The Beast Within - A Bloodborne Short Fanfiction

Chapter 3: The Bagheadites

My Dearest Friend, Two days ago, I found one of the villagers coughing blood. The blood had some strange substance that looked similar to ash. I reported this to Corbin who told me to continue the blood ministration and prescribe some antidote tablets for the villager. I found this odd but considering his experience as a doctor, I followed suit. Since then, however, I have found more Bagheadites coughing blood; all with the same strange substance. Even the other priests have been noticing this in others. When we reported these cases to Corbin, he was strangely less concerned and instead insisted that we continue with the blood ministration. The other priests and I were concerned but continued doing blood ministration as well as prescribing the antidote tablets that we had. Unfortunately, the antidote tablets can only provide short-term relief and the Bagheadites are demanding for more of the tablets. I fear we may not be able to satisfy their needs as we are slowly running out of them. Our request for a resupply has been denied and Corbin continues to ignore our cry on the increasing numbers of villagers coughing blood. I am becoming concerned now. On another note, I had another look at the fountain on my way back to the chapel. I still don’t remember seeing the statue even though I know it’s there. How odd. Very Truly Yours, Fitzgerald

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Forming a large circle around the fountain and the centre of the village, the Bagheadians stood armed with pitchforks and flaming torches. Hot air was emanating from the exposed jaws of some of the villagers while others showed their bloodshot eyes through holes in their burlap masks. The Hunter could feel their intent through their murderous gaze as he readied his Saw Cleaver and Hunter Pistol. “Outsider!” one of the Bagheadians yelled as he threw a Molotov Cocktail at the Hunter. The Hunter immediately moved away as the glass bottle smashed on the spot where he had been standing; releasing a small fireball. Other Bagheadians soon started throwing more Molotov Cocktails. The Hunter moved and dodged every bottle as the flames quickly spread around the fountain. It was only a matter time before he would be trapped and be swallowed by the blazing fire. Raising up his Hunter Pistol, he fired a bullet at a Bagheadian who was about to throw another Molotov Cocktail. The unlucky villager immediately collapsed to the ground; blood spurting out from his head as his incendiary bomb fell to the ground and shattered. Several Bagheadians near him immediately started screaming as their bodies and burlap masks quickly caught fire. The other villagers kept their distance as their unfortunate neighbours continued running around wildly; watching as their charred burning bodies slowly collapsed to the ground. “Kill the Hunter!” the remaining Bagheadians yelled as they charged forward with their pitchforks and torches. The Hunter was able to put down two villagers with his Hunting Pistol before extending his Saw Cleaver. With two swings, he cleaved through two Bagheadians and bisected one from the head to the groin. He then transformed the Saw Cleaver back to saw form and rolled away as a Bagheadian leapt at him with a pitchfork coming downwards. The Hunter swung the Saw Cleaver, breaking the pitchfork in half. Before the Bagheadian attacker could react, he extended his Saw Cleaver again and swung it at the villager’s head; splitting it in half. He then spun around and swung the extended Saw Cleaver again; decapitating three Bagheadians. Some of the other villagers, seeing the Hunter killing their fellows, started fleeing. Meanwhile, the Hunter continued swinging his Saw Cleaver; dodging and rolling as he killed every Bagheadians that came in his way. A deep feeling was rising in his body. A horrible feeling. He was enjoying this a bit too much. The Hunter finally stopped; panting. His body was now covered in Bagheadian blood. Around him the dead corpses of the villagers lay in a large pool of their own blood; all hacked and shredded. He looked at the corpses as shame filled his mind. He had heard about the fates of the Old Hunters. How they fell into intoxicating bloodlust that damned their souls and stopped them from returning to the Hunter’s Dream. To be forever trapped in the Hunter’s Nightmare. His thoughts were interrupted when he heard a cry. One of the Bagheadians was crawling away; leaving a trail of blood as his innards dragged across the cobblestones. The Hunter looked for a moment before started following until he was standing at the villager’s side. Using his boot, he turned the Bagheadian on to his back. The burly mask was torn and he could see the villager’s wrinkled face and scraggly beard. “Outsider…” the Bagheadian croaked weakly as he looked at the Hunter with sullen bloodshot eyes. The Hunter looked at the dying villager and placed the Hunter Pistol barrel at his head. And pulled.