The nausea's not too bad today. Not too bad at all. I wipe the seeds from the corners of my eyes and gaze at my cracked mirror image. No wonder the people of Yharnam give me a wide berth. I'll be adding a few new scars to my collection soon. Haven't even bothered cleaning off the accumulated blood and grime for a good few nights. The lines and bags under my eyes are deeper and darker than ever. My cheeks have grown gaunter while I wasn't looking.
I turn on the sputtering tab and throw some cold water in my face. Rubbing vigorously, the dried blood, dirt, and dead skin slowly come off. I look up in the mirror to see if I missed any spots, which I did. I look myself in the eye and stop dead. My heart skips a beat. My breath stalls. Pressing a finger under one eyelid and pulling it down, I lean in closer. My pupils are no longer round. They're oval. Heart hammering in my chest, I rub my eyes thoroughly and take another look. No, it's even more pronounced when they're adjusting to the light.
I stagger backwards. Has it been so long since I saw my own reflection? Since I saw what others see? My breathing returns, ragged and much too quick. My stomach churns, and I throw myself before the toilet bowl.
*
I can hear my heart hammering in my ears. It's almost clearer than the barks of the dogs charging towards me. Connect both halves of my blade, take a step to the side as one leaps for my throat, rend its side. The other goes for my legs. I hop back, dash towards it when its jaws stop snapping, shove the blade through its jaw, leap aside as their owner fires a shot at me. Their pained yelps used to bother me. The bullet grazes the stone arch next to me.
I bound up the stairs two, three steps at a time. He's slow on the reload, his aim sluggish. His mind is no doubt frayed. I dodge under his delayed shot and carve a deep wound into his chest, breath stalling as I watch the blood gush. It coats my arm and my face nicely, mixes with my own blood that seeps from my eyebrow. I thrust the blade through his chest, kick him off it. It almost makes me drop my weapon. He sinks to the floor and I readjust my grip. It's been wrong all night. I stare at my gloved hands again. My joints are too loose. Or there are too many of them. Lick the sweetness off my lips instinctively. The satisfaction that bubbles in my chest is almost electric. But my tongue feels too big for my mouth. I try to put the thought out of my mind. It's replaced by the never-ending urge. The fire deep in my gut.
I turn right and bolt through a dark church hallway. On the other side is another right turn. Eyes darting from side to side, I search for more, leap down the stairs, find myself at a dead end. Search for paths other than jumping over the railing, and none present themselves. It's with a deep exhalation that I finally regard the monument that takes up this small, quiet space. I've looked at it so many times in the past, the memories nearly assault me. Always thought that conical helmet added an intimidating layer of anonymity. The other kids would laugh at its shape, but this statue loomed over me even as a child. Now it dulls the fire, leaves my ravenous resolve weakened.
"Oh! I thought it looked like someone cleared a path here." The sudden interjection makes me jump in place, clench my too long fingers around my weapon. I spin around, surprised by my own speed, and almost don't recognize the man in front of me. He holds a gloved hand up in front of him.
"Sorry if I startled you. That certainly wasn't my intent." He shoots me that wide, gleaming smile of his as he walks down the stairs towards me. I force my body to ease up, though the tension in my stomach doesn't follow.
"I see you've wisely decided to spend your night appreciating—" His eyes widen as soon as he gets close to me. "Samuel, your eyebrow! Are you alright?" he asks, and reaches out towards me. I shy away from him, more forcefully than I intend. He quickly retracts his hand. The smile he puts on afterwards doesn't reach his eyes.
"Sorry. Not a good day for that?" he asks. My arms are pinned to my sides, shoulders hovering around my ears.
"I've taken blood," I lie, avert my gaze, and clear my throat. It's like I can't keep my entire tongue moist.
"Oh. That's good, then," he says with a gentle tone. "At least it'll close up soon enough." He lowers his chin, trying to catch my gaze anew.
"Are you sure you're okay? If you don't mind me saying, you look like... bit of a mess." The contrast between his spotless, white robes and my crumpled, blood-soaked greys is indeed staggering. I take a deep breath, feeling my body shake, before I answer.
"I'm fine, Alfred. Thanks," I say, voice weaker and rougher than I was hoping.
"Are you at all in the mood for company? You might not be an executioner anymore, but that doesn't mean I'd immediately stop caring, you know. It's been so long since we've spoken properly." I press my lips into a fine line. The remaining embers in my stomach say no, but my conscience peeking through the haze of my mind says yes. It's the smart thing to do. The wise thing. What might keep me on the edge instead of over it. I hesitantly nod, eyes still avoiding his. His smile becomes more genuine.
"Were you feeling nostalgic, then?" he asks. I furrow my brows, until he nods towards the statue in front of us. Looking up at it makes my stomach jitter.
"No. Just ended up here. Muscle memory, I suppose," I mumble. He chuckles.
"Yes, we did spend many an afternoon here. I could likely walk the path in my sleep." Those particular memories elicit a softer feeling in the pit of my stomach, which almost curbs the tension and the flames.
"Yes," I say. With a small sigh, he takes a seat by the foot of the monument.
"So, anything new since we last spoke? It has been a while. I'm dying to know if I've missed anything important," he says. I scour my mind for anything worth telling him. Anything safe. All that presents itself is the endless hunt. The stabbing, slicing, breaking, crushing, the screams of the beasts I set on fire. The sweet stench that invigorates me, pushes me further. The mere thought has me salivating.
"Samuel?" I refocus my gaze and almost look him in the eye. I draw a shaky breath and plop down next to him. I have to clear my throat before speaking again.
"Why don't you tell me what you've been doing? Not really in the mood for talking about myself," I say.
"Oh, I'd be happy to! But do let me know if I start to bore you. I know how it is with you," he says with a knowing grin. I nod with a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. Indeed, he's more than happy to talk my ear off. I merely stare at him while he gestures wildly and lets me in on every little detail that I've missed. There's so much on his mind, he barely knows where to start. Had I been a more diligent friend, perhaps I'd have heard his stories before now. The tension in my stomach slowly melts away as he talks. He even manages to get a chuckle out of me, though it's followed by a harsh cough. The words pour out of him, and, for a moment, I'm at ease. I almost forget that I'm covered in blood and still bleeding.
Our eyes finally meet. My breath stalls. The hairs on my neck stand on end. His gaze lingers, before he makes another wild storytelling gesture. It's slight, far slighter than mine. If you weren't looking for it, you wouldn't notice. He shoots me another short glance, and I do look for it and confirm my suspicion. His pupils are ever so slightly oval. My mind is thrown into disarray, while my heart thumps away in desperate futility. Here we are, coincidentally in the same place on the same night, suffering from the same sickness. Alfred, of all people, in the same boat. Alfred, of all people.
"Oh. I've lost you, haven't I? Was it the part about the kneading? That was pretty esoteric, admittedly," he chatters. I'm gawking directly at him, mouth hanging wide open. There's pressure building behind my eyes. They itch like tears are getting ready to ooze. Knots in my stomach making a comeback, I hide my face in his shoulder. He tenses underneath me. Slowly puts his hands on my back. I soak in his warmth, his scent. There are notes of ash and rust in it that I've never noticed before, even through the sweet stench that clings to me. I bite my trembling lip so hard that I almost draw more blood.
"Sam?" he asks tentatively, as I lean away from him again. All hints of humour and cheer are gone from his face. Replacing them is that piercing gaze underneath worried brows. I rise, turn my back to him, and march towards the stairs.
"Sam, wait, I—" he stutters. Lets the sentence trail off. Doesn't follow me. I clench my blade as tightly as I can, hands shaking. If he has succumbed, what chance did I ever have?
*
The moonbeams splashed onto the cathedral floor makes the scene look like a grotesque black and white painting. Floor, walls, and even the ceiling are covered in blood. As am I. They never stood a chance. Been a while since I so thoroughly tore someone apart. Hands shaking, I feel electric. Head hurts, as if my mind is smothered by fog. The wide, toothy smile slowly fades from my face as my breathing slows. Regarding the bloodbath leads my gaze to my bare hands again. The urge guides my movements, as if I was merely a marionette. Slowly, meticulously, I lick the sweetness off my too long fingers and nails. Continue down my hand and my wrist. My sharp teeth scrape against my skin. Used to be just my canines. Now they're changing one by one.
I put my weapon in my other hand and shove my remaining drenched fingers into my mouth. My teeth scratch little cuts in their surface, but the stinging sensation is hushed by the utter bliss. It's like a first kiss, only better. Having licked my hands clean, I kneel in front of the dark pools on the white marble floor. The movement is strained and awkward. My coat is too tight, too figure-hugging, its sleeves too short. My pants don't even cover my boots anymore, while said boots squeeze my feet. I wet my fingers and suck off the fresh, still warm blood. Not enough. I bend over and lick it off the floor with my wide tongue. It's so sweet, comforting, enchanting. I could lap it all up and not be sated.
My movements stall, tongue still on the floor, when I hear lithe footsteps behind me. Heart in my throat, I slowly stand up as calmly as I can. Compose myself, wipe my mouth on my dirty sleeve. I've never heard her coming before.
"You ought to sew yourself some new clothes, Samuel," she says. "Seems like you finally hit that growth spurt you missed in your teens." I try to straighten my back. My head feels like a horse is kicking it. I try to force my face to smile, then cover my mouth with one of my freshly clean hands. Don't show her. Instead I simply nod.
"You've certainly been keeping yourself busy, too. Busier than most," she says. Another nod. I feel my fingers shaking. Goosebumps all over my body. The reality of my situation is starting to sink in through the haze. She sighs deeply.
"Samuel, it's very odd to try and have a conversation with someone who won't even face you," she says, tone a tad harsher. Pressing my lips together, I force myself to turn around and face her. Not look at her, just angle my body in her direction. Glaring at her feet, I can tell that her preened feathers are so clean, they seem to glitter against the disaster area that is myself.
"Sorry," I croak and clear my throat. First word I've uttered in a few days.
"Tongue feel too big for your mouth?" she asks. Might as well have stabbed me in the gut. I feel myself shrink, hunch over.
"Thought so." I have to take a deep, ragged breath before I speak again.
"Eileen, I'm fine," I breathe. She shakes her beaked head at me.
"Don't lie to me, Sam. We can all tell at this point. I've given you much too wide a berth already," she says, nearly muttering the last sentence under her breath.
"Alfred couldn't tell," I blurt out, without thinking. Immediately regret it, turn my head away from her again.
"Alfred sees what he wants to see," she states. "You do realize what's happening, don't you Samuel? What's happening to you?" The fog clouds my thoughts, my emotions. All I feel is my shaking. The fire, the never-ending desire. I can still clearly smell the blood behind us, on my clothes. My long nails dig into the skin around my lips. She knows. No point in keeping it a secret. But I can't make my hand drop, so my nails dig in deeper. Don't know what to tell her. Giving myself away could both help or harm me. No way to tell which. One of us could die here, now, tonight.
"Breathe, Sam," she says, voice softer than ever. I draw in a sharp breath. Didn't realize I'd been holding my it. Trembling like a leaf, I finally lower my hands. She'll see my teeth. If she wasn't already sure, she must be now.
"Yes," I say, and clear my throat. Silence falls between us for a few moments that feel like hours.
"Yes. Lucid enough, still," she mutters with a somber tone. Her short sword gleams in the moonlight. She must have drawn it while I wasn't paying attention. I clench my shaking fingers around my own blade. She clicks her tongue with a small sigh.
"You know I take no pleasure in this, Sam," she says. Her stance changes ever so slightly. Can't stop shaking. Feel like my knees are going to give out.
"No," I whisper.
"Don't make this harder than it has to be." She takes a step towards me that echoes through the marble halls. I lurch back, stepping in the pool of blood behind me.
"No," I say, lower lip trembling. She hesitates for a split second. Then she leaps towards me. My conscience through the haze tells me to run. But fight or flight screams 'fight'.
"No!" I shriek and jab my blade towards her. She nimbly deflects it, lands on her toes, lunges towards me again. The deflection throws me off my balance. Manage to sidestep her next jab. But she's fast. I knew, I've seen her in action. Usually I'd be able to keep up. Now my limbs are too long, my clothes too tight, my mind panicked and groggy. She throws another slice at me. I jump back, it grazes my coat. No, goes through my coat. The pain arrives a split second later. I swing my blade wildly in front of me. Hope to hit her if she went in for more. Not a chance. She stands still in front of me, biding her time, waiting for my desperate attempt to pass.
She dives in again. I leap backwards, but my back slams up against the wall behind me. Drop to my knees to avoid her stab. Scurry away on all fours, her second strike grazes my loin. I inhale sharply through gritted teeth. Get back on my feet, reach for the pistol at my side. Spin around, aim in her general direction, pull the trigger. She's sidestepped the bullet long before it left the barrel. I adjust my aim, shoot again. She dodges backwards this time. Barely halts her advance.
Aim for her head, pull the trigger. The pistol just clicks. Pull, pull, pull, nothing but clicks. She gets ready to leap. Lob the gun at her. It hits her in the head. She groans, staggers back, didn't see it coming. I charge towards her while she's still disoriented. About to stab her when the floor seems to give way under me. I shriek. My boots squeak as they slip on the blood that sticks to them. Land on my back in front of her, kick her shins, she stumbles over my body. She recovers quickly, too quickly, already back on her feet. She pounces, sword angled downward, aimed at my chest. Only just manage to roll out of her way. Her blade catches my coat instead. Pins it to the floor. I desperately claw at the marble and kick my feet. The fabric tears and I shoot up.
A metallic noise echoes through the hall. I spin around, aim my blade at her throat, lunge. Instead of dodging away, she dodges into it. Deflects my blade. The blow makes me fumble. My weapon almost slips out of my hand. There's only a glove's length between us. Realization hits me. By then, it's already too late. Her other hand is beside me, other half of the split Blade of Mercy angled towards my side. She brings it in.
Pain shoots through my side. It pervades my whole being. Grit my teeth. Knees about to give out. Can't breathe. A deafening howl tears through my throat. Not my own voice. Sounds like someone else. Something else. She pulls the blade out. Jumps back. Pain locks me in place. Trembling. Drool hangs from my lip. Vision blurry. She watches. Blades at the ready. Just watching.
Finally, she dashes towards me. My body acts on its own. Turn on my heel. Stained glass window grabs my attention. I grab my side. Run. As fast as I can. Footsteps right behind me. Cover my face with my arm. Leap. The glass shatters around my body with a loud crash. Pray that the drop isn't far. I look down through the tears in my eyes. Not long enough to kill me. Long enough to hurt. Gravity takes hold of me. I hold my breath. Brace for impact in the moon-soaked courtyard below. I hit the railing on a balcony first. Same side as my wound. Bones snap loudly. All the air is knocked out of my lungs. Hit the ground below like a brick.
All I feel is the pain. I hold my side, warm blood pouring out. It's nearly scalding against my cold hands. I slowly roll onto my back, cringing, grinding my sharp teeth. Instinctively pat my pouches for blood vials. Eileen looks down on me from above. Frozen. Boot placed on the edge of the broken window. Bloody blade glimmering in her hand. I wrestle a vial out of my pocket. My last one. Glass surface cracked, but not leaking. Jam it into my thigh. Draw a deep, ragged breath that darts through my trembling body. She disappears back into the cathedral.
I lie still and draw a few rejuvenating breaths. Then I drag myself upright. Tears pour down my cheeks. My ribs are rippling underneath my skin, healing. The wound still bleeds. Takes me a few attempts to get to my feet. Pain still pulsing in my side, I limp across the courtyard.
*
I twist and turn my coat between my fingers. A big piece is missing from its coattail. Bigger than I thought when I heard it tear. Examining the hole in its side, running my hand over the ruined fabric, almost makes my flesh hurt again. Its many blood stains will probably never wash out. Doesn't matter now. It's much too small for me.
I hug it to my chest and lie still in the hay. Moonbeams peek through the barn walls. Another night begins. I can't make the nausea pass. No matter how many times I vomit. Merely thinking of my clawed fingers and deformed skull makes it worse. The rest of the too tight clothes on my body are drenched in sweat. My brain feels like it's going to start oozing out of my ears. I can barely keep my eyes open. If I didn't know any better, I'd think my healed wound was infected. My heart is beating like I've been sprinting for hours, blood rushing loudly through my ears. Tears trickle down my face again. Pitiful, really.
Noises outside. Mind snaps back into place. I let go of the coat and scurry to the edge of the barn attic, watching. A shadow falls on the ground through the wooden walls. Doubtlessly a hunter. Nobody I know. Don't recognize their silhouette, their gait. They pace around the barn until their shadow halts by the doors. I lie down flat. Hide in the shadows. No way they'll see this face and not attack on sight. They swing the door open, peek inside. Must be inexperienced. No torch, no lantern, nothing. Good for me. Not so much for them.
They wander inside, eyes searching. Unfocused, meandering. They have no idea what they're looking for. Don't even notice my gaze fixed on them. The barn door swings shut behind them. I crawl to the edge of the attic. They hear nothing, see nothing. They inch closer to the mounds of hay down below. The straws crunching under their boots is like screeching to my ears. They inhale sharply through their nose, smelling for something. Lower their head, look closer. They're directly below me. They motion to turn around. A growl rumbles in my chest. Not my voice. Same unfamiliar voice that startled Eileen. They look up at me. Eyes narrow.
"What the—" they whisper, before I drop. They don't draw their weapon fast enough. I land on their shoulders. Feel their bones break underneath my weight. Never been so much bigger than anyone before. They shriek and fall over with me on top. Our landing is cushioned by the hay. Their eyes are fixed on me, brimming with tears. I raise my arm and ram my claws into their eyeballs. Their scream makes me cringe. They writhe and kick their legs underneath me. My weight pins them down.
Vitreous fluid oozes across their face. Over my claws. They won't stop screaming. Can't think straight. Jam my claws in further. Something cracks under the pressure. Leaves them with a wet, rasping noise in their throat. I bare my teeth and tear into their jugular. Sweetness pulses out of them. Into my mouth. Finally, relief. Silence. I rip the flesh off their neck with my teeth. Swallow the scrap of meat, sink in my teeth anew. Tear off, swallow, drink up the blood still pumping out. They're not yet dead. Just paralyzed. Not moving. Blood pours over my face. Have to stop to breathe. Can't.
Pull my claws out of their face. Lungs refuse to take in air. Tendrils of pain shoot out from my spine. Leaves me shaking more than I already was. Every muscle twitches, every bone aches. My skull could crack. I curl up. My spine breaks itself. It twists and writhes and stretches. Vision blurs. My mind blanks. This has to be happening to someone else. Not me. This isn't me. Can't be. A bloodcurdling scream rips from my throat. Nothing human about it. Save for the tears still trailing down my cheeks. I drop to the ground on top of my victim as the pain reaches its peak.
Mind nothing but a haze. Could be hours, could be seconds. Finally, I breathe. Deep and desperate breaths through a huge body. Look down at my hands. Don't recognize them. Not human. Can't move any further. Muscles are tired. Could sleep here and not wake for years. Pain slowly lets up. Makes way for strength. Clarity. Inside I smell litres of blood, kilos of hay, moisture, mould. Outside, deciduous leaves, wet grass, rust, dirty river water, smoke in the distance. The wind howls through every crevice of the buildings, trees creak, beasts scamper, their heart stops beating.
Behind me, footsteps. Sprinting towards the barn. Familiar gaits and familiar voices in their panting breaths. Recognition resounds through my mind. Nostalgia.
"If that was him, he'll know by now that we're coming," she says.
"It's just very sudden," he says.
"I know. I'd hoped he'd take some sedatives or something. Better than irreversible beasthood."
"Oh, I'm praying as best I can that he's still safe." Repressed tears in his throat.
"Don't count on it." They slow down as they near the barn doors. I rise. Stretch my powerful muscles. Being on all fours feels right. Both of them breathe deeply. The barn doors swing open. Moonlight illuminates me, the bloodbath, the hay. Only one thing on my mind:
Run.