#hunter mob

"Yer bettar off dead!"

The sharp smell of Gunpowder mixes with the stench of Yharnam streets. For a moment the flash casts long shadows of the two figures remaining on the streets below the Church workshop. The crack echoes through narrow corridors and empty houses.

The buckshot stops the bestial man dead in his tracks, axe still raised to strike even as he stumbles backwards. His already tattered coat acquires a few new holes, red stains spreading around them -but that is not enough to put one partially transformed down and the shot is soon followed by a flash of steel.  Metal meets skin, meat and bone as the broad side of a spear digs into the Yharnamites side, striking hard enough to crack ribs. With his organs now a bloody mess of bone and viscera, the man hunches down and falls to his knees -supported only by the leverage of the spear still lodged in his stomach -  blood now pouring from underneath the leather mask and garb. He raises his head to gaze at his killer, recognizing only the black hat of a Church Hunter, and for a second understanding shows in his murky, blood-ridden eyes.He understands now who this blonde-haired, bespectacled man is and knows his fate.

"This town's...curs'd" Is all he manages to choke out before life leaves his body along with its last breath.

Vincent waits a second, staring at the corpse slumped at the end of his trick weapon – waiting for any further sign of life. When there is none, he raises his boot and slides off the former Yharnamite off the blade and holds it downwards, surveying the area. Three human figures and two hounds, all bodies in the fight accounted for. He stands there for several seconds, breath even, mind counting down the ticks of a clock, ears perked and eyes scanning the dingy alley for any sign of impending danger. With only the quiet crackle of an abandoned torch as the night’s response, he straightens up and flicks the switch on the handle of his spear. The head slides on its hinges, moving back to its place as the tip of a spear, worn mechanism groaning through the blood pooling down from the blade.

Footsteps echo through the cobbled streets as the hunter continues on deeper into the cramped district – if it can be called as such. Cleaning up the streets, noting every nook and knowing which houses can be opened quickly became his routine for new areas and this one is no exception. So far there was nothing worthy of attention other than the unusual leather garbs of the few crazed men he found wandering the premises, but examination of those yielded little results besides the obvious (butcher-like smock, leather masks, stained cloth – possible affiliation with some sect but no further evidence) and the expected (changes on the same level as other specimens, left side further in progression). The unusual horned beast he landed on top of after his hike down the tower proved to be a much more interesting case, but now it was time to scout the area. Most doors locked, the usual assortment of coffins and other objects cluttering the ground. Must take note of bottles, potentially a-

Slurp

Vincent stops and listens. He cranes his neck and moves his head to the side and there it is again - a sound like muck seeping down a hole. He heard it before but did not meet anything he could assign it to. It remained a mystery to be solved and now it is close – to the right and down the stairs, in the dark. With the grip on the Rifle Spear’s shaft tightening, he turns and slowly shuffles forward – that kind of opportunity cannot be missed.

Slurp

His feet carry him down the steps – one by one, as silently as possible. To the eyes straining from behind battered spectacles, a dark shape soon emerges from the darkness of the back alley. A hunched down creature - noticeably humanlike – sitting above an unmoving dark mass, most likely a corpse. Feeding, most likely which usually means less attention to the surrounding area. Vincent’s mind goes through the list of possibilities and options to take. A frontal charge is out of the question – not with a specimen that seems new and therefore could surprise him. Even a surprise strike will put him in a predicament if it fails. A shot from the blunderbuss will only agitate it, if previous results are of any indication – the Plague seems to strengthen the body enough to shrug off close-range buckshot. Fire then, all transformed panic under its effects and their new fur and old clothes catch on quick – but the Flamesprayer’s range will be too short and paramount to a frontal charge. No, the fire bottles are a better option – allowing more distance to retreat if the strategy proves to be ineffective. Not to mention there is no shortage of them lying around and the pale children back in the Dream can pull up a seemingly infinite supply when given enough ‘payment’. Yes, that seems to be the best choice.

With the tactic decided, the hunter carefully props the spear on the railing and reaches underneath the faulds of his coat for the tool belt, eyes not leaving the creature for a single moment. There his fingers carefully unhook the glass container from a secured pouch that prevents it from making noise during movement and brings it out along with a pocket lighter. With the distance judged he squeezes the device, sending sparks onto the cocktail’s makeshift fuse. The moment it alights, he hears a change of tone in the slurping sound and a shift in movement, and without any further clues he was sensed – throws the bottle into the corner. Sound of shattering glass mixes with a high-pitched, pained shriek of the creature now engulfed in flames, it’s arms flailing around in mad panic. Yet it moves still and that is not enough for the hunter – a direct hit is needed.

Weapon back in hands he rushes down the steps, two at a time – gaining momentum for the strike aimed at the monster’s torso. In the last second before the attack connects, he notices the creature whipping its head around and sees a pale face wreathed in a blur of white strands. But then the sharp point pierces through, Vincent’s full body weight behind it – and that is enough to throw both of them colliding into the nearby wall and railing. Regaining his bearings and managing to keep his balance he quickly looks at his opponent, trying to discern if the fight is over. The figure still shoulders, tiny fires dancing on the dirty fabric of whatever cloth it’s wearing but otherwise gives no indication that it’s now nothing more than a smoking corpse. With a long exhale of a breath he didn't’t know he was holding, the hunter steps back and wretches the spear free from the carcass. It hits the ground with a dull thud but it’s unusual coloration quickly catches his eye, and after a quick look around for more danger he kneels down next to it.

First thing that stands out is the head he saw before in a flash – a grotesque mess of what seems to be tentacles blossoming out from a misshapen hole where the lower jaw would be, it’s edge traveling upwards almost as if to split the skull in two.  From underneath the strands two empty sockets peer lifelessly into the Yharnam night. Giving the rest of the body a look too he discovers its skin is unlike that of the other transformed – slick and smooth compared to rough and hairy. It is unique among the horrors he saw in this cursed place. Scientific curiosity overtakes his mind and throws caution to the wind as he decides he simply needs to study it more closely right now, rather than finish scouting the area.

Looking through the houses while dragging around a dead body is probably not the most cautious thing to do but the unknown being has sparked a fire in Vincent's mind. He has theorized before -during the visits to the Dream - that this plague is more than just a simple bestial infection and is connected to the other strange phenomena he's seen in Yharnam before - and this humanoid will be his first step to unravel that mystery. Finally, one of the houses front door opens and he peers inside. As with all the abandoned houses in this city it is dark and cluttered but even with the little amount of light shining from outside he can spot a table in the middle of the room. Soon enough all the dusty tableware is shoved off the furniture, resulting in a cacophony of metal and plates hitting the floor - but he does not care. With a huff the hunter lifts and places the surprisingly light body on the table. It didn't take him long to find a lamp that still worked and with that source of light he could start working.

The sharpened, poisoned knives used by the tall, pale Church Hunters he encountered through the district seemed to be the perfect replacement to a scalpel - though he regrets not having his other tools that were nowhere to be found after entering this godforsaken city. At the very least he has a spare pair of white surgical gloves found on the corpse in one of the dark alleyways. After retrieving one from his pockets and cleaning it off from the poison that would just get in the way, he also places his notebook and pen on the table to take notes. Now with preparations done, the cloth robe is torn off the creature and the examination begins. The standard formula begins to play in his head as his hands methodically check the being's skin, head and limbs. Notes on their elasticity, appearance and texture are taken. Sketches are drawn, lengths measured and written down. The head is especially interesting, it's twisted mess of gnarled tentacles delicately pulled at and cut for more specific examination. It seems as if they are connected directly to (or through) the skull, something previously unseen in all his studies. Whatever this monstrosity is, it's chaotic appearance seems to indicate it is not of natural origin - a likely explanation considering what the Yharnamites became under the effects of the plague.

So is it human then? Is it something similar to the pale Church Hunters? The only way to find out was the examine it more thoroughly - a dissection and autopsy of the cadaver is needed to fully understand. Soon enough the scalpel makes three incisions in the torso and the skin is pulled back to reveals the creature's milky white innards. The sight of the pale, oozing blood is unusual in itself but the twisted mess of organs is even more unnatural. What should be disturbing only makes the hunter more eager to understand it. The individual viscus are removed one by one from the ventral cavity and placed on the table over pieces of cloth. Upon inspection all of them seem to be similar in shape to human organs but morphed and melded together, some of them even fully integrated into each other - thus giving credibility to his theory of this being another human transformed by the disease. But with those new discoveries he begins to wonder if it cannot be used for improvement of the human body - but for this a live study would be needed and he doubts he will get a chance to check just how the thing works anytime soon. Oh, how those fools at the Academy would cry at the sight of this being! He imagined them crawling and bowling over for just a chance to examine it and smiles through his work.

Moving the corpse onto it's back he begins to examine the spinal cord and bone structure, finding that the osseous matter seems to have softened and partially transformed into a more cartilaginous form. As for the spinal column it almost seems as if was expanded to accommodate larger amounts of cerebrospinal fluid. The last thing to be examined is the head and when he moves towards it, Vincent notices a certain pull from the extremity. He pauses and concentrates on the buzzing, familiar feeling - almost like whispering on the edge of his consciousness. He realizes it is the same strange sensation he felt when coming across those skulls through the city - stripped of all flesh and gleaming more than possible. He remembers his need to extract something from them, the little glimpses of something great when he split them open, like raw knowledge worming itself inside his mind. For a brief moment he hesitates - his more rational part tells him he should still examine the head, the brain and how it all connects. But that is quickly smothered by the unnatural desire he feels for that sliver of insight. Soon it is almost irresistible in it's call, thumping inside his head like it wants to break free. Before he realizes what he's doing his hands wrap themselves around the creature's head and crush it.

The bloody mess of white and grey is only dully noted as his perception is far more busy with the uncanny process taking place in his mind. Shards of memories that are not his assault his thoughts, pouring images and sounds. Things he cannot fully understand yet flash before his mind's eye - brilliant things far more powerful that whatever he has seen through his life and studies.

Ah, how small he feels right now in this moment! How insignificant and base his existence and knowledge is before this Greatness! Like an inmate he peers through the keyhole in some hope of glimpsing what is locked from him! The secrets that lie beyond this door call out to him, and he sees the Pale Sky just for a briefest flicker.

But soon enough the walls of his cognition close down on him and Vincent finds himself hunched over the creature again - in this dusty, abandoned, dirty room. In the middle of some godforsaken place, full of snarling beasts and annalistic humans. No, this will not do. He raises himself from the bloody mess barely noticing the viscera splattered over his coat, beard and face. He needs to know what lies beyond there, danger be damned - and this city will be the key to the door. He will find it. He will get past this obstacle. He will know. He needs to know.

Picking up his spear and exiting the building, there is only one goal in his mind: