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

[Tricia]

Alright, here's the omake. I recently binged a certain show and this is the result.


"Come on, Morty, we, we're going on a trip"

"Aw geeze, Rick, I've got a history test, I can't leave now. Can't you give me like forty minutes?"

"History? Look, Morty, studying history is pointless. Eli Whitney isn't gonna, isn't gonna un-invent the cotton gin because a bunch of kids didn't read about him. Come on, Morty."

"Rick, I'm serious. I have a D- in this class right now and I think they'll get suspicious if we try that Inception thing again."

"Listen to me, Morty. History is bullshit. You study history and the world's the same. You study science and, and you've got portal guns and flying saucers and this freeze gun I used on your teacher while you were distracted."

"Rick, you killed a guy the last time you used that!"

"What did I just say about history, Morty?"

"You know, they say those who don't study history are doomed to repeat it."

"That's bullshit, Morty. Look, if you're so hung up on this I'll have Abradolf Lincler tutor you or something."

"Lincler's dead, Rick!"

"Are you coming or not, Morty?"

"Urgh. Fine, Rick. Where are we going?"

"Oh, you're gonna love this place, Morty. They've got this whole Victorian London thing going. I've gotta get some of this special blood they've cooked up for my research."

"Whoa, cool, Victorian London? Is it, like, steampunk?"

"Steam-Morty, there was an actual Victorian London, you know. It's not just some setting for, for losers to staple zeppelins onto before they cry themselves to sleep at night because they're thirty years old and live with their moms. This is why you're failing history, Morty."

"I get it, I get it. Hey, this isn't gonna be like those crystals again, where you say you need things but are just using them to get high, right?"

"Crystals?"

"The, the Collaxion Crystals or whatever. You know, the ones Lincler died to get you at the party?"

"Morty, you have, you have my word as a scientist that we're not just going to Yharnam so I can get high."

"I'm gonna hold you to that, Rick."

"Fine, fine. Look, just get in the damn portal."

--

"This place is really creepy, Rick."

"It's fine, Morty. We just need to go to the chapel and oh shit Morty get down behind these barrels Morty."

"What's going on, Rick?"

"It's an angry mob, Morty. They've got torches and pitchforks and everything."

"What? Why's there an angry mob?"

"Okay, look, Yharnam might have a slight werewolf problem, alright. But Victorian London had plenty of angry mobs, Morty, so the experience is still authentic."

"'Slight?' There's an angry mob with, with torches, Rick! How is this 'slight?'"

"Hey, you don't know my standards for werewolves, Morty. I was literally up to my eyeballs in werewolves last year. And I mean literally literally, not like the, the 'literally' Jerry uses when he says he's eating 'literally' the best bagel ever every damn morning."

"So what do we do?"

"Just stay calm, Morty. We'll wait for them to pass and then get on our way."

"Couldn't we just explain that we're not werewolves?"

"Oh no, bad idea, Morty. These guys just kinda stab and burn everything. Standard angry mob behavior, not very efficient at dealing with werewolves."

--

"That's the third mob we've had to go around, Rick. Are we getting close?"

"Yeah, we're real close. Just around the corner, Morty."

"Okay, if you say so oh god Rick did you see that?"

"See what, Morty?"

"There was some kind of giant hand in the air!"

"I'm sure it was just your overactive dumbass imagination, Morty."

"We've got angry mobs and werewolves and now giant hands, Rick. I, I don't feel comfortable not having any way to defend myself."

"Fine, if you're gonna be a pussy about it, here. Put this on your chest."

"Okay. And this'll protect me?"

"Well, it should. It's a shaped charge."

"You put a bomb on my chest?!"

"No, YOU put a bomb on your chest, Morty. And anyway, it's a shaped charge. The means that the explosion will go outward and leave you virtually unharmed."

"What do you mean by virtuaaaaAAAAAHHHHH!"

"Morty!"

TREMBLE BEFORE ME, CHILD. AND SAVOR THE GLORY OF...RICK? RICK SANCHEZ?

"Holy shit, Amy G! What's fuckin' up, my man?"

YOU KNOW, JUST DOING MY THING, TURNING FOOLS INTO SPIDERS AND GETTING THEM TO WORSHIP ME AS A GOD. THIS YOURS?

"Yeah, that's my grandson, Morty. Morty, this is Amygdala. We were roommates in college."

"AAAAAAHHHH wait I thought you said school was for losers?"

"Well, it is. I got into an argument with the Rick from Dimension 323-G about it and I enrolled in his college to prove I could get valedictorian without studying or attending class while sober. A-Bomb here was a transdimensional exchange student.

RICK TECH REPRESENT.

"So anyway, how's Yharnam been treating you? Things still going strong between you and that hottie with the sickles?"

WE ACTUALLY SPLIT UP NOT TOO LONG AGO. YOU WON'T BELIEVE THIS; GIRL ACTUALLY GOT A JOB AS A WET NURSE.

"Seriously? She was in pre-med!"

I KNOW, RIGHT? SHE'S OFF IN A NIGHTMARE TAKING CARE OF THIS GOD-BABY AND I'M ALL "LOOK, YOU'RE NOT LIVING UP TO YOUR POTENTIAL" AND SHE'S LIKE "IT'S MY PASSION AND IF YOU CAN'T SUPPORT IT WE CAN'T BE TOGETHER."

"See, Morty? This is exactly what I'm talking about. Fuck school."

FUCK SCHOOL. HEY, YOU MIND IF I EAT THIS? THOSE INFECTED DUDES TASTE LIKE SWEATY TAINT HAIR.

"RICK!"

"Nah, man, it's cool. Go right aheadNOW MORTY NOW PUSH THE BUTTON MORTY."

"AAAAAAH."

*BOOM*

--

"Yo, wake up, Morty. I got the, the stuff, Morty."

"Ohhh. What happened, Rick?"

"You set off the shaped charge and blew up Amygdala's face."

"Oh, geeze. Well ow ow it hurts to breathe."

"Well, duh. It was a shaped charge, but conservation of momentum is still a thing, Morty. That's, that's Physics 101, Morty. Something goes boom in one direction and there'll be, there'll be just as much boom in the opposite direction."

"But you said I'd be unharmed."

"Virtually unharmed, Morty. You only broke two ribs and you've got twenty-four of them. That's only, blegh, only 8.33 repeating percent of your ribs. That's not even statistically significant, Morty."

"Ow. Thanks for saving me, though. I know it couldn't have been easy killing your old friend."

"Morty, I let Amy G cheat off me for a semester and a half and then he paid me back by stealing my girlfriend. Who's fucking Sheila now, asshole? Who's fucking Sheila now?! I am, because your head exploded, bitch. I'm not actually going to fuck Sheila, Morty, she totally lost her figure after sophomore year. Big guy kinda did me a favor but, but it's the principle of the thing, Morty."

"Rick, what's in that bottle? Why are you more drunk than when we got here?"

"Oh, these things are the best, Morty. Like, figuratively the best. They make booze out of blood. These guys suck at names so they just call it a 'pungent blood cocktail' but I call it the 'Flaming Hemo.'"

"You gave me your word that we weren't just coming here to get you high, Rick!"

"Yeah, I'm not getting high, Morty. I'm getting druuuunk, bitch!"

"I hate you so much right now."

"Yeah, that's fair."

 

[Tricia]

You tiptoe past the snoozing doll and the contented pile of Messengers that surround her. The little ones shift slightly at your approach, but Hope is well and truly conked out, offering no response to your presence.

You enter the Workshop slowly, ready at a moment's notice to dive to one side in case of a classic "sorry, was just doing one final test" laser blast, but it seems Gehrman is too professional to risk such a mishap. He spins his chair around from the workbench and waves you over. When you approach, he offers you a look at his creation.

The weapon has an elegance to it, possessing more in common with that tetsubo thing Yumie showed you once than a Captain Caveman cudgel. The club's great, gently tapering head is banded with hard chitinous strips, likely from the thing's massive tail, and studded with painful-looking nodules of bone and carapace. The pommel is somewhat crescent-shaped and the grip is easy on your gloved hands.

"Go on. Take a swing," he offers. You do so, appreciating the balance and heft of the alien bludgeon. The weight is pushing the limit of what you can comfortably use one-handed, though there's enough room on the grip for you to two-hand it if you need to uncork some major league biffing.

"Mighty fine piece o' work ye got here, Gerhman," you say with a nod of approval.

"You haven't even seen the best part," he grins. He takes hold of the weapon and points out a section of the handle. "If you twist it like this..."

When he does so, the tip of the club opens up, revealing the Mediocre One's massive eye. In addition, a section closer to the base swivels outwards. Gehrman puts it up to his shoulder like a rifle and you recognize that section as a pistol grip.

"Try not to squeeze anything," he says as he returns it to you. When you put the weapon up to your own shoulder, you find that the pommel conforms nicely to it. You also notice that, from this angle, some of the nodules form rudimentary iron sights.

"If you want to fire it, squeeze the upper portion of the grip. It's not a hair trigger, so you shouldn't have to worry about accidental discharge. I'll legitimately be impressed if you manage to shoot yourself in the foot with it.

"It fires a nasty beam; from what I can tell, it'll cause a moderately-sized explosion at the impact site. There's not any recoil, so the accuracy's solid and you can drag the beam along the target to inflict more damage. You're only going to be able to get about two seconds of sustained fire out of it at a time, though."

"Does it run out o' juice?"

"It's a heat issue, actually. You fire that for more than a couple of seconds and it's eating through your gloves and a few layers of skin. I tried adding some vents near the eye, but I could only fit in a few without compromising the structure."

You nod. "How do I switch it back to a beatin' stick?"

"Same motion, just in reverse."

You twist the section in question in the opposite direction of Gerhman's earlier effort. The pistol grip slides back into its slot and the eye is covered once more. You practice switching it back and forth a few times to get a feel for it.

"The eye was certainly the interesting part," he says as you go through the motions. "I got it to generate heat early, but actually getting the thing to fire was quite the effort. The little ones will be a bit disappointed that you've taken away their water heater."

The Messengers in the nearest birdbath do seem rather downcast. You press the side of the club against the stone, switch modes, and fire a few short bursts into the unmoving sky until vapor lazily drifts from the crowded basin. The little one nearest you gives a thumbs-up as they all relax with an almost audible sigh. Gehrman chuckles.

"Watching them try to get the temperature right the first time was certainly an experience."

[] Keep talking to Gehrman
-[] About?

[] Head back to Yharnam

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

"Can't thank ye enough," you say as you spirit the club away up your sleeves. "I'll make good use of it, I promise."

"You won't be disappointed," he assures you. "You remember my price, of course."

"Aye; any Hunters what aren't neighborly are in for a paddlin'. We're actually about ta hit the Grand Cathedral, give this thing a proper debut."

"Oh? Full frontal assault?"

"Well, that's what we'll call it afterwards, but we've actually got this whole big plan."

"Wise choice. Have fun storming the castle, Father Anderson."

"Oh, I will."

You wave goodbye to the old man, who hefts another chunk of carapace onto the workbench as you exit the building. Hope is still sound asleep on the stone ledge and has, by your estimation, drooped another five degrees forward since you arrived. That can't be comfortable.

Maybe you can bring a pillow with you next time?

It seems like little time has passed when you awaken in the chapel. Djura, his neck now approximately straight, is filling metal casings with powder in the far corner. Steffon and Iosefka are nowhere to be seen, presumably still on the roof. Eileen, meanwhile, is speaking to Agatha and the children, none of whom look particularly pleased with what they're hearing. You walk over to them and the blind man turns to face you.

"Is it true, what Miss Eileen says? About the Church being responsible for the plague?"

"It is."

The man, who you're fairly certain already had "downcast" etched into every cell in his body, somehow slumps even further.

"Nobody ever treated me right 'fore the Church. They gave me a place to live and food to eat. Nobody'd ever treated me like people."

"I'm sorry."

"If they've really done what you said, then I understand why you're doing this, but there are some good people there, Father. Please find them."

"I'll do what I can."

He gives a small nod. Fiddle stands and clings tightly to your leg, while Emma does the same after a moment of hesitation.

"We're the good guys, right?" the younger girl asks.

"We are."

"You promise?

"I promise."

"And you'll come back?" says Emma.

"I promise."

You stay in their embrace for several moments until you hear Iosefka and Steffon enter the room. The doctor still looks somewhat unwell as she enters your little circle.

"Steffon showed me how to use the guns, but I'm no good with them," she says.

"That's fine," Eileen tells her. "Djura's putting together some signalling devices. If anything goes wrong, just use one and Father Anderson will come back."

With Steffon's help, Djura finishes his work rather quickly and the two make their way over. The old man hands Iosefka some small, metallic spheres.

"Flares," he says. "Fire them out of the mortar to signal if anything goes wrong."

She nods as he turns to Eileen and hands her a set of cylinders, each with between one and three etchings.

"Smoke grenades. One is green, that means go. Two is yellow, that means wait. Three is red, that means retreat. Once you're in position, drop one and Father Anderson will join you. We'll be along right after."

Eileen pockets them with a nod of her own.

"Is there a safe place for the children?" she asks Agatha.

"Oh yes, there are some maintenance closets along the stairwell. Just pull the candlesticks."

"Right, then," she says. "Shall we?"

[] Begin the operation

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

"Aye. Let's make some fuckin' history."

Eileen makes her way towards the exit, pausing by the door. "Better system, Djura: green means all of you, yellow means just Anderson."

"That works," the old man shrugs. Eileen undoes the locks and steps into the lukewarm air of Cathedral Ward. Once you've locked it behind her, the four of you ascend to the roof and look over your massive target.

"We got enough light ta see the smoke?" you ask the Kegs.

"We should," Steffon answers. "Eileen was right about the moonlight."

You and Djura take a seat on the roof's highest point while Steffon runs Iosefka through mortar loading. The elder Keg splits his time between glassing the surroundings and tweaking the bizarre contraption on his right wrist.

"What's that ye've got there?"

"Stake Driver," he answers. "One of my own designs. I was a boxer in my youth, so the idea was to merge a punching dagger with gunpowder to take out armored foes. This thing will put a hole through solid stone."

"That's awesome."

"I'm fond of it. The Kegs and I went through a few forearms before we got the powder volume down. Steffon, you remember Pike, don't you?"

"Ol' 'Stubs' Pike? How could I forget? They ever find his hands after that business with the prototype?"

"Well, we found what was left of some hands in a beast the next day, but they could have been anyone's."

"Just no luck, that man. Admirable optimism, though."

"Oh, certainly. Loved that routine he did with the mannequin bits."

Before they can fully drown in the viscous mire of way-too-many years' worth of nostalgia, you decide to snap them back to the present with their favorite subject: explosive weaponry.

"Oh, forgot ta mention; just got this beauty from Gehrman," you say, pulling out the club. "Made o' one-hundred percent genuine pagan monster from beyond time an' space."

You offer it to Djura, who hefts the thing approvingly. Iosefka and Steffon, having finished their preparations, crowd around to look as well. They take turns admiring the craftsmanship and knocking on various bits, occasionally asking you about certain details. You ensure that none of them squeeze the pistol grip when you switch it to laser mode and regale them with the details of your fight against the thing that so generously provided the raw material.

"...and the whole time, this thing's screamin' in my head about how it's a god and I'm worthless and it can't even hit me with hands the size o' three fuckin' cows stuck together! And I'm...we got smoke, Djura."

The levity in the air vanishes with a whoosh as Djura peers through his spotting scope. Steffon brings one of his own to his eye and Iosefka makes due with squinting.

"Green. Eighteen hundred yards." He looks to Steffon for confirmation, receiving a nod. "You're up, Father Anderson."

You get to your feet, rolling your shoulders. After giving Iosefka a thumbs-up, which she hesitantly returns, you pull out your Bible and swarm towards your target.

Despite his age, Djura's eyes seem as sharp as ever; you wind up within five yards of Eileen, atop a wide, flat roof.

"Remember how I said that Grand Cathedral would only have the numbers to deal with a focused beast attack if they'd abandoned everything outside of Cathedral Ward?" she says as greeting.

"Yeah?"

"They've abandoned everything outside of Cathedral Ward. They've got maybe a dozen hunters patrolling the area around Grand Cathedral. I do believe you've spooked them, Father Anderson."

"Shit. How many beasts we got?"

"Maybe enough. Not as many are fully turned as I'd prefer, but we may still have the numbers to pull this off."

"Well, not much we can do about it now."

She simply nods and the two of you overlook the winding streets from your high perch. You can see the irregular assortment of incense burners and the misshapen forms that lope through the twilight. The air is silent, but it's not the silence of tranquility; it's a void, growing larger and larger to accommodate the oncoming catastrophe.

And what a catastrophe it is.

A cannon booms through the expectant air, followed shortly thereafter by the death throes of unfortunate masonry. Smoke billows from the upper portions of the Grand Cathedral and the myriad creatures in your vicinity flow towards the disturbance.

"That's our cue, Father," says Eileen as she moves towards the roof's edge. "May the good blood guide your way."

She disappears into the streets. You look up at the wounded Cathedral and make the sign of the cross with your blessed blades.

"Realise this, peoples, and be afraid, listen, all members of far-off nations! Arm yourselves yet be afraid! Arm yourselves yet be afraid! Devise plans as you may: they will come to nothing! Make what pronouncements you like; it will not come about! For God is with us! AMEN!"

[] Seek out targets on the way to the Cathedral

[] Be opportunistic, but focus on getting there quickly

[] Focus entirely on making good time

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

Spoiler: About the quote

As awesome as that is, I'm going to use the Catholic Church's preferred New Jerusalem Bible translation for accuracy's sake. I haven't been very consistent with the translations, so I'm going to try to fix that from now on.

Well, here's hoping that the same guy who arranged Yharnam's architecture didn't build the roofs.

You follow the swarm of beasts towards the Grand Cathedral, leaping from rooftop to rooftop as the smoking colossus grows larger. Sporadic gunfire peppers the evening amidst the staccato rhythm of the rushing wave. You grin and scrape your bayonets together to the beat.

"When the two angels arrived at Sodom in the evening, Lot was sitting at the gate of Sodom," you preach to the oncoming slaughter. "As soon as Lot saw them, he stood up to greet them, and bowed to the ground. 'My lords,' he said, 'please come down to your servant's house to stay the night and wash your feet. Then you can make an early start on your journey.'

"'No,' they said, 'we shall spend the night in the square.'"

You can just about make out a pair of specks in the distance, lit intermittently by muzzle flashes as they traverse the cityscape. More specks swarm after them and the rumble of massive footsteps joins the beastly rhythm.

"They had not gone to bed when the house was surrounded by the townspeople, the men of Sodom both young and old, all the people without exception. Calling out to Lot they said, 'Where are the men who came to you tonight? Send them out to us so that we can have intercourse with them.'"

Ah, shit, you're going to get there before you can finish the whole thing. Oh, well; highlights package it is.

"The men said to Lot, 'Have you anyone else here? Your sons, your daughters and all your people in the city, take them away, since the outcry to Yahweh against those in it has grown so loud that Yahweh has sent us to destroy it.'"

You're breathing hard, almost hyperventilating with anticipation as the waves of monstrous wrath and heretical fury enter a collision course, neither side aware of the other.

"The sun rose over the horizon just as Lot was entering Zoar. Then Yahweh rained down on Sodom and Gomorrah brimstone and fire of his own sending! He overthrew those cities and the whole plain, with all the people living in the cities and everything that grew there!"

You can make out the Powder Kegs now as they bound through the evening. They see you as well, and the next time they leap, it's right back at their pursuers.

"Next morning, Abraham hurried to the place where he had stood before Yahweh, and looking towards Sodom and Gomorrah and the whole area of the plain, he saw the smoke rising from the ground like smoke from a furnace!"

The beasts meet the Hunters and absolute fucking Hell breaks loose. Three of the six Church Hunters drop to the streets to try to deal with them and you leap into the fray with a roaring "amen."

The first one's dead before he even realizes you're here, while the second is quick enough to dodge two of the bayonets you hurled at him. Unfortunately, you threw five. Your intrusion distracts the third long enough for the hairy mob to bulldoze him. Above you, the remaining three are discovering why close combat with Djura is a terrible idea, the booming of his Stake Driver not quite able to drown out the shattering of bones and shrieks of pain.

Steffon potshots the last of them and the duo join you in the street, rushing back towards the Grand Cathedral with the creatures in hot pursuit.

"Three more Hunters and a bunch of those lanky bastards stopped at the edge of the plaza. They're not letting the giants range too far out," the older man informs you. You nod and look over your shoulder to swear at the beasts a bit, get 'em good and riled.

The plaza gates, opened with all the delicacy you've come to expect from the Powder Gates, come into view right about the same time the suppressing fire starts. You hear several members of your horde go down and respond with a hailstorm of bayonets towards the chokepoint the Church manged to set up. Half a dozen tall men drop from the first broadside and two of the three gunners have very short, very intimate interactions with Steffon's follow-up cannon shot.

Fire, including an uncomfortable amount of the real kind, pours down on you as you breach the plaza. The Powder Kegs leap up to deal with the shooters while you and what beasts aren't either dead or currently occupied with gratuitous mauling make a beeline towards the massed defenders at the staircase.

You manage to dodge the massive axe swing that greets you as you pass a large headstone. A sizable chunk of your mob isn't as lucky.

The giant unfolds itself from its hiding spot and towers over you, mountainous and implacable. Despite its relatively rail-thin limbs and torso, it lifts its great blade over its shoulder with relative ease, heedless of the meaty detritus that drips down its gaunt frame.

For all its size, however, its shins don't stand up your bayonets. The thing's on its rear before it can even wind up another swing, bell jingling jauntily as it howls in pain. You manage to get on top and put one through its head before the beasts can begin eating it from the bottom up.

Soaked in blood and surrounded by rampaging beasts, you spread your arms and give the veritable phalanx between you and the Cathedral a massive grin. To your delight, several attempt to shrink back towards the building and their handful of gunners look like they really, really don't want to shoot you.

The formation breaks when a giant shoves its way through the line and plods towards you, scraping its massive axe along the ground before cleaving a headstone in two. You hear the Powder Kegs approach on either side of you and the hiss of their overheated weapons informs you that sneak attacks from the rear are not going to be an issue.

The three of you stare down the towering axeman until a body splats between you and it. The giant makes the mistake of looking up instead of getting out of the way.

Although, to be fair, that wouldn't have made much of a difference.

A bloated form slams into it from above, bringing the giant to its hands and knees. Before the axeman can react, the thing's ripped out a massive chunk of its neck and begun gorging itself on the twitching corpse.

"Hell of an entrance," you mutter.

"Big bastard always had a flair for them," says Djura.

The thing turns to face you, the flensed flaps of skin on its neck swaying to and fro as it looks between you and the remaining Church forces. Its limbs are grotesquely long and grotesquely thin, though its belly hangs ponderously in sharp contrast to its emaciated frame. This thing's been eating like a big boy.

"We can handle it. Get inside, get the leadership," the old man hisses to you.

Nobody's in a hurry to draw its attention and even the beasts have stopped their feasts in fear. There's only faint sloshing from its taut abdomen to fill the evening air.

[] Attack the beast

[] Let Djura and Steffon handle it, get inside the Cathedral.

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

You're kind of sad that you're not in your home dimension-whatever, because there is no sweeter sound than Iscariot's budget department having a synchronized stroke when you get an idea.

A bunch of heathen douchecanoes shitting themselves is a pretty close second, though.

"You two don't have any dramatic vengeance planned against this thing, do ye?" you whisper to your companions.

"What? No," says Djura. "What's the point of plotting vengeance against-"

"Alright, good. OY, FUCKFACE!"

Everyone in the vicinity, including the bisected ones, turn their heads very slowly to look at you. You could hear a pin drop, and you actually do.

No, wait, that's a piece of vertebrae from the thing's teeth.

Despite the bulk of its gut, the creature narrowly avoids the bayonet you hurl towards its face, which then goes on to impale a tall man. The beast scrambles after you and the plaza once more erupts into chaos.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING," Steffon screams as you sidestep the rushing monster. Its great claws struggle to gain purchase and pursue, unused to the added mass.

"Improvisin'! Get the others, I've got this!"

Both of the Powder Kegs yell at you, but their remonstrances don't synergize very well and you're left with just a very vague and yet very angry ruckus as you plow into the massed Churchmen. The gunmen desperately try to pour rounds into either you or the beast while the melee fighters struggle to swing without hitting their compatriots. With fists, club, bayonets, and occasionally teeth, you burrow through their ranks with the beast on your tail. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice with some amusement that those of them that managed to avoid both you and the big bastard are getting their shit pushed in by Djura and Steffon.

You're pretty sure the old man managed to take one of their heads clean off with that Stake Driver of his.

The monolithic stone doors of the Cathedral buckle under a burst of laser fire, thanks to which you manage to shoulder-charge through them while only breaking four ribs and your clavicle. You continue your rush up another flight of steps, noting the Mediocre One-shaped statues that flank it, until the two giants flanking the end of the passage move to attention and the nearest one backhands you into a nearby wall. You hear several cracks and, worryingly, a sploorch from somewhere inside your chest on impact. The two have just enough time to admire their handiwork before they get blindsided by a couple hundred kilos of pissed-off abomination.

You peel yourself out of the you-shaped dent in the masonry as the big boys duke it out. The beast's managed to bowl one of the giants over and the other one is trying to help by stomping on it, heedless of the fact that its friend is directly beneath the intended stomping target.

You turn to survey the cavernous Cathedral and the mass of utterly baffled robed figures huddled around an altar on the far side. Several of them are looking directly at you, while others are transfixed by the melee behind. As you watch, the three hulking creatures tumble down the steps and into the churning disaster zone without.

With some disappointment, you realize that you can't get a good view of the fight anymore and turn to face the gathered leadership once more. The three unaccounted-for Church Hunters are all aiming for your head. You search your mind for something appropriate to say.

"Do ye have a moment ta talk about our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ?"

[] Attack

[] Try to negotiate their unconditional surrender

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

Unfortunately, it doesn't seem like any of them are interested in learning the finer details of the One True Faith. Of course, what kind of preacher would you be if you didn't know how to address an audience that would rather be anywhere than here?

"Right, introductions first-"

One of the Hunters tries to shoot you in the face. He manages to take off an ear, but the laser you rake across him takes off his whole face, so you call it a win. You clear your throat while his body twitches; while you recognize that this will be a hard sell, what kind of preacher would you be if you didn't know how to address an audience that was actively trying to kill you?

"Right, introductions first. I'm Father Alexander Anderson o' the Catholic Church. We're in a bit of a time crunch here, so it'd be easier for all of us if ye'd just go ahead and surrender."

Screams and flaming debris pour through the battered doors of the Cathedral as the robed figures confer with one another. After a brief discussion, one of them hesitantly raises a hand.

"Question in the back," you say.

"Why are you doing this?"

"You lot turn people inta monsters with tainted blood. Why the fuck wouldn't I be doing this?"

"We what?!"

There's a brief silence, interrupted by a mangled corpse rocketing through the door and skidding into the altar with a wet thud.

"Are ye surprised or did ye not hear me right? The accent can be a wee bit confusin', I know."

"No, no, that was a 'what' of astonishment."

"Right, good. Anyone this is news to, move ta the walls. No cheatin'; ye're churchgoin' folks and I expect ye ta hold yerselves accountable."

A good portion scramble towards the sides of the Cathedral, occasionally shoving suspected fibbers back towards the center. When the scrum finishes collapsing, only a handful remain in the center, including a young woman with a waterfall of silver hair pouring from her hood. One of them, a man stooped and wrinkled, spreads his arms wide in disbelief.

"What do you lot think you're doing? You trust the word of a murderous heretic who led beasts into these sacred grounds?"

"Hey now, that's-"

"We are the Healing Church! We do not shrink in the face of the wicked! How dare you sully your positions with your cowardice?"

He's good at this, you have to admit. At least an 8/10 rant, 8.5 if he can learn to project his voice better. The other 1.5 is spatial awareness, as you're pretty sure that young woman isn't supposed to be shaking violently.

"Oy, Pickle Dick."

"What? How much longer do you intend to profane this place of worship with your lies?"

"Is she alright? 'Cus I left my Epi-Pen in my other coat and I'm pretty sure that's a seizure."

His eyebrows cover an impressive amount of distance as they go from perplexed to shocked to terrified in quick succession. He moves to cradle her, her shuddering growing more and more dramatic.

"Amelia, listen to me. Listen to me. You have to fight. You have to..."

He looks around at his fellow churchmen trying to become one with the walls, at the half-seen nightmare outside, and at you, then takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

"No. You don't have to fight anymore. You've done so well and I am so proud of you. You can let go."

He begins chanting softly and her voice, childlike yet strong, joins his.

"Seek the old blood. Let us pray, let us wish, to partake in communion."

[] Intervene
-[] How?

[] See where this goes

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

Violent shaking and heretical chanting end well about zero percent of the time, so it's time to spring into action. You're tempted to just bayonet and/or laser the both of them into raspberry jam, but figure that's probably not going to help your case too much.

Instead, your Bible flares open once more and surrounds the old man and the young woman with the power of the Word. Confused, the old man tries to touch the newfound barrier, only to recoil in pain and bump into Amelia.

The silver-haired woman seems to burst on impact, drenching him in blood as her body bulks grotesquely. Her hair becomes a mane and fur sprouts along her elongating limbs as her mouth pulls out into an animalistic snout and antlers weave a perverted crown of thorns on her forehead. As she thrashes, her gnarled hand catches the old man in the head with a massive crack and she shrieks with hurt and fury.

After several breathtakingly-loud moments, she reaches what seems to be her full size, comparable to that of the goatwolfgorilla. Her massive frame strains against the ward and her shaggy coat smoulders in its embrace. The crackle of its strain and her bestial shrieking overpower the dwindling sounds of battle without, leaving many of those on the walls desperately covering their ears.

The one remaining member of the center group, a woman ostensibly just hitting middle age, attempted to mingle with the wall group during the chaos. Unfortunately, you've got the eyes of a bloody hawk. Which is why you wear glasses.

You step over to her and pick her up by the collar with one hand, dragging her towards the struggling former Amelia. The two remaining Hunters keep their weapons trained on the beast and, to your approval, put themselves between it and the churchmen.

"You see what I'm talkin' about?" you shout to the masses. When they don't respond, you spend a few moments figuring out the timing of Amelia's roars and try again. "You see what I'm talkin' about? This shit, right here."

"It's the plague," your captive croaks.

"There IS no fuckin' plague! It's your blood bullshit that's doin' this and you fuckin' know it!" You pull her towards you and glare into her eyes so hard you can almost see her brain. "Here're yer options: admit what ye've done and ye die quick 'n easy. Don't and die like a dog."

She looks from you to the struggling monster behind her, sweating so much that her robe probably weighs three kilos by this point. You clench your free hand into a fist and imagine what you're going to do when she refuses. Punish the body, that's the key; if you go to the head, they pass out too fast. Smash the liver and kidneys and they'll feel it.

"Fine. It's true," she mutters before raising her voice. "What this man says is true."

Then you go for the knees and...wait, what?

"I honestly expected ye ta go for Option B."

"I know when I'm beaten. I saw the giants shatter your body. I'm not a fool like Ishmael." She bites her lip and looks once more at Amelia, who has withdrawn into what looks like a praying pose. "And if I can't stop you from destroying our work, the least I can do is help those I can. For Amelia." She squeezes her eyes shut, tears mingling with the pouring sweat. "I joined the Church to help people. I still believe that what I did is what was best for humanity. But I won't die for nothing."

"Ye're dyin' no matter what. Ye realize that, right?"

"I do."

"And ye realize that if ye try ta screw me over I'll hurt ye more than ye ever thought possible, right?"

"I do."

"So why?"

"For Amelia."

You regard her for a moment before tossing her to the stone floor. With Amelia silent in prayer, you can once more hear the scraps of combat outside. Doing so becomes much easier when the bloated beast stumbles through the door, leaking badly from its pierced stomach. It has just enough time to make a lunge towards the stairs before a cannon shot takes out its head and a sizable portion of the stairway. Djura and Steffon, roughed up but intact, stroll up towards you with cloth wrapped around their mouths and noses.

"They broke right after this prick crashed the party," the old man informs you. "Too split-up to make chasing stragglers worth it. Everything alright in here?"

Steffon, the first of the two to see the ensnared Amelia, gives an appreciative whistle. "That someone important?"

"More than ye'd guess."

"Good job, then. Try not to breathe too much, this thing's all kinds of poisonous."

You look Steffon in the eye, then gesture to all the churchmen pulling their robes tightly around their heads. He shrugs and drags the thing outside, helped by the massive amount of friction-reducing blood.

"Well, then," Djura breathes, looking at the thoroughly confused rabble, "what now?"

[] Interrogate the woman now

[] Hunt down stragglers

[] Regroup at the chapel

[] Speak with the remaining Churchmen
-[] About?

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

Djura's got seniority, as does his burning hatred of the Healing Church, so you figure you'll leave this to him. He probably knows better than you what questions to ask.

"All yours, Djura."

He nods and walks over to the woman, who has made it to her feet and is holding her hands up in surrender. As the old man pats her down for weapons, you turn to the gaggle of Churchmen, many of whom are holding their heads down and shuffling their feet in the defeated posture of those who know that life isn't going to get simpler anytime soon.

"Alright, which o' you's next in charge behind this lady, the dead guy, and Lassie the Wonder Dog?"

Their lack of headwear precludes you from your standard, highly-accurate "who has the biggest hat" assessment.

After a short bout of discussion, a portly man with a chinstrap beard that doesn't look nearly as good on him as he probably thinks it does steps forward. He holds up a hand in greeting.

"Hullo, I'm Vicar Todd. I'd, ah, just been promoted, assigned to one of the western chapels. Vicar Ishmael, the one that Amelia, ah, flattened, he told me that I'd, how did he put it, 'learn the higher Truths' of the Church very soon. I promise you, I knew nothing of this. Swear to it."

"Todd's a good bloke," one of the Hunters calls out.

"That's Johnathan, we've been mates for ages."

You look between the two, scrutinizing Todd's sweat-stained robes and the somewhat-discreet thumbs-up Johnathan is directing at you. You suppose you'll have to make do.

"So what's the deal with Amelia here?"

"Amelia? Amelia's, ah, she's a bit of a zealot, really. Was, I mean. Might still be now, can't be too sure. Fast riser, hasn't been here four years and she's a Vicar. Word is Ishmael found her on the street and took her in, which has, ah, worked out well for him, as you can see. Never did talk much; ate until she felt pious, prayed until she was tired, slept until she was hungry."

You nod understandingly, being an expert in the field of raising terrifying orphans.

"Ye wouldn't have a secret 'turn her back ta normal' potion, would ye?"

The portly man wrings his fingers together before reaching up to wipe off his forehead. Really, having this many people cooped up in one space while wearing voluminous robes was heatstroke waiting to happen.

"Well, as you can see, we've, ah, not had terribly much success curing the plague, hence our current tribulations. And if you are correct and the 'plague' is actually just a product of the blood, well, that's all we really have to offer, and I believe that would prove counterproductive."

You shrug. It was worth a shot.

"If you, ah, don't mind me asking, what exactly is this 'Catholic Church' you mentioned?"

"Oh, we worship the one true God, all-knowing and all-loving and all-powerful."

"That's rather refreshingly direct, I must say. There's not a lot of concrete information on the Great Ones other than that do you hear something?

You cock an ear, as do Djura and the returned Steffon. Now that you're paying attention, you hear the booming of a bell. As the clangs pile up, the woman's face gets progressively whiter until you can just about see through it. At twelve, Todd merely says "Oh, dear."

"What?"

"Well, ah, we were always told that if that particular bell ever hit twelve, we were to, ah, immediately evacuate."

"What, evacuate the Cathedral?"

"No, the city."

"Twelve chimes," the woman breathes, "means that the Artificial Hunter is loose."

"Which in turn means?" you ask.

"We're going to die."

Something occurs to you. You punched through their line without much trouble. Said line broke entirely once you were in. You and two of your biggest hitters are currently in a large building in the middle of enemy territory with only one way in or out, along with any Churchmen that willingly surrendered.

And now something's banging on the door.

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

Alright, assess the situation. There is currently an unknown but decidedly pissed individual currently beating the piss out of the doors. Said doors are barred from the inside; you broke most of their locks during your charge, but Steffon managed to use the giants' axes and some other material to lash them back together. Judging by the reactions to the banging, they should be able to hold.

You could boot them off their hinges and squish the guy, but that would also leave the churchmen exposed if the guy has backup. Plus, you can't be certain he's even hostile.

Teleporting through the door runs into the same issue of unknown numbers. Could be an ambush waiting.

Johnathan and the other Hunter already have their weapons trained on the door, as does Djura. Steffon's filling the cannon with powder, Amelia's still praying, and Todd may or may not have wee'd himself. The sweat makes it kind of hard to tell.

As the blows graduate from knocking to banging to smashing, you plan furiously. You've been through more battles against more fucked-up things than most of this room put together. You killed Mothman with your teeth. After two more huge strikes splinter the axes, you decide to trust your instincts.

"Who's there?"

Instincts bad.

Thankfully, it seems that the knock-knock joke is foreign to Yharnam, judging by the lack of highly judgmental stares. Alternatively, they could all just be distracted by the katana that just cleaved through a solid stone door. Either way, you don't want to push your luck with "sword who?"

Todd and the churchmen pack themselves into a corner like rabbits, though the Church Hunters hold their ground. With a sound more graceful and less tectonic than you'd expect, a series of quick slices open a sizable hole in the stricken door, through which walks an unfamiliar figure. He(?) stretches up to nearly his full, modest height and rests his blade on his shoulder, maintaining an incongruously relaxed posture. His garb predominately resembles Eileen's, though his gauntlets and trousers are a sleek silver. A beautifully detailed but utterly featureless mask hides his appearance.

Such a shame. You love the look on their faces when they realize how fucked they are.

Djura and Steffon flank you, subtly lowering their stances in preparation. Though you can hear the creaking of old joints, you remind yourself that these are two men who have lived a very, very long time in a profession with very, very little room for error.

"I've got one cannonball left," Steffon hisses. "I can open a hole in the side of the Cathedral and ferry them out."

Before you can respond, a reedy voice interrupts.

"You kill that Great One?"

The intruder still hasn't taken his blade off his shoulder. Despite the fact that he's facing down three men who just tore through some of the best the Church has to offer and despite the fact that there is a giant dog monster behind you three, he's got the tone of voice of someone asking for the latest footie scores.

"For a certain definition o' 'Great,' yeah."

"They wouldn't let me try. Still, if I kill you, that means I'm stronger than it was, right?"

His grasp of the transitive property is a bit lacking, but there is supreme confidence in his words.

You've got yourself a fight.

BOSS BATTLE: THE BLOODY CROW OF CAINHURST
​

[] Write in...