Arrival
When the hunter stirred, when his senses began to sluggishly rouse themselves, the first thing he noticed was the air’s scent. It carried not the pungent odor of beasts, or the sickly stench of blood. Instead, it was…clean. Fresh. It had a crisp, pleasant chill to it, and for a moment, he allowed himself to breath it deeply before opening his eyes. The rocky roof of a cave greeted his gaze, just barely illuminated by the little lantern that hung from his belt. Slowly, he allowed himself to sit up, putting a gloved hand to his aching head as he tried to recall…anything, really.
The hunter remembered a fight. A battle with an abominable beast in the sprawling, rotten labyrinth beneath the blighted city of Yharnam. He remembered the howling, the flashes of lightning coursing through the creature's fur, its wretched scent wafting against his nose as they lunged for each other, and then…nothing.
Nothing except darkness.
He slowly pushed himself to his feet, the hem of his black coat brushing against the back of his knees. One hand reached up to adjust his scuffed, crow-feather cap; the other fiddled with the chain of his elbow-length cape, tightening it slightly as he looked around the desolate cave. He saw its entrance some distance away, illuminated by the pale glow of the moon. A cold wind whispered past him, chilling the parts of his face that weren't covered by his black bandanna. His breath escaped his lips in a visible cloud, and as he took a step forward, his boot tapped against something solid.
“There you are,” he murmured, eyes flicking down to see his axe resting at his feet. He was quick to pick it up, inspecting the weapon for any damage. Beyond superficial nicks and scratches, the gleaming steel was unharmed, much to the hunter’s relief. Though he was bereft of his pistol, he felt a measure of reassurance as he gripped the cloth-wrapped handle of his trusty weapon. After making a swift count of his blood vials—of which he had only a partly dozen nestled on his belt—the hunter began striding for the cave’s mouth, his boot heels clicking quietly on the stone. Everything was so damnably perplexing at that moment…but, then again, his whole quest had been a nightmarish, obtuse mystery.
The Hunt. The beasts. The dream. Fellow hunters driven mad by blood lust, eldritch beings seeking a Paleblood Moon. The more he’d uncovered, the more confusing it had all become…and the more it seemed like a true answer would never reveal itself. The night had been so terribly long, and perhaps he’d begun to fear that the sun would not dare show itself again.
He pushed such thoughts aside as he walked. There was no time for that. No time to dwell on the possibilities and what-ifs. This was but another hurdle to overcome.
The Hunt would continue. Regardless of where he was.
——
When he his eyes finally fell upon the moon, the hunter felt them widen. He stood speechless at the mouth of the cave, gazing up at the gleaming orb above. It was beautiful. It was magnificent. It was utterly enrapturing, and oddly enough, comforting. Oftentimes, when he’d looked to the moon that illuminated Yharnam’s decrepit streets, it filled him with unease. Beasts and creatures of the night dwelled beneath its rays, lurking patiently in the pitch-black shadows that he hunted in.
But this moon…it was different. He couldn’t quite place why, but it was.
After a long moment, he turned his gaze away from the shining orb and towards the desolate landscape that stretched before him. He saw only one sign of civilization among the snowy plains: A tower, gleaming like a beacon on the horizon. It looked almost crystalline, but the hunter dismissed it as a trick of the light. The hike would be long, he presumed, and as heavy as his garb was, it wasn’t perfectly suited for such a cold climate.
Hunters were tough, but even they had limits. And meeting his end at the hands of the elements didn’t especially appeal to him. But the only alternative was turning back into the cave and seeing where the passages lead. Perhaps they would deposit him closer to civilization…or take him even farther from it.
He clicked his tongue thoughtfully a few times, before shaking his head and setting off, boots crunching into the snow. Part of him wondered just what he would find when he reached the tower. Maybe it would be abandoned. Maybe it would be inhabited. While he didn’t smell the scent of beasts on the wind, that hardly meant there were none about. This strange land was not to be trusted, even if the moon above made him feel at ease. He’d spent too long on the Hunt to simply ignore his instincts now, of all times.
Inhabited or not, though, the hunter fervently wished that, at the very least, the tower was warmer than the damnable fields of snow surrounding it.
——
He stopped trying to keep track of how long he’d been walking, after a while. Instead, the hunter focused more on blotting out the biting cold that had seeped into his bones. He was nearing the tower, each step bringing him closer and closer to his goal. The thought of finding shelter spurred him onward, quickening his pace even as his legs ached from the strain. More structures came into view, most of them looking akin to houses that surrounded the central tower. All of which were, indeed, constructed from a peculiar crystal. The sight was almost dazzling, really. Compared to the imposing spires, filthy alleys. and stone clock-towers of Yharnam, the crystalline town was far easier on the eyes.
But the air was tinged with a charred scent that only became sharper as he approached. He saw columns of smoke billowing into the night sky, though if they were the result of simple bonfires, or something worse, he couldn’t tell. The hunter finally allowed himself to stop moving, taking a moment to survey everything he could from his position. He saw no signs of life roaming the darkened streets, no lanterns glowing behind frosted windows. An eerie silence hung over the town, and the hunter gripped his axe tighter as he stalked forward. Though it was only a short distance to the nearest avenue, the hunter had no cover on his approach. If there were any unseen watchers hiding among the buildings, they undoubtedly spotted him as he crunched through the snow.
No snipers attempted to pick him off, however. He considered himself quite fortunate, in that regard.
Before long, the hunter’s feet touched the crystal avenue. As soon as his heels left the snow he felt a steady warmth suffuse his limbs, pushing away the bitter cold that gnawed painfully at them. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief, though part of him wondered if, perhaps, some sort of mystic enchantment was at work. The air was cool, but nowhere near as cold as it had been moments before. He felt a peculiar sensation prickle at his senses, albeit one that he couldn’t quite place. Whatever power that thrummed through the crystal didn’t seem dark, or malicious. It was simply there, as natural as the snow.
The wind whispered past him as he glanced around, eyes tracking over the darkened windows and doorsteps of the closest houses.
There was still not a soul to be seen. But who, then, had lit the fires?
The hunter’s gaze fell to a lamppost, where a large sheet of parchment just barely clung to a tack. He strode over to it, a gloved hand reaching out to keep the paper from fluttering in the breeze.
“By order of the Royal Sisters,” he murmured as he read, “the Crystal Empire is to be evacuated. All citizens are to pack essential belongings and depart to the nearest train station as soon as possible. Report any changeling activity to the Guard immediately…” The rest of the note was in tatters, as if something had slashed it away. He turned his eyes away, just as the quiet clop of hooves reached his ears. The hunter turned, in time to see a creature emerged from a pitch-black alley.
It carried not the scent of a beast, but certainly looked like one. It was equine in shape and stature, looking no bigger than a small pony.
Yet it had no fur over its strange, carapace-like skin, and insectoid wings sprouted from its back. Fangs protruded from its mouth, gleaming menacingly as it bared them at the hunter.
He regarded it calmly, his brown eyes never wavering. Was this, perhaps, a changeling? Not that it mattered to the hunter, of course. A beast was a beast, regardless of what it was called. He bent his knees, standing at the ready as he gripped his axe. The changeling growled, wings twitching slightly as it sank low to the ground. The silence was tense and long, as man and creature stared intently at one another, waiting for the other to make the first move.
In the end, it was not the changeling that broke the standoff. It was the hunter who darted forward, moving with an almost serpentine, preternatural grace. The changeling hissed, eyes widening as the head of an axe filled its vision, trying to dodge backwards from the murderous weapon.
But the hunter was faster.
Bone crunched beneath the forceful blow, the gleaming edge embedding itself in the changeling’s skull. The beast went limp, and green, ichorous lifeblood dribbled onto the crystal road. He tugged firmly on his axe, letting the corpse slump to the ground with a wet, grim thump of finality.
He gave it a firm kick to the head, just to make sure it was dead before turning on his heel and stalking deeper into town.
Or he would have, at least, if more hisses hadn't emanated from the shadows.
Changelings melted out of the darkness, while even more landed nimbly on the nearby rooftops. The hunter turned in a slow circle, looking over the growing crowd that gradually encircled him. There was over a dozen, with perhaps even more on the way.
He huffed quietly, unimpressed with the display.
With his axe gripped tightly in his hands, he gave the haft a firm pull. There was a sharp squeal as metal grated against metal, sparks briefly flying outward as it elongated into a halberd. The hunter planted his feet, his coat and cape flaring outward as he nimbly twirled his weapon around.
If he had to go through them all, then so be it.
The hunter narrowed his eyes and darted forward as the changelings closed in, his axe gleaming in the pale moonlight.
