Sentinel cursed under his breath as he hobbled to the tent Jet and Blitz were in. His right arm was held under his left armpit, Mana slowly coming back to it. It still felt like a lump of lead attached to his body but he could bear with it. What he discovered was too important to let something like this slow him down. He needed to get Jet and Blitz out here to help him find Hunt. Getting her back to Pran was the only thing that mattered now. Even above their job.
It didn’t take him long to find the two lovers' tent. He just had to follow the grunts and moans of pleasure. His eyes narrowed as he limped towards the triangular fabric, “Blitz! Jet! Get your asses out here! Hunt’s gone and we need to find her!”
“L-little, ah, busy, ah fuck, here Sen,” Jet’s reply was followed by a loud, uncharacteristically girly moan from Blitz.
The old man didn’t listen, stomping forward and pushing the tent flap wide open. They had laid out a camping bed with a lit lantern to their left. Blitz was down on all fours, naked with her head facing the entrance while Jet knelt behind her. The two lovers jumped at Sentinel’s sudden appearance, Jet losing his balance and falling backward. He left Blitz with a wet pop turning her surprised gasp into a frustrated moan that was muffled as her face hit the cloth beneath her.
Jet hit the ground and pushed himself up by his elbows. He stared daggers at Sentinel, “What the fuck, Sen?!? Didn’t you hear-“
“Shut it ya horny little shit!” both Blitz and Jet went silent at the old man’s outburst. He hadn’t raised his voice at them since their training years. Now he was stomping towards Jet, his face redder than a tomato, and his fist clenched in anger.
“Woah,” Jet got to his feet while looking up at Sentinel, “You alright, Sen? And what was that about Hunt?”
“Listen to me,” Sentinel’s voice brokered no argument, “we need to move fast. Hunt went off into the woods and we need to find her before she gets too far. We can bring the target with us if you want, but time is of the essence!”
“I...I don’t see why we...oh god...have to chase after her,” Blitz’s legs wobbled as she tried to stand, her pink hair completely disheveled, “I say good....good riddance.”
“I mean, yeah,” Jet rubbed the back of his head, “I mean if she left, that means she abandoned her post watching our client’s son. That’s not exactly something we can brush off.”
Sentinel narrowed his eyes and grabbed Blitz by her shoulder. He pushed her into Jet’s arms and shouted, “Look at this!”
He pulled his right arm out and left it to flop to his side. His two companions focused on the numb limb, Blitz immediately lifting it up in her hands. Her eyes scanned the appendage while she questioned, “What...what happened? Did Hunt do this to you? Did she turn after all?”
“Hunt did do this, but she’s not a monster. Well not exactly. I’ll explain later, we need to find her, now!”
Jet frowned, “Why? If she did this to you, then I agree with Blitz! Let her leave!”
“You don’t understand,” Sentinel put his arm back under his armpit while shaking his head. His eyes were alight as he spoke, “She’s the key. She’s the thing the Chief God has been waiting for. She can do the one thing no Hero has managed to do yet!”
“And that’s?” his comrades looked at him with trepidation and uncertainty.
“Win us this War.”
----------------------------------------
“It’s your fault.”
The Huntress looked at the murky red liquid held within the vial she held in her palm. She had removed her gloves, leaving her skin open to the cool night air. Above her, the waning moon shined down upon her with silver light. It reflected off the container, the metallic needle on the bottom shining in the dark of the night.
“It’s always your fault,” she started to squeeze the vial in her right hand. It creaked beneath her grip, the smooth glass lightly shaking against her skin. She started to bite her lip with the same intensity.
“Whenever I try to find something good in life, make something I can be proud of, or form a bond with someone who could come to understand me, you ruin it.”
Her grip intensified. The glass started to crack. She felt her hand shaking at the same time as the glass.
“First you took my humanity. Then you took my friends. Then you took my mentor.”
The cracks spread across the container. Her lip started to bleed under her teeth.
“And now, you’ve taken this chance for a new life. You. Take. Everything from me.”
The glass shattered in her palm. The warm liquid splatters across her hand, any cuts from the glass healing as her skin absorbed the Blood. She flexed her hand before leaning against the fallen log at her back. She sighed, feeling the frustration and anger dissipate as the cool night air entered her lungs.
She reached into her coat pocket and brought out three statues she bought yesterday. She held each one up to the moonlight to thoroughly examine them. They were all depiction of a classical knight in various poses with his sword. The first was him bravely defending against an invisible foe. The second was him standing tall with his head held high, his armor cracked and broken in places. The last showed him kneeling on one knee with his hands clasped around the hilt of his sword, possibly praying to a god of some kind.
The Huntress moved the third figure back and forth in her hand. Memories from her childhood surfaced as the moonlight filled her gaze. The sight of a man in armor driving away bandits as she watched from a decrepit rooftop. The same knight rescuing her from a horrid faith as some slumlord’s toy. His death at the hands of a terrifying beast that had escaped into the countryside...
She frowned at the ugly memory, then threw all three figures deeper into the forest. They crashed into a bush breaking the wooden twigs as they hit the forest floor. Regret suffused the Huntress, causing her to sigh while shaking her head. That wasn’t fair to neither the statues nor the craftsman who made them. And taking her frustrations out on inanimate objects, while therapeutic, was not healthy.
She made to stand but paused at a familiar sound to her right. A slow glance to her right made her eyes go wide. A small pond filled with brackish liquid had formed next to her, and out of it came the sickly, gray bodies of the Messengers. Four of them climbed out of the puddle, three of them holding up the figures she had discarded.
She blinked twice before slowly reaching down and plucking the statues from their hands, “Th-thank you, little ones. Though, why are you here?” The Huntress asked this out of genuine curiosity. True, the Messengers had a talent for appearing anywhere and everywhere to assist the Hunters, but that was back in Yharnam and the Nightmare. This is a completely different world so why are they...
“It’s because of you.”
The Huntress looked up from the Messengers. She sighed while standing up, taking out Burial Blade. She held the curved sword in one hand while unholstering Evelyn with the other. She looked to her left with barely hidden annoyance, “Show yourself before I am forced to drag you out here.”
From the shadows of the forest came an equally dark clothed woman. As soon as she revealed herself, the Huntress knew she was a Mamono. Her unnaturally large breast, wider than average hips, the way she seemed to float along the ground, and the abnormally pale skin provided all the proof she needed. Her hands were clasped together in front of her with their long fingers interlaced with each other. A black veil flowed across her back, forming a hood atop her head and matching the long, black hair that reached her lower back. Her slanted eyes looked at the Huntress with...pity?
The Huntress tilted her head in confusion. She let the creature step into the moonlight to get a better view and her suspicions were confirmed. The Mamono’s cheeks were streaked with tears that were still running down her face, while her large black eyes looked upon the Huntress as one would a wounded dog. Her weeping echoed across the silent forest seeming to eliminate all other sounds in the vicinity. The Messengers had long since left leaving the Huntress alone with the ethereal monster.
The Huntress pointed her blade at the Mamono, stopping it in its tracks, “That is close enough. Who or what are you, why shouldn’t I cut you down where you stand.” She expected one of two reactions from the monster. Either some type of retaliatory response, possibly of surprise or confidence before they began to exchange blows. Or one of fear, where the monster attempted to run away as the Huntress chased it down.
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What she did not expect was for the Mamono to start crying.
Loudly.
For the first time since she came to this world, the Huntress genuinely surprised by something she did not see coming. She was no stranger to crying. She had heard plenty of anguished wails from both the living and the dead in Yharnam. The Hunt affected everyone in the city and some simply couldn’t withstand the mental strain at waiting for it to end. Of particular note were the old women who insulted her predicament when she was searching for survivors. Rude they may have been, but to watch them slowly descend into mad cackles...no one deserved that fate.
However, all those people began to cry for a reason mostly divested from her actions. This creature did so in response to her threat.
It was...strange.
“Why do you weep?” the Huntress asked without lowering her weapon, “What could you possibly have to weep for?”
“I weep for many,” the Mamono’s voice was surprisingly clear, concise, and sonorous in spite of her tears, “for that is all I can do. I weep in the hopes to grant succor and peace to those who have met their end, those about to meet death, and those who bring it with them. It is my duty as a Banshee, servant of Hel.”
“Ah,” the Huntress rolled her eyes, “so you weep for the werewolves I killed. That is understandable. But if your objective is to elicit sympathy from me, then I’m afraid your efforts are in vain.”
The “servant” shook her head, “No. My sisters shed their tears for them. I have come to shed mine for you.”
The Huntress scoffed while spreading her feet wide, “Any pity you feel is wasted upon me. I did kill your kin did I not?”
“Death does not discriminate. It takes all, whether they be friend or foe. You of all people should know this,” the Banshee began to wail again with her hands clasped to her chest, “The death of many, both friend and foe, weigh heavily upon you. Their memories and spirits cling to you, a mist of anger and regret.”
At the mention of memories, the Huntress instinctively reached inside and was surprised at the familiar feeling of ethereal liquid beneath her fingers. Retracting her hand revealed clumps of Coldblood. Whispers came to her ears as she held the congealed liquid, unintelligible save for a few fleeting words that said Myles’ name. She stared at the Coldblood for a time, not as surprised as she thought she should be. She didn’t expect to find Coldblood here nor did she think it would be possible to gain Blood Echoes from this world’s inhabitants. She hadn’t bothered to check after her first two encounters with Mamono and bandits respectively. However, there was nothing saying it wouldn’t be possible. Yet another thing to look into when she returned to the Dream.
“And they are not the only ones,” the Banshee continued, “it is as if you are Spectre of Death itself. Mamono and humans alike will not live to see the next light the moment they cross your path. The future I see with you in it is a bleak one built upon a mountain of corpses the likes of which none can fathom. I weep for them, I weep for you, I weep for us all.”
The Banshee’s sobbing reached a fever pitch this time. Her crying voice echoed through the forest, a cacophony of sorrow that drove the birds from the trees and shook the bushes around them. Any man or woman in attendance would feel compelled to rush forth and quiet the distressed wailing, magical impulses pushing them to act even if they didn’t understand the reason for their urgency.
The Huntress merely rolled her eyes.
She put the Coldblood back into her pocket, walked back to the fallen log, sat down with her back against it, then turned her attention to the moon above. She spoke at length to the Banshee, “If you have spoken your piece, then be on your way. You have made no attempt to harm me nor seem to be of threat to those around me. Head in any direction save to directly behind me and no harm will come to you.”
“So cold and cruel,” the Banshee sobbed but bowed her head, “but you are correct. I am merely here to mourn and deliver the children.”
“Children?” the Huntress sat up, her hands gripping her weapons tighter than before, “What children?”
Rather than answer, the Banshee gave a sad smile before disappearing into the foliage behind her. A rustle came from the bushes where she had vanished and out stepped two young Mamono. They were indeed children, neither of them even old enough to be considered toddlers. The color of their fur, their eyes red from crying, and the blazing hate they pointed towards the Huntress told her all she needed know.
She slowly stood up, her face set but her body unsteady as she got to her feet. Instantly, she heard one of the werewolf pups rush straight at her. This one had the same striped fur as her mother and jumped at the Huntress with teeth and claws bared. The Huntress didn’t move as the pup crashed into her torso. The girl slashed with her claws but they barely penetrated the thick coat the Huntress wore. When she realized how her attacks were ineffective, she started searching for some opening in the Huntress’ clothing.
The Huntress watched the hyperventilating child with growing unease and slight terror. Her hands felt clammy, sweat started forming beneath her hat, and the eyes constantly shifted from the werewolf child attacking her to the blade in her right hand.
‘Why? Why did it have to be children?’
The Huntress felt the unpleasant memory of her greatest failure start to resurface. She closed her eyes and grabbed her head with her left hand. She shook her entire torso, sending the werewolf tumbling to the ground.
She yelled out, “No! No! No! No! It wasn’t my fault! I had no control over it! I just told her where to go! All she had to do was wait for me! It wasn’t my fault!” She had said this over and over again, gone over the event with a critical eye millions of times, and had already gotten revenge for the girl’s death.
But no matter what she did, that wound on her heart refused to heal.
She stopped thrashing around pulling her hand away from her face. She hadn’t put her gloves back on and her pale skin was completely exposed to the air. Evelyn fell from her left hand as she blinked once. Instantly her hand was covered in blood. Not the blood of Beasts or crazed Hunters. Blood of the innocent. Blood of those who didn’t deserve to die at her hand.
Blood of two children who had the misfortune to meet her on the Night of The Hunt.
Just like these two.
“No, no, no, no,” she crouched and started shaking her head while muttering nonsense, “It wasn’t my fault. I’m not in Yharnam anymore. Things are different here. Things will be different here! It wasn’t my fault...”
A tug on her right arm broke her out of her stupor. She slowly turned her head to see the other a little girl holding onto the sleeve of her cloak. She looked exactly like Gascoigne’s daughter, and for a moment the Huntress felt hope rise in her chest. Could this be her chance to atone? To make amends for her failure?
That vision was shattered when the girl bit the Huntress’ exposed arm.
The Huntress felt the haze in her head clear as the girl changed in front of her eyes. The human girl was replaced by a brown-furred monster that was currently biting into her skin. She shook the Mamono off, picking Evelyn up as she got to her feet.
“That’s how...,” the pup rubbed her eyes while sobbing out her sentence, “..that’s how Dad said he and Mom got together. Now...now you can be our new Mom.”
“Yeah!” the striped one stood up, “You’ll turn into one of us, then become our Mom, then we can get Dad back, and everything will go back to normal!”
The Huntress got to her feet and looked between the two children as her mind processed what they just said. They didn’t look any older than five, yet they already had the urge to transform other females into monsters. Not just the urge, but they knew the exact methods they needed to use and doubtless knew how to do the same to men.
If that was the case then...
The Huntress lowered her head and spoke to the two girls in a commanding voice, “You miss your mother? Do you?” She let the words seep into their minds before saying the next part, “Would you like to see her again?”
Their dog-like ears pricked up at that. The Huntress did not waste the opening, “If you do, then simply stand right here and close your eyes.” Whether it was the commanding tone of her voice, or they genuinely believed that they would see their mother again, the two girls obeyed the Huntress’ instructions. She nodded when the two stood in front of her with their eyes closed, the striped one tighter than her sister.
She gripped her Burial Blade tight and raised it high above her head.
The moonlight glinted off the silverite edge.
She was vaguely aware of the sound of twigs being snapped, and someone’s voice yelling at her to stop. But she had made up her mind.
For the sake of countless others, these children’s lives end tonight.
She brought her blade down and....nothing happened.
She frowned and tried again...still nothing.
Her frown grew as she looked towards her weapon arm. It felt like someone was holding her back. But who-
“I think I’ve let you run free long enough,” a loud, booming voice resonated through the Huntress’ entire being. Her body tensed and instincts she had long since suppressed came to the fore once again. Her breathing quickened, her heart pumped faster, and her entire body was on alert. For once again, she felt the presence of something far greater than her. Something whose existence was much older and much more substantial than her own.
She felt the presence of A Great One.
A God.
It stood right beside her, holding her arm in place with one hand. It wasn’t there in the flesh, instead using a projection of red-tinted Mana as a stand-in. It had no defined form, but the voice in the Huntress’ head had sounded female. And, based on the immense strength she felt around her wrist, this could only be Ares, the so-called Goddess of Fighting.
The Goddess’ projection leaned forward, the smell of battle and body oils beginning to permeate the air as she spoke, “I know you’re new here, but that doesn’t excuse your actions. I’ve left you alone because I thought you might come around to our way of doing things.
The sigh the Goddess gave made flattened the grass beneath the Huntress’ feet, “But it’s obvious that won’t happen on its own. So, I’m going to teach you a little lesson about-“
Ares went silent at the sight of Evelyn’s barrel aimed directly at her face. She moved her head to look the Huntress in the eyes.
And saw something that made her skin crawl even through her projection.
Most mortals immediately felt pride, strength, passion, or lust fill them when they so much as felt her gaze upon them. The Amazons and Lizardmen who worship her can attest to this fact.
But she didn't see any of that in the Huntress’ eyes.
No fear. No awe. None of it.
No, what she saw was something even more terrifying.
The Huntress didn’t see her as a God.
She saw her as prey to be hunted.
And, for a split second, that’s exactly what Ares felt like.
She dropped her astral projection just before the Huntress pulled the trigger.
The report of a bullet being fired sent the forest into a frenzy. Whatever birds had returned to roost flew away again. The sound spooked the werewolf girls who dashed off into the foliage. The Huntress cursed under her breath as she looked to her left to see Blitz rushing towards her with an arm outstretched.
The younger girl stopped a few feet away from the Huntress, panting with her hands on her knees. When she caught her breath she yelled in the Huntress’ face, “Just what the fuck did you think you were doing?!? Were you seriously planning to kill children?!?”
“They were monsters,” the Huntress replied, half-listening as she searched the area for any trace of the Goddess.
“That doesn’t matter! They were children!” Blitz’s hands were curled into fists and the Huntress felt her body tense in case swung them at her.
Sentinel was the one to defuse the situation, “Calm down, Blitz. You saw what happened. Hunt stopped before she did anything. Didn’t you see her arm trembling in the air?”
“Old man’s right,” Jet walked forward with his crossbow held in both hands, “I’m pretty sure I felt the gaze of Ares herself on Hunt back there. You know she doesn’t give that to anyone! Only honorable warriors who earn her favor through noble deeds! Do you really think she’d be here if Hunt was actually going to kill those kids?”
“Actually,” the Huntress interrupted, “that is not what happened at all.”
Blitz looked at her with barely concealed anger, while Sentinel and Jet pleaded with their eyes for her to play along.
And while the Huntress may lie to them about her origins and her talents, she would not lie about this. They deserve to know the kind of person she is, “I was fully prepared to kill those two. They told me they were going to make me their ‘new Mom’. They already knew what they had to do in order to transform a woman into a monster. Because I’ve let them live, they’ve been given a chance to find another vulnerable woman, bite her, and turn her into one of them. Then she’ll find a ‘husband’ and a new pack will form in the shadow of the old one.”
“B-but Ares,” Jet started until the Huntress cut him off with a deadpan glare.
“Ares didn’t come here to praise me. She came to stop me. Apparently, my killing of monsters has not gone unnoticed. She attempted to persuade me to temper my approach towards them. My response to her,” the Huntress lifted her rifle while smiling wickedly beneath her bandana, “was very clear.”
“No...no way,” Blitz took two steps back, her legs shaking as she did, “You...you’re not....you’re not even human are you? You can’t seriously believe this fucking psychopath is our savior can you, Sen!” She yelled at the old man who kept his eyes glued to the Huntress. She called his name twice more, each time growing more distraught.
Sentinel took a deep breath, his right arm still held under his left, and knelt on one knee. He bowed his head to the Huntress and said with the voice of a tired old man who hadn’t yet lost hope, “Hunt, know I do not ask this lightly. Though I am aware of your stance on the war, I must ask nay, beg you. Please, join us! Either our group, a mercenary band, or even the fucking Order itself! Please! Help us win this war!”