Chapter 4: The Chapel
February 18, 2026 at 7:52 AM
Chapter 4: The Chapel
My Dearest Friend, Corbin and Finis are dead. Murdered by the very Bagheadites we have been treating with the blood. Without the antidote tablets, they are now blaming us for their plight and are hunting us down. The other priests and I managed to seal the doors and the windows of the chapel to prevent them from coming in and killing us. We are now sustaining ourselves by imbibing the blood we brought from Yharnam but I fear that too would run out. Though they no longer attack us, the Bagheadians continue to roam around the chapel, waiting for us to come out. We dare not for the sakes of our lives but the isolation is affecting all of us. The other priests are now fighting over the blood, acting like depraved beasts. I’m afraid this escalation will lead to us killing each other. I am taking a big risk by writing and sending you this letter but I desperately need your help. Come to Baghead as quick as you can and find us in chapel. FIND US! SAVE US! Fitzgerald***
The Hunter stood in front of the chapel; its large rotting wood doors closed. Time and abandonment had made the place of worship look ancient, with a layer of green moss and creeping vines covering its exterior walls. Its large windows with what little stained glass remained were boarded up from inside. The Hunter slowly walked around the abandoned chapel, passing through the tall grass and the overgrown weeds; hoping to find an entrance. Behind the chapel, he found a door below one of the boarded windows. The door was not locked and as the Hunter opened it, he saw wooden stairs going down. As he cautiously descended, he found himself in the chapel’s cellar. Broken glass bottles and piles of cut burlap sacks lay on the dusty floor. Several broken wooden chairs lay next to an upturned wooden table that was missing some of its parts. The Hunter carefully maneuvered through the mess and found a narrow stone staircase going upwards. As he got close, he heard a faint sound. The sound of wailing. With his Saw Cleaver and Hunter Pistol ready, the Hunter slowly went up the stairs. It was a spiral staircase with wooden steps worn-out from use before the chapel’s abandonment. The wailing got louder and louder as he continued to climb. An old wooden door appeared as he reached the top. Slowly, he pushed the door and stepped in. He was now in the chapel’s seating hall, having come out from one of its side doors. In front of him were the abandoned and broken pews. They were facing towards an altar table that had a stone statue of man wrapped in cloth from head to toe. Only its face was visible and it was missing an eye. As the Hunter walked towards the altar, he saw a figure wearing a tattered black garb kneeling in front of it; the source of the lamentation. The Hunter gripped his Saw Cleaver tightly as he approached the kneeling figure. The wailing suddenly stopped. “Who’s there?” the black garbed figure exclaimed as he got up on his feet and turned round.
