My Fanfics :
Fanfics that I have found interesting and have recently been updated:
A Final Fantasy 7 Fanfic
Summary: Cissnei wanted to save Zack that night, only to find that it was too late. Though she couldn’t bring him back to life, she could keep his legacy alive. That was why she refused to abandon Cloud on his journey, despite going against her former friends and colleagues.
A Naruto Fanfic
Summary: A/U: Leaves spiral in the soft eddy as Naruto meets Karin in the Forest of Death. From that moment on, the two bearing the Clan name carried with them the fate of the Uzumaki and would be forever entwined.
A Pokemon Fanfic
Summary: Time travel, based on the Anime. So, the world ended. That’s bad news. Who best to get to fix it? Well, there is this guy with a track record in world saving… Not entirely serious. T rating may be overdoing it.
A FSN Fanfic
Summary: Emiya Kiritsugu was happy living the rest of his short days. He had put his past behind him… until he began to dream of futures that had yet to be. Let it be known that the Magus Killer was not dangerous simply because he was dying and had no plans to fight.
A FSN Fanfic
Summary: Shirou Kotomine was found by his adopted father the day of the Fuyuki City Fire, and trained under the priest for 10 years to follow in his footsteps as an Executor. Still, Shirou never really trusts the man, and the bleakness of the hidden world of magic does little to help is worldview. When the Holy Grail Chose him for the next war, Fire will beget more Fire.
A FSN Fanfic
Summary: Sometimes, the tiniest of changes can have the greatest impact on the world. One chance encounter goes in a new direction, and the course of the Holy Grail War is irrevocably changed…
A Nanoha Fanfic
Summary: There’s no such thing as happily ever after. Life goes on – even dearly bought. All Precia’s plans may come to nought as shadowy actors take to the stage. But nothing unmasks a man like his use of power. Second of the Gamesverse series.
A Jackie Chan Adventures Fanfiction
Summary: Daolon Wong’s summoning spell goes wrong; but rather than awakening an ancient evil, he resurrects a more recent threat. With Queen Jade as their opponent a race for the masks is on. Can the Chans stop Jade’s plans and save her from the darkness? NOT JxT!
A Pokemon Fanfiction
Summary: We were so blind. Now in our end of days, it’s like seeing for the first time. Now everybody’s true self comes out. We see how far we’re willing to go to live. Worse is what we didn’t wanna see: what was there all along. The creatures we thought we had conquered are gone, and what’s left in our pockets are monsters.
A Worm Fanfiction
Summary: In the wake of the Locker Incident, Taylor goes comatose. Wracked with guilt, Emma and Madison trigger. Things spiral from there as they quickly go different routes, both seeking redemption in a different way.
A Worm / Supreme Commander Fanfiction
Summary: Frustrated with her school life, Taylor Hebert dons an unfinished costume and goes off into the night to fight crime as a superhero. She stumbles across an infamous crime lord, Lung, talking about killing some kids. Taylor decides she has no choice but to act……and Lung kicks her ass.Not because she’s weak. Far from it. Taylor Hebert is hamstrung by being a moral person with an exceptionally lethal power set, one with horrifying and even potentially global implications.
A Worm/ Bloodborne Fanfiction
Summary: Taylor becomes a Hunter and stalks the streets of Brockton Bay every full moon. Gangsters beware, and let all Fear the Old Blood.
A Worm/ Bloodborne Fanfiction
Summary: Arriving in an abandoned workshop, Taylor begins her transition to becoming a hunter in Brockton Bay.
A Worm / Pokemon Fanfiction
Summary: Taylor Hebert gets sent to the pokemon world by Bakuda’s bombs with her powers intact. Yes, she does connect with bug-types. You may run now.
A Young Justice Fanfic
Summary: An SI with an Orange Ring ends up in the Young Justice Universe and seeks to advance humanity through advance technology and magic.
A Digimon Fanfic
Summary: The War is over, or so it is thought. For the Digidestined, life goes on, but with digimon emerging once more into the real world, the world will change once more. Divided they fall, but a new generation of heroes, the Tamers, will rise to unite against the new threat.
Okay then. That’s one way to perform a search and rescue.
The room was semi-circular, shaped like a ball that had been cut in half and lined with smooth white stones around three feet wide that were square and seemed to glow and pulse with some inner power. From one corner to the opposite along the cut-off part of the circle, the chamber was two hundred feet wide. At the highest point of its slope, it was two hundred feet high. And from the middle of the flat side where two enormous doors lay to the opposite end along the curved side was one hundred feet.
At that opposite end, mounted right up against the curved portion of the white-stone chamber there was an archway constructed of red ruby-like gemstones, each about the size of an average man’s clenched fist. These gems were stuck together in the arch-shape to form a doorway that was twenty feet high and nine…
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That conversation is going to be a nightmare in every sense of the word.
In the months since I had been recruited by Crossroads Academy, I’d had to do some very difficult things, things that I thought were impossible at the time. But none of the things that I’d had to do in these months came anywhere near being as hard as it was to spend over a day around my father without telling him that my mother had made contact with me. None of the fights, none of the life-or-death situations, absolutely none of it even scratched the surface of the kind of effort it took not to tell my dad that I’d spoken to her. As simple and unimportant as it might have seemed to some, that single conversation was everything to me. And I knew that it would have been everything to him as well.
My mind had started trying to come up with justifications ever since Seller had…
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The world flashes as I land on my back. The pain blends with the aches already driven into my flesh, leaving me as a mass of agony. If I knew this was how today was going to go, I would have stayed at home.
“On your feet, Matou. You can rest once you’ve shown improvement.”
The insufferable tone of the Student President’s voice makes me grit my teeth. I force my upper body to rise so that my glare shifts from the ceiling of the Guest Room of the Ryuudou Temple to the pain in my ass responsible for putting here. “Tell that to my aching back. You could have at least placed a mat down here.”
“The pain serves as motivation and I can heal most of the injuries you accumulate if there’s a need for it. Now rise.”
“Just because you can heal doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.” The last hour has been nothing but pain with no end in sight. In all honesty, I shouldn’t be surprised after yesterday that their idea of training Rise was to beat it into you.
“Whoa!” A shout and then ‘thud’ draws my attention to the other side of the large room, where Ayako has spent the last hour manhandling the idiot when he rushes her. Again she’s sent him tumbling to the mat after a trip into the air. Unlike me though, Gai manages to get right back up no worse for wear since he’s already gotten good enough at Rise to strengthen his body to take the beating.
“Remember, visualization is the key.” The asshole lectures me when he sees me standing again. “Picture yourself being faster and stronger—needing to be. That desire will call to the energy within you and thread your body with it.”
I don’t need him to tell me that. Visualization isn’t the problem. I can do that just fine. In fact, the desire to be strong enough to punch him in the face has served just fine to kick-start the process, sending warmth coursing through my muscles to dull the pain.
He sees it with those special eyes of his, glasses set aside for the duration of practice. It serves as the signal for him to attack. He closes the distance and thrust his fist out like a spear.
I move to get out of the way, only for the warmth to fade from my body as quickly as it came. The pain returns and stalls my attempt to move. So I get hit and a fresh wedge of pain is driven deep inside of me like a hammer would a nail.
He doesn’t stop his assault. Even though he has to be able to see that I’m not using Rise with those eyes of his, he doesn’t stop attacking. Instead, he drives his other fist into my left shoulder. It causes pain to blossom and take root into the bones there.
“You have to maintain it! Want the pain to stop! Want your body to be stronger!”
“I’m trying!” I attempt to twist my body as he spears his palm towards my chest, warmth spreading and stopping the pain as it swaddles my muscles. It lasts just long enough to avoid his attack but falters when I try to swing my fist towards his face.
He does a half-turn to avoid it and then drives his fist into my stomach. When I go down, clutching the spot, he crosses his arms and looks annoyed. “You have to maintain the image. If I have to continue to drive pain into your body to get that lesson in, I will.”
I clutch my stomach and snarl at him through clenched teeth. “Never… took you… for… a sadist.”
“I take no pleasure in this.” That’s a lie if I ever heard one. “But I cannot coddle you as Mitsuzuri-kun did yesterday. Burst may hold the most offensive potential, but Rise is the most essential to saving your life. If you can’t strengthen your body then all it takes is one solid hit from a Taboo to kill you.”
“I keep saying that it’s not working like that for me.” He just doesn’t get it. I can start the process of using Rise and generate the energy to strengthen my body, but I can’t maintain it for more than a second. It’s like a car that you can start up but it stops working after a moment. The ignition and fuel aren’t the problem, it’s something else entirely.
Damn it. I hate this. I hate it because it only serves to reinforce what I thought earlier. I have no real talent in Rise as I didn’t in Burst and, as much as I hate to admit it, he’s simply too talented compared to me. Someone naturally-talented can’t teach someone who isn’t talented.
“I’d be better off training with Mitsuzuri again than you.”
Ayako takes a moment to look up from the arm-lock she’s placed on Gai to chime in at that. “It’s better if it’s him who does it. He can see the aura of your power, so he’ll be able to assess your progress better.”
A sharp breath fills my lungs as I try to stand again. I don’t think he’s fractured or cracked anything. Even I can tell he’s intentionally placing his strikes to avoid doing anything that’s fatal. But I really don’t feel like getting kicked around for the rest of the day.
“You all say that multiple trips will strengthen my powers. So why not wait until the next one comes and goes before we try again?”
He refuses to budge on it. “Even discounting that your chances of survival drop the less of the basics you have down by the time the next call comes in, it becomes harder to use them properly when they scale. That’s why we need to ensure that it sticks now.”
“Can we at least take a break until the pain stops?”
“The pain only hinders it if you allow it to.” He takes up a fighting stance. “Now, ready yourself.”
There’s no reasoning with him. His determination to apparently beat the lesson into me is unyielding unless I show results. I can’t help but wonder if gaining all those powers screwed with his head more than the others. The Old Worm didn’t have extensive research on them, but like any magus worth his weight in salt and mysteries he had enough for me to learn to get a solid grasp on it last night.
Psychic powers were the result of a mutation that gave one an abnormal perception of reality that moved away from what humans as a whole could perceive. And that very same abnormal perception, an unnecessary and cumbersome “extra channel” as it’s considered, often drove them away from society as a whole because they saw the world too differently from normal people.
Psychicers weren’t exactly psychics in the sense that we weren’t born with those mutations. But I’m willing to bet that on some level that those who had stronger or more varied powers had their perspectives warped to a greater extent than someone who didn’t. In his case, his ability to heal has probably twisted his understanding of what pain does to someone constantly exposed to it in the long-run and left him believing that the physical pain and suffering is worth the gains from it as long as you don’t die from it.
At this rate he’ll break me, only to fix me up and break me again until the end of the day. If I want the pain to stop, I need to strike him down first.
No sooner than I come to that conclusion does he come for me, kicking off the ground.
I swing my fist towards him, knuckles first aiming for the center of his forehead. He doesn’t dodge it. He doesn’t need to. He simply slams his other arm upwards, knocking mine aside. Then he delivers a vicious palm-strike to my chest.
“Urgh!” The impact spreads throughout the rest of my rib cage and stalls me with pain. Another strike follows. It hits me from below, slamming into my chin. Stars come into view as my consciousness flickers for a moment.
In the span of that blink in time, he disappears from my vision like magic. Then I feel a sledgehammer slamming into my back. He’d gotten around me and lowered his stance before sliding forward to drive his elbow into my ribcage from behind.
“Agh!” It sends me staggering forward a few steps, leaving me holding the spot with my hand. But he’s close enough to that I can hit him now. That thought catches my legs before they can give out. I remain standing for the sake of lashing out with my fist in an effort to take his head off, desire boiling down my spine and nerves before reaching the arm.
He lowers his stance further—no, he drops his body and spins into a sweeping strike that knocks my legs away and leaves me falling to a knee. The sensation of the other one crashing into the floor is painful enough that I wonder if it ended up turning to jelly. But I see his hand getting ready to come again.
I protect my face. My face is one of my best features as a person. I can’t afford to have him damage it, I don’t care if he can heal me or not. So I raise both my arms to will myself to be able to withstand it, strength coursing through my body to withstand the blow.
So he goes for a grab instead. Leaping over my shoulder while grasping the collar of the borrowed temple gi and one of my arms, he pulls me along his path. Then he slams me down into the ground with a hard ‘thud’ that adds to the pain I’m in.
The cycle repeats when I manage to get back up. The bruises pile up. The agony increases further.
But the message doesn’t carry to him that it’s no good, no matter how many times I say it. He’s intent on making it so that the only option for me is to weather his blows by forcing my entire body to harden like stone or strike as swift as the wind. A second of strength to attack will do me no good since he’ll only dodge it. A second of strength to defend will do me no good since he’ll time his attack to hit the moment it wears off. It’s like something out of those old martial arts films.
I force myself to my feet and try to hammer him again with a blow as hard as I can manage again. My drive to strike him down no longer stems from a desire to hurt him, but self-preservation. It’s the thought of being in more pain and suffering than I already go through every night over some idiot being unable to understand that just because you can heal physical pain doesn’t mean it won’t linger in the mind as a phantom sensation, that drives me to fight back.
It’s still no good. Even when he’s close enough that I can feel the heat coming off his body, he’s simply too fast for me to strike down. He avoids it and then grabs my forearm with one hand to pull me off-balance while chambering the other.
I try to raise my other hand to block as his muscles tense, but pain lances through it from the last blow it’d taken. It won’t move in time. I have to dodge it. But he has a grip on my other arm, limiting my movements. I can break free if I boost myself, but then there was a matter of timing.
Get the timing.
Too fast and he’ll have enough time to strike back when it wears out.
Get the timing!
Too slow and he’ll land the hit.
Get the timing!!
His muscles uncoil as his chambered fist fires forward like a bullet towards me.
I have to get the timing down perfectly!
A painful jolt surges through my brain in response. Everything slows down as a niggling warmth permeates my brain. His fist moves sluggishly, like the air’s density has turned to molasses. I try to move out of its way, but my body feels slow and numb. It’s no good if I can’t move fast enough, so I will my body to move.
The sensation permeating my mind sinks down further, threading my body. At the same time, things begin to move faster as the sensation lessens. I barely get my head out of the way and then pour all of my strength in striking him back in the face with a cross-counter as time returns to normal.
I’ve got him! I’ve—WHUMP!
“So, let me see if I have this straight?”
The Monk stands in front of us at a distance of a little over a yard, eyeing the damage done to the space between us. The floor between us had been caved in, the tatami and wooden floorboards beneath it splintered under the weight of my body. Apparently, his brother avoided my punch by twisting into where he had grabbed my arm and then threw me into the ground, while invoking his own Rise at the same time judging from the fact that there was a large hole in it.
I say apparently because I didn’t remember anything between nearly hitting him, a flash of pain, and then waking up and feeling good as new.
“The training you were putting Matou-kun through dragged on to the point where, in an effort to get results, you pressed him in hopes of creating the necessary conditions to force him to maintain the effect. Then, at the end, he abruptly got the drop on you and caused you to reflexively trigger your own Rise and throw him into the floor hard enough to do this much damage? ”
“That is correct. To my shame, I overreacted—” Liar. “—and ended up using more strength than I intended as the abrupt change in his speed, posture, and power caught me off-guard. To that end, I prioritized healing his injuries after I realized my mistake.”
His brother sighs. “It’s good that you managed to undo the damage—” He looks down to the floor “—or at least the important damage, but you have to take it slower next time. Not everyone is a fast learner like you and can put up with that sort of training.”
“Your praise is once more misguided. I didn’t take to it well. I merely worked my hardest to ensure that I was capable of supporting the rest of you. To that end, I was attempting to ensure that he was capable of doing the same and blundered.”
A rumble slips out of my throat. There. That right there is the reason I didn’t like him: the fake modesty.
It’s one thing for him to be good at seemingly everything, on top of having multiple exclusive abilities. But the way he tried to play it off as though it’s nothing special really pissed me off, because that’s the definition of someone special—excelling at things without any difficulties that others couldn’t.
They didn’t need to make themselves inferior to others. They didn’t need to pretend to be humble. As much as I hated to admit it, he fits that definition here and now. So the fact that he knows it and pretends otherwise rubs me the wrong way.
The Monk turns to me next. “As for you, that was really careless as well. If you had managed to connect when you tried to hit him while using Rise, you could have killed him. Never aim for the head while sparring with your power active, understand?”
I nod, if only because I didn’t feel like being lectured further. The asshole would’ve had it coming though. I tried to cut things earlier and he wouldn’t let me.
He stares at me for a moment before continuing. “As for what you explained happen to you, I believe that managed to artificially induce what’s normally called the ‘Tachy Psyche’ effect. It’s when you feel like time has slowed down because your mind is processing information faster. If I had to guess, your body isn’t suitable for using Strength-Rise as much as Sense-Rise, but since you’re still using Rise energy it’s divided up depending on which you’re prioritizing.”
…I see. He was moving too fast so I instinctively increased the rate at which I could process information, lengthening my perception of time to get the timing, but not my body’s ability to match it. It was the same sensation as when you were watching your death come for you but being unable to stop it. When I tried to correct that the energy had to be divided and the effect wasn’t as smooth as it should have been, so I decided once I was clear of his punch to put everything into hitting him as fast as I could. “Sounds about right.”
“Well, there was no lasting harm done, so we’ll call this a lesson for everyone.” The Monk’s tone dulls a note, thinning out the air of strictness that bound it. “And now we know you probably lean more to the Sense aspect of Rise, rather than Strength. With enough time and training you’ll probably be able to cycle through them more effectively or spread it for an even balance, but we’ll have to work out something until then.”
“Great, but can I go home now?” That gets me a couple of looks from the rest of them. “I’ve got things planned later on and I need sleep before I can do anything.”
“… Fair enough,” he says. “Now, if the rest of you will excuse me, I need to get the spare mats and floorboards. Believe it or not, this isn’t the first time that’s happened.”
Gaia is best reasonable authority figure. Hope that storm didn’t cause any casualties though.
Please note that there was a donation-fueled BONUS chapter (14-06) posted on Wednesday. If you didn’t happen to read that one yet, this chapter isn’t going to make much sense, so you should click the previous chapter button above before moving on.
“Hey, Flick.” Tristan spoke up as we made the long walk back toward the Garden tree. He had slowed his own pace until it matched mine, his eyes full of concern. “Are you, uh, are you doing all right?”
I didn’t answer at first. Taking a long, deep breath, I asked myself the same question before looking back to him. “I got to talk to my Mom,” I answered quietly, emotion still making my voice shake in spite of myself. “I got to talk to my mother, Tristan. That was the first time since I was… since I was seven that I actually got to talk
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Ammon might have been sweet once, but that Ammon is dead. Now there’s only a monster in his place.
My legs folded beneath me, and my knees hit the ground. I barely noticed. My attention was fixated solely on the red and gold creature that was crouched there, looking at me more solemnly than any ordinary animal. But then, this wasn’t just any monkey. It wasn’t even just some magical one, was it?
“It’s you,” I managed, emotion so thick in my voice that the words were barely recognizable. “You’re…” Slowly, I lifted my visibly shaking hand toward the monkey before stopping. I was afraid, afraid that if I touched it, the thing would disappear, that she’d disappear and I’d never see her again.
Time seemed to stand still, yet it was only my own silence and inability to breathe. I held my hand there, afraid to move any closer yet terrified to…
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Gaia is everywhere. And apparently Flick’s mom?
If Pace had gone straight back to the tree, our chase would have been over before it had even begun. She and Lemuel had what amounted to an absurd head start. If the psycho-girl had been heading home, there wouldn’t have been the slightest prayer of catching up with them before she was out of our reach.
But she wasn’t going straight home. I remembered Lemuel distinctly saying that they had something else to do. Unfortunately, I had no idea what that something was, where it would take them, or how long it would take. Hell, for all I knew, they had already gone somewhere to leave the forest entirely.
Which meant that, as I sprinted after Roxa and her glider, most of my thought process was being devoted entirely to fervently promising every higher power in the universe all the favors they wanted if they’d just make…
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Normally you’d suspect the monkeys to cause more problems than they help solve. On the plus side, when Flick and Co. go hunting for Pace and inevitably slaughter their way through countless hordes, they’ll let spare the monkeys.
So, apparently neither the bastard werewolf nor the ugly face-in-chest Blemmye that I had killed had ended up giving me super-nurse-healing-caretaker powers, because nothing sprang to mind about how to help poor Roxa deal with what was happening to her. I was frozen for a moment, staring uncertainly.
While I was frozen, the girl jerked against the ground, her hand shrinking slightly into more of a paw shape as a brand new shriek of agony escaped her. And in that moment, I shoved all that doubt aside.
My hand moved to stroke through her hair tenderly while I put one hand on her bare back. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, feeling a wretched guilt tear itself through me at the sight of her agony. “I’m so sorry.”
Roxa gave another heavy shudder, a terrible wail escaping her as she arched her back against me. I saw bits of fur…
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Odd, I don’t actually remember who Pace is….
As terrible as the sound of Roxa’s scream was, in some ways it almost encouraged me. She was alive, and she was near enough that we’d been able to actually hear her. And it gave me a direction to go in.
Those were all the things that I told myself to take the edge off the indescribable horror that ran through me at the thought of what could be happening to Roxa in order to draw that kind of sound out of her. It helped a tiny bit, at least enough to let me focus on getting there as fast as humanly possible.
Well, I suppose humanly possible was the wrong term. There weren’t a lot of humans who could meld with trees, launch themselves out of branches, and use a stick to create concussive explosions to push themselves further. Unless, of course, other people had much more…
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You know, it’s a sad day when those screams are the very thing that may save her life.
Damn it, damn it, damn it. We had to find Roxa! We had to find her before… before anything happened.
With my staff in one hand, I jogged through the giant forest. Instead of taking the time to go around the tree ahead of me (itself about three hundred feet high and a solid forty feet wide) I just ran straight into it. At the last second, I used the wood-walking power that I’d absorbed on the Meregan world. Rather than face-planting straight into the tree on that next step, I melded with it. It was, as usual, a strange sensation of being able to see through a fishbowl-like image of the area around where I had merged.
The nearest branch of the tree was a good hundred and fifty feet up, but it only took me a few seconds to somehow traverse that distance after directing myself…
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Chapter 5: The Cleric Beast
Bell had found the unlit Molotovs easily enough by scavenging off corpses. He wasn’t proud of it, but the dead didn’t need them and he did want to get things over with as quickly as possible. But oil was somewhat scarcer and eventually he decided to take his chances against the Beast with what he had.
He quickly learned that was a mistake as he suffered his second death at the hands of a monster bigger than him. Though in this case it was due to him underestimating just how fast the misshapen creature while trying to ignite the Molotov’s rag. The moment his eyes left the creature, glancing down at the rag hanging out of the bottle, the Beast leapt towards him rather than lumber like he expected for something that looked so top-heavy.
It managed to cross the distance fast enough that he was almost caught underfoot. He’d wager that it was only because of channeling blood echoes that he managed to spot it in time not to be utterly crushed. However, the earth-shaking impact knocked him onto his back, shattering the bottle as it fell from his hand, and the Beast brought down its mighty fist to give him his first unglamorous death by caving his head in.
Fortunately, through some trick he didn’t understand, upon his death Bell seemed to return to a moment before the engagement began. It was as thought the minutes were erased entirely or something like that. So the Beast was always waiting on the bridge for the next encounter, a second chance for him to succeed or fail.
After taking a moment to come to terms with that, he tried again at a different approach and lit the Molotov before it took notice of him. That time he managed to fling it further than he ever thought possible before, no doubt due to his increased physical strength. But the Beast agilely avoided it, leaving the bottle to shatter and the flames to harmlessly lick the cold stone as it once more came towards him.
He dodged this time, avoiding death by crushing. However, the Beast then swept its other hand out. The thinner arm proved more powerful than it looked as the impact had been enough that it backhanded him over the side of the Great Bridge. His screams as he fell to his death could be heard all over Yharnam.
The third time was another failure, and possibly the worst. The Beast managed to grab him and then opened its maw wide. Bell was battered with its putrid breath, foul enough to make him want to vomit, before it bit down. He spent a few moments in the Dream shuddering until he could force the memory into the back of his mind.
So, as he stood near the point where the bridge led to his last few deaths, Bell decided to search for help and find a place where the Old Hunter’s Bell would chime within his mind. He figured he had two options: explore more of Yharnam or find someone who would have experience with that, meaning Eileen.
He picked the latter option, but she wasn’t where they’d been before. So the choice really didn’t matter in the end since he had to press further ahead. Of course, he regretted it when he ended up on top of the waterway, where he had the delight of meeting the giant rats that decided they wanted fresh meat over the corpse of another hunter they’d already taken to pieces.
The fight was ugly, but in the end he prevailed and then searched the fallen hunter’s corpse for anything that could help him survive his own hunt. But the rats or the fall had shattered the vials of blood that they carried, leaving the only thing salvageable being the weapon. It was similar to his Saw Cleaver, but longer and unfolded into a spear.
He wanted to take it with him. Never knew when you would need a new weapon after all. But he only had two hands and, though the backpack he was carrying may have been enchanted to hold more objects inside of it, it was already nearly full. He decided to return to the Hunter’s Dream and store it there, envisioning the Hunter’s Mark in the back of his mind.
To his mild surprise, Messengers popped up around him. They must’ve been the ones that pulled him to and from the Hunter’s Dream when he visualized the rune. Given how eagerly they seemed to help him, Bell decided to ask if they could take the weapon back instead so that he could progress with his hands free for his pistol and cleaver. They happily did so, grasping it and then pulling it down into the void from which they appeared while he continued on.
He eventually reached a point where he had a choice between going up the ladder or going down further into the sewers. The sight of the rotting corpses below guided his hands and feet into going the opposite direction, where shrieking crows threatened to deafen him and the giant with a brick tried to bash his skull in. But his search for oil proved successful in the end, courtesy of another poor soul.
He climbed the ladder up further and opened a gate there that led back to plaza before the bridge. Standing in the empty plaza, Bell felt exhausted that his efforts hadn’t yielded any results so far in finding someone to help—not to mention all the twists and turns in the place. If the Doll had been right about other hunters going to and from the Hunter’s Dream, then surely one of them had a map that he could use somewhere too, right?
After spending some time going through the notes and other resources in the workshop, Bell lucked into finding an old map that he copied down into a notebook that the Messengers gave to him. Through that he managed to get a better grasp of the city’s structure and eventually found a place where the Old Hunter’s Bell chimed softly in his mind.
The tall hunter called Gascoigne was a man of few words. Then again, he was but a shade of the actual hunter that the bell managed to give life to. Even so, he supposedly mimicked the real one and because of that Bell could only conclude that he was utterly fearless as, the moment he saw the massive Beast standing there on the bridge, the shade of the old hunter ran towards it with a battle-cry rather than waiting to formulate a plan.
The Beast responded in kind, shrieking as it vaulted towards the shade. The deceptively quick creature attempted to crush him underfoot. But he was light on his feet as he avoided the lunge with a well-timed roll and a pivot that brought the axe he carried around. The heavy and thick metal that had rust encroaching on it met the hide of the Beast, and for the first time that night it bled.
The Beast bled and the dark crimson spattered over both the aged and well-walked bridge and the weathered cloth that covered the old hunter. The smell of it reached Bell’s nose even halfway across the bridge, poignant like the first rain of the season but pungent enough that the scent managed to cling to the back of his throat.
Bell swallowed and then spat it out before the bark of the pistol Gascoigne carried resounded alongside a shrill shriek that were prelude the earth-shattering pounding of the Beast’s balled up claws. The sound drew Bell’s attention back to the unfolding battle, where the shade swooped amidst the dust and broken stones that were patterned with sprays of blood. It was a chaotic hunt between hunter and beast, a role that the former refused to cow from.
Eventually, the Beast bound backwards, revealing new rends torn in its flesh that gleamed in the moonlight like a beacon. Gascoigne pursued, axe raised and ready to carve open new paths that would free the thick blood that it housed within it. The cornered creature fought back, revealing cunning as it flipped the carriage that was against the edge of the bridge, near the massive gate to the Cathedral Ward, forward with its engorged arm.
It crashed into Gascoigne, who only took a few staggering steps backwards. That was when the misshapen hand came down, the outstretched palm moving to crush down on the remnant of the carriage and the old hunter that had been distracted by it. However, the veteran rolled backwards before it could land and then got back onto his feet in time to avoid the follow-up swipe that left the statue in the path of that arm to take the full brunt, shattering in the wake of the Beast’s fevered attempt to turn the table on the hunter.
We can do this, Bell realized. If things worked out like this, they could prevail. He could get one step closer to getting home. The notion of hope blossomed in his chest and snapped him out of his hesitation.
Bell ran with his pistol in hand. He took aim at the back of the Beast as it desperately tried to crush the veteran hunter’s shade that viciously hacked away with his axe with every opening shown, steadily growing more aggressive. Then he pulled the trigger.
The bullet molded of blood and quicksilver sped forward. With a wet sound, it punched into the Beast’s shoulder and caused it to lurch for a moment. Bell prepared to reload for another shot when the creature shrieked and lunged for him instead. This time he knew how to respond.
He rolled forward to escape the thunderous crash before getting to his feet and capitalizing on second he had before it got over the shock of landing by changing his weapon to its cleaver form. Grasping the handle with both hands, digging his heels in as he spun into the swing, Bell brought the cleaver’s inner-blade upon the rear tendon of the Beast’s closest leg only to feel it give away under the force of the blow more than the sharpness of the aged hunter’s tool.
It cried out with a pained overtone, jerking away the damaged leg, and then proceeded to wheel around with its claws.
Bell didn’t make it out of range in time. The jagged points managed to tear the chest-piece that he’d worn into the dungeon off as well as gouge out a pound of flesh, leaving him hitting the ground in pain. The wound on his chest stung enough that it would bring him to tears if not for fear and adrenaline driving him to get back onto his feet as the Beast tried to grab him with that large left arm.
Gascoigne let loose a snarl as he hit it from behind with a powerful blow, the axe now extended into a halberd. Bell could hear the tendon in its leg be severed in half and the bone snapped. It fell forward, crippled no doubt, and made a futile attempt to twist around on its good leg to kill the one that had done so.
The old hunter promptly abandoned his weapon for some strange reason, tossing it down and chambering his hand. That hand then warped into a claw for a brief moment as he roared, plunging it into the Beast’s ribcage that had a thin layer of flesh over it. Bone snapped as it broke through, and Gascoigne pulled out everything he could grab in a bloody gout.
As it reeled back, Bell hastily downed a vial of blood. The burning in his chest cooled, flesh mending. Refreshed, filled with strength again, he pulled out the ceramic urn housing the oil and flung it as hard as he could. The urn shattered against the antlered abomination’s broad back and coated it with the flammable fluid.
The Beast paid it no mind. It was focused on stopping Gascoigne from catching it with his unfurled axe. However, the man’s attacks were growing increasingly aggressive as more and more blood covered him. It culminated in the Beast backing off only for him to try leaping after it and then bringing the halberd down, burying it into the massive thing’s shoulder before it grabbed him with its engorged hand and then proceeded to bite him in half.
Bell was horrified at the sight, a reminder of his third death. But part of his mind noticed that there was no spray of organs or viscera. The Old Hunter’s Bell only called for the man’s lingering thoughts of the hunt and gave it form, so the real one was still around and he hadn’t led someone else to their death for the sake of his desire to return to home and hearth.
He really hoped that was the case, but couldn’t pay it any mind as the Beast began to heal. The blood that had been spilled over the course of the battle was turning into mist and swaddling it. The efforts made by them would be undone if he didn’t do something.
He grabbed the Molotov and lit the rag. The sight of the flames seemed to enrage the Beast, as it stopped mending its wounds and then rushed over to him with a powerful bound of its mended legs. Bell put all the strength he could into throwing it as death closed in, and the bottle broke against its oiled torso as it landed.
The Beast burned as Bell was knocked away by the slam, hitting his head against the cold ground and seeing stars. It burned with an echoing shriek that tore through the night as it flailed about in an effort to extinguish the wild hairs became a curtain of fire. The frenzied flailing had made it more dangerous than before as it flung itself towards Bell on instinct.
He fell into a roll to avoid it, springing to his feet just past its hind legs. The acrid fumes from the burning hair choked his lungs as he swung unfurled Saw Cleaver like a man possessed. The pounding in his skull left only one thought clear: he had to kill it before it could get back up.
So he swung his weapon hard enough to chop through the wiry, tough muscles and rip open the veins beneath it. Blood painted him and his weapon, to the point of soaking into the bandages wrapped around the handle. At some point, the pain in his head stopped after the blood managed to soak his hair and face before the Beast let loose a final, desperate cry and reached out for him with its lean arm.
Bell brought the cleaver around and managed to sever the limb with a sickening crunch and wet sound. The low rumble in the Beast’s throat that followed petered out into silence as it fell limp afterwards. It laid dead, body broken and burned as the flames continued hungrily eat away at it.
Bell stood back and watched, weapon held at the ready while panting. If there was even the slightest twitch to mark that it wasn’t dead, he would resort to chopping it pieces. Not even the sensation of the blood echoes flowing into him was enough to assure him that it was over before a solid minute passed.
A long, heavy breath escaped his mouth. The adrenaline slowly bled out of his body with every heartbeat that deepened and slowed. He turned around and went to the gate, only to find that it was lock.
“Is someone there?” he called out as he pounded at the gate. “I need to ask you how to end the night of the Hunt!”
There was no answer to be found. No matter how long he pounded at the gate, no one opened it. No matter how hard, only silence met his pleas to tell him how to end the night so that he could get back home—where he belonged. When the remaining energy left his body, he ended up leaning back against the unyielding gate and sliding down.
All of that effort, all of that pain, all those deaths—it was all for nothing in the end.
Bell sat there. He sat there with despair weighing down on him like a mountain, crushing the blossom of hope he’d felt earlier. He just wanted to get back to his world, to the goddess that became his family after the death of his grandfather…
As if responding to the silent plea, a pale glow suddenly shone in front of him. He raised head to see that one of those ghostly lanterns now stood in the middle of the road, mere steps away. The feeling that washed over him, the feeling of calm that would be found in the Dream, beckoned him towards it.
He yearned for the Dream at this point, tired and wanting to rest. He just wanted to leave Yharnam and the beasts and the horrors behind. As he moved his arms to get back up, his hands brushed something and a scraping noise came from it grinding against the stone at the movement.
He looked down to see that it was some kind of silver badge shaped like the hilt of the sword. It was more on a whim than anything he took it with him as he crawled over to the phantom lantern and brushed his hand against it. The touch ignited a pale flame inside of it that called forth Messengers around it.
“Take me back,” he all but begged.
They complied. Grasping him and holding as tightly as they could with their bony fingers, the Messengers pulled the weary Moon-Haired Hunter back into the Dream….
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Tristan, get ready to live up to what you said.
“Not only am I your ancestor and thus have something of an interest in keeping you alive, but I also kind of like you, kid.” Seller was squinting at me over his sunglasses. “Besides, even if I didn’t, you dying isn’t exactly conducive to me having a long and healthy lifestyle. Cuz if you wander off out there and die, Gaia’ll rip my tongue out, skin me alive, and string up what’s left as a birthday party pinata.”
Despite myself and the horrible situation, I gave the man a brief look at that. “You’d never even tasted nachos before that day back at the bowling alley, but you already know what a pinata is?”
The man shrugged. “What can I say? I enjoy making my own food, but I still love a birthday party.” Clearing his throat, he added, “The point is, I don’t want you getting killed…
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Chapter 4: The Doll and Little Ones
“—ahhh!” Bell abruptly screamed as he stood in a half-crouch, one hand over his head as though to shield him from harm and the other clutching the paper that housed the sigil of the rune buried in the back of his mind. When death didn’t come for him and the horrendous screech that served as a hunting-cry was no longer tearing at his ears, Bell opened his eyes to find he was back in the Hunter’s Dream.
Even though he’d joined the Hunt, he hadn’t been expecting something like that. He hadn’t expected that which lurked on the great bridge, past the beasts and giant and birds towards the Cathedral Ward. He had been so close when a great Beast unlike anything he’d ever seen bound over the walls to confront him—an antlered titan with one misshapen arm covered in wild hair that seemed to writhe on its own.
It made his brain tremble at the mere sight.
Taking a deep breath, he wiped the sweat from his brow until he felt a tugging at his feet. When he looked down, he found that there were little… creatures there. They were humanoid in shape, but withered as if starved and desiccated. He jerked his feet away on reflex and then held his Saw Cleaver in front of him as though to defend himself.
A serene voice calmed him the moment it reached his ears. “Be not afraid, Good Hunter. The Little Ones mean you no harm.”
He looked up towards the source to see that the doll that had lain lifeless against the stones when he left before now stood there. “What… who are you?”
“I am a doll. I am here in this dream to look after you.” She gracefully extended her hand towards the little creatures that were seemingly sullen at witnessing his reaction. “As for the Little Ones, the hunters also call them the Messengers. They are born of a nightmare, given strength through the echoes of life, and given wisdom through knowledge of the kin. They worship the Hunter of the Dream and seek only to aid you during the Hunt.”
“Oh…” Staring at the grouping of despairing little creatures, Bell felt like he had done something wrong. He crouched down, extending his hand while he apologized. “I’m sorry. You just caught me by surprise. My name’s Bell.”
They immediately seemed to perk up at the apology and reached out with their thin arms and bony hands to touch his. The mere act seemed to placate them greatly as they touched him in awe. Bell couldn’t help but wonder if people felt the same way when the gods and goddesses descended from Deusdia a millennia ago. He looked up as the Doll continued to move with grace until she was next to him.
“Do you know where Gehrman is?” Bell asked as he rose to his full height, which was still beneath hers. “There’s something I need his advice on.”
“Gehrman is asleep at the moment and not easily roused.” She stepped around the Little Ones to be by his side. “But please, tell me what troubles you. I may not know of the Hunt personally, but I have heard what others have said as they traversed the dream.”
He told her of the Beast that stood in his way and how he was hoping that Gehrman could provide a solution or knew anything that could help him. The Doll told him of how fire had been the bane of beasts since the dawn of the Hunt and that he would likely be able to find urns that would ensure that the flames caught upon it. He did recall some of the crazed villagers throwing bottles that burst into flames when they broke, and there had to be oil somewhere.
“Thank you,” he said. “I guess I’d better get to looking.”
“A moment, Good Hunter.” Gingerly, carefully, the Doll grasped his hand. Though her porcelain skin held no warmth, her embrace was gentle. “I sense echoes of blood slumbering within you. I can channel them and turn them into a source of strength for your sickly spirit.”
He gave her a confused glance. “Blood… echoes?”
She clarified for him. “The echoes of blood are the memories of the fallen, which flow to you upon the being freed from the shackles of life. You may use them to become strong enough to hunt the beasts without fear of their claws and fangs. Or fortify the blood and power that sleeps within you.”
He assumed that were those mists that rose from the blood of those he slew on the way towards the bridge. Did… did that mean he was absorbing their excelia to use as his own? Fighting down the implications of that, he asked, “So it’s like updating your status with the Falna?”
She returned the confused glance he gave her, only more subdued.
“Eh, Nevermind…” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Still, if it’ll help then I’ll take whatever you can give me.”
“Then close your eyes,” she beckoned him softly. When he did so, he felt the mystifying feeling within him ripple through his body the same way that the blood of his goddess did when she applied it to his Falna to update his status. “Now, picture what you seek to be emboldened and the echoes will become your strength.”
If I’m going against something of that size, I need to be stronger to start with. The moment he settled onto that, the mystifying feeling solidified somewhat. It echoed, rippling through him and threading his muscles with an almost euphoric sensation that left him feeling… more.
“Echoes remain within you. What do you wish to embolden next?” Enlivened by the sensation, he continued until there were no more left. The Doll rose and asked, “How do you feel?”
“Better than ever,” he said. Then he noticed the Messengers nearby, holding a bell of some kind. He crouched down as they pushed upwards, as though they wanted him to take it. “What’s this?”
“It is a gift they want you to have,” the Doll said in their place. “The bell will chime softly in your mind when it crosses a place where one who yearns for the hunt felt strongly enough to leave a mark. Use it to call Old Hunters that would join you in your own hunt.”
“Uh… Thanks,” Bell told them as he picked it up. Then he turned to the headstone which marked the path back to Yharnam. Hesitation stilled his feet as he recalled the sight of what stood in the way. But when he looked back, he found the Doll and Little Ones there staring at him with a look of expectation. “I guess I should get back there, huh?”
“May you find your worth in the waking world,” the Doll said sweetly, with the Little Ones waving at him. “I will be here for you when you return.”
“Right…” He imagined that Hestia and Miss Eina were waiting for him to return to. When he thought of that, resolve moved his feet towards the headstone. He had to get back to them.
“A hunter must hunt. Do what needs to be done to get home and then put it all behind you like a bad dream.” Parroting the kindly woman who gave him advice the first time in, he prayed for a return to the Hunt and clutched his Saw Cleaver tightly.
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Dick move werewolf.
July 1st, 2010
“Damn it, get your ass back here! Stop!” The angry voice was accompanied by the sound of running footsteps, two sets of heavy ones that were accompanied by as much panting as they were annoyed shouting, and one set from someone who was much smaller, in better shape, and less prone to yelling.
Through the shadowy mists of the late-night air, a small blonde girl appeared from around the corner of a building. She was sprinting full-tilt while carrying a heavy backpack that bounced against her with each step. She wore ill-fitting pants that were held up by a rope belt, and she wore a dark green army jacket that fairly well dwarfed her diminutive figure. The girl’s face was streaked with mud and dirt.
Within the girl’s next few steps, her pursuers came into sight from around the same building. Two uniformed…
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