New Blood

Chapter 9

C8: Blood Mad

"Director, everything is ready for the brackets to be shown."

"It's about time. I swear every year this gets harder."

"Perhaps due to the constant changes?"

"Obviously. But something still seems off about this time around. Make sure the Hunter is monitored."

"As you wish, Director."

The Hunter stared at the figure above him, the shade regarding him with inscrutable pale eyes. His body would not move, and his voice would not call out. All he could do was lay still and watch as those milk white eyes studied him from the ceiling. Slowly the eyes grew larger, until they seemed mere inches from his own. Panic gripped him, and his frenzied heartbeat increased. The shade spoke then, words that seemed to echo through sight as well as sound.

The Hunter did not understand it's speech, but he saw runes flash before his eyes, some familiar, others not. His locked voice strained to howl as the pale-eyed being continued to speak to him. Sweat made his body chilled and clammy and the Hunter felt his blood surging, burning, and writhing within himself. Those echoing words went on for what seemed to be hours, endless, agonizing time that crawled by with dreadful slowness.

Then something inside him shifted. Changed to become something other than what he had been or would have become. And with that shift he understood one word of the pale eyed shade. The word was not from any language he knew, nor any that graced mortal tongues without pain. The meaning of it was clear unto him. The word burned inside him, its rune hovering before his minds eye, the same as he had scored into Amherst's floor, and he writhed beneath the darkness that held him.

Blood

His eyes opened wide and he sat up, grasping for his sword as his gaze swept the room. Nothing was there, no dark shade, no oppressive weight. The Hunter did not relax, however, and searched extensively before slumping back onto his mattress, head in his hands. He tried to recall the nightmare, but certain things slipped away from him despite his efforts. In the end all he could remember was the shade, his immobility, and that one awful word.

The Hunter's skin crawled as he saw those eyes in his memories, and he let out a shuddering breath. Within him he felt a stirring in his blood, some deep seated urge welling up within his veins. Sound reached him then, blessedly normal sound, but it caused him to jump and reach for Rakuyo all the same. The noise had been a knock upon his door, it had not been especially loud or insistent, but it had felt like the booming of a great drum after so long in silence.

Trying to restore some measure of calm, the Hunter stood and opened the door, albeit with some caution. Standing before him was the tall, lithe, black clad form of the Umbra Witch, Bayonetta. Her expression seemed to be a cross between amusement and petulant irritation. Frayed as they Hunter's thoughts were, the presence of this overwhelming woman did little to help settle his nerves. Hi blood stirred again, like an animal slowly rousing from slumber.

The witch looked him over, slowly and deliberately until the Hunter felt his cheeks begin to burn. She spoke in that sultry voice of hers, "Hmmm, did someone have a rough night? You're quite the mess, Hunter." The Hunter looked at her levelly, "I have to say, the last time I saw a man in this condition, he had been much more pleased by my presence."

"Not in the mood Bayonetta." He tried to keep his tone calm, but couldn't stop a bit of growling irritation from seeping into his voice. Apparently she thought this amusing, as her smirking half smile told him. Annoyance climbing despite his attempts to suppress it he asked, "What do you want?"

"Well, I did, come to say thank you." Her gem like eyes glittered, "But it seems that I could show my gratitude far better by helping you relax." The witch's smile became somewhat smug as the Hunter tensed, "What's the matter? Is there something on my face? Or perhaps..." she stretched languidly, "you noticed something else?" With some satisfaction she noted the rising color in his face.

The Hunter's reply was grating, and he no longer tried to hold back his annoyance, "Well, you're welcome. And at the moment, the last thing I need is YOU 'helping' me." He put an emphasizing twist on the word helping, partly to indicate that he saw right through what she was trying to do, partly to try and irritate her. His blood surged yet again, the animal half wakened from its sleep deep within.

Bayonetta regarded him calmly, his verbal barb ineffectual, "Is that really how you feel, Hunter?" She let her voice drop, "Or perhaps you're just hiding what you want." Her words were rewarded with a flash of confusion across his face, pressing him she spoke again, "You want something, don't you, Hunter?" She leaned forward, staring into his green eyes, "I'm very good with wants like yours."

Inwardly he seethed at her refusal to leave, the combination of her and the blood was taking its toll, not to mention the amount of strain his mind had been subjected to during the night. The Hunter fought to maintain self control, but he felt that shift in himself destabilizing him. He had to do something, had to control the surging, burning, snarling beast that was almost fully awakened. His breathing quickened and his heart pounded even harder.

The Umbra Witch looked into the Hunter's eyes again, she could see the struggle inside them, could almost feel the heat from him. She touched his jaw and a shudder went through the Hunter's body, but he did not otherwise move. Bayonetta studied him as her finger lazily drifted down his neck, those emerald eyes of his locked on her own.

Her touch was like an electric shock for the Hunter, causing his entire being to react. Struggling even more to hold on to himself he cast his mind for something, anything that could bring him back from the precipice. Grey eyes wavered in his minds eye, like clouds in the center of a storm. The animal snarled and the memory began to fade. Scrambling to hold on to the one thing that had got him through the Hunt, he focused on those eyes.

The Hunter saw the encroaching shadows on his vision, could feel the beast clutching at his mind. The eyes were so far away... who did they belong to? Blood surged within him and the hunter felt it almost like a blow. It sent him to his knees, and he neither saw nor heard Bayonetta's attempts to get him to stand. Another surge and he was on all fours, gasping for air as his veins burned.

Blood

He wanted it, the craving for it roared in his mind. Vague memories of a vial came to him, but it that was not enough. The bloodlust rose ever more, burning him from the inside out until almost nothing was left. The urges recoiled from one part of him, however, something...strange and powerful. But it was buried deep within, and presented no resistance to the desires that raged about it. His fingernails scored the floor with deep gashes as his hands clenched into fists.

Bayonetta took an involuntary step back from the Hunter as he remained on the ground, trembling and panting. Something was in the air about him, brutal, violent, bestial. She realized then that it was not her the Hunter had been struggling to resist, it had been this. With decisive certainty she bound the Hunter within tightly wound bands of hair. As he was lifted before her she saw the green of his eyes becoming more golden, the yellow eyes of a wolf.

A crisp step came from the hall to her left and she looked to see an Arena staff member. A man dressed in a severe suit, with grey hair and none of the wrinkles on his face that would normally accompany it. The man continued walking toward them with brisk strides as Bayonetta continued to restrain the Hunter, who's body now seemed to be shifting within his bonds.

The staff member took out a small wooden box when he reached them, and, after winding a small brass key, opened it. Soft, somehow melancholy, music poured forth from the box, making its gentle way to the Hunter's ears. His reaction was immediate and almost violent, a howl tearing from his mouth as his struggles to free himself increased. But as the music continued the struggled slowly ceased.

The Hunter slumped in Bayonetta's hair and did not move. After several minutes the staff member put the box away, then strode off as if nothing had happened at all. The Umbra Witch watched the Hunter carefully, trying to ascertain if the danger had really passed. Once she was sure she carefully took him back inside his room and laid him on his bed. She couldn't help but notice a wooden figurine, however. A carving of a woman made with such care and detail that it could have been a real person.

The witch looked at the prone Hunter, then to the figure. Carefully she picked it up and examined it, taking in every last mark and curve. After several minutes she placed the figure back where it had been, then waited for the Hunter to wake up. She didn't have to wait long, after a little while he stirred and groaned, green eyes opening slightly.

He felt awful, worse even than when the Orphan of Kos had beat him within an inch of his life. His entire body felt like he had been both set and fire then frozen over and over again, sickness welled up inside him as he opened his eyes. He was on his back, in his room, on his bed, and he could smell Bayonetta nearby. With a pained gasp he sat up and looked at her.

The Umbra Witch did not meet his gaze, "Next time warn a woman if you're going to start turning into an animal. Its quite an unpleasant shock for the middle of a conversation." Though her tone was flippant, almost offhand, the Hunter also heard a tinge of regret. His eyes searched her face until she sighed in exasperation, "What?"

The Hunter remained silent for several more moments before speaking, and when he did his throat was raw and sore, making him nearly whisper, "Did you save me?" She didn't react so he assumed she had not heard and forced his rasping voice to be louder, "Bayonetta, did you sa-"

Her voice cracked like a whip, "I heard you the first time." She looked at him, "And no, I didn't, I just tied you down while someone played music in your ears." She straightened and turned away from the Hunter then, "I'm going now, Hunter. If you miss me I'm sure you can find me. Then we can talk, alone. Until then." And with that, she was gone.

He sat in silence for a time before looking at the figure of Arianna. If only he'd held more tightly to his memories of her, maybe he wouldn't have changed. Sighing he reached out and took up the carving, his fingers drifting over the familiar contours. With some surprise he noticed something hanging from her, and picked it up. A strand of long black hair had been hanging from the base.

-x-

Arianna once again felt the melancholy of separation well up within her as the sun slowly drifted down over the mountains, painting the sky orange. As she had done for the past two and a half months she looked to the singular pass that allowed access to Cainhurst. When she did, however, she saw that this time someone was walking down the aged road. She could not make them out clearly, but whoever they were, they walked with a slight limp, it seemed.

She stumbled down the halls of Cainhurst, not even thinking to take the wooden cane the Queen had provided to aid her weakening muscles. She had been increasingly confined to chairs and her bed for the past weeks, but she did not care just then. If that was her Hunter returning, she would crawl to see him, as he had done to see her.

The heart wrenching memory of the battered Hunter returning to Oedon Chapel one night, legs broken and covered in blood, caused tears to cloud her eyes. She ignored the stinging drops as she struggled down the final flight of stairs. With a burst of effort she forced herself to the door and opened it. Outside, in the dimming courtyard, the limping figure drew nearer.

Arianna's heart sank, now that she was this close, it was clear this person was not her Hunter. With a groan she sagged to the floor as her weak legs gave way. Whoever this person was, they wore hunter's garb, of that she was sure, but she had never seen it quite like that. They wore a cloak that appeared to be made of... feathers?

The stranger stopped before the door and looked at her from beneath a mask. This hunter was a man, short and stocky, with swarthy skin and dark eyes. He spoke, a deep voice rumbling forth, "Who are you?" The simple question was spoken without much force, but its authority was plain.

She responded dully, her raised hopes being dashed having rendered her quite uninterested in whatever this strange hunter was doing here, "I am Arianna. And you are?" She asked more out of habit than actual curiousity. Her Hunter was still missing, and that left a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Arturo, I am a hunter of hunters."