Undone by the Blood

by Visiden Visidane

Hunter's Mercy

Undone by the Blood

Chapter 5: Hunter's Mercy

"H-hello?"

The filly had merely called out a tentative greeting, but, as far as I'm concerned, she might as well be shouting accusations at me. Psychopath, monster...they all fit in a way. I'm almost too ashamed to respond. I kick the dead, eviscerated minotaur away from me, thankful that I don't catch its eyes in the process. I have to answer anyway, or this filly might think that it's another beast waiting by her window. "Hey," I say. "You alright?"

"I don't know who you are," the filly responds. "But you smell kind of familiar."

Familiar? I must smell of blood, sweat, and raw sewage. How can this filly be so familiar with those things?

"Are you a hunter?" she asks. "My daddy's also a hunter. You smell a lot like him when he's been working hard."

"Yes," I say. It almost sounds like an admission of guilt. "I'm a hunter."

The filly's voice brightens considerably. "Oh, goody! Do you know where the other hunters are? A lot of them usually pass by. I was hoping Grandpa Hen Reek would. Daddy really needs his help."

I shake my head, only to remember that she probably can't see me. I'm standing under her barred window, which I doubt she can even reach, let alone look through properly. "I haven't," I say. "Sorry."

"Aww..." the filly says. She manages to keep up the hopeful tone, easily making her the brightest spot in this entire benighted city. "But...but...you're a hunter too right? Maybe you can find my daddy? Mum went out to look for him, but she's so silly she forgot his favorite music box. We play it whenever he gets a little forgetful. He might not even know it's her if she doesn't play it."

I have to help this filly. Not sure why. Maybe it's just because she's not so bleak like the rest of this city, and I want to keep her that way. Maybe because I want to make this hunter business more than the hideous thing I just did earlier. "Sure," I say. "I'll try to find your father."

"Oh, thank you so much, mister!" the filly practically squeals. There's a bit of scrabbling from inside the window, then a lone pink hoof barely sticks out with a small box at the end of it. "Here," came a struggling grunt. "If you play it, daddy will know that we're looking for him. He's a big strong hunter with a fancy scarf. My mum's wearing a big red brooch, you can't miss it!" She lets out a gasp when the box tumbles out of her grasp. I'm able to snatch it from the air though. This filly's a little too trusting, but that only makes me glad I got to her first, and determined to help her out.

"Fancy scarf on a hunter, and a big red brooch," I say. "Got it."

"Thank you so much, mister! I'm sure they'll be really happy to get it."

I walk away from the house after that. No need to stink up the front of that filly's house. I'd probably attract more creatures in the process. That means it's back to wading--

It's only when I repeat the description in my mind that I freeze for a moment. Fancy scarf? I know something about fancy scarves on a hunter, one that he insists on wearing even though it's not particularly cold, one that has these strange markings all over it. It's a tenuous connection though. It can be part of a uniform. Ghast Coin seems pretty involved with the Church of Harmony, it might be standard for them.

The music box's outside is nothing special; simple wooden cube with brass filigrees and trimmings. There's a lot of wear around the hinges, signifying frequent use. There's also bloodstains around one corner, but that's not surprising if it belongs to a hunter. The lid opens easily. It should be interesting to hear what kind of music can affect a hunter's memory so much. Of course, I have to give it a listen.

It's a slow, rather clinky tune. Sounds more like something one would play to get an infant to sleep. I don't know if age and wear has damaged the device, or if it's supposed to be this slow. The tune lurches to a stop, and my gaze focuses on the inner portion of the lid. There's a scrap of old parchment that appeared carefully stuck on. The elegantly cursive script is faded with age, but still legible.

Viola and Ghast Coin

Well, that's a welcome coincidence. I am hoping to meet Ghast Coin again anyway. I also owe him quite a bit. Helping his daughter out's a nice start. Still, there's something ominous about all of this. The way he struggled to recall his wife's name. The mere need for this music box to jog his memory...I hurry my steps a bit. It's a lingering feeling I can't put a hoof on, but I suspect that he needs help, or he's going to. The renewed urgency helps with the stink even more than my apple-scented mouth covering. The splashes caused by my hoof-falls remind me of caution again, however, especially when they're followed by larger and heavier splashes from a distance.

There's a tunnel ahead. The enclosed space all the more amplifies the splashing in there as well as the very loud grunting. There may be nothing to light the way through that tunnel, but it's hard to miss the looming shape at its far end. My hooves go to my saw cleaver. This is not a good place to fight in; my footing is slick with grime, and I'm in a narrow aqueduct. The shape and sounds indicate some kind of massive pig. I don't know how an animal can get so big. Perhaps, the beast plague going around has a different effect on pigs. This one must have spent its life wandering this aqueduct, living on sewage. I won't be surprised if these Ponyvillians threw dead bodies down here too. Maybe that's why the place is free of corpses, and why that pig is so massive. I have to look for an alternative. A ladder by the side of the tunnel rescues me from the prospect of having to deal with this behemoth. I'm already climbing before I even check where it goes. Anything has to be better than wading that filth, just as long as I'm making my way to this graveyard Gilbert was talking about.

Thankfully, I climb my way onto solid stone pavement. Given how this street stretches onward, it has to follow the same route as that tunnel below, only aboveground. This is a surprisingly deserted--

Oh, wait. My initial judgment proves too hasty. It's surpringly deserted now because the Ponyvillians patrolling here are dead. Several bodies line the sides of the street, all of them showing signs of the plague, all of them showing gruesome wounds. Despite the obvious carnage, my spirits rise a bit. These are axe wounds on the bodies. Cloven limbs, and what looks like superficial wounds to the face caused by bullet fragments all point to Ghast Coin's work. If I'm lucky enough to be on his trail, and he's trying to get to the Church of Harmony, I might hit all my birds with a single stone at this rate.

One curious detail about this street, though. There are bits of charred twine scattered everywhere, and what look like scorch marks on the pavement. Some of the bodies farther ahead also display burns. One mare lying on the middle of the street isn't sporting Ghast Coin's trademarks. Instead, she's badly scorched, and utterly flattened into the pavement. Half her wood-fleshed face had burned to cinders, exposing her teeth and cheek bones. If there's anything worse than the smell of blood-soaked, dismembered bodies, it's singed fur, and burned flesh.

I keep going, trying to piece how Ghast Coin came through here. Maybe he had taken the same route as I did, and had to confront these Ponyvillians. The ones closest to the ladder had to be dispatched, but, before he could advance something heavy, and on fire, rolled through. Fortunately, I don't see his body anywhere. Looks like he made it through.

How did Viola fare, I wonder. Was she traveling with Ghast Coin at this point? Doesn't make much sense for them to leave their daughter in the house if that was the case. Maybe she's tracking him like I am.

I walk past the bodies, and up yet another flight of stairs. There's couple more dead Ponyvillians, this time the more transformed ones, like that freakishly tall, torch-wielding one I saw earlier. Their legs have been hacked off with an axe. I'm getting impressed again. He's cutting through a bunch of these monsters with a heavy axe. He has to tire at some point, but it hasn't shown yet. The admiration dwindles when I spot a thin trail of blood leaving the scene. The blood's still wet, and a brief touch reveals that it's thinner that the typical, sap-like, crimson that spurts from these Ponyvillians.

"Ghast Coin..." I mutter. "Getting sloppy again." Did they catch him staring off because he was covered with too much blood? If the blood's still wet, he has to be close by. I pick up the pace. It's clear now that he needs help.

I get only a few steps forward before a deep-voiced, bloodcurdling scream stops me dead in my tracks.

Damn! Too late already?

I take off in a gallop, saw cleaver already in my mouth. The blood trail leads past an increasing number of chain-wrapped coffins, and iron fencing. I smell fresh blood ahead, but more importantly, I smell a great deal of soil. I'm either heading into a garden, or a graveyard. Another scream from the same voice, this time more ragged. That's no dying cry or scream of terror, it's rage, and it's definitely Ghast Coin's.

I may not know too much about the stallion's personal details, but there's little else to consider over what can make him scream like that. The pavement gradually turns to unworked, grayish soil, and a veritable forest of tombstones greets me. So, I've managed to make it to the graveyard after all.

Whatever building mania that afflicts Ponyville clearly holds sway over the graveyard as well. There's no sense of order here. The tombstones, rather than being lined up in simple rows, are scattered across the uneven terrain as if the bodies they marked had been simply hurled into an open space, then buried where they landed. There's no uniformity in the stones either, with some being simple headstones while others meticulously carved to resemble various symbols. I'm guessing that they represent the cutie marks of those buried there. A few twisted trees dot the whole place, their dried leaves form a haphazard carpet of browns and dark greens across the ground, and their bare branches looking like the crooked claws of deformed birds.

The dull, grisly thumps of an axe hitting something over and over tear my attention from the scenery. I follow the sounds, which happen to be coming from the same location as that scent of fresh corpses. There are dead Ponyvillians everywhere, probably as many on the ground now as in it. Their blood-shot eyes are wild with terror, their thorny mouths open in unfinished screams. There isn't a single body here that's in one piece. Limbs lie slung over gravestones, across the ground, and even flung onto the tree branches.

At the center of this jumbled mass of gravestones, and corpses, stands the pony I had been looking for. Ghast Coin, his left side to me, blood-splattered from snout to tail, is hacking away at...something. The bits of gore are beyond recognition, and covered large patches of the gray soil. The faint lights from the sky, and the few bent street lamps nearby color these patches black. Ghast Coin looks even more haggard than I remember. He's standing on his hind legs while holding his hunter axe with a foreleg. That he's sacrificed his mobility for more momentum in his strikes shows that even he knows this had long devolved from a fight to a slaughter. I take a step forward. Maybe he just needs somepony to snap him out of it, just like that time by the Great Bridge.

"Ghast Coin," I say tentatively as I take a few steps closer. The ground is uneven here, with lots of natural inclines and rocks jutting out. I hesitate from shouting, fearing he might mistake it for some beasts roar. He keeps on hacking away anyway. He's panting heavily, each ragged breath leaving his mouth as a cloud of white, even though it's not particularly cold. A few more steps, then I realize why he had screamed.

I was wrong earlier when I thought that all the bodies have been hacked apart. Just a few feet behind Ghast Coin is the unbrutalized body of what looks like a mare. Mane like spilling ink, and a silky white coat. Her eyes are closed, and she looks like she's merely sleeping, but there is no rise and fall to her chest, and the bloody wound close to her heart says it all. The opening is small and deep, most likely a gunshot wound. I swallow an enormous slump in my throat, and look on. Still hanging off this mare's neck is a large, bright red brooch.

"Ghast..." I try again. "Ghast Coin, I'm..." My mouth shuts before I can finish the halting apology. What am I supposed to say to this stallion in his haze of rage? Sorry? Get a hold of yourself? It's tempting to just leave him alone to his grief. Let him take it out on these wretches, one of whom was probably responsible. When he's spent, and had taken care of his wife's remains, maybe--

My next step causes a dry leaf to skid slightly on the ground. Ghast Coin stops hacking at the sound of it, before turning towards me slowly. "Beasts..." he growls. His voice is ragged, and strained. After that screaming, it's no surprise. Spittle escapes his mouth with each word. Something's going on with his teeth. Some of them appear to be pointed. His eyes are wide and bloodshot, as bad as the eyes of the wretches he just slaughtered. The iris in his left eye looks like it's collapsed into mush. "Beasts all over the shop." He lowers his forelegs to the ground, the axe slightly scraping on a rock as he does so.

"You'll be one of them sooner or later."

"G--" That's as far as I get before a thunderous explosion drowns my voice. My legs move on pure instinct, jumping to the side before the flash of fire and puff of smoke from the blunderbuss's muzzle register in my vision. A couple of fragments slice shallow furrows across my cheeks, enough to draw a slight trickle of blood. I don't even have time to feel any pain. The sound's still ringing in my ears when Ghast Coin is already lunging at me. He shifts his axe from his hoof to his mouth with practiced ease and speed, axeblade towards his right, then ducks his head low. I know that motion. I swivel my head right just enough to feel the draft from the axe's passage when Ghast Coin swings it up in a diagonal strike.

I still have my cleaver at the ready. The weight of his weapon alone makes missing already particularly risky, and his wild strikes only make things worse for his defense. I can see the line my saw cleaver has to take. In its unextended form, I can slice upwards to catch his chest or neck. He attacked first, defending myself with deadly force is only proper.

But should I? The filly's pleading voice resounds in my ears. My one task so far as a hunter that's not so gristly, and my first impulse is to fail it for my sake. I can't do this. I can give it my all to take down this more experienced, blood-crazed hunter...then what? That filly's already lost her mother. Am I going to cut down her father as well? Leaving her alone in this beast-infested city...I might as well cut her down while I'm at it. I can at least make it swift and as painless as possible.

The thoughts take me maybe a second or two, but that's all that's necessary for Ghast Coin to recover. He brings his axe down with such force that he gouges a deep channel into the hardened soil with a brutal crack. That would have been my head if I hadn't jumped back again.

The instant my rump touches the pitiless cold of a gravestone, I know I'm in trouble. Ghast Coin senses it too. His axe handle makes that familiar sliding sound, and I'm left with a second to decide between left or right. Half a second passes before I go for a third option. My knees buckle, and my hat flies off my head. I barely have the presence of mind to flatten my ears, even then the axe blade nicks their tops.

A vicious crunch from behind me, followed by bits of stone and dust pelting my back tells another story. Ghast Coin's stuck, at least for a second. I swing my saw cleaver, unfolding it mid-swing. I don't want to kill him, but I have to slow him down. A cut across his forelegs should accomplish that.

Despite his bloodlust, however, Ghast still retains a lot of his awareness. He lets out a loud grunt, and heaves. The gravestone behind me crumbles, freeing his weapon and letting him jump back. The tip of my saw cleaver drags across his chest instead. The resistance takes me aback. I had hoped to deal more damage than the gash I just inflicted, the cloth he's wearing proves incredibly hardy. With some distance between us, I stagger away from the ruined gravestone to regroup and rethink. First, I make sure I'm not backed against something. Second, I have to figure out how to settle this fight with both of us alive and well. The blood from Ghast Coin's chest wound starts trickling down, and dripping on the ground. Good, maybe he'll settle down when the blood loss starts making him woozy. He's also been breathing heavily before this even began. I'm the fresher hunter, I should be able to outwait this.

"What's that smell?" Ghast Coin asks after several inquisitive sniffs. He lets out a deep-throated chuckle, and licks the fresh wound. "Ah....the sweet blood...it sings to me!"

He's bluffing. He's trying to sound like he's just warming up, but his lungs and muscles must be burning by now. I just need to--

Ghast Coin's several feet above me for some reason, clearing a jump in his full gear that I probably can't naked. His head is drawn back, hunter axe ready for a massive vertical strike. Dodge, that's all that crosses my mind. I jump sideways just as he crashes. His axe smashes so hard that the impact pushes me back more than I anticipated. My hooves skid as I try to maintain balance. He should still be recovering. A move that big takes a lot of commitment, and would have splattered me into chunks if it hit. The dust cloud his blow created is still flying up when he lets out another roar. I catch a glint of metal moving through the cloud, and roll aside yet again. Too slow this time. The axe's very edge catches my shoulder, and tears a long, fortunately shallow, cut across my torso. Ghast Coin all but flies past me, and shatters another gravestone in his path before landing. My outfit absorbed the worst of the impact, but now we're both bleeding. The problem, however, is that all the blood loss is doing is exciting him, but it's going to be to my detriment.

He laughs again, louder this time, and very obviously unhinged. I'm sorry, filly, but I'm not going to survive this battle holding back. I probably won't even if I didn't. I lock my wheel holster in place, but Ghast Coin's blunderbuss fires first before I can even aim. How did he reload so fast? I shield my face with a foreleg, and my outfit takes the brunt from the hail of fragments. Several pieces do cut into the leather, gashing my chest, and forelegs. Fortunately, the distance between us scatters his shot too much, and robs it of the worst of its impact. Ghast Coin knows that too, which is why he's already on me before I can lower my foreleg. He whips his pole-axe wildly in a circle in an attempt to take my head off, but I duck under. As he's shifting the handle in his mouth for a second swing, I fire my pistol.

I had aimed for his face, just as I had when that minotaur came at me. Maybe it's just because I didn't want his clothes to soften the bullet's impact. It's that, of course, not so I can leave him helpless, then plunge my hoof into that pool of soft, warm, writhing flesh past his hide. The bullet strikes the haft of his axe, close to where it meets the blade. The thick wood splinters, but holds true. The impact, however, jars Ghast Coin's grip on his weapon. His strike wavers as he struggles to keep his grip. Those rather pronounced, thorny fangs now obvious in his mouth bite deep to stay secure.

At this distance, his pole-axe is at the disadvantage. I fold my saw cleaver in place, and run its cruel teeth against his chest in an upward slash. I had hoped to catch his throat, but he's already falling back before my weapon reaches it.

That's when I notice his foreleg fiddling with his blunderbuss even as he's recovering. It's a marvel to watch. He's not even looking as he picks a bullet from his pockets, and reloads. I try to close in, but his guard's not truly down, letting him hop away from my strikes as he readjusts his wheel holster. I wonder how many times he must have done this; reloading while facing against a savage, frantic beast without ever missing a beat. How practiced are those legs that they can perform so efficiently even though the mind controlling them is gripped with bloodlust? My thoughts go to my own gun. I need to reload too, but he's probably waiting on that.

Ghast Coin swings again, splattering his surroundings with blood. I dive in this time. The infight is to my advantage. He maybe practiced, but he seems to have fallen in love with the pole-axe form of his hunter axe. His quicker use of his gun will also whittle me down if I stay at a range. With my saw cleaver folded, and the fact that he's so much taller than me, I can stay low, and rely on short, economic swings. Frenzied with beasthood or not, he's going to lose in the long run. Sure enough, the axe whiffs above me again, and my saw cleaver opens two more jagged cuts across his sides. When he steps back, I step forward to keep close.

Ghast Coin answers with a sudden headbutt. Stars burst in my vision, and I stagger back. I know better than to stay still though Even through the momentary blur, I see the axehead thrusting towards my face. I dive in again, tilting my head to keep it from being skewered. Another cut across Ghast Coin's chest, a deep one this time. The spurt of thick blood takes me aback, again reminding me that stallion has a daughter waiting for him. Now that he's badly wounded, I might have a chance to take him out alive. Again, however, the pain only seems to drive him harder. I step back, and look around. There has to be something here to trap him.

I catch sight of something even better. A lone figure of a pony by the gates to this graveyard shows out of the corner of my eye. My first thought is to warn him away, but I recognize the flutter of the coat it's wearing, and the ominous silhouette of saw teeth on the weapon it's holding in his mouth. A fellow hunter. My luck looks like it's on the upswing.

"Hey!" I call out. My voice is hoarse, and forced out between ragged pants. I have to yell while keeping Ghast Coin in my sights. "Hunter! I need help!"

The figure turns, to my relief, then makes a dash towards me. Good, working together, we might be able to wrestle Ghast Coin to the ground. Ghast Coin comes at me again, but I'm on the defensive now. With help on the way, I calm down enough to be able to assess his moves better. He's been head-hunting so far, which is to my advantage. It's a lot harder to go after such a small target rather than center mass. I'm better off in terms of injuries, with only minor scratches to his multiple wounds. The figure's closing the distance quickly, and silently. It's a stallion, and his outfit resembles mine with a few alterations, the most obvious being how yellow it is. The dim lights do little to hide the fade from the obviously old attire, but that yellow must have stung the eyes when it was still new. A couple of long, curving, golden feathers differentiate his hat from my white-feathered tri-corner. That's a pistol attached to his wheel holster, making us identical as far as weaponry is concerned.

"He's mad with grief," I say as the other hunter comes closer. "Help me subdue him." I glance towards him, hoping to catch a nod.

Instead, I see an extended saw cleaver coming down on me.

I twist away at the last second, and that's the only reason my muzzle hasn't flown from my face. The straight edge instead runs down my side, ripping cloth, cutting hide, and drawing gouts of blood. I cry out, nearly dropping my cleaver in the process. I haven't forgotten Ghast Coin, though. He seizes the sudden opportunity with a crazed grin, leaping in for another powerful slash. I try to jump to the side, but all I manage is a rather pathetic roll. The blade comes down barely a foot away from my back, sending more dust up in the air.

That proves to be a boon. The other hunter would have followed up, I'm sure, but the clouds obscure any opening I might pose. I stagger away, and put several gravestones between me and the two. I need to recover somehow. I don't know why that other hunter is after me, but there's no way I can win against two of them. My gaze goes to my coat pockets. I'm pretty torn up, but I'm fortunate enough to keep my pockets secure. A quick ruffling as I keep backing away produces one of those blood vials Red Heart gave me. Future potential diseases for immediate healing, huh? There's little time to mull it over. The dust cloud is settling, and their silhouettes are advancing side-by-side.

That they're working together makes no sense at first, but I remember the Ponyvillians hunting in groups. The blood-crazed, or infected, or whatever their problem is, can somehow identify each other to cooperate. If it is a beast plague, perhaps it's some kind of twisted pack instinct.

Whatever the cause, I have no other option. It's amazing how quickly I spot a vein in my foreleg, and how accurately I jam the vial's needle into it. Perhaps another skill lent by my new cutie mark.

A warm, pleasant sensation courses through my veins so fast that I hearly gasp. This is no ordinary blood. My breathing becomes easier, strength returns to my limbs, and the burning, stinging pain to my side lessens. I inject a second one in time to see my enemies' faces. Ghast Coin goes first, and now I notice the leaves sprouting around his beard and the tips of his ears. His hunter axe is still lengthened, but he's not leaping into the fray this time. Instead, he dashes off towards my left, while other hunter, saw cleaver also extended, dashes to my right.

Oh, good. They may be blood-crazed, but they're still thinking tactics. This is where they differ from the other mindless Ponyvillians. That rigorous hunter discipline and experience still shines through. Instead of showing faint signs of equinity, all it does is make their blood craze worse.

When they do decide to attack, they come at the same time. The hunter axe comes at me in a high horizontal slash, again aiming for my head. The saw cleaver goes for my legs. This is no time to wait for inescapable attacks. My best option is to focus on one of them, and bring him down fast. I dash at Ghast Coin, moving well past his axe's blade, then catching the haft on my shoulder. There's a faint snap following the burst of pain. I pray to anything out there that it's the haft that snapped, and not my shoulder. My saw clear rips into his face, and sends his hat flying. Unfortunately, his blood spurts into my face. Without my hat, the foul liquid splashes onto my forelocks and my eyes. I wipe it off quickly with the back of a foreleg.

Big mistake.

Ghast Coin roars, dropping his axe in the process. Blood streams down his snout, soaks into his increasingly leafy beard, and drips down his chest. My vision may have cleared a bit, but not in time for me to avoid his lunge. His thorny teeth clamp down on my collar so hard, I swear I hear my collar bone crack. Instead of yelling, I bite down on my saw cleaver to take the pain while I try to shove him away. It's a futile effort. He was bigger than me when he was still lucid. Now, with his blood-craze, and worsening transformation, it's all I can do to keep him from ripping me apart with his bare hooves.

Behind me, the other hunter is still advancing. I heave as hard as I can, but Ghast Coin clearly knows he only has to maintain position. He lets out a throaty chuckle while my desperation mounts. In the next second, that saw cleaver is going to chop me in half. How convenient that I'm already in a graveyard.

No cold bite of metal comes. A loud flutter of enormous wings, followed by the clink of metal, comes from above us. Ghast Coin grunts in pain, his jaw loosens its grip, and his posture winces from surprise. That's enough for me to throw him off. I unfold my saw cleaver as he falls back, tearing another cut across his chest, and destroying most of his outfit's front.

Finally, it seems his rage isn't enough to push through his injuries. His hunter axe is nowhere near him. Now, the reach advantage is mine. He takes a moment to pant and glare at me, a moment I use to pump a third blood vial into my system.

The rush of pleasant warmth is so quick, it's frightening. Already, the gushing gouge on my collar hurts less. There has to be some horrific downside to something that works so well. For now, I look to what's going to let me survive long enough to find out what those downsides are.

Another hunter, as far as I can tell, has joined the fray, guarding my back by standing on hind legs.The faint lamp light shines on the black fur of a panther's hindquarters, the tail gently flicking back and forth. Then, there's the metallic glint on the pair of curved, distinctly hooked daggers held by dark-skinned bird claws. A short-brimmed, pointed hat completes the ensemble. It's the black feathers that hold my attention, though. For a moment, it looks like this hunter had four wings, two pointing up, while another pair point down. It turns out that the downward "wings" are actually the twin tails of an elegant cloak of black feathers. The other two are actual wings. Black feathers...

"What a mess you've found yourself in, hunter," the new arrival says. "And tonight of all nights."

I know that voice all too well. "Hunter of Hunters," I blurt out. I glance at the hunter in yellow. From whatever exchange they've had, he's now sporting a cut across his left cheek, and another from his right shoulder to left foreleg.

"Eileen is fine," the Hunter of Hunters says with a quick glance at me. She then focuses on the yellow-garbed hunter. "I told you to retire, Hen Reek. Now, I have to retire you."

Hen Reek replies with a flurry of movement with his forelegs, which Eileen takes as a sign to burst into action. Several small, glinting objects fly from Hen Reek, but Eileen gracefully swats them from the air. One of them twirls, then lands nearby, revealing a small, serrated, throwing knife. There's no time for Hen Reek to pull out more as Eileen jumps before him, and hovers. Amidst the frantic beating of wings comes the sounds of metal colliding. Hen Reek falls back, desperately swing his saw cleaver to deflect the brrage of quick stabs and slashes.

That's about as much attention I can spare those two. Ghast Coin's growl puts me on the defensive again. He lunges at me with a raised left foreleg, uncaring for the fact that my saw cleaver can reach him long before his kick can get to me. The sickening splinter of bones moving nearly makes me flinch. Ghast Coin's foreleg twists violently mid-air, the hoof splitting into four claw-tipped digits. I swing my saw cleaver, but, in my panic, I swat away his horribly mutated foreleg, then jump away. It's still spasming, the muscles bulge, and the fur falls off from the woody hide beneath. He can't stand straight now. He has to stand on his hind legs, and that freakish foreleg to maintain balance. That's not going to stay that way for long. His pants start to rip apart as his hind legs start bulging as well. His harness strains to its limits, then simply snaps, leaving his blunderbuss to clatter to the ground.

"Sorry, filly," I mutter under my breath. "Looks like they're both gone."

I lunge at Ghast Coin, banking on the fact that his transformation must be horribly painful, and pain serves as a good distraction. My saw cleaver arcs high vertically, swinging towards his head. Ghast Coin raises his forelegs, now both twisted, and extended, to match my reach. I twist my neck at the last moment, just as he's about to reach for my blade with a claw, but his other, equally malformed, foreleg closes in. I have to step back, or lose my weapon.

"Switch!" Eileen suddenly calls out from behind. I glance behind me in time to see her swooping in, Hen Reek's close by. There's no hesitation, I grip my saw cleaver tightly, and spin as Eileen flies close. She moves so fast that she swoops past Ghast Coin's elongated forelegs, her daggers out. That means...

Ah, the plan's suddenly obvious when I face Hen Reek. His saw cleaver's been folded to deal with Eileen's short-ranged speed, which is now poorly matched against mine. I swing at his muzzle before he has a chance to extend. The sudden change in opponents indeed throws him off. Hen Reek can only defend, and try to close in. I fight on defensively, keeping him out of reach, preventing him from adjusting his weapon, and, at the same time, fiddling with my pistol.

I don't have Ghast Coin's experience. Indeed, I curse under my breath when I drop a couple of bullets while fumbling with one. But necessity proves an excellent motivator. Now, for a simple ruse. I slow my pace a bit, and watch Hen Reek's mouth carefully. He sees his opportunity, and unfolds his weapon mid-swing.

My pistol's explosive blast flies up to the night sky, clear amidst all the fighting noises down here. The bullet plunges into Hen Reek's muzzle, barely grazing the handle of his saw cleaver, only to push on deep. It shatters a couple of teeth, then blows out of his cheek in a spray of red mist.

The saw cleaver drops out of Hen Reek's mangled mouth, the crimson flaps of his shredded cheek droop. My next move comes out with barely any thought. The next thing I know, I've pushed him up, forcing him to rear. My hoof finds that space below his ribs, where none of that pesky bone can get in the way, and drives through as if it had a life of its own.

Warmth; soft, incomparable warmth that the blood vials can only poorly mimic, envelops my foreleg. This time, I'm prepared though. The movement is swift, and final. I hook my hoof, and pull out as much gore as I can. Hen Reek goes limp in my grasp, and I push him away.

That's one down.

"Hunter, look out!"

Eileen's warning reaches me a mere second before a vicious roar comes from behind. I turn around, and swing my neck wildly. No luck this time. Something huge, far too huge to be Ghast Coin, barrels into me. It's like having a tree fall on me, right down to the taste of bark and leaves in my bloodied muzzle. My saw cleaver flies off somewhere. I move my forelegs to protect my midsection as this charging...thing carries me forward. I can smell its hot, foul breath, and feel the spittle flying at my face as I keep myself a few inches away from its snapping, wolf-like jaws.

I recognize the jagged cut I had caused, even some of the leafy beard, but this creature is so badly transformed now that I hesitate to even use Ghast Coin's name on it.

With a flutter of her wings, Eileen leaps on top of the monster, and plunges her daggers into the base of its neck. A lethal blow, but the beast merely roars in agony before slamming me into a tree. The breath wooshes out of my lungs, and I collapse on my rear. In front of me, the beast growls, and yelps, furiously trying to shake Eileen off. She holds on through her daggers, but finds little purchase for her hind claws.

With one more roar, the beast shakes Eileen off, hurling her into a nearby gravestone so hard that it cracks before she falls limp on the ground. Her daggers stay stuck on by the base of the beast's neck. With Eileen out for now, the beast turns toward me. There is no Ghast Coin left in there now. It's three times his size, and Ghast Coin was bigger than me to begin with. His clothes have been torn away, the tatters left to dangle from its neck and across its back like a ragged cape. It licks its bloodied, thorn-filled muzzle with an enormous, slobbering tongue, and stares at me with mindless, feral, red eyes.

Every bone in my body's hurting. I need another blood vial. I reach into my pocket, only to come up with a hoof-full of blood, and broken glass. So much for that. I can hear the crunches of soil as the beast comes ever closer. It's taking its time, growling softly in some sick anticipation. Blood vials or none, I have to get up. My legs shake with the effort, and my ribs creak with each breath. I can't find my saw cleaver, and my pistol must have come loose during the scuffle. Maybe, I can chop it down with my bare hooves. With a sigh that nearly makes me double over from the pain in my ribs, I resign myself to a mauling.

As I stand, however, something tumbles out of my torn up outfit. It's the music box. The wooden cube hits the ground, and flips open, playing that mechanical lullaby as if it's my dirge. The faint notes carry past the beasts soft growling and slobbering. For a moment, it stands there, as if listening the tune. Its woody ears flick back and forth as the last notes start lurch to a grinding, distorted stop. The box must have been damaged by the fall.

The beast reacts to this as if I had stabbed it several times in an instant. It clutches its mangled head with both claws, shaking and twisting, trying to shake off some invisible assailant that had wormed into its head. I take a step back for my own safety as it starts to thrash. Its hind claws rip up huge chunks of earth, its foreclaws smash into a nearby tree, then run deep gouges into the bark. Another bellow leaves its throat, showering everything nearby with spit and blood.

It's not ferocity I hear in those cries. No, it sounds like anguish. To confirm my suspicions, it suddenly whimpers, and covers its face with its claws. "Ghast..." I mutter. My next move's clear, even if I have no weapon. Past the beast, Eileen groggily gets to her claws. She's quick to notice what's going on.

The beast doesn't even notice my approach. I lunge towards its left, and plunge my hoof deep. It turns out that Eileen had the same idea. She had dashed from behind, and her claw was deep into the beast's right side by the time I notice. No roar comes from the beast, just a shuddering whimper before its knees buckle. "I'm sorry, Ghast Coin," I say softly. "I hope you find your peace in death."

We withdraw our strikes at the same time, and the beast crumples forward.

"Umbasa," I whisper.

---

For all the terror and panic of the fight, it's the cleanup that really weighs on me. The adrenaline rush goes out, and every single ache in my body decides that it's my most important concern. The fear of death stops distracting me from the horrible stench of blood and gore everywhere, the fact that I'm going to need some serious repairs on my gear, I'm out of blood vials, which have unknown side-effects that I'll have to deal with. Most of all, I just murdered a pony I might have called friend, and I have to tell his daughter.

I find my saw cleaver next to a nearby ruined gravestone, and my hat dangling off a tree branch. At least they're not too damaged. Neither is my pistol.

The chorus of caws and wing flaps brings to attention another thing.

After the fight, Eileen had done...something. Some sort of ritual that involved cutting herself, and bleeding on the stacked up bodies of our defeated foes. Maybe it's a crow griffon thing. Next thing I noticed, the graveyard is swarming with crows and ravens. They all converge solely on Ghast Coin and Hen Reek, ignoring all the dead bodies nearby, then start feasting.

"Farewell, dear comrades," Eileen says with her front claws clasped. "May their wings carry you from this nightmare of blood and beasts, to the peace of a hunter's dream."

She turns to face me, and it's only now I realize how alien she looks. Her face is completely covered by a wooden mask fit for griffons. The beak looks a little too long, though. I can't see past the eye holes, making it look like she had pits of blackness for eyes. There's no opening for her mouth so there's a distinct hollowing to her voice when she speaks. She had not escaped that fight unscathed either. Obviously, her back must be aching tremendously. She's bleeding from several stab wounds. There's no way those came from Hen Reek's saw cleaver, so he must have had more of those throwing knives.

"You're not bad, new hunter," Eileen says. "Pretty good, in fact." She jabs a blood vial into her arm, then tosses me one after a quick inspection of my wounds.

"I'm not exactly proud of my work," I mutter. I jab the vial into my foreleg. Well, if I'm infected with something, I might as well enjoy the benefits. I can't help but still marvel that this blood is actually helping my wounds close, not just providing relief. The rough edges of the bite mark near my collar twitch a bit from the effects.

Eileen sits next to a wizened tree. From the way she softly grunts from it, and the rasp in her tone, I'm guessing she's not quite as spry as she ought to be for her job. "I understand," she says. "A hunter should hunt beasts. The hunting of hunters should be left to me." She chuckles briefly. "That is not to chastise you for taking part in this task. I appreciate the help, but try to keep your hooves clean."

"My hooves are already filthy," I say while looking at the frenzy of feeding. "You don't like me cutting into your work?"

"My work pays nothing," Eileen replies. "Cut in if you insist, but remember; to hunt beasts is laudable, to hunt hunters is regretable."

"Then, why do it?" I ask. "You can't possibly like watching hunters slowly lose their equinity."

"Because this too is hunter's work. Ugly, but necessary."

"Maybe if you do your part hunting beasts, fewer hunters will lose themselves." I'm quibbling. It's not fair to Eileen certainly, but this twisting knot in my gut let's nothing but bitter resentment out of my mouth. She had been watching. Maybe she could have killed these Ponyvillians before they shot Viola. Ghast Coin wouldn't have turned, and that filly wouldn't have been orphaned.

"I told Ghast Coin to retire," Eileen said. "I understand that you want this to be my fault, colt, but I have many marks to watch, especially tonight with so many beasts out: the crazed one with the guns, the martyr's apprentice, the agent in the academy, you, even Vicar Belle, and she's not even formally a hunter." Her voice softens to a hiss. "And there's the bloody crow somewhere still out there. I cannot keep constant track of so many."

"Seems a bad idea that there's only one of you, then."

"There's a bad idea involved, colt, if you have the patience for history, I'd tell you."

I glance at two places; the entrance to the graveyard, to remind me that I have to do something about Ghast Coin's daughter, and that flight of stairs deeper into the graveyard, which seems to be a path to the Church of Harmony. "Go ahead," I say. "I'd appreciate being less in the dark here." Of course, I won't mind postponing my second meeting with that filly either.

Eileen settles in to a more comfortable position. "My predecessor was appointed by old Applejack herself," she says. "She was chosen because of her skill in fighting duels, and because she hailed from Griffonia. Applejack believed that a foreigner would have fewer personal bonds with Ponyville's hunters, and would be able to dispatch them with less trouble. It was a wise move. This was a time when Ponyville was small, and the only beasts that were a problem were the few that came out of the Everfree. The Hunter's Workshop at that time was a small side venture of Sweet Apple Acres, comprised of nothing more than Applejack, her siblings, and a few apprentices. They were all that were needed to keep the beasts at bay. They supported each other while the Hunter of Hunters watched from a distance."

Eileen let out a sigh, and flipped her weapon over, catching it by the blade. It 's a curious thing. Right now, it's shaped as short sword with a slight curving blade, but the two components that form it are obvious enough. The two curved daggers stuck together, their shapes resembling entwining snakes, to form the sword. A faint hum is coming from them, I think. The cawing and flying nearby makes it hard to hear right.

"Those arrangements changed eventually," Eileen continued. "A prying unicorn, who couldn't leave well enough alone, discovered the ruins beneath the old castle in the Everfree. She and her companions, including Applejack, delved into the place, and discovered some sacred treasure or another. When they brought pieces of it back, the troubles started. The beasts of the Everfree grew more bold, and the Hunter's Workshop had to take in a few more apprentices, and had to work harder. Old Applejack's beloved farm had to shrink as the workshop had to grow."

"That unicorn..." I murmur. "Princess Twilight?" My eyes narrow. So Applejack knows Princess Twilight. I'm going to get more information from her for sure. If only I have a way to get to the workshop without getting my ribs crushed.

"Yes," Eileen replies. "That came later. She established the Everfree Academy, and had the nerve to build it in Everfree so it's close to the ruins. Through that institution, she created her Magical Mystery Cure, and became a great princess."

"And Ponyville grew enormously as pilgrims came and settled because of the cure," I say. "But what is this Magical Mystery Cure?"

Eileen merely shrugs. "All I know is that these blood vials we're using are a very weak imitation of it."

I furrow my brows at this. These powerful, invigorating things are merely bad fakes? How good is the real thing, then?

"Let me get to the bad idea then," Eileen says. "The Church of Harmony emerged around Princess Twilight, founded by her close friends. It controlled the ministration of the Magical Mystery Cure, and quickly gained a lot of power. With the beast incursions increasing due to the greater amount of prey nearby, and the disturbance that was the Academy, the Church of Harmony offered to subsume the Hunter's Workshop into its organization, and allow more hunters to join. Applejack rightly rubbished the idea. Though times were difficult, her small organization still stemmed the tide. Unfortunately, she had a reputation for insisting on doing things by herself. The Church of Harmony continuted its pressure, eventually converting Applejack's brother."

Eileen spoke that last part as if it was a curse. She flicked her weapon again, and continued to inspect it. "He had the knowledge of the Hunter's Workshop with him, and he used it to create the Church of Harmony's Workshop. Through it, the Church of Harmony made the hunt public, declaring that it was every pony's duty to fight beasts, because "harmony", or some such rubbish. Macintosh should have known better, and Applejack was adamantly against it, but he was that sold on 'harmony'" Eileen chuckled wryly. "Perfectly reasonable, right? After all, what would the First Hunter know about hunting? Their workshop mass produced gear for the idiot Ponyvillians who signed up, then sent these mobs to the slaughter. It worked for a while, until it was obvious that the beast's feral nature contaminated those that fought them. Hunters left and right fell to their bloodlust, creating more beasts. There was no way the Hunter of Hunters could possibly control them. By the time, the Church of Harmony sent out its medical squads to assist in dispatching the blood-drunk, it was too late. The beast plague had begun, and Ponyville began its descent to this."

Eileen gestured to her surroundings with a wing. "And there's your bad idea."

"Seems to me that your job was rendered useless before you even got it," I reply.

"I thought so once," Eileen said. "As far as preventing the the beastly scourge is concerned, the Hunter of Hunters has failed. Though my work may have lost its end goal," she grips her weapon tightly, and points it at me. I can definitely hear it humming now. "I will continue to give this mercy to the hunters that still remain as long as I can."

The cawing and flapping finally stop. I turn around, and see that the crows have gone, along with every inch of Ghast Coin and Hen Reek. "Well," I say "I have my own task to take care of, Eileen. Thank you for your help."

Eileen sheaths her blades, and rises. "Think nothing of it. See that I don't have to grant you my mercy as well, colt." With that, she takes wing, swiftly disappearing into the night sky. I sigh and face the long walk back to Ghast Coin's house. That filly shouldn't be alone in that house that nopony's going to return to. Perhaps, I can get her to Red Heart.

Yes, that would be for the best. That's the most mercy I can grant.

Author's Note:

PREY SLAUGHTERED

Level points gained distributed to VIT and END because you're still in the Dark Souls mindset that if you put enough points in your defensive stats and find some heavy armor, you'll start tanking this bitch.

Perk acquired - Summoning Scrub
That's two bosses you downed with help, you chicken shit. From now on, you deal 20% less damage to enemies attacking someone else.

Perk acquired - Healing Scrub
Maybe if you dodged instead of face-tanking all the time, you wouldn't need so many blood vials, would you? If you consume 3 blood vials in a 10 second time period, your vial count is reduced to zero.

Actual note: I can't do Eileen's Northern England accent. If anyone can suggest how to make her dialogue sound more like that without resorting to Funetik Aksent, I'd appreciate it.

Comments

[Jake The Army Guy]

Vicar Belle

Oh, no. Oh, Sweetie, I'm sorry...

Great chapter. Like how you combined the two encounters. My only criticism up to this point is the names. Ghast Coin was okay, but "Hen Reek" is kinda cheesy. You might consider "localizing" a bit more, using pony names in place of simply ponifying the names of the characters.

[Visiden Visidane]

7010510
Yeah, I was reaching there.

[Jake The Army Guy]

7011078

Like... do I even want to know what Hen Reek's special talent is? Based off his name, I guess he shovels avian feces...

[Visiden Visidane]

7011308

Yes, in the same way Applejack's special talent is boozing and Rarity's special talent is being rare. Or Silver Spoon's talent is cutlery or Filthy Rich's talent is just being rich.

Besides, shoveling avian faeces is vital in Ponyville/Yharnam. Have you SEEN the crows there?

[Reader Review]

Oh geez I don't want to imagine a world where one's blood vials could get destroyed but certain attacks. But these little details really help bring the story to life. Overall this was an enjoyable read, with the savage battle between the hunters being of particular interest.

Bonus points for taking pot shots at Project Horizons immersion shattering chapter footnotes.

[DannyJ]

Embrace the phonetic accent, Vis. You know it's the only true way.

Great perks, by the way. Absolutely vital for any playthrough story.

[Visiden Visidane]

7073537

Seek Paleblood to transcend the hoont.

[Zheroxzone]

Was wondering when someone would make a Bloodborne fic,theres a lot of Souls fics but to my knowledge your the first to make one. Gonna be following this for sure.

"Fear the Old Blood"

[Zheroxzone]

Id like to share something with you guys, while your reading this story go and check out Alex Roe's channel on youtube ill leave a link and listen to his Bloodborne covers it can really set the atmosphere for some of the chapters. https://www.youtube.com/user/RoeTaKa

[Follower of Chaos]

I like the idea of adding Hen Reek to the boss fight so we can see the friends fight together, even after losing their sanity and the actual fight was great. However what exactly drove Hen Reek over the edge in this scenario? In the game, it was Gascoigne's death and finding the corpse that drove Henryk mad and Gascoigne's daughter was also dead at that point. Here it just seems like Hen Reek saw Ghast Coin had lost it and decided to join in, sparing no thought for their daughter that calls him uncle and now has nothing. Just seems like a waste of a character if you're just going to throw him in there and be rid of him just as fast.

He might as well not even be in the story is all I'm saying.

[Visiden Visidane]

8817221

You have no proof that it was the sight of Gascoigne's dead body that threw Henryk off the edge. For all we know, he was already nuts by the time he made it to the graveyard. It's a good theory that ties in with the fan theory that Henryk was Gascoigne's father-in-law, but that's it. That you expect me to abide by this fan theory as if it were canon is stupid.

The story is in first person narrative in the Good Hunter's perspective. What did you expect? That Hen Reek would show up and go "OH NO MY DAUGHTER IS DEAD AND MY SON IN LAW IS A LUNATIC GRAWHGHWAHGH". What a stupid scene that would be. As far as the Good Hunter was concerned his eyes were opened to the horrible reality that hunters do just snap at some point. He had no way of knowing who Hen Reek was. Am I supposed to write an extra chapter dedicated to Hen Reek's point of view just so he could die? Ridiculous.