The Sandman (Bloodborne)

[Lemor]

Chapter 26

Amelia was praying.

For the Vicar, this was a routine practice. Her prayers were dictated neither by formality nor blind faith. The motives were simple: through prayer, she sought answers from the Great Ebrietas.

"What should I do? How should I act? Will you protect me? Just this once?.."

The Sandman was not sitting idle. This unnerved Amelia, provoking the beast within her that demanded... if not open confrontation, defying the sheer foolishness of such an action, then at least clipping the industrious entity's wings a fraction.

The Church's internal divisions on such matters worked against it. By vote, the Choir had concluded that one could not act swiftly with such a being, just as one could not with any other Great One. The Church revered the Great Ones, striving to become like them through blood, and thus Amelia understood the Choir's desire to study the bearer of the Old Blood more deeply, to attempt to extract a fragment of knowledge from him through fake clients—but...

Amelia knew nothing would come of it. A single meeting with the one who had taken the name Arthur Sand was enough for the woman to draw certain conclusions.

The Sandman's assistance to the Vileblood Queen deserved separate mention. Although the Church had managed to exploit the situation and, on the whole, pacify the common folk, they had simultaneously kicked a time bomb. Amelia had no doubt that the Queen had struck a deal with the Sandman, and there was no need to clarify what a catastrophe it was already becoming for them.

The woman opened her eyes and looked up at the altar, feeling a mounting pain in her body and simply ignoring it.

She possessed the strength to endure. This was her duty. She would get through this. Her life was worth nothing before the goal.

"So, he stepped out of the pub and vanished..." Amelia whispered. "Where could he have gone personally, and to what end?"

"I do not think that is of great importance right now. I found the deliberate demonstration of his departure far more amusing, Vicar," another voice replied with a distinct smile. "The Sandman observes us just as we observe him."

Amelia turned to the elder Iosefka.

"You place yourself and him on the same level. This will end in a fate worse than death for you, Iosefka."

Not a single muscle twitched on the girl's face.

"In that case, we shall never become like them, Vicar Amelia."

Amelia did not deem it necessary to argue with her. She knew the peculiarities of the elder Iosefka's psyche. Everyone who possessed even a passing acquaintance with her knew. And they either accepted it, or feared and avoided her, or ignored it—for her utility as a researcher of the Old Blood was indisputable.

Though the Small Celestial Emissaries were not considered a successful experiment, in a way it could be deemed a breakthrough: the subjects truly attained a unique power, despite the horrific price. Horrific, yet acceptable. On the path to ascension, one could not do without trial and error. Iosefka, moreover, had demonstrated a semblance of success, unlike her... more lackluster younger sister. The younger Iosefka was distinguished by her ability to partially cleanse the Old Blood of the Great Ones' will that fed the beast, but her method could not be implemented on a mass scale, and thus the utility of her discovery was called into question. At the very least, her clinic created a favourable impression of the Healing Church.

The Vicar turned away from the elder Iosefka, plunging into thought.

"Now is a good moment to act. The Choir can no longer be so divided. Not now. The Church needs unity..."

For the past months, she had waited patiently, prayed dutifully, followed the will of the Choir's members, while forming alliances with certain representatives. Perhaps she could have advanced her initiatives through more... peaceful methods, but witnessing what was unfolding right under their noses, Amelia believed the risk was justified.

"So unexpected..." Iosefka gasped in surprise. "But did you not say not to place us on the same level as him? The Sandman will surely realise you intend to use him."

Amelia shook her head.

"I am not trying to use him. I merely wish to show that the Church will not ignore the emergence of such a rapidly growing cult. At least, openly."

She would seize control through the only possible method: fear. The profound terror that only a godlike, unknowable entity could bring.

"How hypocritical," Iosefka admired. "But such duplicity is precisely what a Vicar must possess, is it not?"

The Vicar let the barb pass completely unnoticed. Amelia did not believe a small disruption would greatly provoke the Sandman. Perhaps he was not as benevolent toward them as he was toward the Vileblood Queen, but he had not undertaken any larger-scale actions either. This meant either that the entity for some reason saw no sense in it yet, or that it simply lacked sufficient strength for now, and the cult served as a means to gather that power. Both options, even if only partially true, suited Amelia despite all the risks.

The Vicar did not dare place herself on the same level as such a Great One, yet she knew all too well how vulnerable the Great Ones could be in certain situations. The dead Kos, washed ashore at the Fishing Hamlet. A gift from above that had granted the Church boundless data. Ebrietas, who did not even attempt to resist, ignoring everything they did.

If the Master of Sand was indeed weakened for some reason, now was the perfect moment to... stir him just a fraction, create panic within the Church and specifically among the members of the Choir, and then begin to act. Though for a short term, power must be concentrated in her hands to mobilise all the Church's resources if necessary. And Amelia had ideas as to who within the Church could help realise her plans. After all, the Vicar herself had partially lent a hand in creating her own ally. Unstable, losing his mind, yet loyal, possessing the reputation of a man whom others were ready to follow to the bitter end. With his help, no one would question Amelia's authority.

"How is Ludwig faring?" Amelia asked, turning back around. "Does his Holy Blade still come to him in his nightmares? Does he speak with his sword often?"

A flash of genuine sympathy and pity flickered in the Vicar's voice; everything within her screamed how wrong the situation was, yet their goal was too grand and distant for it to stop her. In a way, Amelia was far more insane than the empathy-deprived Iosefka, and the latter felt it, involuntarily bowing her head before the monster in the guise of a gentle and kind woman. Their goals and desires were aligned; closeness to the Vicar yielded many opportunities, and she would gain even more if the Vicar achieved success.

"The condition of the Church's first hunter remains stable for now."

"That is heartening," Amelia smiled. "I wish to arrange a secret meeting with him, Iosefka."

"I shall convey your desire," the elder Iosefka nodded.

"Excellent," Amelia's smile widened slightly. "How are your personal researches progressing?"

The elder Iosefka's mood soured imperceptibly.

"I feel that my sister has discovered something vital regarding the Sandman, but she conceals it from me."

Amelia frowned, lost in thought.

"Notes?"

"Only in her head."

Amelia felt a foul premonition. The woman turned to the girl, staring into her eyes with an unreadable gaze. Iosefka's tone. By tone alone, Amelia understood her intentions.

"She is your sister. Do not forget that, Iosefka. Blood ties are far too precious. You yourself lent a hand to her distrust. Speak with... No," the woman cut herself off sharply. "Later, I shall speak with her myself. You may go."

"Understood."

Amelia watched the psychopath slowly depart, allowing herself a cautious exhale only after she had gone. It was not fear. Rather, the Vicar was restraining herself from accidentally tearing the girl to pieces. Fortunately, for now, sanity prevailed. The elder Iosefka could still be of use to her. Just as she could be of use to her.

Amelia returned once more to prayer, and to her surprise, at the edge of her consciousness, she suddenly heard something vaguely resembling a voice. A thought shaped into speech, carrying images and meanings which, after a moment's reflection, the Vicar could somehow interpret:

The Great Ebrietas would help her. Just once.

It seemed now truly was the best moment to act.

***​

Fog. A dense fog and an insurmountable, eerie sensation, as if warning me that any further path was forbidden. These were my first impressions upon arriving in the village cursed by dead Gods. Even after stepping out of the carriage, the odour of rotten fish reached me—so familiar that something twisted unpleasantly inside my stomach. However, I gave no sign, remaining outwardly completely calm.

"You need not follow me any further," I reassured the coachman. "You may depart for now."

"B-but how will I know that..."

"You will know," I said softly.

"U-understood..."

The nervous horses eagerly followed the coachman's command. Soon the carriage vanished into the fog, leaving me alone. Practically.

"Your desire to bring me to this place frightens me, Arthur..."

I huffed.

"Your perceptiveness delights me."

Among other things, I truly wanted to bring her to this place. The first and most vital stage of rehabilitation was complete—but who said that would be enough? The girl needed to look her fear in the eye.

"I believe there is still life remaining in this village, Arthur."

"I don't doubt it," I rolled my eyes. "It will be interesting to look upon it. Tell me everything. From the very beginning."

The girl hesitated, but not for long. Soon a rather sparse tale echoed in my head, slightly supplementing the knowledge I possessed from the game.

Initially, the Church did not know what specifically was happening in the village. A mere rumour arrived that the villagers had begun to worship some sea god, for which they paid with a curse. At least, so they were told by surviving travellers who, by a cruel joke of fate, had wandered into the village. The Church took the news seriously, sending a group of hunters led by Gehrman and Maria to investigate. Soon, everything was confirmed: the village was indeed cursed. Those who worshipped the dead Great One washed ashore had not only begun to greedily devour the larvae and Phantasms that crawled out of it, but had themselves begun to transform into fish-like creatures.

What could the Church desire? Naturally, among other things, to study the interesting mutation.

"...we were told to harvest their eyes..."

The amphibians, as they called them, were no longer considered human. That was how the order was explained to Maria. Granted, the turned people truly bore little resemblance to them, and would likely bring nothing good in the future—but did that diminish the magnitude of the sin committed?

"I must admit," I interjected, "it fascinates me how, with your level of technology and utter lack of understanding regarding the process of Ascension, you managed to venture so far. There is a logic to your actions, but the sheer barbarism with which you approached the problem of expanding your own perception raises many questions for me."

They had not only practically slaughtered almost the entire village, missing only those who managed to hide, but had also eviscerated the corpse of the Great One—full of strange larvae and Phantasms—extracting the foetus with the Orphan of Kos. And Maria had personally participated in this process.

The young girl had been prepared for many orders; curiosity drove her to mad things, but a trip that seemed unremarkable at first glance ended in a near-total breakdown for her psyche. What came next was already clear: the Research Hall, an attempt to help and at least slightly remedy the situation, the realisation of the abyss, total collapse and...

Regardless, we had already been through this.

Maria's silence was better than any words. I merely huffed merrily at it, attempting to conceal the less-than-pleasant sensations of being in such a... specific place. Howard Lovecraft would have given a standing ovation had he found himself in such a repulsive location. With every step deeper into the village, I sank further into the finest illustration of dark fantasy horror.

Stone, half-ruined huts stood in uneven rows, their roofs covered in slime and walls in mould. Narrow streets, slick with seawater, aroused a strange instinctive loathing in me; the stench of rot grew ever stronger. Along the way, I encountered a wall carved with a stone inscription: Run.

I, unfortunately, did not intend to run. Moreover, there were still those here whom I could at least slightly help.

"Charming..."

Along the way, I encountered a slug. White, quite large, bearing little resemblance to its terrestrial counterparts, it had been at rest until my arrival, when it suddenly came to life, trembling repulsively.

"A Phantasm. We believed we had taken them all. There must still be amphibians dwelling here," Maria stated.

The amphibians fed on the larvae and Phantasms of the Great One, so it was not difficult to guess who might breed them for further consumption. The Church had no need for the larvae, which could not be said for the Phantasms: their shells possessed a unique property, imbuing weapons with a fragment of preternatural power for a time. Small wonder the Church grew interested in them.

I approached the slug, starting to study it with a slight squint. The nature of the slug was not entirely material—I could say that for certain. Tinted with a faint flair of the Dream Realm, in a sense a tiny kinsman from the depths of the dream world stood before me. Infinitely distant from me, yet still bearing a fragment of the Realm.

This world harboured much that I could never have conceived of before. Had someone told me previously that somewhere they bred slugs dwelling in a borderline state between dream and the Waking World, I would never have believed it. But here it was—dark fantasy knew how to surprise. Again.

I extended my hand, allowing the excited slug to crawl onto it. It began to rub against me like a dog seeing its master after a long separation. Moreover, this feeling was reinforced by faint, practically imperceptible mental impulses: the Phantasm welcomed me, and I welcomed it in return.

"Phantasms are the familiars of the Great Ones," the girl shared her knowledge. "It sees a Great One in you, Arthur."

"It senses my connection to the dream, just as little Lily does," I said. "There is a hierarchy in the dream world, and it simply follows it."

"Does that contradict my words?"

"Not in the least," I easily agreed, shaking the little fellow from my palm. "In all likelihood, it truly sees a Great One in me, rather than someone else."

Take my connection to the dream and add the Old Blood I had already partaken of in respectable quantities, and the little one could indeed mistake me for something else. This brought me no joy—but fortunately, I was not allowed to plunge too deeply into thought: very soon, I chanced to meet the first two-legged inhabitant of the village. They emerged slowly from the fog. Distorted, overgrown with coral, pale as death, they held something resembling harpoons and sticks. Every step they took was accompanied by a repulsive squelch; the stench became stronger than ever.

I tipped my hat, tapping my cane.

"Wonderful weather, friends."

My response was a growl full of inhuman malice, followed by the throw of a harpoon—which, however, was not destined to reach me. Maria partially seized control of the body, shifting the torso slightly, catching the flying harpoon, already wishing to return it to the sender, but I stopped the girl who was ready for a new slaughter, lowering the weapon. After all, we came for therapy among other things—not so she could finish what was started. Morpheus calm her!

I surveyed the frozen mutants, then smiled my most amicable and genuine smile. Brown eyes filled with preternatural warmth; my voice acquired notes that seemed to come from the very depths of the dream world.

"Are you truly so displeased to have guests?"

My voice rippled out as if across the entire village, and it produced its own horrific, vile effect: from the fog, previously inactive, Phantasms began to crawl out, striving to reach my feet as quickly as possible. Previously they had hidden, but my voice had become a call to them.

The stunned amphibians—survivors of the Healing Church hunters' onslaught—shrieked something inarticulately, beginning to cast their homemade weapons to the ground and fall to their knees.

I had guessed what I would see, and so only smiled a fraction warmer at the sight unfolding, ignoring the larvae that had begun to painfully and actively crawl onto me.

Lords of Dreams, what a mess I've dragged myself and Maria into.

Belatedly, I realised that perhaps after such a specific joint trip, I would need to take her to some theatre—but that would be after the Fishing Hamlet!

Hopefully, nothing too extraordinary occurs in Yharnam during my absence.

Spoiler: concept_art26

 

[Lemor]

Chapter 27

Organising a raid on the Sandman's cultists proved relatively simple. Though the entity's preacher exercised caution, changing meeting locations, if one person knew the gathering point, the rest could easily find out. Someone said something somewhere, someone heard something somewhere, someone was not averse to earning a little coin. The rest was a matter of a single command.

The group of superhumans led by Ludwig, the first hunter of the Healing Church, was doomed to succeed. They acted swiftly and precisely, and the cultists did half the work themselves by barricading themselves in a place with only one exit.

They, led by Karl, were brought out into the street. A rather strong wind was blowing; the city slept as usual, unaware of the momentous event the unfolding night had birthed.

Unfortunately, problems during the raid could not be avoided.

"He resisted! Master Ludwig, I swear, I barely pushed him!.."

A young man, a mere boy in hunter's garb, tried to justify himself, but words did not help: his comrades seized the lad and, under Ludwig's silent gaze, led him away through the dark streets to the Church. He would have to pray for forgiveness for a long time.

A corpse. A corpse with a caved-in chest: the boy was too accustomed to fighting beasts. The body of an ordinary human proved exceedingly fragile.

Ludwig had wished to avoid unnecessary killings. He agreed to help the Vicar, but did not set out to harm people. He was as devoted to his cause as the Church would allow. Oh, he knew what organisation he belonged to. And yet, he believed he could influence something, change things.

How naive.

The distorted neigh of a horse echoed in his head; the holy moonlight sword at his hip trembled. His true mentor and guiding star calmed him, even though something at the edge of his consciousness still whispered for Ludwig to rid himself of the sword immediately.

Foolishness.

"Oh Gods..."

"Is all well, Master Ludwig?"

Harry's anxious question distracted Ludwig. He turned to the former butcher's assistant. A kind, rather naive, foolish man, yet not bereft of the gift for slaying beasts—practically the ideal hunter in Ludwig's eyes.

"More than well," the Church's first hunter nodded grimly. "Come, let us speak with the preacher..."

Kneeling, surrounded by armed hunters ready for resistance, Karl—unlike the majority of fanatics begging the Sandman for help—was completely calm, meeting the approaching Ludwig's gaze with a smile.

The Church's first hunter was poorly acquainted with the School of Mensis, but he knew of the scholar who had survived the ritual. It was not difficult to deduce why the scholars' ritual had ended so disastrously for them. Evidently, the Sandman had not been too pleased with it.

"Karl Jay, a scholar of the School of Mensis who survived the ritual," Ludwig noted thoughtfully. "We did not expect to catch you under such circumstances."

"All is subject to the will of the Master of Sand," Karl smiled broadly. "Since we have met, it merely means he desired it. Nothing more, nothing less."

A true fanatic—that was who Ludwig saw before him, feeling nothing but oceans of contempt for the former scholar. Clad in a golden robe entirely covered in mud, it added no beauty to the man's appearance. Rather, pity.

"Was it worth it?" Ludwig asked, gripping the holy sword in its scabbard and looming over Karl. "Did the Sandman grace you with knowledge?"

The last thing Ludwig expected was for Karl to laugh. Madly, so loudly that the hunters had to press the fanatic into the damp earth, yet he would not calm down.

"We spoke of the cosmos! Of the fundamental laws of nature! Of energies and countless worlds! While you suffer from the beast devouring your soul, we have found true peace and hope!"

Ludwig shook his head. "Only madness and death await you. Did Master Micolash's experience teach you noth---"

The Church's first hunter did not have time to finish.

Something happened.

Inhuman instincts screamed of danger; the preacher's scent changed; he ceased laughing, going limp on the ground.

However, the silence did not last long.

Like a controlled marionette, Karl's head jerked up.

Dead Gods bear witness, it cost Ludwig a tremendous effort to withstand the gaze of the creature staring at him.

This was no longer the runaway scholar.

"Your sword..." the entity murmured in an affectionate voice full of hysterical madness. "An interesting trinket. Did you find it in the Pthumerian labyrinths? I see a restless spirit within it... That beast inside speaks to you, does it not?.. Guides you, shares its secrets? Ah, it is so wonderful..."

"Wh-what..."

The neighing of a horse echoed in his head once more. Fury washed over the hunter; sanity left him for a moment. The hunter drew the sword—radiant with a beautiful, otherworldly light—desiring to end the creature before it could do anything.

This was no longer the runaway scholar.

The rest of the fanatics, as if waiting for this moment, spoke in unison:

"...wretched souls who tremble for their lives every night!.."

"...vermin waiting with indifference for the next Night of the Hunt!.."

"...he hath come at our call from the depths of sleep to shield us from the nightmares that have plagued us for years! To shield our souls from the beast hidden within and grant us salvation!"

The cultists' prayers could not help but cause panic. The hunters began to exchange glances, on edge. Attempts to silence the cultists yielded little, for they already believed that should anything happen, their souls would be saved by the Sandman, the Master of Sand, the Kind Lord of Sand. After death, an eternal feast awaited them all in the pub, where the sweet ale—full of the master's warmth and affection—would never run dry.

Ludwig never managed to finish what he intended. Karl's eyes began to resemble two abysses of darkness. The world before his eyes, despite everything, shuddered.

Someone among the hunters screamed, lunging at their comrades. Someone squealed in terror, dropping their weapon and vanishing into the darkness. Someone fell to their knees, beginning to pray. Someone began to show signs of turning into a beast right before everyone's eyes.

Ludwig, however, saw the image of a malformed horse staring at him with an unnatural smile. Massive, mocking him, it opened a maw full of rotten teeth, desiring to devour him.

"Why do you hesitate, Ludwig?" the horse whispered affectionately. "Come to your senses—your enemies have already fled... Listen to your mentor..."

The sword, shining with moonlight, flared.

Ludwig snapped his eyes open, coming to his senses. The cultists were no longer nearby, and his comrades...

"Master Ludwig..."

The man turned to Harry. The latter seemed to have recovered faster than the rest, staring in surprise at the writhing hunters.

"Well done, Harry," Ludwig sighed. "How did you come to your senses so quickly?"

"I hacked down the beast that tried to deceive me with my axe!"

This answer pleased Ludwig. "Good. Be ready—the night does not end here."

Harry nodded. Ludwig did not notice the doubt in his gaze, turning back to the rest of the hunters. One of them was close to turning, letting out a guttural snarl. Before the march, the Church's first hunter had to fulfil his duty and end the life of his former comrade. It was not his job, but unfortunately, he had no time to wait for the Hunters of Hunters.

"Master Ludwig... Master Ludwig, I..."

"Sleep in peace," the man said in an icy voice.

The holy blade flashed with otherworldly light. The turning hunter's head was severed before he could do a thing. Blood began to spread across the cold earth. The neighing of a horse echoed in his head again, but quieted fairly quickly. For a short while.

Unfortunately, the night was indeed just beginning. They had failed, and therefore had to resort to more radical measures: before the march, they had prepared, learning the names of some cultists, where they lived, their families. After all, Yharnam was not that large a city. Locals could still recognise one another with a mere glance. And they would use this, staging a demonstrative pogrom in the city—much more brutal and bloody than the Vicar perhaps desired.

Only Ludwig did not intend to stop there. Amelia herself wanted him to visit not only the cultists but also the dwelling place of the one they worshipped. Well, the man saw not a single reason to resist her will.

With certain deviations from her original vision of the visit.

Harry nearly flinched. The master turned to him again, and the former butcher's assistant could have sworn his eyes shone with an otherworldly, pale blue light.

"Harry, I want you to do something."

***

​

Lily found it uncomfortable to sleep alone. She was accustomed to Arthur being near her, day and night. The sense of safety and care he provided stabilised the girl's condition, and his blood seemed to awaken her after a long slumber. Every time he let her drink it, new flowers within the dream bloomed, her senses sharpened, her consciousness cleared, becoming ever sharper—and even her influence over the waking world and the dream grew stronger, which was also reflected in her appearance.

The truth was, however, that she remained just as unstable. A victim of a far-from-successful experiment, a mutant who still had a long rehabilitation process ahead of her. Although she had no trouble serving ale to visiting clients and even conveying that the master was temporarily absent, it did not make the girl feel any calmer.

She paced the pub restlessly, and the nights were particularly difficult. The master of the pub was far away, and though he could still visit her and even bring her into his dream, the girl did not feel the same warmth she felt when Arthur was near.

Needless to say, given such circumstances, Lily reacted very painfully to the nighttime incident.

"Someone has come..."

She opened her eyes in total darkness. Nearby stood the trembling flower, broadcasting a fully conscious thought: guests had arrived. And they certainly meant no good.

Lily's illusion blurred, revealing a slimy, hideous creature with a massive, swollen head. The creature's eyes shone like two searchlights. She was already stronger than many of her kin. In every sense larger, smarter, more developed. Yet this did not spare her from fear.

Lily slowly rose from the bed, alternating between the guise of a very young girl about to blossom and a terrifying monster—which, however, was no less frightened than those about to commit a terrible folly. Grabbing the pot with the beautiful flower glowing with otherworldly light, she headed toward the pub's entrance, where someone was already knocking.

Knock.

Knock...

Knock...

Crack!

The door was smashed in. With the chime of the bell, hunters burst into the pub, meeting Lily as she came out to them.

For an agonisingly long second, the pub plunged into silence.

"The pub is closed... dear clients..." Lily gurgled softly. "Please... come back tomor---"

Her voice was drowned out by a gunshot. A bullet hole appeared at Lily's feet. It seemed this came as a surprise not only to Lily and Thalamus, but to the hunters themselves. The man who had reflexively shot at the creature stared at a terrified Harry.

The hunter aiming for the target only managed to say:

"It's a small Celestial Emi---"

But he was not destined to finish. The smashed door slammed shut. Lily's otherworldly shriek rang out; the dreamcatchers hung around the pub shook uncontrollably.

The flower began to shine.

***​

The amphibians were the village's main danger. For me, having established a slightly unusual "status," they ceased to be a threat—instead taking me for an object of worship—and thus my wanderings through the village began to resemble a tourist trip to a specific landmark.

The only somewhat palpable inconvenience was caused by the Phantasms. The slugs covered me from head to toe, and on the whole, I did not resist them. First, they fit unexpectedly well with the image I had created around myself. Second, their unique form of existence intrigued me.

Connecting the unique form of existence of a hunter from the Hunter's Dream with the life form of the little slugs did not happen immediately—even though I myself had initially called the hunter's projection a "phantasm": these creatures were too different, the gap between them too vast, and yet...

I wanted to examine these "companions of the Great Ones" more closely. Perhaps take a few of them back to the pub.

"A cursed place..." I muttered on the seashore.

The water near the shore was murky, black, astonishingly vile. The sea itself seemed composed of darkness, its waves poisoning the earth. Far in the distance, ships broken against the rocks long ago could be seen. It was the dead of night, yet the moon shone brightly enough for me to see everything perfectly.

The most seemingly ordinary shore oppressed me. Something was wrong with it, and I felt it. In this place, a creature rightfully called a Great One had truly died, and for many years to come the shore would remain cursed. Even the amphibians did not dare step onto it, worshipping the shore itself as it were, unwilling to let anyone near.

Save for me.

"Can you cleanse it of the curse, good Sandman?"

Half of my face ceased to belong to me, speaking to me.

I smiled with the corner of my lips available to me.

"Perhaps, one day. For now, I cannot promise you that. What do you feel being here, Maria?"

It took half of my face some time to formulate an answer.

"I do not like it here, but... I do not feel the fear I expected to feel."

The girl's response did not surprise me in the least.

"The expectation of horror is sometimes far more horrific than the horror itself. Such is human nature. I am glad you were able to look your fear in the eye."

The half of my face no longer belonging to me smiled.

We stood in silence, watching the restless sea illuminated by the moonlight. We were distracted only when the amphibians decided to summon me.

Maria had thrown her weapon into a well, but it did not stay there long: the surviving amphibians quickly found it, keeping it in their possession. My request to hand over the Rakuyo surprised them, but posed no problem.

The blade, capable of splitting in two, truly fascinated me. Covered in countless inscriptions, I felt I held a genuine work of art in my hands. Small wonder Maria had loved it so much in her time.

For the girl, touching the Rakuyo again—albeit somewhat indirectly through my body—became something almost intimate. I felt her dead breath catch, her eyes widen, and her heart clench. It was not excitement in the usual sense, but I could definitely say I had done the right thing in deciding to return them to Maria. Such a passionate reaction to the weapon could not help but amuse me. Moreover, I had thoughts that the girl's weapon would play a much more important role in the future.

The amphibians provided me with a small, half-ruined house by the sea. I intended to head back to Yharnam at dawn, spending nearly the entire remainder of the night studying the weapon that intrigued me, conversing with the noticeably cheered-up girl, and examining the little Phantasms.

They gathered from almost the entire village, clinging to every corner of the house, creating a "natural" glow of sorts. From the outside, it looked less than appealing—but the interest in these creatures was far stronger than the minor inconvenience.

Besides, I was not entirely alone. At some point, the far-from-talkative girl literally burst open, and for the first time truly spoke at length herself. About the history of her favourite weapon, about how long she had learned to use it, about what emotions she felt when finishing off her first beast with it, about how many countless nights she had spent honing a personal, unique combat style.

There was no need to clarify how pleased I was to hear so many stories from Maria. Usually, I was the one setting the topics of conversation—now I merely supported them.

Unfortunately, the night was not destined to end in peaceful sleep. Closer to morning, small nightmares knocked on my dream. And what I heard from them made me freeze in confusion for a moment at first—but then...

Something in my mind snapped.

Spoiler: concept_art27

 

[Lemor]

Chapter 28
"Let us talk, Harry."

The deceptively calm, familiar, and affectionate voice of the Sandman—subtly changed since their last meeting—made Harry open his eyes in surprise.

The former butcher's assistant found himself in the pub. The very same pub where he had first met the good Sandman, where he had drunk the ale that awakened his senses. The pub that had given Harry the strength to resist the beast within and learn to fight it.

The very same pub where Harry had almost become an accomplice to a sin.

Something in the pub was wrong.

It was the same establishment the man had visited more than once, yet something deep within the hunter's soul twisted in primal terror.

Too cold. Too grim. Absolutely everything in the pub oppressed Harry; it felt hostile, wrong. The former butcher's assistant could have sworn the walls were trembling like some extraterrestrial living organism.

But, of course, what frightened him most was not the pub itself, but its owner.

Still the same well-groomed young man with warm, gold-tinged eyes, yet there was something horribly wrong with his appearance. The man's mind convulsed, trying to understand what exactly terrified his entire being so deeply, but it failed. It simply could not comprehend or see it.

"M-master..."

The Sandman's smile grew even more affectionate. Harry felt he was beginning to suffocate; his eyes filled with tears as a maddening dread swelled in his soul.

"You haven't visited me in a while, Harry. I was beginning to worry."

"I... I..."

"I am glad you decided to step into the Sand Bowl pub. After all, you are my first true client, one of the dearest I have ever had," the entity leaned slightly closer, dropping almost to a whisper. "I was deeply saddened by what I heard. How did it come to pass that my dear assistant was nearly killed, Harry?"

"I didn't mean to!" the large man cried out. "I... I stopped Gareth... I..."

"And that is precisely why I am still speaking with you, Harry," the voice rustled tenderly. "Why were you among those who wish me ill, Harry? Did the Sand Bowl harm you in some way? Or perhaps someone close to you?"

Something gripped the hunter's throat with such force that he began to choke. His body shook convulsively, but he could do nothing.

He thought he had learned to chop correctly. He believed that any problem could be solved that way. But he had failed to consider that he had only learned this thanks to the one standing before him.

"I... I meant you no harm, k-kind landlord... Master Ludwig t-told me to come... He..."

"Was that enough for you to forget my kindness?"

Harry felt the bones in his body begin to crack. Pain, the likes of which he had never felt in his life, struck with such force that the man's consciousness nearly faded into oblivion, but...

He was not allowed to.

An alien force held him, forcing him to experience the full spectrum of sensations. Release would come only when the good Sandman decided so.

"I... I have not forgotten, g-good master..." the man forced out with his last ounce of strength. "I w-wanted to stop th-them... I swear... I swear, please..."

Harry saw that his torment evoked no emotion on the entity's face. He was like a little worm that the good Sandman could toss as bait to the fishes, without even thinking about how frantically the bait tried to break free.

The entity maintained a terrifyingly long pause, stretching as if into eternity, before speaking again:

"You believe in what you say. For your salvation, little Lily has decided to spare you. I would be a poor guardian if I did not allow her to make her own choice. But that does not mean I will not make you pay the price. So that you remember and draw the right conclusions, Harry."

The Sandman's face began to crumble, revealing the true, grotesque essence of the pub owner to the hunter. His eyes, previously shining with gold, flickered.

The world began to change. With a horrifying crunch, Harry's legs began to sink into the floor. The former butcher's assistant shrieked as he felt his bones shattering. The pain he had thought unbearable turned out to be child's play.

Unfortunately, this was only the beginning.

The pub, dissolving into shimmering sand, began to crawl with slugs. Vile creatures slithering across the walls and ceiling of the illusory building crept toward the hunter.

The entity of sand, meanwhile, unexpectedly decided to perform its usual duties and...

Pour him some ale.

A sludge filled with slugs appeared in the sandy hand. Harry tried to make a sound, but failed. The mind of the man turning into mush, covered in slugs, could only watch as the good Master of Sand stepped out from behind the counter and leaned over him.

"I see, dear client, that you are having trouble drinking the ale yourself," the otherworldly voice laughed with paternal warmth. "I would be a terrible pub owner if I didn't help you, would I not?"

What now resembled more a slurry of flesh and bone covered in glowing slugs merely trembled and bubbled as the mug drew closer.

Harry did not know at what moment it all ended. The hunter's assistant, broken in every sense, simply opened his eyes, realising he was in the very same pub.

Fortunately or unfortunately, this time it was the real one.

"You... you have awakened, dear client..."

Real, but no less terrifying.

The girl's bubbling voice felt like a slap to Harry. Barely controlling his body, the former butcher's assistant somehow managed to sit up. Already on the edge, he stared with glassy eyes at what was happening to his former comrades, refusing to believe his senses.

"Do not worry... do not worry..." Lily gurgled. "Thalamus... will not touch you..."

The flower had grown in size, bearing little resemblance to a white columbine. Sprouting vines that slithered throughout the pub, it wrapped them around the hunters' bodies, beginning to devour them alive. Crushing, breaking, turning them into a mush that it eagerly consumed with a maw resembling more a beast's jaws than anything else.

The hunters, steeped in Old Blood, though lacking the richness and potency of the Master's blood, were still nutritious enough—if only due to the sheer volume of blood in their bodies.

Harry, seeing what his comrades' bodies were turning into and perfectly remembering what had just happened to him, began to laugh. A lump rose in his throat; he vomited, but not mere bile.

Glowing Phantasm slugs began to crawl across the floor, slowly but surely spreading through the room, making themselves at home in this new place inhabited by an entity so akin to the Great Ones.

The man's laughter, initially quiet, grew louder and louder until it turned into a hysterical shriek.

Harry had most certainly learned the good Sandman's lesson.

***​

It was a dream. A small, dark area with a flickering lamp that poorly illuminated the space. In the centre sat a small table, around which sat two fanatics and the one they worshipped.

"You have done well."

Even though the Sandman praised them, neither Micolash nor Karl felt any joy. And the reason was simple: the usually kind Master was... in less than high spirits.

He did not shout, did not raise his voice; he spoke as calmly as usual, and his face even bore that constant smile, but they saw something else. Possessing Insight that noticeably surpassed ordinary people and even hunters, they could notice and comprehend details that others missed.

A thoroughly fake, doll-like smile. The previously stable form of the young man seemed covered in strange distortions and glitches. The lamp trembled, its light flickering incessantly. Sandy eyes, just as bright, warm, and golden, simultaneously hiding the freezing cold of a true monster. Not a simple, mindless beast thirsting only for blood and flesh, but something far more ancient and otherworldly.

Perhaps Karl had been mistaken, and this had actually been a test not for them, but for the Church?

Obviously, the Church had ultimately failed the Kind Lord of Sand's test! He had given them a chance, but they hadn't taken it, and had even staged a raid on their followers! Furthermore, they had even dared to break into his pub!

"I am deeply sorry, Master," Karl bowed his head. "I failed in my role. The death of your servants is on my conscience."

Fortunately, his former teacher had saved him, though Karl could not call the possession a pleasant experience by any stretch. The scholars clearly had questions for one another, but...

Their cooperation had been predestined by the Sandman's will. Under the gaze of their God, the fanatics found it easy to reach common ground. What were their differences before a higher purpose? So what if they had betrayed one another? It happens to the best of us!

Undoubtedly, Karl was extremely wary of Master Micolash, and not without reason, but his faith in the good Sandman was stronger. However, the Master's current state raised serious concerns.

Micolash smiled politely. Entirely different thoughts were clearly swirling in his head.

"I know the Church quite well, Master. This does not bear the hallmarks of the Choir. Is it possible they sought to achieve something else with this absurd stunt? In any case, we are infinitely sorry for... our oversight."

Karl kept a straight face, trying not to look into the mad eyes of his grey-haired teacher.

Would the Church have at least attempted to capture a Great One? Yes, almost certainly. But it should have started with closer contacts, attempts to learn more, sending someone to infiltrate and gain trust, trying to extract something from a living Great One (could they perceive the good Sandman as anything else?) who had taken human form, using less crude methods.

If they decided to attack, why bring so few hunters? Why not prepare the ambush site? Why not make a coherent attempt to study the Master of Sand, instead of merely conducting surveillance?

Did this not look like merely the first phase, which someone had forcibly accelerated?

"I did not come to scold you."

The Sandman maintained a short, yet oppressive, heavy pause, pondering something.

"Only to discuss your next steps," the otherworldly voice drifted across the Dream Realm. "The Vicar shall have what she desires."

Oh, if the Vicar asked for it so eagerly, he would play along. The only question was whether she would regret it later.

***

​

Dead Gods bear witness, the Church's first hunter suspected that Vicar Amelia's scheme was dangerous. Yet, he still could not fully grasp the consequences of her decision.

"We... we made a mistake, Master Ludwig..."

It was hard for Ludwig to see Harry in such a state. Barely able to put one foot in front of the other, he had returned to the Church with horrifying news.

Terrible as it sounded, there were no deviations from their plan. As if on cue, the weather in Yharnam took a turn for the worse; by evening, a torrential downpour with thunderstorms had begun.

The news had not yet spread through the Church, but they were already actively preparing for it. Loyal hunters were gathering, lower-ranking members of the Church were receiving orders, preparing to turn a blind eye to the oddities and ignore what was about to happen next.

Ludwig's authority was indeed strong, as was the power of his word.

However, against certain things, he remained powerless. All of them did—mere mortals who had brushed against the otherworldly. Attempting to openly oppose the supernatural, to use it for their own ends and emerge unscathed.

The grim man strode through the downpour toward the Church. A cold wind blew in his face, visibility was practically zero. Yharnam's streets were empty, the city seemed abandoned: not a single light shone in any window, as if everyone had vanished in an instant.

But the instincts of the mighty hunter whispered that he was not alone.

For a long time, Ludwig wandered the branching streets, not understanding why he couldn't reach Central Yharnam. It was strange, but his mind stubbornly ignored the fact for a while. Yet, at some point, he realised the unnaturalness of the situation.

"This... is impossible."

Ludwig stopped, looking around with a piercing gaze. Somehow, he simultaneously recognised and failed to recognise his home city. The duality of the sensations was disorienting, confusing, as if...

In some strange dream.

"Show yourself!" roared Ludwig, drenched to the bone, drawing the sword shining with moonlight from its scabbard. "I know it is you, Sandman!"

The world before Ludwig's eyes blurred, trembled, shook. Something flickered on the edge of his perception; the man spun around to face the only lit streetlamp, upon which sat a sandy, gold-tinged crow. Not bright and saturated, but glowing with a dim, colourless light.

Ludwig swung his sword. A beam of moonlight swept through the spot where the sandy crow had just been, but cut nothing save air.

"Come out!" Ludwig growled. "My guiding star will show me the path regardless, Sandman. You underestimate the power hidden within humanity, monster!"

The hunter's pupils narrowed: he suddenly heard laughter. Calm, paternally kind—something deep in Ludwig's soul recoiled.

The man turned again, seeing a lamp ignite in another direction, beneath which he appeared.

Dressed in clean, well-groomed clothes, the creator of the nightmare suffered none of the hardships Ludwig faced soaking in the rain. Outwardly still a very young man, the hunter saw something wrong in the creature's terrifyingly calm eyes, completely shattering the image of a mere boy.

"Oh, you can take my word for it, I am perfectly aware of the potential hidden within humanity," the Sandman smiled politely. "Just as it is hidden in any other living organism. Through the streams of space and time of countless worlds, myriad souls travel from one life to the next, gaining more and more power each time, until they either fall and begin their journey anew, perish in eternity, or ascend. It is a natural process; evolution does not end with the body."

With another sweep of moonlight, the figure crumbled into sand, only to reappear behind the hunter, this time a little closer.

Ludwig gripped the sword tighter. Perhaps under normal circumstances, he would have gladly listened to the revelations of an extraterrestrial being, but unfortunately, the hunter understood that this entity had not come to merely converse.

"It is too late, Sandman," Ludwig said quietly. "My death will only accelerate the processes set in motion. The Vicar should succeed. At the very least, she could not have failed to prepare a replacement for me. My death will serve as yet another catalyst for unification. Power within the Church, temporarily or permanently, will inevitably pass to Amelia. The current Church is stable and strong, but too slow and unwieldy. Without change, only oblivion awaits us."

"Your devotion to your cause commands respect," the voice rustled with inhuman warmth. "But do you truly believe that success will lead to anything good?"

The creature's smile grew a fraction wider.

"Do you wish to see the future of Yharnam, Ludwig?"

The man gripped his sword tightly. On the edge of his consciousness, the neighing of a horse echoed, mixed with the roar of his inner beast. Massive, truly powerful, it awoke upon noticing the intruder. Both of them had awakened, desiring to meet him.

"The future? Are you... truly capable of showing it?"

Ludwig nearly leapt back: the Sandman was right in front of him. By some miracle, the hunter restrained himself from swinging the sword again.

"I see the fear in your eyes," the Sandman said with unprecedented warmth. "You already guess what future awaits this city and you personally, do you not? How often does your sword speak to you?"

"Monster!" the hunter shouted, slashing the sword through the crumbling entity. "Trying to confuse me? You will fail. I will destroy you, whatever the cost!"

The hunter stomped his foot. The world flared with the power of moonlight; the rain ceased as if it had never been.

He refused to submit to the will of some vile monster.

To Ludwig's great surprise, the young man who reappeared in the distance was not at all dismayed. No, quite the opposite: his smile twisted into a wide grin.

The Sandman's figure began to slowly crumble.

"It will be interesting to see, hunter, how long you endure and what it will cost the Church. Goodnight."

The Sandman vanished as if he had never been. Ludwig lowered his sword in surprise, not understanding what was happening.

What was he trying to achieve?...

"The Sandman has done us a great favour, disciple... Who would have thought he would truly prove so kind to us..."

Ludwig froze, lowering his gaze to the sword shining with moonlight.

"Mentor?"

The voice of the sword. For some reason, it was so loud, as if his mentor were personally standing right in front of him.

No.

Behind his back.

The hunter dropped the sword, which dissolved into moonlight, and slowly turned around. A massive beast loomed over him. A twisted horse, as if fused with his inner beast. Enormous, vile, repulsive—in the creature's eyes, he saw his own reflection. The horse neighed with a monstrous roar, lunging at the screaming Ludwig.

The dream began to collapse before his eyes.

***

​

Perhaps this time Amelia had prayed for too long: her knees had long since gone numb, her back ached unpleasantly, and the candles in the prayer room had gone out. Surprisingly, the night proved so cold that the woman could see her breath.

"A dream indistinguishable from reality," Amelia closed her eyes. "How wonderful."

The strongest of hunters could have envied her composure. The woman slowly rose to a sitting position, not turning around. She already knew who stood behind her.

"We meet again, kind pub owner. You will not be able to harm me, you must know this."

"I can see that perfectly well," the voice huffed.

An entirely ordinary, human voice; the woman could have sworn an old friend was speaking to her.

Amelia herself could not see it, but she felt it: something immense was protecting her. Then again, why "something"? The Great Ebrietas, Daughter of the Cosmos. Her tentacles enveloped her through the Dream Realm, shielding her from the influence of the alien entity.

"In that case, why have you come?" Amelia asked quietly, without turning around.

"Right now? Unfortunately, merely to issue a warning," Arthur said with the same amicability.

An epiphany struck Amelia. She nodded slowly.

"So you truly are limited in your capabilities. I was right."

"You were," the male voice easily agreed. "But your correctness has led you to the wrong conclusions: just because my capabilities are limited does not mean I can do nothing. It merely means I will approach the problem from another angle."

Amelia frowned, feeling something strange through the dream. A distant, shrill neigh of a horse seemed to reach her ears through the veil.

"Ludwig..." she whispered. "You did not kill him, but you awakened the beast within him..."

"You got what you wanted," Arthur said quietly. "I trust that you will ultimately turn even this situation to your advantage."

The Vicar remained silent for a time, pondering something. She felt the unseen presence wrapped around her constrict in painful spasms, clearly taking no joy in being so close to a creature wearing a human guise.

"What do you propose, good landlord?"

Ultimately, she had still been wrong. They could harm the Sandman, perhaps even seriously, but the price the Church would have to pay for it... It was too high. At this stage.

Obviously, their little arrangement would not last too long. Only until one side was certain it could safely dispose of the other.

"The Church must not interfere with me," Arthur smiled.

"We could try to reach a full-fledged agreement."

"You already gave your answer previously, beauty."

The Vicar merely nodded. Well then, she had to verify that a compromise was impossible. What a pity. The most seemingly comprehensible God, speaking a human tongue, was not only the most intractable but also stood against them. Perhaps if she had accepted his help then, a different fate might have awaited her, but...

That was already in the past.

At least achieving a temporary truce in such a situation was not the worst possible outcome, even if the price of her decision had indeed proven extremely painful.

The horse's neigh grew closer; on the edge of her consciousness, the sleeping woman could hear the shouts of hunters trying to restrain their turned comrade.

"I understand. May I know what is stopping you, good Sandman? If, even limited, you are capable of this, why not end it all now?"

The smile vanished from the pub owner's face.

"Do you truly think the Church is the only real threat to this wretched city? How much does poor Ebrietas tell you? You have researched her blood so extensively, tried so hard to speak with her, yet have learned almost nothing. How pitiful. Goodnight, Amelia."

The Vicar spun around sharply, realising how many questions had sprung up in her mind. He wanted those questions to arise in her mind, and the Sandman had achieved his goal.

What was he talking about? What threat did he mean?

"Bastard," the woman stated.

The dream began to collapse. Amelia felt the Great One's tentacles tremble.

The woman opened her eyes, awakening, already hearing the sounds of gunfire, the frantic screams of Church ministers, and the loud, vile neighing of a horse mixed with the roar of an extremely hungry, angry beast.

Amelia slowly rose, feeling the creature inside her yearning to break free. The woman let out a guttural growl, quietly repeating her prayer as she headed toward the sound.

The Sandman had been right: whatever the cost, she would put Ludwig's sacrifice to good use. Even if it meant partially unleashing her inner beast and defeating the monster that had attacked the Church, bringing the moment of her own turning a little closer.

A small price to pay.

Spoiler: concept_art28