Charles followed the street straight ahead, the air thick with the stench of river muck and rust.
The damp cobblestones were slick beneath his feet.
The bridge house at the end of the street resembled a makeshift warehouse, crammed with dust-covered cargo crates and tools strewn across the floor.
In the shadows of the narrow stairwell leading down, a worker already far gone in Beast Transformation lay curled up.
Meaningless growls rumbled in his throat, and his fingers had mutated into sharp claws that scraped mindlessly against the wooden steps.
Charles slipped past him without a sound, unwilling to disturb the pitiful soul, who might still retain some faint trace of humanity.
Behind a heap of tattered canvas and empty wooden barrels in one corner, he discovered a deliberately concealed passage barely wide enough for one person.
Damp, frigid air drifted in from the other end.
It led into the vast, long-abandoned dry dock next door.
The space opened up abruptly when he stepped inside, yet somehow felt even more oppressive.
He stood on a wooden suspension walkway more than ten meters above the pitch-black water below.
With every step, the rough planks beneath his feet gave a teeth-grating creak, as though they might break at any moment.
Old wooden barrels were piled everywhere, most of them already rotten, their former contents long forgotten.
The air reeked of mold and decay.
High overhead, several rusted iron cages hung from a framework of massive logs.
Mummified corpses and bare skeletons were chained inside, swaying gently in the breeze as if silently displaying the fate of thieves and rule-breakers.
Across the walkway, an exit opened onto a partially exposed terrace that had once served as a resting place for workers.
Now, a slender and solitary figure stood there in silence with her back to him, like a statue absorbed into the night.
Her clothing resembled a pair of folded black wings, stirring softly in the cold night wind blowing off the river.
The strange fabric seemed to swallow the light around it.
Most striking of all were the enormous conical brim of her hat and the bizarre yet exquisitely crafted metal bird-beak mask beneath it, which concealed her entire face.
Her appearance radiated mystery, coldness, and an overwhelming sense of danger.
She seemed completely at odds with the madness consuming Yharnam, yet somehow belonged within it.
Through the mask, she appeared to be watching the Beasts wandering aimlessly through the streets below, their inhuman howls echoing through the night.
Sensing Charles behind her, she showed no alarm.
She merely turned with slow, almost elegant grace.
Behind the eyeholes of the bird-beak mask, two calm eyes seemed to settle upon him.
“Oh? A Hunter?”
The woman’s voice resonated through the metal, rich and cold, without the slightest trace of warmth.
She made no attempt to conceal the way she appraised him, looking him over as though inspecting an object.
Her gaze passed across his new hunting outfit, stained with foul blood, and the weapon clenched tightly in his hand.
“Judging by your scent and that… makeshift attire, you are an outsider?”
“That’s right.”
Charles tightened his grip on the Threaded Cane until his knuckles turned pale.
Every muscle in his body remained tense as he faced the woman, who exuded an aura of extreme danger and uncertainty.
She was unlike any enemy he had encountered before.
“There is no need to be so tense.”
She seemed to notice his wariness and calmly stated her position in the same flat, unruffled tone.
“Like you, I am both a Hunter and an outsider whom this land has never fully accepted. I am not your enemy. At least, not for now.”
The clouds of suspicion in Charles’s mind did not entirely disperse, but he had sensed none of the direct hostility or bloodlust that clung to those consumed by Beast Transformation or the maddened inhabitants of the city.
He relaxed slightly, though he did not lower his guard.
“Unfortunately, you have become caught up in this… chaos,” she continued in that distant, enigmatic voice, as though discussing something that had nothing to do with her.
“Tonight, as on every cursed night, the Hunt never ends.”
Her tone shifted abruptly, carrying an air that bordered on condescension.
“This is a small… gift for a newcomer. May it help you endure this long night a little longer.” Visit g.com for the full chapter.
With a light flick of her fingers, she sent an ancient-looking badge glowing with faint blue light through the air.
It landed precisely at Charles’s feet.
He understood at once.
It was a gesture of goodwill, or at least neutrality, as well as a token meant to establish a measure of trust between them.
The Messengers whispered inside his mind, informing him that although the “Bold Hunter’s Mark” was a single-use item, it would automatically activate when its bearer suffered a fatal blow, instantly transporting him to the nearest activated Lantern.
In a desperate situation, it was an irreplaceable chance at survival.
“Thank you.”
With mixed feelings, Charles bent down and picked up the weighty gift.
It granted him another chance to live, but it also meant that he now owed a debt to a mysterious stranger.
“Prepare for the worst, Hunter.”
The woman’s tone suddenly grew grave.
Beneath the chill of her voice lay a trace of profound resignation, as though she had already seen and understood everything.
“Remember this. No one truly survives here. No matter what purpose brought you here or how firm your resolve may be, in the end… everyone degenerates into a Beast that knows nothing but the thirst for blood.”
The cruel, blunt truth drove through Charles’s spine like a spike of ice.
His entire body went cold, and his blood seemed to freeze in an instant.
“Everyone becomes… one of those monsters?”
He pointed in disbelief at the snarling figures below, each twisted by Beast Transformation into a different grotesque form.
The Lady gave a slight nod, her certainty almost cruel.
Moonlight glinted coldly across her bird-beak mask.
“Exactly. The same scene repeats itself throughout this cursed city, over and over, without end.”
Once the first shock and chill had passed, an even stronger thirst for knowledge rose within Charles.
Why did humans mutate into such horrific forms?
Why did this bloody Nightmare repeat its gruesome course again and again, like an endless cycle?
“Still hesitating? Has the truth frightened you that badly?”
Seeing him sink into silence and contemplation, the Lady continued in her usual emotionless voice.
“Would a Hunter lose heart merely because he had seen the true nature of his prey? The Hunt itself is the meaning of existence.”
“I was only… shaken by the truth for a moment,” Charles answered honestly, his voice dry.
“It matters not. If we felt no fear at all, how would we differ from the monsters that act on instinct alone?”
Her consolation was abrupt and cold, yet it carried a strangely distorted sincerity.
Charles was about to ask more about Beast Transformation, the Paleblood, and the origin of this cycle when the Lady turned away without hesitation, her black garments fluttering behind her.
“Why are you still standing here? A Hunter’s gift is for killing, not indulging in useless philosophy. Go and prove your worth, or… become food for the Beasts.”
“Please, wait.”
Before he could finish, her figure had already vanished like a ghost into the dim shadows deep within the dry dock, moving with astonishing speed.
Charles knew he would get no further answers from her.
Still, receiving such a vital warning and an item that could save his life was already a rare stroke of fortune.
He had no right to demand more.
“Humans will all become monsters in the end…”
He murmured the words to himself, dwelling on that despairing sentence of fate.
Yet a stubborn flame still burned within his heart.
If he could find the “Paleblood” in time, if he could escape this land before it was too late, perhaps…
perhaps he could still avoid that inevitable tragedy.
…
Author’s Note:
Cleric Beasts are members of the Church clergy who underwent Blood Ministration and were transformed into ferocious Beasts as a result.
Once someone transforms into a Beast, they lose both reason and humanity.
Keep this premise in mind, because neither ordinary residents nor Hunters can escape that fate.
The mournful cry heard when the Cleric Beast appears reflects its inner sorrow and helplessness, as well as its rejection of Blood Ministration.
When it reaches out, it is acknowledging him and Father Gascoigne, hoping its former companions in the Church will understand its plight.
Its attempt to stop Father Gascoigne from performing Blood Ministration on the protagonist comes from a desire to keep those who follow from repeating the same mistake.
It is trying to warn them that the Blood has already been tainted.
However, to those who have yet to learn the truth, these actions appear to be nothing more than a Beast’s instinctive attempts to hunt its prey.
It is much like the prejudice we display when confronted with unfamiliar people or things.
No matter how friendly the other party may be, we may still regard them as a threat or a source of unease.
Some may ask, however, if it still retains a measure of reason, why does it attack people?
Could it not simply avoid them?
The truth is that, over the course of the long Hunt, rage and madness have already consumed most of its reason.
The Cleric has long since lost the ability to control itself.
In the cursed town of Yharnam, ordinary citizens and Hunters alike will eventually be subjected to the same fate.
Father Gascoigne is the clearest example of this.
Looking back at some of the things he said, one can clearly sense the madness steadily intensifying within him.
Finally, I had originally planned to include the BGM from “The Cleric Beast” in the main text.
It would not only have hinted at the true cause of the Church’s Beast Transformation, but also made the meaning of the story clearer, removing the need for this additional explanation.
However, I felt it might have seemed too abrupt, so I left it out.
Instead, I am including the lyrics below as supplementary material:
The End of Fear
The Path Home Is Sealed
Allies Lost
Sacred Blood
Halt the Transformation
Pure and Sacred Blood
The Shackles of Evil Blood
Before This Glory
Sacred Blood Before Darkness Falls
The Shackles of Evil Blood
Before This Glory
Sacred Blood Before Darkness Falls
Awaken from Death
It Is the Most Noble Lord of Blood
Stop Drinking the Blood of Fear
Awaken from Death
It Must Be Stopped
Stop Drinking the Blood of Fear
Awaken from Death
It Is the Most Noble Lord of Blood
From the Chalice Filled with the Blood of Terror
Awaken from Death
I Will Stop Your Transformation
Stop Drinking the Blood of Fear