Well, if it's going to be courteous enough to look right at you while it's screaming its tits off, it'd be rude of you not to take advantage of that. You fill your hands and send a pair of blades towards its jeepy-creepy-peepers.
You're not entirely certain why you thought that instead of just "eyes," but it's probably the concussion. That both throws go high and inside is probably also the concussion.
While you fail to blind it, it does bring its right claw up to pluck the bayonets out, obscuring its vision on enough for you to close the distance again; you're thankful that it insists on yelling at you every time you land a hit and thus destroys any chance it has of tracking you by sound. By the time it rips the blades free, you're behind it yet again and its brief moment of confusion gives you time to bury a fresh pair of bayonets in its back.
You begin pulling yourself up the beast's ruined back, climbing blade-over-blade and swinging back and forth to exploit its current inability to reach for you with both claws at once. You feel its strength leaving as you rise and, when you drive the blessed steel into its shoulder, the great arm finally gives out. The thing crashes face-first into the bridge, no longer able to support its own weight.
Incredibly, there's still fight in it. It swings its head back-and-forth, trying desperately to smash you with its antlers. Using your embedded bayonet to steady yourself through its weakening thrashes, you rear back for a finishing stroke.
"He will thrust out the enemy from before you and will say 'destroy!'
AMEN!"
It would have been awesome if you'd managed to strike the thing's head from its shoulders right when you said that. Alas, its neck is bigger around than your chest and it winds up taking you three swings to finally behead the bastard.
PREY SLAUGHTERED
--
The massive body lurches once more, then goes still at last. Thick, viscous blood pools from the stump of its neck with a sort of macabre serenity.
You're damn tired.
You roll off its back, absolutely drenched in blood. The adrenaline is petering off and you simply sprawl next to your beaten quarry, taking gulping breaths. You're still smiling, though, and you're not certain you'll ever stop.
You laugh into the sinking sun of Yharnam, high above the madness of the streets.
"Keep fightin' like that when ye get to Hell," you tell the grotesque head. "Give Satan a right headache for me."
There's a soft, wet thump as something lands on the bridge beside you. A black head, putrid and filthy, looms over your face, beak stained with viscera. You clench your tired hands and prepare to nut the thing before it drops something on your chest. Two somethings.
You sit up and the blood vials roll down onto your lap. The crow looks at you, tilts its head, and motions towards them. You hesitantly put them up your sleeves.
"Thanks."
"Squawrk."
The crow then turns towards the body and begins cawing angrily at its associate, who had taken advantage of the former's generosity by diving into the meatier portion of the beast while this one was dealing with you.
Just past the arguing avians, you spot an unlit Lamp which you're positive wasn't there before the fight. Probably the invisible gnomes again. With an effort, you get to your feet and light the thing.
It may be bizarre and inexplicable, but damned if it ain't convenient.
[] Return to the Dream to recuperate
[] Examine the end of the bridge; there's a big portcullis and you think you see a door beside it
[] Return to the plaza
[] Write in...
