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||| [DISCLAIMER] |||
This is a fan-made story.
Bloodborne is the property of FromSoftware & Sony Computer Entertainment
Akame Ga Kiru! is the property of Takahiro, Kei Toru, & Square Enix
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||| A New Waking World |||
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"...The moon hangs low, and beasts rule the streets." The up-and-coming officer quoted, reading from a nearly withered parchment. He set the paper aside, withdrawing a near-identical scrap, the same yellow tinge of age and cinder decorating the once white sheet.
"...Seek Paleblood to transcend the hunt."
Underneath the cool exterior, the youthful officer was quivering from the inside. His task was a failure, an expected one, but a failure nonetheless. Those that were in admission to his report were infamous for their disregard in both life and uncontrollable circumstance.
The room was basked in silence. Mixed, disagreeing, and faintly bewildered silence; but silence nonetheless. A gathering of officials, ranging from a lowly lieutenant to the highest of generals all sat in attendance. Even the misleadingly named Prime Minister had arrived to hear the aforementioned lieutenant's report. Though, as anticipated as the report was, it was inevitable for the announcement to contain less than interesting information.
Trifling affairs such as minor insurrections and the occasional raid of bandits rendered the audience largely uninterested. These events became undoubtedly commonplace; generally unworthy of immediate or invigorating attention. Grunts, foot soldiers, and petty military officials would deal with those matters on their own accord, bitterly "unbothered" by the grander feats accomplished by the more dedicated detachments of the Imperial Army.
Only after presenting the awaited news of the Empire's new threat, did the room come to a collective interest. Rebels were yawned away, enemy nations scoffed at, sprees of crime greeted by rolling eyes. Being confronted with updates regarding the disease though, sparked a more than attentive response.
Rumors had spread far and wide of the illusive scourge, tainting and overshadowing any accompanying news. Mutations in the Danger Beasts, beastly transformations over the populace, and most of all, the insidious hail of crimson rain. The lieutenant of all knew the true gravity of the situation. "I'm sorry sir," the young man began.
"But that was all we were able to recover from Panen Village. Only one of the twelve squadrons worth of men made it back, Dr. Stylish believes these attacks, passages, and mutations of the Danger Beasts are connected." The officer, who was seated at the round table, continued.
Accompanying the lieutenant were the mentioned survivors of the expeditions, each man positioned against the westward wall of the conference room. Counting himself, the squad only reached fifteen strong, a measly fraction of what had been sent to investigate the now-abandoned village.
In no particular order, sat three higher-ranking officers of the military. From lowest to highest, Captain Ogre, General Budo, and General Esdeath. The final member in attendance was the disgraceful Prime Minister Honest, a man whose tongue oddly or ironically enough, knew nothing in the ways of truth or integrity.
Captain Ogre, with his fitting name, was a fearsome and heavily built man. He bore only a single eye, a black sclera staining his remaining appendage, a color matching his stubbled jaw and steadily graying hair. He, like usual, wore a complete set of plated armor, shedding the helmet and breastplate to further highlight his imposing physique.
"On a similar matter, survivors of the attacks, from outside the Capital, report numerous sightings of a strange man, though the details are still uncertain. His appearances are limited to the hours of the night, striking out at any beast or symptomatic citizen within his vicinity. The aftermath of his assaults rivals those of even the most gruesome Danger Beasts, both original and mutated."
General Esdeath eagerly sat forward at the new insight, her lavish blue-hued hair being brushed aside to better hear the grizzly details. Gruesome, merciless, and seemingly without fear, finally some good news. The officer licked her lips, allowing the skin to pull into the sickening yet sultry smile of hers. Perhaps this anomaly was an opponent worth her attention, or even a potential pawn for her to use as she saw fit?
Prime Minister Honest too, lathered his lips with his tongue in anticipation. Unfortunately, the man's delight was solely in regards to the enchanting yet ruthless General Esdeath, though even his own ravenous lust would never dare to make it apparent; to her, of course. He was a man of pure indulgence, but even he was no fool. That is not to say, however, that he would pass the offer should it arise.
"A strange man operating solely at nightfall?" Captain Ogre pondered, taking a complimentary drink of the provided whiskey. "That could be anyone, if not, then likely a member of the revolution or even that damnable Night Raid. Or at the very least, one conspiring with the revolutionaries. I'm not aware of our own forces operating in such a manner."
The lieutenant hesitated before exhaling, almost gulping upon correcting his superior. Quickly he gathered his composure, certain to veil his unsteady nerves. "U-unlikely sir... the 'stranger' has been recorded engaging in combat with revolutionaries. Several officers within the rebellion's ranks have also placed public bounties. With no indication over their identity, and their seemingly rare and inconsistent appearances though, the unidentified assailant has yet to be apprehended."
"A wild card then? Maybe even a sellsword? Possibly an operative from a rival kingdom?" General Esdeath wondered, internally toying with the idea of challenging the supposed infamous man. "Lieutenant, what other information do we have pertaining to this 'new player' of ours?"
The man cleared his throat. Information was, while scarce, as detailed as possible. Though the data was still muddled in speculation, what the Empire's less than known administrations knew already should suffice. Even if their name was spared, the paper-pushers of the military would finally receive their well-deserved recognition.
"We have enough confirmation to know he works for no traceable organization. No abnormalities in bounty collecting either." The lieutenant began. "His appearances strictly align with new Danger Beast mutations, however. Additionally, he has burnt a number of villages to the ground, all of which were likely infected with the strange disease that has been running rampant."
"How nice of the locals to do our dirty work for us... free of charge, no less." Prime Minister Honest bellowed, laughing at the expense of such a fool. "It saves us another headache. Even more so, it undoubtedly clears away the less than obedient civilians."
General Budo gave a nod of the head to the well-fed man, whilst the lieutenant lowered his shameful gaze. Those who lived outside the kingdom often aided in supplying or supporting the rebels. Maybe it was due to their lack of general knowledge of the rebellion, or even due to their good-at-heart nature. Either way, treason was still treason. A disease, monsters, and a mysterious apparent vigilante was punishment enough for the sorry bastards.
"That aside, lieutenant, what do you propose we do now?" Captain Ogre fixated. "You hold more experience, as slight and brief as it is, in combating the scourge. What would you ord-" The captain continued, being cut short by the harsh scraping of a chair alongside a tantrum-like voice.
"Bah! As if such a call should be made from such a lowly grunt! We should allow this choice to fall in the emperor's hands." The Prime Minister argued, knowing in this case, the choice would fall onto his influence.
"It doubles as a learning exercise, Honest. Ogre is merely testing a subordinate's sound of judgment. In all respect, this choice requires a more aged mind, rather than the child-emporer's own." Budo retorted, firmly returning Honest to his enlarged seat. His attention returned to the lieutenant, ignoring the still irate mumbling from the Prime Minister. "Speak up, boy. We do have other matters to attend to, you know."
The officer bowed his head. Whether it was from stifled humility or of thanks was left undecided. He raised a glass to his mouth, clearing his throat to resume his air of professionalism. "Gentlemen, Generals, and Prime Minister," The young officer began once more, shaking away the sneer of Prime Minister Honest.
"It appears as if this stranger of ours, poses no direct threat to the Empire. I would propose heavily monitoring the individual when circumstance allows in addition to redirecting the majority of our manpower and resources into fully combating the rebellion. So long as this new ally of ours continues in their assault against the outbreaks and mutations, I would see no reason to stop them from handling this scourge for us. As a final note, the leftover forces focused on combating the spread should be outfitted with gear, training, and the necessary skills required for quelling the infestations. If necessary, a new subsect of our military entirely dedicated to the task."
The lieutenant took a sharp breath, recovering from his lengthy proposal. He then mustered enough grace to gander a glance at the other seated officials, meeting the lukewarm reception. Esdeath looked nearly uninterested, solely holding enough curiosity in hopes to strike the stranger down should the need arise. Honest, however, was entirely engrossed in splurging on the provided alcohol.
Captain Ogre drew his eyes to his own glass, scraping a thumb around the polished rim. The lieutenant presented an educated proposition. One that he, as his former captain, was proud of. Just as the young man had done during his earlier years, the captain offered up his own support. "Well spoken, lieutenant. I, Captain Ogre, stand by his word. And the rest of you?"
Prime Minister Honest huffed, lazily speaking before resuming his gluttonous downing of the drink. "Hair off my back is reason enough for me. Less petty problems for me to deal with. He'll probably die long before he decides to cause the Empire any problems anyway."
"I second Captain Ogre's judgment. These occurrences are only adding to the Empire's dwindling forces as is, thank the gods some madmen still manage to tackle them in our stead. I'll arrange for a new detachment at once." General Budo sighed, drinking leisurely from his own glass. "But be warned, should this stranger cause too many issues for the Empire, I will not be so relaxed in my approach."
"And you, General Esdeath?" Ogre chimed, focusing the attention on the insidiously grinning woman.
"I have nothing to refute. It's been too long since the Empire has had a mysterious warrior, even longer for a new military branch. If push comes to shove, I'll personally handle the fool myself." She said, a muffled yet sinister chuckle escaping. "I cannot promise refuge from the Three Beasts however, we'll only hope this man does not cross their paths."
The men, with the exception of the Prime Minister, shuddered at Esdeath's promise. Even with their own twisted mental wellbeing, they offered a prayer the stranger would not steer from his predicted course of action. Esdeath was the cruelest of mistresses, and even a slayer of these new beasts deserved a better demise... Her "Three Beasts", as they were called, rivaled her own cruelty.
"It appears your decision is approved, lieutenant...?" Prime Minister Honest prodded, gesturing a bloated hand to the young soldier.
"N-Naktis, sir! Second Lieutenant Naktis!" The young officer partially saluted.
General Budo waved away the formality. "At ease, Naktis." The superior drew a deep breath, glancing toward the other prominent figures in the room. Captain Ogre gave an affirming nod of the head, Honest shrugging with little care, and Esdeath only offering a half-hearted wave of the hand. Steeled in his decision, he locked eyes with the far smaller lieutenant. "First Class Lieutenant Naktis, your objective has been changed. With your experience in the scourge, you will assume direct control over your squadron in responding to the blights local to the Capital. More men will be gathered to replenish your fallen comrades."
"On a final note, First Lieutenant," Honest half-sneered. "You will report to the Emperor's Vault prior to receiving reinforcements. With your new task in mind, I grant you the right to claim an Imperial Arm of your own, if you can handle it of course." Prime Minister Honest announced, disregarding the wary glances from Ogre and Budo.
"And please, don't neglect to keep me informed about the situation... I'd love to hear about any rebellious updates over our new friend." Esdeath added, the gears in her head turning to paint another depiction of slaughter.
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||| Meanwhile... |||
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The mine was lost, the town under lockdown, and the defenses now rendered useless. Beasts, both born from man and monsters changed from foul blood, ran rampant. During this hour of the night, a father had struck down his mind-robbed son, only to be slain by another of his kin during his own grueling transformation.
"Cut them down before, act now, lest you be robbed of choice upon their change."
A recently commonplace motto for the village. The settlement abandoned their peaceful fishing-mining-oriented lifestyle, choosing a far more paranoid route. Outsiders were warmly greeted under a spiteful guise, welcomed and corralled into taverns, only to be slain in the dead of night. Elders, the ill, and the figureheads of the town fared no better.
They, unlike their unfamiliar counterparts, were chained to the interior walls of storehouses. Routinely flayed, leeched, beaten, and starved out. By some deceitful trick of the mind, the once loving locals believed it to be the best course of action for preventing further spread. It was futile though, as they neglected to halt drinking from the town's numerous wells; the true source of the scourge for the area.
The once clear wells ran a rustic-red, stained by the crimson rain that fell only one month ago. Danger Beasts fed upon man and animal, both having drawn from the mysteriously poisoned liquid. The corpses of the afflicted were carelessly discarded outside the village's outskirts. As the saying goes, "Out of sight, out of mind".
It took little time for the inhabitants to realize this misstep. They began scorching the carcasses, burying the remains in barrels or the spare box. After an embarrassing amount of errors, the new tyrants made a single commendable response.
But the time for correction was long overdue. Their tarnished town had already sealed its fate.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
'No, please no!'
Dashing feet, scuttling away at the damp grass below, crushing the long fallen leaves. Weighted with each stride, regardless of the impressive speed. Soon, so very soon, the owner of the feet knew what would transpire.
He still ran, however, wishing to delay the inevitable, even if it meant an exhausting death. Earlier, he thought to scale a tree, believing his pursuers lacked the means to ascend the safety of his perch. Now, however, he felt nothing more than resentment in himself for the waste of energy. Beasts such as the ones now lunging at the tendons to his ankles were proven to be quite adept at climbing.
In an effort to garner even the smallest increase of distance, the man spun on his heels, changing his course of direction abruptly. His own speed had yet to falter and in fact, only hastened upon hearing a crash from a miscalculated lunge from behind him. He worried not to glance backward, knowing very well the remaining beasts would still follow closely behind.
'Oh gods, please show mercy!' He fruitlessly pleaded.
The man ventured onward, his heart bludging itself against his chest. His ribcage ached, as did his ever-moving legs. The arteries in his throat were sore and bulging, only adding to his discomfort. For a moment, he wondered which would be his demise first; his heart giving out, or the ravenous beasts.
Preferably, neither of course. Though the man was no common fool, he could not run much longer; that much was certain. He was long since exhausted, depending solely on the dwindling adrenaline that coursed through his veins. If the man were to die, then he only desired for the quickest of the two possibilities. He was but a man, one not akin to any form of pain, after all.
'Just a little further... please, oh please just a little further!'
Being mauled whilst still mindful was no man's fancy, him, least of all. The marching of his feet grew. His stumbling became more frequent, his hope abandoning him... and then he received his salvation.
The man burst through the treeline, dashing toward the village. Its shoddy defenses were disarranged, nearly inoperable, and withered from miscare. In his panicked state, however, he only saw a haven from the decrepit wolves. He remained unaware of the blood-starved residents, only pleased to know the monsters would be fought back soon by those he once considered neighbors.
Though, in his exasperated glee, he made one final mistake.
He had only just left the woodlands. After all his efforts of avoiding fallen branches, irregular dips in foliage, and the occasional log, he had fallen. The man lost balance, overlooking the stump of a recently timbered tree. As fear overwhelmed the man, the beasts drew closer, erupting from the forest.
Try as he may, the miner could not rise to his feet. His shin was now shattered, though the adrenaline blotted the majority of the pain. Desperate, cowardly, and with his fleeting bravery, he settled for madly crawling.
The soot-stained hands of his grasped at the grass, showering them in another coat of dirt and grime. Those same hands eventually bled, digging into the rocks with disregard. As his mind accepted what would occur, the miner glanced behind him.
Four gargantuan wolves, each as disfigured and disheveled as the next, ran the man down. Their black coats were stained in a myriad of elements, be it blood or the same soot that decorated the man's own hands. It was futile to escape now, he knew it to be true.
He brought his hands to his face, shielding his eyes from witnessing his disembowelment. With a final breath, he pleaded for the beasts to make it swift...
Perhaps it was the repulsive sound of his bones snapping, or even the grossly wet sound of searing flesh, either way, the man stole a peek. Perhaps this was due to his own morbid curiosity. When his eyes opened, and his arms lowered, however, he bore witness to the strangest of sight.
Again, he heard the exaggerated splinter of bone-shattering, but it did not come from him. Instead, it belonged to the wolves. What caused this though, shook the miner.
A man was in the midst of fending off the beasts, wielding a pair of unusual weapons, and an even less common style of garments.
A slender, long, and old-fashioned flintlock pistol, one of the finest quality. The firearm was fit for nobles of old, or even their long-forgotten knights. The miner, to the best of his knowledge, figured the firearm to be from the early years of the Empire, long before the invention of self-repeating rifles itself. The blade or rather, blades, he carried were brutish in aesthetic. It was clear the weapon, both on his hip and back, were meant to render the flesh of a Danger Beast effectively and mercilessly.
In the man's right arm was a collapsed elongated blade, nearly reminiscent of the blade from a chainsaw. The "blade" was a countless culmination of finely serrated protrusions fastened and molded from the bone-like fixture that narrowed into a spear-like tip. The slim yet clearly sturdy handle, (Which stretched the length of the blade's backside) to the now dubbed "Saw-Spear", was fastened by a hinge-like mechanism. Though the stranger was yet to show it, the weapon clearly held a "second form".
How fitting, that even such a lowly man of labor was able to discern the moniker of the weapon, regardless of it being a mere guess...
As the man elegantly weaved, sidestepped, slashed, and fired at the beasts, the miner focused his attention toward the stowed-away weapon to the other man's back. The majority of the second weapon was shrouded behind a cloth, compacted, and tangled in several fixtures similar to the handle upon the "Saw Spear". Though, the blade was consistently visible.
Unnaturally curved into a crescent, jagged on the weapon's back, and reaching further signs of age than the "Saw Spear". The miner figured the second weapon to be a sword of sorts, still wondrous as to what the additional unconnected "handles" were used as.
A cane maybe? Notches to carry firewood? Bludgeoning or prodding a softer beast? The self-made questions were left unanswered.
The savior sidestepped the snap of a jaw, dashing through the lunge of another beast before swiftly decapitating the nearly idle third wolf-like monster. His garbs were drenched in the beast's sanguine fluids, though he evidently paid this no mind. Without pause, he lept backward, avoiding yet another swipe from the fourth beast, quite literally dis-"arming" the wolf's front leg-like arms before unfurling his "Saw Spear", splitting the beast down the middle with a vertical heave. The miner was correct, the weapon did indeed contain a "second form", one that rang true to the given "Saw Spear" name.
The man then pivoted to the side, firing at the first of the beasts with his regal flintlock. As it staggered, the man dashed forward, impaling the beast upon his now fully extended "Saw Spear", violently ripping the blade free. He, like before, was once again drenched in beast-blood, coating nearly every front-facing stretch of the fabric.
To the half dismay of the miner, the "hunter" was still unconcerned.
With prose and skill both, the queerly garbed man rolled backward, catching the second wolf in his weapon as it collapsed. With an unforgiving stroke, the "Saw Spear" relieved the wolf's head from its body.
The stranger had managed to kill the beasts in only mere moments; whereas it had taken nearly an hour for the miner to flee from them.
Without the heat of battle obscuring the newcomer, his figure was revealed to the miner.
He wore a dark-dyed mask that concealed the entirety of his lower face, save for his ears. For a man of his profession, it was foolish to cover or stifle one's sense of hearing. In addition to this, the "Hunter" adorned a triangular-shaped cap, one whose "feathers" were eroded and faded near the end. Though, it became apparent this was an intentional design choice, perhaps an inspiration from another source?
As for the garb that covered his torso, he wore a white blouse. Covering this, was a hardened leather vest, numerous straps, and belt-like pouches decorating themselves. Upon further inspection, each pouch was stocked full of various tools. Throwing knives, strange bottles of varying colors, old-fashioned ammunition, the occasional molotov cocktail, and so forth.
Over both garments, he wore a medium-collared ashen trench coat, another, longer and wider strap slithering its way from his shoulder to his back. The coat was accompanied with a sleek jet-black shoulder-cape, one used presumably to wipe away accumulated blood, as futile as it was now.
On the man's arms were a pair of fine black leather gloves fitted with identical elbow-length bracers that held intricate dulled-amber designing. Expertly weaved, all of it was.
And finally, trousers that were weaved with a similar fabric as the undershirt. Ashen in color, holding various secured straps before ending in shin-length boots. The boots were of the finest quality, being covered in similar bracer-like guards as the ones above the gloves.
The miner also took note of the unlit lantern strapped to the belt of the trousers, another outdated tool of the man's. Every piece lovingly completed each other, no matter how trivial. Truly, it was a set of clothing that would incite jealousy or ire in even the more well-equipped of individuals, even as outdated as it appeared.
Overall, the miner came to a single conclusion. The garbs were a fine piece of hunter attire that likely provided stable defense and maneuverability to the wearer who faced beastly and other scourge-related threats.
The "Hunter" wiped away excess blood, clearing away the majority of the stench-riddled liquids. As the miner rose to his feet, he grasped a small branch, using it as a crutch for his broken leg. In an instant, the hunter began scanning the wounded man, the miner figuring he was sizing his injury.
"T-thank you, kindest stranger." The gruff voice of the miner greeted. "Was sure I-I was a goner..."
The "Hunter" offered no response. For as long as the miner waited, no sound was elicited from his savior. It was near deafening, only the faint breeze offering in the ways of sound. After an awkward cough and an even more uneasy pause, the fleeting man spoke up once more.
"N-name's Gryning. My boy 'Valgus' and I live in that town yonder there..." He carried on with another heave of the lungs, offering his hand to shake while gesturing his head to the location. The hunter glanced warily at the extended hand, almost shooing it away. Gryning as he was called, took a sparing glance, spotting the blood-soaked gloves of the other man. "Eh...Right, sorry about that."
"Uh... And you are?" Gryning prodded before waving his arms apologetically. "N-not meaning not pester or anything!"
"Capital." The hunter almost softly demanded.
The miner cocked his head, had he heard correctly? "Eh? I'm sorry, lad?"
"Capital, where?"
"O-oh the capital... right, sorry..." Gryning suddenly realized. He turned his head, muttering under his breath in between another fit of coughing. "Course it's the capital, it's always the damn capital."
Gryning shook his head. The capital was the destination of all youngsters, he shouldn't be surprised. He was far in his own years, only wanting to return to his abode after the many weeks spent away from it. Part of the man wondered why the younger folks were dissatisfied with the quiet and (mostly) peaceful lifestyle of villages.
"Well, if it's the capital you're after, it's just past the village's west trails. Our road eventually connects to the main route. You'll notice the change from dirt to stone, don't worry lad." He added, the hunter nodding once in thanks.
But, as the hunter stared the elder down, something familiar caught his own attention...
The hunter stepped forward, his weapons still in hand. His vibrant violet eyes scanned over the man of labor, inspecting more than mere injury. Each detail was accounted for, the leg, discoloration of the skin, and even the sickly-yellow glazed eyes of Gryning. Gryning's stifling of coughing was not overlooked either; each of the symptoms were unfortunately clear signs of...
"Those eyes, you're sick." The hunter stated.
"Y-yes... We all were. Caught something when we finished excavating the new mi-" The other man began, being cut short by that now familiar shattering of bone.
He, for the briefest of moments, now understood what that sound truly was. The noise was not emanating from mere bone and flesh alone, though they were a contribution to it, but rather a small explosion. A chain reaction that hurled rounds of foreign metal in thanks to the science of combustion.
A gunshot. One that left his skull imploded. His death came quickly, almost entirely painless. The strange yet enchanting flintlock from earlier, or more commonly known as the "Evelyn".
His body stumbled, collapsing to the now crimson-stained grass. In a way similar to puppets that had their strings snipped, he had fallen limp in a pool of both his and the beasts' blood. The apparent miner's own apparel soon soaked with a culmination of brain matter alongside the spilled blood of his former pursuers.
The hunter tossed an oil urn at the bodies, igniting the bodies by tossing a freshly ignited molotov cocktail. He paid the routine scene no mind, a more than common occurrence since the start of his new waking nightmare. After reaching into his trenchcoat, the man produced a monocular, using it to view the decrepit town in the distance. Though he already knew what to predict, reconnaissance was never a wrong choice.
"All the villages, the corruption, the beasts..." He muttered. "Yharnam all over again, hm?"
Adjusting his monocular, the hunter glanced further into the settlement. Madmen wandering the once kempt streets, beasts burning from crucifixes upon the previously lively town square, mangled corpses littering the previously luscious grass. A town that was once lively, had turned to a cesspool of madness.
"Sorry, Gryning, your boy 'Valgus' is long dead by now." He said, briefly glancing at the man's scorching corpse.
He returned his gaze to the city, stowing away the monocular into the associated pocket. The Good Hunter looked over his weapons one last time, wiping away any leftover blood from his earlier battle. His eyes focused around the city, bracing his mental fortitude for another long night of hunting and quelling yet another infested settlement. "Nothing left to do than what we hunters do best..." His voice trailed.
"Tonight... Voltaire Lovell Videvik continues the hunt." The hunter declared.
Videvik furrowed his brows, humming to himself as if to confirm what he said rang true. "Hm... Not the same ring to it as Gehrman's."
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||| ??? |||
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"Oi, have the inventory done yet?" A blue-collared heavyset man asked, approaching a similarly dressed worker.
"...I would have if you actually did your job." The slimmer of the duo retorted.
The two stood in a musty warehouse. Pallets of boxed products from outside companies, barrels of oil, and crates filled with mysterious trinkets decorated the spacious room. To the side, heaps of uncategorized items littered the west-facing wall. Toward the eastern section, trailers, forklifts, and a small office stood unused and inactive.
"Pft, not like there's a deadline. Here, Khol I got you some lunch." The heftier worker shrugged, handing his coworker a still warm baguette-shaped bag.
"Lunch? At one in the morning?" Khol asked, raising an eyebrow. His lips curled into a warm smile, graciously accepting the sandwich. "Thanks, Phelps. I'll buy the subs next time."
"No need. Wife gave me coupons, practically got 'em for free." Phelps said, waving off Khol's offer. After taking a bite from his own "lunch", he glanced over the clipboard in Khol's hand. "So uh...what you got left to do? I wanna go home already."
"Nothing too long, just gotta account for that doll." He assured, pointing to the aforementioned figure. "Looks pretty, too bad most of the parts are missing."
The doll sat on a shelf, the legs folded over one another. True to his word, the doll was beautiful. Unfortunately, most other men would consider such an item as mere "junk". A missing eye, torn dress, a lack of fingers, lack of decorative clothing, shoes, jewelry, and hand.
"Huh... Might take it home to my little girl one day. Well, if I can find spare parts."
"I wouldn't if I were you. Rumor has, it's haunted." Khol rebutted, shaking his head at the idea. "The other day when the others were playing cards, they heard it speak. There aren't any batteries or voice box though. It'd give your girl night terrors."
"It..spoke? What'd it say?" Phelps wondered.
"Hmm... The report says..." Khol began, flipping through his clipboard. He ignored the instance reports, only bothering to scan over the final entry. Reading over the specific entry, he cleared his throat, quoting a line from the instance. "Farewell, Good Hunter. May you find your worth in the waking world."
"Spooky... Let's get outta here." Phelps shivered, leading Khol toward the exit.
Khol left soundly, content with finishing another day's worth of work. The other tallied behind for a moment. Something felt wrong, a gut feeling likely. Phelps took one final glance at the storehouse, squinting his eyes at seeing a particular item. Did the doll move places...?
"C'mon, Phelps!" The distant voice of Khol called. "We've got too much overtime already!"
Phelps shook his head, believing it had only been a trick of the mind. With a single motion, he turned the switch to the lights off, basking the storeroom in darkness. After a jingle of keys, he shut the warehouse door, being sure to set the alarm in the employee room before the two clocked out for the day.
In the darkness, the doll let her single eye flutter open. She hummed to no one in particular, scanning the room around her. The doll unfurled her single hand, using her chipped thumb to caress a scythe-shaped badge.
"Follow the pieces, my dear Good Hunter. Lest your veins reject the old blood..." Her soothing and accented voice softly comforted.
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||| Farewell, My Keen Hunter...Fear The Blood |||
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