Chapter Text
The sun has not risen for twenty-six years.
Daysdeath, ragnarök, the eternal eclipse, the final punishment of the Saints, the will of The Great Ones— it matters not what you choose to call it. Its name will not change its nature. Its name will not spare us from the reality that is the world plunged into a never ending night, a never ending Hunt where the only mercy is death.
And even death does not come easy now.
The blood of beast and man run the streets of Yharnam red, and with every passing hour, each one as unchanging as the last, the remnants of humanity dwindle. Perhaps it was the bloodlust that The Hunt inspired that further awakened that beast within man, or perhaps in a final act of desperation man has cast away his own humanity, hoping that would be enough to allow him to survive.
Fools. As if that did not doom them further.
But there are still those that dare fight. These Hunters who call themselves human even as they slay beasts who were once our neighbors and family and lovers. These Hunters hunt humans to save humanity.
Tonight seems to be especially brutal, the ceaseless wails and screams echoing throughout the never-ending darkness. And yet this Hunter does not heed them, his claymore merciless as it severs through flesh and bone, not the cracking of skulls nor the sickening gurgle of blood enough to deter him from his hunt.
Beautiful, horrible, the blood of his prey falling around him as it glows the same unearthly red as his hair.
He does not rest. Wrenching his sword from the ribs of a mutant, the Hunter staggers backward, straggering on the mess of gore and entrails tangled upon the cobblestones, already spotting a pack of Scourge Beasts feasting on what must have been the remains of someone foolish enough to be caught outside tonight. He does not pray for them.
The Hunter rolls back his shoulders, dragging his claymore to the side as he charges. An arc of blood sprays from the blade as it lodges itself into the thick, furry neck of one of the Scourge Beasts. It screams. The howl shakes the Hunter to the bone, his arms trembling as he fights to free his blade, now tangled in the flesh and fur.
The Beast staggers to its hind legs, forcing the Hunter to release the sword’s hilt as it thrashes wildly with its enormous paws, each one large enough to bash his head clean off. Another two Beasts run up behind him. But the Hunter notices too late. The monster's claws slash into his side, and the force rams him into a nearby wall, smashing through layer after layer of crumbling brick.
The pack is already upon him. Rolling, the Hunter curses as one Scourge Beast snaps its jaws mere inches from his leg, a shot from his pistol blasting through the damned thing’s jaw. He shoots twice, thrice, darting between the raging monsters to find his claymore still lodged in the flesh of the first beast, its head hanging off by ripped skin, swinging like a pendulum as it charges once more. The Hunter does the same.
Running straight for it, he shoots once more, blasting its left paw to pieces as it skids across the bloodstained ground, the Hunter leaping above it as he lands on his sword, kicking it clean through the beast’s spine.
Another curse leaves the Hunter’s scowling lips as he counts the bullets he has left, turning to face the remaining Scourge Beasts.
Three bullets. Four beasts.
The first two charge, tongues drooling out from their rotten mouths as the Hunter darts beneath them, claymore singing as it scythes through the beasts, the pair collapsing upon each other as he finished them off with a single shot. Two bullets.
Turning, the Hunter narrowly dodges another swipe, its claws slicing through empty air as he pulls the trigger. The shot rings true, but not before another set of jaws crunch down onto his shoulder. A snap and blood sprays across his vision, throbbing pain blinding the Hunter as he rams his claymore behind him, throwing both the beast and himself to the ground from the momentum. And with the last burst of strength, he writhes free, shooting the monster through the skull as he kneels in a pool of blood.
“Fuck.” The Hunter’s left arm hangs, shredded and broken, rendered useless as he pushes himself to his feet using his sword as a brace.
Grimacing, he has no choice but to hobble into the nearest alleyway, clutching what remains of his arm as he sheathes his claymore onto his back. Staying out in the open any longer would mean certain death. He needs to find shelter, not to mention a doctor or at least some blood to help him recover. The Hunters were all products of blood transfusions, and yet this Hunter in particular must bear the sin of his lineage, the horrors behind that long-forgotten castle of ice and snow passed down to him. Without blood, his hunger worsens.
The itching at his gums and the prick of fangs against his lip remind him of that. His thirst grows stronger.
Limping further into the alley, a small courtyard emerges. In the center, there is a decaying tree, what looks to be the remains of a forgotten well, and a ladder trailing up to the roofs of the houses.
“Well,” The Hunter grunts, hauling himself up the first wooden rung with his one functioning arm. ”It can hardly be worse than lying out in the open.”
Perhaps by luck or perhaps by yet another cruel temptation by the Saints, there waits a balcony door at the far end of the roof. Limping forward, the Hunter rams his foot against the handle, rotten wood splintering at the blow, announcing the Hunter’s entrance with a groan. It was dim room, likely an attic or storeroom of the residence—if any humans still occupied it, that is.
Still scanning the area, the Hunter tucks himself into a far corner, leaning against what appeared to be crates of empty beakers and vials. At least, that’s all he manages to make out as his sight blurs with each flash of heat and pain. No matter. He wouldn’t stay long, only just enough to catch his breath, if the Dream didn't take him first.
Darkness dances across his vision, the left side of his body going completely numb as he only half-registers the trail of blood made from his raw wounds. A laugh, his eyes rolling to the back of his skull. Yes, just a quick breather, a nap, he thinks, losing the battle to consciousness. He shan’t be here long.
And with that, his head rolls to the side, and he slips into the cold embrace of death.
The Hunter awakens to two things: One, he is still frustratingly alive, his entire body burning like fucking hell.
Two, he is strapped down to a table with a rifle pointed at his face.
He doesn’t get to so much as think of moving when the figure before him presses the muzzle of the gun closer. “I wouldn’t recommend trying anything,” the last word is little more than a growl as the figure leans in, your face illuminated by the overhead surgical light, highlighting your sneer of disgust. “Vileblood.”
Fucking fantastic.
“I believe there has been some confusion. I was simply seeking refuge.” Diluc doesn’t bother struggling against his restraints, merely flexing his left hand as he realizes he can control his wounded arm again. He’s healing, slowly, but finally. Good, he doesn't have time for this.
Seeing you have yet to relax your hold on the rifle, he clears his throat. “I am a Hunter. I understand you must be frightened, so if you would release me I’ll leave your residence at once. I was only looking for an empty place to rest, but evidently, I chose wrong.”
“A Vampyr who hunts monsters,” You laugh. “Saints. What has the world come to?”
"Hell, by all manners of the word. Now, if you’d release me I would leave your premises immediately and return—”
One more hysterical laugh forces its way from your lips, cutting the Hunter off as you shove the rifle forward, burying the barrel into his forehead. “Do you take me for a fool?”
His flesh burns. Diluc hisses through clenched teeth, the skin on his forehead bubbling and bleeding rapidly where it touches the rifle, the gruesome mixture dripping down his face. Silver. Just his damned luck.
Relenting, you prop the rifle up against the table he’s chained to, pulling up your coat sleeve to reveal a clean row of puncture wounds along your forearm. The smell of blood and burnt flesh stains the air. “You were nearly sent back to the hell you crawled out of, blood-starved and bleeding out in my attic. I take it my blood saved you just in time.”
“So why rescue me, Executioner?”
You grimace. “I am no Executioner, that whole damned Church and you Hunters can go up in flames for all I care. I am a doctor. My oath is to none but the sciences.”
Diluc blinks, eyes darting from you, to the rifle, and back to you. “Of course,” A scoff. “A doctor.”
“Oui, believe it or no, it matters not to me. Truthfully, your appearance is something of a blessing, as I have need of something only you, cursed mutant Vileblood, can give me.”
Diluc is about to say something of particularly flavorful language when you begin shuffling items on an operating tray, pulling out a scalpel and syringe long enough to make the words dry in his throat. The restraints don’t budge. Normally, breaking a set of chains- leather, metal, or otherwise- would hardly be considered a challenge, however Diluc is painfully aware that he hasn’t fed in weeks prior to the fight, and the throbbing in his arm and across his body confirms that his body failed to heal itself completely.
Without more blood, not only will his strength continue to wither, but so will his control. That means the once mighty Hunter really is entirely at the mercy of some psychopathic, self-proclaimed doctor currently unbuttoning his vest and spreading her hands across his chest, positioning the scalpel just above his heart.
You are just about to make the first incision through the Hunter’s pale skin when the door creaks open, twin heads popping out. Two pairs of identical grey eyes stare into the clinic, mops of blonde hair bouncing as they peek out from the doorframe.
“Is breakfast ready yet?”
“I’m hungry and Eileen won’t quit hitting me!”
“Liar! Liar! Timmy hits me first, it’s true, I swear it.”
“It’s hit not hits, stupid!”
“Is not, idiot!”
“Is too, dunce!”
“Lubberwort!”
“Smellfungus!”
“Gollumpus!”
A high-pitched scream. “Take that back! Take it back!”
Diluc watches, stunned, as the children bicker, the heavy atmosphere of the room all but vanishing as they continue to screech and squabble. Then, you stand, slamming down the scalpel and sucking in a deep breath—“Silence!”
The echo of the command befalls the room.
“Yes, Miss Doctor.”
You pinch your brows, careful not to cut yourself with the scalpel, swearing this alone has eaten away at your already regrettably short lifespan. “Where is Alison? She was on cooking duty today. And do believe I already told the both of you not to interrupt while I am with patients.” The twins flinch, looking at each other before their gaze falls on Diluc.
“Do you always tie them up before cutting them?”
“This one is dirty, scary-looking. Like an ugly dog!”
Diluc feels a punch in the gut at that one. Children. Blunt as a hammer.
“Yes, he is indeed very ugly.” Bitch. ”But he is my patient and we are in the middle of a very, very important step in making him feel better. So please, mes petits choux, go find Alison or Edwin at tell them to get started on the food, lest they become it.”
“Okay!”
Rattling footsteps echo down the hall, and you finally exhale as the twins scamper off, turning to face a still-bewildered Hunter. You slam the door shut, locking the rusted hinge. “Out with it.”
Diluc clears his throat. “Not yours, I presume?”
A snort. “Saints, no. I already told you, I run a clinic… alongside an orphanage, research center, and theater depending on if it’s Friday or not.”
He fights a smile, something tugging at a memory long forgotten. “Ah. I see.”
But there is no longer any lingering hostility, Diluc’s arms all but slack against the restraints as the realization dawns on him. “I’ve placed you all in danger just by being here. Untie me and I’ll leave at once, I have already exposed you to my blood for far too long. I refuse to endanger you and the children any further.”
And, damn it all, your conscience finally catches up with you.
Cursing under your breath, you slam the scalpel and syringe back down onto the tray, unshackling the Hunter. Diluc is still weary as he sits up, immediately redoing the buttons on his shirt to preserve some modesty, about to make a run for his weapons when he feels a light touch against his shoulder. Contrary to your every action thus far, there you are, hand on his arm, asking silently for him to wait.
You clear your throat. “I already told you, you bloody stupid Hunter, I am a doctor. That means by oath no patient of mine is allowed to leave unless they are fully healed, Vileblood or not. We can skip the… extra procedures for now.”
You lift up a box, vials clicking as Diluc picks one up. Blood vials. “I wasn’t quite sure how a mutant such as yourself would have preferred it administered—through an injection like the rest of you Hunters or as a drink.”
“Either.” Diluc feels a prickle against his top gums as he pops off the cork, but swallows the desire down. “Either is effective.”
“Very well, then drink.”
By the Saints, he doesn’t need to be told twice. Mouthful after mouthful, he empties the glass before instinctually reaching for another, feeling the strength return tjo his limbs, skin and muscle stitching back together on their own, blood coagulating and scabbing over, subduing the beast that dwells inside him once again. He’s already thrown aside half a dozen vials by the time he bothers to take a breath. Panting, he wipes his bloodied mouth with his equally bloody sleeve, and you frown at the less-than-sanitary repercussions.
But alas, you suppose when you’re wearing the dried blood of beasts akin to a second coat, the cleanliness of it all fails to bother you.
You were so lost in thought that you failed to realize the Hunter had disappeared from the operating table. Now, he stands behind you, fully donned in his black coat and Hunter's hat, having already retrieved his claymore and gun before you could even blink. His voice jostles you, and you unconsciously shift back, reminded once again that this man is far from human. “You are far kinder than I deserve.” A deep bow, “I am forever in your debt.”
“That you are, my dear Hunter.”
Diluc freezes halfway, snapping his head up as he rises to full height.
“Surely you didn’t think I’d give up vials of my own blood for free?”
Your blood. Diluc grimaces, suddenly hyperaware of the taste as it coats his tongue and throat. Heavy. Rich. Fucking addictive. “You’re a Hunter so you’ve got no coin on you, that I’m sure. However, you can help me gather materials. As I mentioned prior I am conducting research,” You clear your throat. “On what I cannot allow myself to disclose, but I would appreciate specimens only a gifted killer such as yourself can obtain. And, of course, free-range to test the walking specimen that is yourself.”
He pretends not to be bothered by the way you eye him up and down as you say that last part.
“Research, huh…” An unamused grunt. “Word of advice, little healer. I wouldn’t mess with the Church.”
"Doctor."
“Makes little difference to me. The warning still stands.”
You scoff. “I know full well that the Healing Church is a far cry from holy, Hunter. After all, they created you.” And you don’t know what compelled you, but you continued. “That besides, my work is not directly dealing with the Church. I wish to find the truth behind, well, all of this: Ashen Blood, the Beastly Scourge, Vilebloods, the truth of—”
“Quiet.” Diluc slams his hand over your mouth, muffling your words as you gasp. Surprise turns to irritation as you yell, attempting to claw him off, to no avail. “Do not speak of such blasphemy aloud.”
Completely ignoring him, you keep fighting his grasp, almost considering biting his palm before you remember how much filth his gloves must be carrying on them. “Just listen to me for a moment, would you? Quiet.” The last word is a hissed whisper, but the ferocity in his glare silences you.
Then, you hear it, too.
A rhythmic tapping, a movement of someone or something hopping along the weathered shingles of the clinic’s roof. Diluc merely puts a finger to his lips, motioning you to stay put as he unsheathes his claymore in a smooth arch. Silently, he makes his way to a window, leaping out as he disappears into the endless night.
And then he’s standing before you. But this time, a dead crow is dangling in his grasp.
The startled shriek from you makes Diluc flinch, and he’s about to apologize for the gore when you cut in. “Your ridiculous bird is dripping blood all over my clinic!”
“Well, my apologies, Doctor." A raised brow, "I thought blood would be somewhat commonplace here.”
A huff and you inch closer. “Well?” You bend, investigating the crow. Or at least, what you thought was a crow, only it was well-past half your height, monstrously contorted and reeking of decaying flesh. “Why did you feel the need to bring this to me?”
“Carrion Crows. Appear to be rotting, unintelligible creatures, but I’ve seen far too many come in and out of the Church to believe they are simply wasted pairs of eyes.” He meets your gaze and flicks the silver band forged onto the creature’s foot. “Your roof just happened to be littered with them.”
“Saints.”
Diluc grunts, throwing the crow out the window, shaking excess blood from his palms. “As a man of my word I intend to honor our deal, despite your less-than-honorable method of trapping me in it.”
“Wait just a moment, I’m not the one who broke into someone else’s house half-dead and bleeding while—”
“But call for me, and I will bring you the specimens you require.” You scowl as he cuts you off- again- stepping back from pure instinct as he walks towards you. Lifting his hand, Diluc hesitates, arm falling back to his side. He steps away.
You’re scared. The smell of fear radiates off you despite your determination to look him in the eye, likely denying that visceral reaction to yourself even now. He can’t blame you: if it has fangs and claws and a lust for blood, then surely it must be a beast. He accepted that fact long ago.
“I’ll say it once more, stay away from the Church. If not for your own sake, then for the children you care for.”
The Hunter had already made his way back to the window, clearly not intending to use the door like a civilized person, when you speak up again, quieter this time.
“It is for them I must continue. There is no future, not for the children nor for Yharnam, unless I find the truth.”
Diluc doesn’t move. He simply stares at you, finding a conviction, a light in your eyes that he swears he hasn’t seen in the decades since this world fell into eternal night. And it terrifies him.
Hope.
“Until then, Doctor.”