Anderson Quest: Killing Vampires and Werewolves and Leprechauns (Hellsing/Bloodborne)

[Tricia]

"I'll do that," you assure him.

The rushing of wings alerts you to intruders. As you turn, bayonets held between your fingers for easy throwing, the culprits reveal themselves: a pair of massive crows struggling to clear the ladder you've just climbed. As soon as they reach the zenith, they flop onto the ground in an ungainly heap and, after a brief period of recovery, drag themselves towards the pile of bodies you left behind. The reason for their sluggishness becomes apparent when one turns to face you: their stomachs are grossly bloated.

Food's been plentiful this evening, it seems.

You turn back to Gilbert as the crows lazily peel away strips of flesh from the smorgasbord you provided them. Mentally, you put on your missionary hat and put away your "enthusiastic slaughterer of the unholy" hat.

"Just so's ye know, my job isn't just to cleanse the streets of foul beasts. I also come bearin' the Word o' Christ, He who died on the cross for the sins of man and rose again three days later. He who healed the sick and-"

"I appreciate the sentiment, Father, but I think I've had my fill of churches."

Well, shit. You were on a roll and everything. You deflate slightly before he continues speaking.

"The Healing Church is to the east, past the great bridge. I've been to the Grand Cathedral; they have giants carrying axes with heads bigger than a man's whole body. They have Hunters, real Hunters, not like the rabble out there. And they're nowhere to be found. They close the bridge on nights of the Hunt and don't come out until the day after to 'generously' help clean up."

He sighs, which quickly turns into another coughing fit. It takes him almost a minute to reach a point where he can speak again.

"Help these people. Nobody deserves this. Nobody deserves to lose their mind and turn into a monster and nobody deserves to sit in their home in the night wondering if this will be the day the incense stops working. If your God can do that, I'll follow Him for what's left of my life."

You were already planning to give the Church a good talking to. Now? the lucky ones are going to be the ones you don't leave alive for questioning.

"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. That includes choppin' up a buncha heathen cunts."

Gilbert starts to laugh, stops himself, then continues when he realizes his body won't interrupt him. You're certain he's smiling, though you can't make out any details of his features.

"Then best of luck, Father Anderson. If you can't get through via the bridge, try the aqueducts to the south. Find somewhere safe for the people trapped here."

[] Take the right-hand path

[] Examine the gate

[] Poke the crows with a stick

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

The whole time you've been talking, the two crows have been squawking happily as they munch on your miniature abattoir. One of them seems to finally be full, rolling around contentedly with its pendulous belly in the air

While you're deciding the best way to get to your intended destination, a fancy strikes you. Carefully, you reach forward and pick up a discarded axe. Gripping it just below the head, you lean in and prod the sated crow with the handle. It gives you a dirty look, then returns to laying on its back.

You poke it again and this time, after a blur of motion and a painful-sounding crunch, half the handle is gone. The crow shakes its head, sending the removed portion flying from its beak, before giving you a sort of threatening gurgle.

Huh.

[] Take the right-hand path

[] Examine the gate

[] Write in...

--

Don't worry, you'll get another, full update later today. Also "Poke with a stick" beat out "poke with a bayonet," but not "with a bayonet" and "with explosive bayonets" together. I still picked the former because the mental image is more amusing to me.

 

[Tricia]

You figure it's best to just leave well enough alone. The crows are pretty much the only cleanup system you're likely to find in this city besides fire which, for all of its entertainment value, tends to get out of hand fairly easily.

You make your way down the right-hand path, down towards the main streets of the city. Said streets and the walkways you're accessing them via are choked with debris, from sacks of unidentifiable materials to wooden crates to chained-up coffins you're prepared to put a dozen bayonets through if they so much as fucking quiver. From the short bridge near the gate, you can see roving patrols of townspeople, most of them bestial, walking among broken-down carriages and sporadic fires.

They are really committed to the Frankenstein aesthetic.

As you make your way farther down, a man with an axe bursts from behind a set of coffins, rather more slowly than he would have if he had just gone around them. Either way, he's well-ventilated before he can take more than three steps and you continue down the steps.

You spot a patrol, three pitchfork men and one with a gun, coming your way as you're about to reach ground level. As far as you can tell, they haven't seen you yet.

Perfect time for a dramatic entrance.

You tense and leap, crashing down directly in their path. As they scramble to reorient themselves, you rear up to your full height and produce a pair of your blessed blades.

"When darkness fills the hearts of men
The faithful t-"

Gun Guy cuts you off with a frantic shot that goes well wide. You note with some amusement that the gun hadn't reached his shoulder before he fired and he's now writhing in pain with a clearly-separated shoulder.

"The faithful turn to Anderson."

God, first the Nazis and now these dickheads. No appreciation for good...fuck you, Gehrman.

The three remaining ones advance slowly behind their pitchforks, jabbing at you from out of range. You can see axeman and a man with a cleaver running to join the fray, alerted by the gunshot. Two of the three look back to see how close they are.

Rookie mistake.

Those two have bayonets coming in one ear and out the other in a heartbeat. The remaining one turns to see what just happened and you rip the pitchfork from his hand and run him through. With a heave, you lift the pitchfork, the man still struggling futilely to pull it out of his chest, and bring him down hard onto the cleaver man.

You've always wanted to beat a motherfucker with another motherfucker.

With two suffering from the effects of impromptu trepanation, one still rolling on the ground with a fucked arm, and two twitching in a pile of broken bones and tears, the one remaining patrolman looks you dead in the eye and brings the axe down hard enough to bury it halfway into the cobbles.

"Ain't dyin' to no beast," he rumbles.

Ordinarily, he might be right. It's clear just how physically strong these guys are. Unfortunately, you've dealt with strong before. He rushes with a yell and, to his credit, only loses an ear to a bayonet you'd aimed between his eyes.

He still loses his arm at the elbow when his swing goes wide. He can't dodge the one you shove through the back of his head.

These guys are physical powerhouses and their reflexes are tremendous. They're just too slow and it's clear that none of them really know how to fight.

After looting their blood vials and teaching the gun guy that it's a bad idea to lunge for his weapon while his head's within crushing distance, you take a look around. Behind you, you can see what you're fairly certain is the gate you ran into by the ladder. In front of it sits another lever much like the one that brought down said ladder.

It'd certainly be an easier way to get anyone you find back to the clinic.

You walk on down towards it, noticing as you do the corpse of some poor bastard burning on a cross. As you're about to pull the lever, heavy footsteps alert you to someone behind the nearby carriage and coffins.

He's big. Tall, broad, and walking in a crouched stance that suggests he knows how to use the gigantic axe he holds in his hands. He's well-armored, too, a first among the Yharnamites you've seen. You can't make out his face under his heavy hood, but judging by the way he's consciously keeping as much room for lateral movement as he approaches, he's got good situational awareness.

A real fighter at last.

You're still piecing together a good quip in your head when he rushes, unusually fast for his size. You charge to meet him before he can get out of the alley, shoulder-checking him further into it. Though surprised, he manages to keep his footing after stumbling back. He quickly looks to each side and, judging by the way he adjusts his grip on the axe, comes to the same realization you did: there isn't enough room for him to swing freely.

You approach slowly, watching. He sends out a quick vertical cut that you sidestep, but don't have room to counter before he's back in a defensive posture. You continue advancing, this time consciously leaving space open to your right.

He takes the bait. He reaches forward and grabs at you with his free hand, looking to shove you aside and put you between him and the dead end. Unfortunately for him, this lets you get behind him and, with a vicious tug on his cape, you bring him to the cobbles. He barely manages an attempt to pull his cape away from you before he's got a couple feet of Vatican steel pinning his face to the ground.

It's just like that one film you took the kids at the orphanage to see a while ago. They were quoting the little short woman for weeks.

You frisk him of his blood vials and give the lever a tug. The gate creaks open with protest, giving you easy access to the clinic from street level.

Now, about all the other lads you heard making a ruckus down the road.

[] Look for lanterns, see if anyone needs help

[] Take out everyone in the street, then look to see if anyone needs help

[] Leave some alive for questioning

[] Write in...

--

Would you guys like full updates for minibosses like the Executioner, or is it alright to just add the fights to regular updates? As is, Executioner is about one tier below the guys Anderson would have to push himself against, so I wasn't going to ask for specific strategies for him or the Brick Trolls.

 

[Tricia]

Part of you wants to rip up the cobblestones to figure out how exactly pulling a lever can open a gate that, you've checked, has no visible connection to the ground. On the same note, how did the other one drop the ladder? Were there gears in the wall? Do the levers wake up a bunch of invisible gnomes that go and move things for you?

You decide to just turn around and make your way further into the city, although you do spend a bit of time wondering what would come out of an invisible gnome if you stabbed it. More carriages and burning crosses line your way as you slosh through puddles of what certainly isn't water. Though you can hear them in the distance, it seems that no patrols have yet discovered the scenes of assorted carnage you've left behind.

You catch sight of your first incense lantern before long, sitting at the foot of a large copper-colored door. You can smell another up a short stairway nearby. Maybe some more sheep for the flock?

You give the copperish door a knock.

"Lousy offcomer. Who'd open their door on a night of the hunt? Away with you," the inhabitant informs you before you can give a second knock.

"What did-"

"Now!"

Fine. Her funeral, you guess. Maybe the guy up the stairway will be more open-minded.

The guy up the stairway, who got prime real estate right next to a well, just tells you to piss off.

You admit, they're not exactly being unreasonable. For all they know, you could be a landshark, trying to lure them out with your sharkish wiles so you can eat them. Just like that one you killed in Peru.

Nothing for it but to keep looking. You continue your march down the street, pausing to shove a bayonet through the head of a wise guy who was hiding behind a carriage.

There's a huge mass of them in a wide plaza, surrounding an enormous cross on which burns a creature whose one remaining arm is as long as two of these men stacked together. You can hear something big pounding on a barred gate. A level above the plaza, you can see an open archway leading further into Yharnam.

Unfortunately, while there are some short stairways to access the upper area, none are tall enough for another dramatic entrance. Unless...

You make your way up the stairs on which the sniper guy was waiting for you, dispatching another ambusher. The mob seems too enraptured by the burning cross to pay much attention, which lets you get within throwing distance unimpeded.

Only a couple of them seem to notice when one of your "special" bayonets buries its way into the bonfire. The rest start to pay attention when the explosion sends flaming splinters hurtling into their faces and torsos.

The screams aren't quite loud enough to drown out the groaning of wood as the cross slowly tilts to the ground, still aflame. A broken carriage ignites from the scattered bits of the bonfire and the plaza descends into mayhem.

"Behold the wrath of the LORD!" you yell, caught up in the moment. "Repent your heathen ways and let the flames of righteousness burn away your sins!"

Your wild laughter is cut short by a heavy blow to your shoulder. You look about, grinning, and pick out the one guy frantically trying to reload his cumbersome firearm. You charge through the fire and bodies and rip the weapon out of his hand before he can level it. You loom over him as he tries to scoot away.

"Did I fuckin' stutter?"

You're pretty sure he pissed himself before you stuck a bayonet between each rib.

Alright, you've had your fun. Whatever was pounding on the gate is still going at it with gusto. You're right near the open portcullises, so you figure you'll meet them soon enough.

[] Continue making your way downtown (walking fast)

[] Go back and keep trying to convince those jerks to leave

[] Force the big gate open

[] Write in...

--

I am so thankful for ENB's detailed playthrough on YouTube so I can make sure I've got the layout of each area at least kinda right.

 

[Tricia]

Alright, here was my other pick for a protagonist.

SO NON-CANON IT HURTS

The skeletal, tentacled being descended slowly from the moon with a grace wholly alien to its grotesque appearance. Through its empty face, it observed the scene with some curiosity.

The beautiful white field was ruined, gouges as wide as a man was tall carved through the flowers with ferocious intensity. Its vassal lay broken, weapon shattered, with an incongruous look of serenity on his dead face as he shimmered into nothingness. Another man stood over him, clad in yellow with eyes downcast. He turned to meet the creature's endless gaze.

No fear. Just disappointment.

Curious.

With a force of will, the being entered the man's mind, not as invader but as observer. To destroy its vassal without a scratch, to observe its impossible form without a hint of fear or awe; what could this man be?

It looked deep into the journey that took him here and it saw.

The streets of Yharnam, cleared with terrifying efficiency.

Children carried to the safety of a good Doctor, their father and mother ragged but alive.

Breaking bread with the Chapel Dweller, bringing a smile to its sullen face.

The Vicar, felled in one blow.

Old Hunter Djura, aghast as the Blood-Starved Beast crashes through the old chapel roof and into the horizon, too far for him to see even from his lofty perch.

The labyrinthine Forbidden Woods cleared in a straight line, all obstacles blown aside. Rom battered.

The One Reborn leaving a trail of destroyed architecture as it careens from an incredible blow. It is dead on impact, long before it finally comes to rest well outside the confines of the village.

Ebrietas taking the same look into his mind and prostrating herself before him. Him leaving her be, asking her why, with all her strength, she remains a prisoner.

The Mensis Brain felled with a stone, hurled from the first Lamp of the Nightmare with impossible speed and accuracy.

Micolash beaten senseless. The Wet Nurse struck with such force that the Nightmare itself bends and warps around it, unable to process that sort of impact.

And here, in the eternal serenity of the Hunters Dream it crafted so long ago, The First Hunter's monstrous power turned aside and destroyed.

Curious.

It touched down silently and approached him. At no point in its advance did the man break the closest thing to eye contact he could achieve. Tentatively , it reached forward to embrace him and impart the knowledge of his new role.

He glared at it.

The being, nameless and ageless, felt the fear of death for the first time in its very long life.

It scrambled backwards, all semblance of grace lost as it tumbled over itself in an effort to be as far away from this thing as possible. In a horrid parody of speech, it screeched out the question whose answer it could not find.

"What are you?!"

The man's bald head glinted in the false sunlight as he reached down with his red-gloved hand and adjusted his pants to remove a wedgie.

"Just a guy with a hobby."

 

[Tricia]

It's a full five seconds after the gunman's assisted shuffle off the mortal coil before you notice that your shoulder is still bleeding. As far as you can tell, the wound's still closing, but at a noticeably retarded pace. It feels almost like the time that undead prick damn near blew your arm off in London, like there's something about the wound that's interfering with your regeneration.

What the hell do they make their bullets out of?

You're snapped out of your confusion by a particularly violent blow to the gates. Though the metal bar shoves through the handles is still holding strong, you can see it beginning to warp under the impacts.

Might be a good idea to nip this problem in the bud.

The blows continue to rain down at what you determine to be steady intervals, one every three seconds or so. By the sounds of too-heavy footsteps preceding each strike, he's gotten impatient and begun taking running starts. You can use that.

After the next earth-rattling strike, you pop the bar free, back off, and wait. You're rewarded soon after as a huge shape hurtles through the now-unresisting gate, stumbles, and skids a far distance on the stones.

He's nearly as big as the one with the axe, but the similarities end there. Rather than sleek armor, he's clad in torn strips of fabric on his upper body and thankfully-intact trousers from the waist down. He possesses a massive hump and, you note as he rises deliberately to his feet, a bandaged face twisted into rage that not even his deformities can hide.

The brick in his hands is dripping.

"Well, my friend, it's a good thing the LORD only cares about what's in yer heart."

Huh. You didn't think it was possibly for his face to get angrier, but there you go.

He rushes you with a wound-up swing that he doesn't so much telegraph as release trailers for in advance. You sidestep it with ease and he struggles to stop his own momentum, a venture made more difficult by the two bayonets you've shoved into his back.

Whatever's in that hump, though, it's not anything important and he rounds on you with a bestial snort. Apparently deciding that his earlier problem was that he just didn't swing hard enough, he winds up until he's almost side-on and pounds towards you.

He's so aggressive and massive that, when you step inside the blow with a bayonet in your hand, the handle is halfway into his forehead before he finally stops. Silently, he collapses, his head landing on your shoulder as the rest of him goes limp. Before you bump him off, you imagine it looks like a touching scene from a Hunchback of Notre Dame remake.

The still-smoldering flames add an extra layer of authenticity.

You walk through the gates to find yourself in another plaza, this one with a surprisingly tasteful and well-constructed fountain in the center amid the standard assortment of sandbags and broken carriages. Up and to the left, you can see the telltale smoke of an incense lantern, while the sound of men and dogs occupies the right.

[] To the left, to the left

[] To the right to rouse the rabble

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

Well, the path to the clinic isn't going to stay clear of (living) hazards forever. Probably best to get the recruiting done as soon as you can.

You make your way onto the upper left walkway, stopping to examine a strange piece of stone on the belt of a corpse. It's bizarre-looking, shaped almost like a double helix and tinged with the red of blood. Said stains appear to be inside the structure rather than the product of the rather plentiful quantities surrounding the body. It's also warmer than it probably should be.

Whatever it is, it's a cool enough trinket to warrant you plucking it off of him and disappearing it into the endless space of your sleeves.

The incense lantern in question sits before a pair of arched doors. Light pours from the base of the one on the right and you can hear the sounds of chatter and laughter within. Seems a bit out-of-place on a night like this, but who knows? Maybe this is the "somewhere" where it's 5 o'clock. Taking care to keep the more blood-soaked portions of your clothing out of sight so as not to give the wrong impression, you give the lit door a pair of polite knocks.

The laughs and conversation stop abruptly, to be replaced with a rapid, hushed exchange you can't quite make out. Once that ends, a female voice speaks.

"Oh, you poor dear. Are you stuck outside on a night of the Hunt?"

"No, actually, I was just wondering-"

"I can't stand to know there's someone out there on such a night," she cuts you off in the same caring tone. "Please, come inside; you can wait out this terrible business with us." You hear several locks disengage as she pushes the door slightly open.

"I'm tellin' ye, I'm not lookin' fer-"

"Please, please, I insist."

Well, maybe she'll listen to you if you're both inside.

You reach forward to open the door further, only for her to slam it in your face. Laughter erupts from inside, along with, you're certain, blatantly inaccurate imitations of what your face looked like when she did it.

"You're going to die!" she manages to wheeze through her cackles. "Alone in the streets like a dog!"

What a charming community Yharnam has.

[] Be the bigger man and walk away
--[] To the right, towards the mob you can hear
--[] To the left, down towards some kennels you can see behind the standard Yharnam detritus

[] Be petty

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

"Well," you say, putting on your best condescending face in the hope that they'll feel it through the wood, "that's not very Christianlike of ya, missy."

She either doesn't hear you or is physically incapable of responding through her howling laughter. It's annoying, sure, but a man of God knows when to turn the other cheek. You turn on your heel and make your way back towards the plaza on the other side of the gate.

You could just use that dead guy who had the weird rock on him, but you figure one of the big hairy bastards you'd chopped up would work better.

As you're going through potential candidates, looking for one that still has the necessary mass for your purposes, you notice two crows waddling towards your latest mountain of meat. You're pretty sure they're the same ones as before, a hypothesis that's confirmed when one of them, after catching sight of you, picks up a pitchfork in its beak and crushes it in two.

You suppose you are a good source of food.

You pick out a proper specimen and drag him by the ankle, humming along to the melodic dribbling of his skull on the cobbles. Returning to the offending doorway, you grab the body by the ankles and deftly hammer throw it through the windows over the archway.

In your defense, Christ did flip over a table and whale on some guys with a whip that one time.

The laughter quickly turns to shrieks and you can hear the clattering and shattering of furniture and valuables as the covey of assholes scramble to deal with their new friend.

"Ye'll be fine!" you shout over the ruckus. "I'm pretty sure none o'these pricks can jump!"

A series of barks from the opposite side of the plaza grabs your attention. It seems your little bout of defenestration caught the mob's attention.

Does it count as defenestration if you throw someone into a window? Or would it be "refenestration" or something like that? Maybe you'll ask one of these fine fellows.



No such luck, unfortunately. To be fair, though, your linguistic knowledge would probably suffer too if half of your vertebrae were on the street next to you.

[] Go down the drop you can see behind the debris to your left

[] Go to the right, towards where you first spotted the mob

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

With both sets of assholes appropriately taken care of, your thoughts turn to your next move. To your left, behind a group of coffins and crates that you're sure looked much better before you slammed a wolfman's face into them repeatedly , you can see an opening in the pointy fence leading further into the city.

Your hop down the twelve-foot-ish drop is greeted by a cacophony of barking from the kennels you're now surrounded by. One of them, roaming free, has a go at your jugular.

By the time you finish with it, the rest of the dogs have stopped barking and are trying to cram as much of themselves into the far corners of their kennels as possible.

"Good boys."

To your right lies a stairway down towards what looks like a church. On a hunch, though, you elect to go around a nearby building and up into another section of Yharnam. The next set of stairs proves a dead end, save for another dead guy with something that looks like a piece of frozen blood on his belt. After pocketing it, you head back down and try the other path, at the end of which sits the door of a house.

You're 0-3 since Iosefka, 0-4 if you count Gilbert, but nobody ever accomplished anything by giving up at the first sign of adversity.

You get to your third knock before a cutlass rams through the door, driving a decent distance into your stomach. With a sigh of annoyance, you grab the blade and pull it free of your guts before yanking it through the door, handle and all. There's a brief silence, broken only by the schlorp of your abs knitting themselves back together.

"Don't s'ppose I could 'ave that back?" the man behind the door asks weakly.

"'fraid not."

"Bugger."

You boot the door off its hinges so hard it carries the poor bastard halfway across the room and lands on top of him. You leap forward and land on it with a crunch as a man in a wheelchair frantically turns to face you. You almost feel bad about throwing a bayonet through his face until you see the bloody howitzer he's got in his arms.

There's a clatter as two more of them hurry their way downstairs. A quick bayonet thrown at the feet of the one behind and they tumble the rest of the way down. Luckily, at least in terms of efficiency, they land one atop the other, meaning you only have to use one blade to shish kebab the both of them.

They're about finished twitching before you hear the shriek.

It's high-pitched and utterly unlike any animal you've ever heard, rasping to an end after a long enough period to suggest some big-ass lungs and, by extension, probably some big-ass everything else. You can tell it's from above the roof, but still has enough volume after passing through two stories of material to make your ears ring.

Maybe it's friendly?

[] Go through the house; you're pretty sure you're near Gilbert and could use another shortcut back towards the clinic

[] Go upstairs and see what all the fuss is

[] Go back down to the opposite side of the plaza, where you first saw the mob

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

Of your options, one seems significantly less wise to procrastinate on. Probably best to deal with whatever the fuck is up there first.

The stairs creak unsettlingly, but no further resistance awaits you on your way up. On the second floor, which is mostly populated by bookshelves, a door opens to another stairway, which you would gladly run right up were it not for the two werewolves eating a guy at at the top.

Unlike the one at the clinic, these guys are moving with no difficulty, shifting position constantly in their efforts to remove every last bit of edible flesh from his bones. They're so focused on their prey that they don't even notice you making your way to the foot of the stairs.

Well, if they're distracted, there's no point in not making it easier for yourself. You hurl a bayonet towards each one's head.

Despite not looking anywhere near you, though, both manage to avoid the hit, turning their heads such that they're only grazed. They give you a mighty fine death glare, jaws dripping and eyes bloodshot.

They're on you before you can think of a quality taunt.

Their odd gait doesn't stop them from covering an impressive amount of distance and you're immediately forced back into the doorway by their aggression. Recognizing that they're too broad to make it through, you retreat further into the decrepit home and watch them snap at one another for the right to be in front on the narrow stairs. As soon as one comes out on top, it tries to force its way through one arm at a time.

As it's halfway through the frame, it can't adequately respond to your rush. You drive a pair of blades through its forehead while it's wedged in too tightly to retaliate.

The other one seems to get the hint and backs onto the walkway once again, roaring in what seems to be an attempt to egg you on. As you're never one to back down when properly egged, you make your way up to its level, leveling a fresh pair of bayonets at it as you do so. Now that you're there, you realize you're on the massive bridge you'd seen on your way through Yharnam. To your right, you see the plaza, eerily silent and motionless. Statues line both sides of the bridge, oddly unmarked by the chaos of the evening.

The remaining werewolf leaps at you with a wound-up bomb of a right claw that, you notice as you narrowly sidestep it, buries its way nearly to the finger in the stones. You manage to drive a blade into its side before a savage backhand from the same claw cracks your ribs.

Before you can catch your breath, it's headhunting with furious swipes that you struggle to dodge while your bones put themselves back together. After a pair of heavy blows whiz by your head, it takes another swing at your midsection, only to be intercepted by a bayonet through the forearm. It staggers back from the pain and, much to the detriment of its future plans of continued eating, mauling, and that other thing animals do, your ribs are fixed. Not even its crazy reflexes can save it from a bayonet to the forehead at this distance.

It takes you a few seconds to get your breathing back under control and you don't even try to keep the grin off your face. That was a fucking rush, the best you've gotten since you wound up in this Godforsaken shitheap.

That said, something's bothering you. There's no way these could have been the things that made that noise, not after hearing that one roar a challenge to you. They're bloody loud, sure, but not foundation-rattling. Something else is here.

Further down the bridge, you spot another of the big brick chaps surrounded by what at first appear to be refuse heaps but turn out to be more of those fucking crows. Seems these three had the same idea those other two did with you.

You march down the bridge, producing sparks from your bayonets as you scrape them together. Igor straightens up at the sight of you and rolls his shoulders. The crows tumble away from the coming conflict, presumably planning to eat the loser.

"He trains my hands for war, so that my arms can bend-"

Something crashes to the ground behind your opponent and screams louder than the devil.

Hearing it properly, not through two layers of wood and books and nails, is nearly enough to burst your eardrums. There's hurt there, just human enough for the calamitous noise to venture from intimidating to fundamentally disturbing. The crows squawk in panic and flap desperately off the bridge as the brick man struggles to maintain its footing under the auditory onslaught. It has just enough time to turn and size up the intruder before its whole body rockets into the sinking horizon from an incredible blow.

It's big. It's ridiculously big. It's crouching and your head doesn't even clear its hips.

It's arguably bipedal, massively tall, and grotesquely emaciated. Ribs poke through the taut skin of its chest and filthy claws extend from its spindly fingers. Its caprine head is filled with wicked teeth and crowned with huge, branching antlers. Though its front is hairless and leathery, a wild and matted mane runs down its back and along its disproportionately bulky left arm.

It looms, gorilla-like as it supports its weight on that great arm. Lean muscle rises from its hide and it screams once more. You can see the stone of the bridge crumble like clay in its grip.

Shit.

BOSS BATTLE: THE CLERIC BEAST


​

[] Write in...