In the old days, when the Hunt was in full swing, hunters were ten a penny. Heroes like Ludwig the Holy Blade stood as shining exemplars of the craft, and the common folk of Yharnam were inspired to follow their example. Yet the common folk of Yharnam lacked the uncommon willpower required to be a truly successful hunter. These newblood hunters were overwhelmed by the Blood and the Hunt and were drawn into a Nightmare of the Hunt everlasting. With time, even the greatest of the old hunters found that dark dream's haunting call irresistible.

As Yharnam fell into its twilight, paranoia became the norm. The holiest of men became the cruelest of beasts, and those who stood most stalwart against the call of beasthood were instead taken by the Nightmare. The common folk kept their doors locked, even to hunters. Nerves frayed shorter than the Powder Kegs' fuses, and no one could be trusted. Though the remaining hunters could be counted on one hand, each stood alone and in fear of his fellows.

Only the foreigners Gascoigne and Henryk lacked this "common sense" peculiar to Yharnam. Alone, each was a great hunter, but a lone hunter is vulnerable. Together, they kept one another sane and watched the other's back. So too did the new hunters, strangers in a strange land.

"Molotov! I need space!"

A man in a dusty bronze brigandine backpedaled as the moaning cleric beast lunged at him. The claws of its right hand sparked as they tore through solid stone, just a hair's breadth away from his chest. Metal plating or no, his wiry body couldn't take more than a hit or two from the massive beast. A gold-trimmed claymore in his right hand scraped the stone as he retreated, and an ornate pistol in his left fired blindly to cover his retreat. Taking a breath as he and the beast stopped, he brushed his thick black hair back with the barrel of the gun and hazarded a glance back, his unsettling bright violet eyes glinting in the low light.

While he had forgone a head covering, his partner was much more audacious. Though she wore a long, armored skirt wrapped with bandoliers of countless hunter tools, there was no pretension of the garment being for modesty. From the waist up, she wore only loosely-wrapped bandages that threatened to fall away with every motion. As she threw the bottle, the man found himself captivated by the dance of her unrestrained breasts and was forced to make a desperate dive to avoid being torn open. The molotov crashed against the beast's head, and it shrieked as the flames leapt across its fur.

"Both of you need to pay attention!" the huntress snapped, the fire mirrored in her blood red eyes.

She snapped forward, the train of a long, high chestnut ponytail like the tail of a beast behind her. A wicked crescent saw skittered across the stones at her side glimmering in the darkness, wet with fat. The remains of beasts and men the teeth had bitten fed an inner repository where the flesh putrefied before greasing the blade. Now, the huntress spun her thumb across a wheel on the back of the grip, spitting a shower of sparks across the back of the weapon and lighting the pungent oil. The beast clutched its claws together and hammered down with enough force to cause a shockwave, but she sidestepped and wrenched the saw upward and over the back of the monster's bandaged left wrist.

It howled, now more desperate than ever, as it clutched its precious pendant with both hands. Before the hunters could attack again, it quickly retreated just as swiftly as it had chased before. It fell into a seated position before the Grand Cathedral's altar, clutching its man-rending talons in prayer. A gentle golden glow began to flow from its clasped hands, accompanied by a pleasant hum. Though the hunters closed in on either side, the cleric beast remained still, assured in its faith.

The man quickly took the center, pulling the trigger on his claymore. The blade split in two, the halves sliding along the crossguard and locking into place. He swung the double-blade with both hands, but as it reached the beast, it struck as if against a solid wall. The weapon resounded like a church bell, and the beast's miraculous healing suddenly fell dark and silent. The monster gaped, unable to comprehend the severing of its divine channel.

The smirking hunter woman had no such hesitation, running straight past the beast and flipping atop the altar's statuary. Using the bite of a threaded cane, she quickly swung her way to the top of the headless statue of the deity. Without losing a beat, she wheeled around and flung herself onto the beast's neck. Taking a firm grip on one of its antlers with her free hand, she stamped both feet into its flesh and gave a tremendous pull with the burning saw. Blood spurted uncontrollably from the half-cauterized wound, sending hunter and beast alike careening to the cathedral floor.

In a flash, the armored man sheathed his sword and holstered his gun, quickly sliding to catch his partner. She gave him a knowing smile.

"You've been waiting for this, haven't you?"

"Maybe... I mean, we couldn't do it until now..."

"Is it everything you imagined?"

"You're pretty heavy-"

She gave him the stinkeye, but unfortunately, he was the type to find even that attractive.

"I'm just saying-"

"Your turn, dear."

She quickly jumped out of his arms and threw her saw in front of her as she rolled sideways. Before he could ask what she was doing, he found himself in the grasp of a maddened cleric beast.

"I did tell you to pay attention," the huntress said casually as the monster squeezed the life out of her partner.

By now, the flame on her saw had gone out, so she struck the tiny grindstone again as she charged the beast. The blade danced along the back of its legs with a shower of blood, and it collapsed a second time, dropping its human dog toy.

"I should be irritated that it's taking this long," she hummed, "but honestly, I'm impressed that she managed to fit this much blood in her. Was it all there while she was still human, or did the volume increase when she transformed?"

The other hunter had quickly regained his feet and readied his weapons.

"Like a blood pinata! No, wait, those'd be the fat guys who drop a bunch of vials."

The woman shook her head.

"Thank you for that insightful commentary."

The man snickered.

"Insight."

The woman cracked a wan, hopeless sort of smile, thoroughly disappointed in herself for being amused by that. The beast was trying to pull itself to its feet once more, and here she was listening to her fool of a husband's stillborn attempts at humor. Before the beast could recover, she quickly drew a special blood vial from her gear and jabbed it into the monster's thigh. The cleric beast shrieked wildly and began to spasm as the bubbling, faintly glowing blood drained from the glass. As the creature convulsed, it began to wither, its hair falling out in clumps as it shrank.

At last, a pale, thin woman lay insensate among the rags and fur. Just beneath her pallid skin, her arteries pulsed orange-red for a few moments before calming. The other hunter approached.

"You know, she kind of looks like- Oh! She's coming around."

They looked on at the woman, careful to give her plenty of space.

"I- I'm human...?"

"Yes. How are you feeling?" the hunter asked politely.

"More, can you remember your name? Do you feel any strange urges?" the huntress added.

"I'm... fine. My... my name is Amelia. Vicar of the Healing Church. And no."

The thin, tired woman hardly seemed fazed by her lack of clothing. She quickly rose, wrapping rags around her as she did so.

"Please! I don't know how you did it, and I couldn't care less now. If you can reverse the scourge of beasts, we must hurry and administer it to as many as we can, before the whole city is lost!"

"Working on it!" the hunter said, giving a cheesy smile and a thumbs-up.

"This cure is far more dangerous than the loss of a single city. I'm already loath to spread it this far," the huntress clarified. "Beasts are one thing. Demons are quite another."

"Demons? I don't understand," the Vicar said plainly.

The Healing Church of course spoke of gods and of beasts, but demons were unnecessary to its narrative and so did not exist. Other faiths had demons, but other faiths did not have blood ministration and its miraculous healing.

"Fear the Old Blood, right?" the hunter murmured. "We bled you as far as we dared, then injected blood from a very different source. More powerful. More dangerous."

The Vicar knitted her brows and frowned.

"I said that I didn't wish to know, but I have changed my mind. What manner of creature holds this blood? It is not akin to... the forbidden blood of that ancient queen?"

The hunter shook his head.

"Honestly, it might be related, but this is older blood. The blood of one of the Old Lords. The blood of Chaos Witch Quelaag."

"This Chaos Witch. What did it look like?"

"A hideous monster. What was once a hag fused at the torso into the body of a spider with countless limbs and eyes. It burns with an undying fire of blind rage that is not extinguished even in the mires of-"

The huntress swatted her partner on the back of the head. As she stepped forward, her body began to grow, and something shuddered beneath her skirt. Several double-jointed bug legs lashed out and spewed fire before she returned to normal.

"I fought the everlasting dragons alongside the greatest of the gods. Undying seafood and their pet dogs don't frighten me."