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

 

[Lemor]

Chapter 29
Once again I stood on the shore, watching the waves. The sky remained as grim as ever, and the earth, for some reason, felt even more defiled. After a night that was far from pleasant in every sense, stepping out here to simply think had seemed a good idea—but who could have known it would lead to something greater.

"This seawater is harmful to me."

I delivered it calmly, almost routinely, but naturally, such a declaration could not be taken as trivial. The other half of my face frowned.

"Harmful?"

"The Dream Realm is too conceptual a place," I lifted my gaze toward the gloomy sky. "You know what happens to sand when water touches it, Maria?"

I smiled, lowering my eyes to the aforementioned sand, over which the waves washed time and time again.

It took the girl some time to process the meaning of those words. The ensuing question was perfectly natural and logical:

"You have had no trouble with water before, Arthur."

Yes, it was true. Ordinary water had virtually no effect on me. After all, the physical world and the Dream Realm stood on opposite sides of the barricade, and even if one overlapped the other, it shouldn't be forgotten that I possessed a physical body of flesh and blood—just as real and complete.

So what was the problem?

"I am not speaking of ordinary water," I said quietly. "Water corrupted by the death of a powerful Great One, steeped in its blood, will do."

It mattered not how much time had passed. Great Ones are far too powerful for their deaths to pass without a trace.

I approached the waves, leaned down, and extended my hand. The water splashed against it and...

No. There was no burning sensation, nor anything of the sort. I was no longer that weakling, and my form was composed of flesh and blood, after all.

But it could not be said there was no effect whatsoever. It was something far more ephemeral and conceptual. At the very edge of consciousness, a feeling arose... how best to describe it? A slight viscosity, a heaviness. So insignificant that an ordinary person might have ignored it, writing it off as mere "fatigue"—but I was not entirely an ordinary person.

"One must be careful with this water," I stated the obvious. "It is not so dangerous to me, but applied correctly, it could play a role..."

I held a pause, diving deeper into thought.

The past night had changed much. Without even noticing, I had grown stronger. The boundaries of my capabilities had expanded, allowing even more power to flow through the barrier.

Neither Ludwig nor Amelia had been asleep. They had wanted to sleep, but they were not sleeping. Previously, I would have needed to wait until a person fell asleep on their own. And yet, flying as a raven through the Waking World and finding them, I was able to lull their consciousnesses into slumber so smoothly they didn't even notice. Neither they, nor the beasts within them.

Scattering sand through the material world, mixing it with the air they breathed, I gave them a mere nudge when they decided to yield to a second of languor. After all, it was late; who wouldn't want to doze off? There was nothing suspicious about it.

Truly wondrous possibilities were opening up before me.

And yet...

"Not fast enough."

This was still mere indulgence, not the real power needed to stop a dead Great One. And not just the Orphan of Kos! To truly solve all the arising problems, I had to be capable of more. Much, much more.

Already intending to turn and leave the shore, preparing for the departure back to Yharnam, my body unexpectedly resisted.

"You must be careful not only with the water, Arthur."

A stunned pause followed.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You are changing."

A very well-hidden anxiety seeped into the girl's voice. An ordinary person would have found it impossible to catch. Truth be told, it caught me entirely off guard. It took some time to process Maria's words.

Half of my face smiled encouragingly.

"There is no inner beast within me; I monitor my behaviour. You need not worry so."

The other half clearly did not share this feigned positivity.

"Please, hear me, kind Sandman. Whether it is the Old Blood or something else, it is affecting you. Be careful."

This was not merely a request, but a genuine plea. A plea from the one who believed in me perhaps more than anyone else in this wretched dark fantasy. The one whose fate had pulled me into this entire maelstrom of horror in the first place.

The smile vanished from my face.

"I am aware of the problem. We have no other choice. Fret not—my experience with self-control is vast. I may lose my light, but I will not fall into the dark."

"Do not speak as if you have no choice, good Sandman," the girl said, watching the grim sky. "Can you promise me something?"

An unexpected chuckle escaped me.

"You've grown bold, sweetheart."

Maria remained entirely composed, despite the highly unusual term of endearment.

"I allow myself only what you have permitted me, good Sandman."

How charming.

"True enough," I narrowed my free eye contentedly. "I am listening."

"If the moment comes when your light might finally extinguish, please—leave this cursed world and walk away."

Half of my face frowned.

"That is impossible. I cannot promise you that. You know what that would mean."

It wasn't even a question of losing this highly desired body and the accompanying powers. Maria, Lily, Thalamus, the pub, and all the promises made—not to mention the fanatics whose numbers were ever-growing—a considerable responsibility rested upon me. Enormous, so heavy that it palpably pressed upon the rather fragile shoulders of this body.

Even the theoretical thought of attempting to abandon this damned dark fantasy seemed impossible.

"I know that better than anyone," the other half of my face said with sorrow. "But are our wretched, dark souls truly worth your light? Do you... wish to cease being the Sandman and become a Great One? How will that end for the world, Arthur?"

Perhaps I had shown and told her too much. Ought she to be controlled more closely? Limit her will and show only a convenient picture? Stop speaking of countless worlds and indulging her boundless curiosity?

Lords of Dreams, save my wretched soul, this was clearly the mindset of a spirit far removed from the light...

My gaze dropped back to the sea.

"Let us do otherwise. If at some point I might truly lose my light completely and turn into a Great One, instead of attempting foolish self-sacrifice, you will simply step in and help me. How about that, Maria?"

It seemed the request for help hit the mark perfectly.

"Will I have the strength to help?"

Emotions were seemingly becoming sharper to perceive: a strange softness and warmth, accompanied by a peculiar gratitude, blossomed in her consciousness, enveloping me in turn—soothing, almost encouraging. Even the world before my eyes seemed to brighten slightly, though it was surely mere autosuggestion.

Perhaps the punishment inflicted upon Harry had been a bit overzealous. Ignoring the context had been wrong: he was an ordinary, not particularly educated man who had received an offer he simply could not refuse. Ludwig had possessed enough time to sufficiently influence the talented new hunter, leaving him unable to decline the task.

But had he truly executed it? After all, if not for him, little Lily might have died. Leaving him entirely without a reminder of his misstep would have been unwise—but my actions had been... excessive.

"How many times have I said you are already helping?" I arched an eyebrow. "Just keep talking to me, sharing your thoughts, feelings, and hopes. For a spirit, and for what I might become very soon, that will always be vital."

Perhaps the words sounded too intimate for the companion of my soul to formulate a reply. We thought on slightly different planes, after all. Having wandered the Dream Realm for far too long, experiencing anything akin to what was beginning to emanate from my companion was still difficult for me. Undoubtedly something equally important, yet still—different.

But that did not mean I could not grant her what she desired. It might not be as easy as it seemed, but we would see. It is never too late to learn something new or attempt to recall the forgotten old.

Curious—had there ever been a family in my human past, or had the descent into the Dream Realm been that of a lone wolf playing strange games? It was entirely impossible to remember.

Lords of Dreams, that would require some thought at leisure...

"Speaking of help," I decided to lighten the mood a little. "You do remember what I asked of you, do you not?"

"..."

The silence was so oppressive that a cheerful chuckle could not be contained.

***​

Even in sleep, Annalise tried to maintain her composure. From the moment the Sandman came to her, tearing her from her native dream and dragging her into a cold nothingness, to when she found herself in an entirely different dream—albeit one tailored for her. Naturally, the Queen found it uncomfortable to be in another's dream. Subconsciously, she felt that everything before her could devour her alive. And yet she possessed the restraint to show none of it.

No, instead, with her entire being she strove to project her boundless pride and majesty. Her back was straight, her gaze direct and confident. Her posture upon the throne manifested specifically for her practically screamed that she was a true Queen. Proud, haughty, revelling in her own superiority...

Though she was not succeeding entirely right now.

"Maria..."

Her voice did not waver, yet hiding the warmth proved impossible. Then again, she wasn't particularly trying to.

The one whose name she spoke had forgone the dress Annalise would have wished to see her relative in, donning the garb of a hunter instead. Coarse, tasteless clothing that, nevertheless, looked rather good on the girl. Unsurprising—she was a daughter of the Cainhurst line, after all! Everything looked good on her!

Pale, with cold, almost dead eyes, Maria made no attempt to hide her reluctance for this meeting. Fortunately, this mattered little to Annalise. The Queen's own opinion took precedence.

"Queen."

She did not bow, nor curtsy, let alone bend the knee. Just a barely perceptible nod, utterly ignoring the respect she owed her Queen.

However, that held no significance for Annalise at the moment.

"Simply Annalise, my dear," the Queen rose from her throne, stepping toward the girl who resembled her so much. "Hath the loathsomely good Sandman been gentle with thee?"

No, they were different: Maria was taller, noticeably more robust. Unlike the Queen, she projected no aura of frailty or feigned innocence. If the immortal Queen resembled a newly blossomed flower, her relative exuded a far more mature presence.

And yet, blood was indeed difficult to deceive: they were alike. With soft features and fair hair, random passersby could easily have called them sisters—and oddly enough, Maria would have passed for the elder.

"Do you also suffer from curiosity?" Maria tilted her head.

"'Tis a trait inherent to all our line," Annalise touched Maria's face gently. "Dost thou think the Sandman watches us with curiosity?"

Annalise was pleasantly surprised: Maria's cheek was not as cold as she had thought. She could feel a slight warmth. Something told her this was a good sign.

"I do not know what the good Sandman thinks," Maria answered coldly.

"Attempt not to lie so plainly," Annalise smiled tenderly. "Didst thou know how much a lie loves the truth? Wrap the lie in truth, give no clear answers, change the subject—but lie not directly, my child. Thou shouldst have learned this, rather than yielding to the sweet words of an old nothi…"

Annalise stopped short, catching the shift in Maria's gaze.

"Did the Sandman ask thee to be more patient with us?" the Queen posed a rhetorical question. "It must have been difficult even for him to persuade thee to meet with us..."

"His word alone is enough."

Annalise raised her eyebrows, looking away.

"We were right: thou wert the one who brought this monster into our world. How didst thou learn of him? Where didst thou hear of him? We found no mention of him in any book. The Master of Sand belongs not to this world."

"He came from beyond," Maria confirmed.

She didn't consider it a secret. Arthur made no effort to hide that he was, in every sense, alien to this world. Though he had blended into the surrounding reality rather well, all things considered.

"What thinkest thou," Annalise stared intently into Maria's eyes, "shall his arrival... not become a harbinger of something far more terrible?"

Maria frowned.

"Do not pretend it interests you. As long as the good Sandman is willing to help you with your problem, nothing else will concern you."

"We have not yet gone so mad as to consider ourselves a queen without subjects," the woman answered indignantly, then unexpectedly leaned forward, practically clutching Maria's hands. "What do we see... Art thou truly not indifferent to our pact with the Sandman?"

At the fleeting, mocking irony in her elder relative's voice, far more emotion flickered across Maria's face than she had intended to show.

Annalise laughed—as only a highborn noblewoman could, having seen something so amusing she could no longer contain her emotions, yet still obliged to uphold her status.

Maria felt her teeth grinding and her fists clenching. Words could not express how difficult it was to be near this old wretched woman!

"Perhaps it was to be expected," Annalise returned to her throne, studying her relative thoughtfully. "This creature hath its own peculiar charm. And thou hast become the one who earned his favour. Dost thou think we were pleased when he instantly showed us, the Queen, our place?"

Annalise looked into the void, observing the faux castle. The Master of Sand had replicated her palace well, but she could probably offer a few recommendations for improvement.

She had ruled her entire life. Her entire life she had stewed in a cauldron of lies, intrigues, omissions, and hidden subtexts.

"Or perhaps those words of his were addressed not to us, but to thee from the very beginning?.."

"Did you wish to see me only to better understand the good Sandman?" Maria raised her eyebrows.

She hadn't expected much from the Queen, knowing her well. But perhaps the memories in the girl's head had blurred considerably over recent years, and so she was discovering anew—with fresh, old surprise—all the accumulated hatred for her own bloodline.

"The Sandman is the guiding star of our line, Maria," the Queen said as softly as she could. "He answered thy call and preserved thy soul; he hath promised to grant us and all of Cainhurst a future we could not even dream of. He is our patron, terrible in his kindness. Art thou truly so surprised that we speak of him?"

"Has his charm proven far stronger than you wish to show, Queen?" Maria unexpectedly raised her head. "Did his words wound you so deeply that you decided to deceive yourself? Have you always been so pathetic?"

The women's gazes locked.

A very long and difficult conversation still awaited them.

***

​

The return to Yharnam was rather mundane, as if nothing had happened. The mutated people were none too pleased about the departure, but made no attempt to hold me by force. Their warm reception was noted, and an effort to help them in the future was intended—though no promises could be made. Their faith had shifted to me, so forgetting the trip would be impossible even if desired.

The pub was still not in the best shape following the guests' visit, but little Lily had done her utmost to tidy the place up. She welcomed my return just as a loving daughter might welcome a father home from a long trip. Such a reception brought joy—but at the same time served as another reminder of just how cautious one needed to be with the Church. Their situation was clearly far worse than mine at the moment.

In any case, plenty of matters had piled up during my absence, and the repairs were the least of the problems.

The most important event was not that at all, and it occurred a week after my return: the nighttime visit of two hunters who had departed on an insanely important mission.

Their appearance came as no surprise. The pub was open, the chime of the bell announcing the entry of Henryk and Gascoigne through the long-suffering door.

Hunters who had seemingly lost nearly all their value and had barely participated in any of the recent tasks were the very ones capable of completely altering the course of all subsequent events.

"Welcome to the Sand Bowl pub, dear clients," I smiled under the lamplight, sliding the pre-poured ale toward them.

The two hunters clearly did not share the host's joy, exchanging grim glances.

"We acquired a great deal of blood, Master," Henryk rasped.

Oh, that much I already knew, of course.

But something else remained unknown.

"Yharnam came to us in a dream, the Pthumerian Queen herself, good Sandman," Gascoigne said with unconcealed horror in his voice. "She asked us to convey that she will show us the path into the deepest depths of the labyrinths, to her imprisoned body, and will allow you to partake of her blood."

I froze briefly, then leaned wearily against the counter with a sorrowful sigh.

The Queen had decided to issue a reminder of her request in the best possible way. And perhaps it was also a warning: time was running short.

Something whispered that even less time remained until the night of the blood moon and the encounter with the Orphan of Kos than I had previously thought.

Spoiler: concept_art29, 29.1

 

[Lemor]

Chapter 30

The very moment the new patient crossed the threshold of her clinic, Iosefka sensed something was amiss.

Elderly, well-groomed, with a polite, warm smile, his eyes seemed somehow... familiar to the girl.

The new patient wished to undergo a full examination, complaining of feeling strange lately. It was, to put it mildly, a rather vague description, but Iosefka treated it with understanding.

Today was a fairly free day for her, and problems had arisen with her research, so she could dedicate almost all her attention to the elderly man.

At first she noticed no oddities, but the more tests she conducted, the more uncomfortable she felt. Upon closer inspection, Iosefka noted with surprise that the elderly patient's skin was highly healthy and elastic.

The eyes seemed to shine; the light reaction test likewise revealed nothing. The elderly man's vision was simply superb!

The lips and nails also showed nothing. Iosefka could have sworn she had never seen such clean and well-kept nails on any maiden—as if they were artificial.

The tongue lacked cracks, dryness, or coating, but something else raised far more questions.

"Never before have I seen such perfect teeth!" the girl exclaimed in surprise. Even those who had received Old Blood transfusions did not possess such teeth. "What have you done to them, Mr. Grit?"

"Everyone has their secrets, miss," the elderly man smiled warmly at her.

Iosefka felt a chill run down her spine. She could have sworn she had seen a similar smile before. But where?

There were no issues with the patient's gait and posture either. Iosefka could even note that the seemingly fragile elderly man possessed surprisingly strong muscles. A true dissonance arose in her mind: her eyes told her one thing, but merely touching the body revealed it was a lie.

"Do you exercise?"

"I shall take that as a compliment, beauty," the old man chuckled.

For some reason, Iosefka felt none of the same enthusiasm as the elderly patient. Something on the edge of her consciousness screamed with increasing force with every new test that something abnormal was occurring.

"Have you ever had your pulse checked?" Iosefka smiled through her nervousness.

"So long ago that it feels like a dream," the man answered quietly.

Iosefka lowered her gaze to her watch, listening to the sound.

Tick...

Tick...

Tick...

Tick...

"Your heart... is beating too slowly," Iosefka looked up into the bright brown eyes.

Thirty beats per minute. It was abnormal even for a trained individual. The elderly man before her simply could not look so well with such a slow heartbeat.

"Is that so?" the man raised his eyebrows. "I had not even considered it. What interesting processes are occurring within my body... I wonder if I can do anything about it. Try again."

Iosefka lowered her gaze to the watch once more, watching her hand tremble.

Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick...

"Forty beats..." she whispered. "I t-think this looks m-more like the norm now... D-do you truly require a-assistance?"

Hunters were incapable of such a feat. Perhaps a hunter turned into a beast sat before her, and this was some peculiar trait? But was the patient not too old and calm for a beast? What, then, sat before her under the guise of an elderly man, and why did he seem familiar?

"Perhaps something is amiss with my blood?.." the man asked with concern.

Iosefka nodded nervously.

She had no choice. She suddenly felt like a hostage who, should anything happen, could neither flee nor call for help. Perhaps she possessed some minimal training and took a little Old Blood, but first and foremost she was a doctor and a researcher. And nothing more.

Under the elderly man's intent gaze, the girl obediently sterilised the vein on the man's arm, drawing the blood carefully, with her usual tenderness and delicacy.

"I see you maintain proper hygiene," the man smiled approvingly.

"Otherwise, there is a risk of infection and putrefaction," Iosefka replied reflexively. "I-is this important to you?"

"I am surprised you know of this, sweetheart," the man smiled softly. "From what I have heard, many still neglect this and consider infection a 'natural misfortune'."

"Foolishness!" the girl exclaimed indignantly, though quickly catching herself.

She noticed that the interest and a strange approval in the man's eyes had noticeably increased. It seemed he had possessed a good impression of her from the start, but now it was as if... confirmed.

Right before the man watching her, she took the blood sample and looked into the microscope.

"Oh Gods..."

She understood immediately who and what sat before her. Iosefka slowly pulled away from the microscope.

"W-what was the need for... this?"

"I simply wished to see everything with my own eyes."

The man's voice changed. The girl turned, not entirely surprised to find someone else in the elderly man's place: a still very young man with piercing brown eyes.

"Sandman..."

Mr. Grit. Well, the Master of Sand truly possessed a peculiar sense of humour.

"I was certain you would soon visit me at the pub, but it seems something happened, sweetheart?.." the man smiled.

He addressed her easily and freely—smiling like a friend he had long wished to see and, having received no word, decided to unexpectedly drop by himself.

Perhaps such a manner of speech might have calmed an ordinary person, but Iosefka knew all too well how terrifying the creature before her was, no matter how benevolent it appeared.

The Healing Church had paid a very steep price for provoking the Sandman, though Iosefka suspected the provocation might have been intentional. It was even possible her sister had a hand in it. Regardless, she could prove nothing, nor did she particularly want to.

A tremendous amount of destruction within the Church, dozens of dead hunters and ordinary ministers—the turning of one of the strongest hunters into a beast had become a true disaster. And the one who had provoked that disaster sat opposite her as if nothing had happened.

How terrifying was an entity capable of slipping into dreams, influencing minds, awakening and slaying the inner beast? One whose demonstrated capabilities practically surpassed everything they knew? Not to mention that the girl had learned of something else besides.

"I could not," Iosefka sighed.

She terribly wanted to visit the pub again—to obtain more samples of the entity's blood and study them. But how could she simply pack up and enter the pub? It was far from simple, and she lacked the necessary training!

The man huffed.

"You are suspected of something. And perhaps not without reason."

The girl flinched, unable to withstand the entity's gaze.

Arthur rose, stepping almost flush against the girl. Iosefka felt her eyes begin to water from fear: the realisation of her physical and moral helplessness weighed heavily on her psyche.

Her sister... She experienced something similar from her sister, but her sister was her own flesh and blood! Surely her sister could not be perceived in the same way as... as...

"You are capable of purifying the Old Blood, are you not, sweetheart?" the entity asked quietly, affectionately. "I wish to see the results of your work. May I?"

Iosefka, barely concealing her surprise, somehow found the strength to nod, then hastily stepped away from the Sandman, beginning to search for the much-needed vial of blood. Without further hesitation, she handed it to the man. Truth be told, her restraint was greater than she herself realised.

Perhaps if Yharnam fully descended into madness, she would still find the strength to continue caring for her patients.

"Thank you."

Arthur opened the vial, thoughtfully sniffing its contents. The entity smiled at some private thought, then confidently took a sip, closing his eyes. He stood like that for practically a full minute, seemingly intent on driving Iosefka to a complete nervous breakdown.

"Astonishing," the man opened his eyes, looking at the girl in an entirely new light. "Who would have thought that an ordinary human, who has barely touched the immaterial, could achieve such results alone... It is worthy of admiration, sweetheart."

Genuine admiration and recognition of her efforts could not help but stir something in the girl's soul.

The Church had initially admired her achievement as well, but quickly discarded it as useless and even harmful: reagents that were too valuable were required for Iosefka to purify the blood; even if the question of value could be dismissed, the purification method itself put an end to its mass use.

Throughout the entire purification process, the blood had to be constantly monitored, and without the necessary knowledge and immense practice coupled with colossal patience, the purification results could vary significantly—ranging from minor side effects to something far more frightening.

Expensive and lengthy production with enormous risks of failure—that was all Iosefka had achieved. She lacked the necessary traits to advance her research, and even her sister had not considered her successes worthy of attention.

"Thank you, Sandman," the girl smiled—through effort, perhaps, or perhaps not so much effort after all. "Did you come merely to look at my research personally?"

"Not only," the man shook his head. "I wish to offer you a deal."

It was as if something exploded in Iosefka's head. Thousands of thoughts flashed through her mind before she answered:

"I... I cannot... Please, i-if that is all, then leave..."

Last time, the Vicar's direct refusal had been enough for the Sandman, but now...

A flicker of pity crossed the Sandman's face.

"Doubt, hope, fear of the unknown, regret... You are entirely insincere in your answer, beauty. What has changed recently that you now decide to refuse?"

"P-please, leave..."

"Let me think," the man thoughtfully raised his gaze to the ceiling. "Your sister?..."

"Leave..."

"I see I hit the mark, but there is something else... Perhaps the Vicar has begun to pressure you? Or maybe you saw something in my power that frightened you? My stunt with Ludwig must have contributed to that as well... Well, the fault there is mine. I see you already wish to answer, so allow me to finish: I need help."

Already desiring to ask the beast to leave once more, practically on the verge of a scream, Iosefka felt the words stick in her throat. The girl opened her eyes in surprise.

"Help?"

The man's face lost any hint of the otherworldly, and even his voice became entirely ordinary. Iosefka could even say she saw the most ordinary, human exhaustion on the man's face.

"I have come to you as a patient, sweetheart," Arthur raised his eyebrows ironically. "Will you hear me out? I promise I shall leave as soon as I finish. I will give you a day to deliberate, after which I shall wait in my pub. If my offer does not please you, you simply leave everything as it is and I shall trouble you no more. How does that sound?"

The Sandman certainly knew how deeply Iosefka cared for her patients. It was her passion and her purpose. By calling himself her patient, he hit the bullseye.

Vile, terrible, base, good Sandman.

Iosefka had not expected to truly hear anything that might change her mind. But she was wrong.

"You need to purify the blood so as not to lose your mind..." Iosefka whispered, disbelieving her own words. "Why are you so honest with me?"

"Are there so many in this world who genuinely yearn to help the suffering?" the entity smiled affectionately. "The choice remains yours. I will not mind if you wish to tell the Vicar or anyone else about this. I doubt it will change anything globally."

The man huffed, pulling several coins from his pocket and tossing them to Iosefka. Her services were largely almost free, after all—but not entirely so, nor always.

"I believe I have said enough. The Sand Bowl shall wait for you, Iosefka."

The girl was momentarily distracted by the taken blood sample.

"What about..."

"There is little you can do with that sample. Goodnight."

Iosefka spun around sharply, finding the elderly Mr. Grit in place of the young pub owner, who soon left the room, leaving her alone.

Perhaps under ordinary circumstances the girl would have had to make one of the most difficult choices of her life, but reality decided to help her.

That same day, her elder sister arrived again. The clinic had to be closed early: the Vicar had summoned Iosefka. Unable to refuse, the girl set off for the Church, passing through numerous corridors still in a semi-ruined state following Ludwig's visit.

Amelia was praying as usual, not ceasing even after Iosefka stood behind her and began to wait patiently for the Vicar to finish.

"Iosefka..." the woman rasped. "You have come..."

She turned, offering the girl an exhausted smile. Her face bore ragged wounds, which promised to heal within a few weeks—though that did nothing to improve the mood.

Iosefka nodded.

"Do you require something of me, Vicar?"

"The Sandman. From your sister, I learned that you know something of him, yet you conceal it. Is this true? And if so, why?"

"Perhaps my sister harbours a grudge against me for something," Iosefka shook her head. "I have recorded all my observations in a journal; you shall have it, but they will give you little, Vicar."

The Vicar did not answer immediately, pondering something deeply. For some reason, the woman's silence felt particularly oppressive to Iosefka—and soon she understood why:

"Did you know that lies possess their own scent, Iosefka?"

***​

I knew that many of my actions inevitably altered Yharnam and, consequently, its future. Surprisingly enough, that was precisely my goal: to prevent what I had seen in the game. And I had already changed quite a number of things.

Unfortunately, not all of them led to an improvement of the situation.

In the game, Iosefka's clinic still existed, and though her sister replaced her at some point, it was obvious that without my existence, the girl's affairs would have proceeded, at the very least, more peacefully.

Well, that future was not destined to come to pass.

It was still evening, the pub operating as usual. With the chime of the bell, the door opened, and a breathless Iosefka practically tumbled in.

"Welcome to the Sand Bowl pub. What can I get you?"

I saw something was amiss, but showed no concern on my face. The girl raised a guilty gaze to me, approaching the counter uncertainly.

Without a word, I poured her a mug of ale, biting my finger right before her eyes. A drop of blood dissolved in the drink, and I placed it before her.

I saw how difficult this decision was for her, and yet... Evidently, someone had taken the choice from her.

Iosefka took the mug, took a single sip, and sat at the bar.

"The Vicar... the Vicar knows now, Sandman..."

"There are no problems with that," I chuckled.

This, however, did not make the girl feel any better.

It turned out Iosefka did not mean my visit today at all. She meant her personal research—research during which she had discovered my weakness to corrupted seawater before I learned of it myself!

"That is... quite unexpected," I stated.

Did this change everything globally? Not yet. But it gave Amelia a trump card—a trump card she had essentially traded for a person who could help me compensate for my weakness.

Did Amelia know her gesture had helped me?.. I doubted it. Otherwise, she would never have pushed the one who could help me avoid losing my mind to the Old Blood towards me. Even if she had not wanted to harm her, the most logical course would have been to simply lock her away somewhere.

Who would have thought that dark fantasy would possess such a peculiar sense of humour. It would be delightful to tell the Vicar everything and simply look at her face.

"Madness..." I murmured thoughtfully, lowering my gaze to Iosefka.

The mug of ale had magically emptied. The clearly not-too-robust maiden had slumped over the bar like a sack, falling asleep right there from grief. Essentially, the Church had given her everything, only to strip it all away in an instant. Evidently, the Vicar now wielded enough influence for that. Iosefka's beloved clinic, where she helped wretched souls, was no more. A tragedy, is it not?

At least, for now.

Annalise would help me put her back on her feet. Setting up a new clinic should be within the Queen's power. And then, right under the noses of Iosefka's sister, Amelia, and the rest of the Church, her clinic would reappear—which they would not touch as long as the agreement held. When the agreement ceased to hold, the clinic would likely be the last place they would touch. There would simply be no particular sense in it. Easier to destroy than to build.

But those were problems for the future. Right now, an entirely different issue had to be resolved, one that grew more pressing with each passing day.

Perhaps no more than a week or two remained. In the best-case scenario—a little over half a month.

"Her arrival is very timely. Very soon you will be able to escape the trap of my dream, Maria," I smiled.

"...yes, good Sandman..."

Judging by the girl's tone, she was still deeply affected by her meeting with the Queen.

How charming.

Spoiler: concept_art30

 

[Lemor]

Chapter 31
Several days. It took another few days for the much-needed blood to appear in a mug on the counter.

It was not red.

Having undergone the purification process by my dear new client, the colour of the blood had lightened considerably. The scent emanating from it differed as well: it smelled not only of iron but of certain herbs and other... let us call it "alchemy."

Moreover, this was no mere purified blood of some random beast. Perhaps "extract" would be the most fitting term for the sludge before me. The exact number of beasts caught in the depths of the labyrinths by my dear clients remained unknown, but I could say with certainty that the mug contained the drained essence of not one, but possibly dozens of monsters.

In the best and most fortunate of circumstances, this concoction would agonizingly kill an ordinary—or even extraordinary—human. Iosefka had nervously warned of this several times, and she certainly was not dissembling: the blood in the mug seemed alive, trembling from the otherworldly will seeping from it. It felt as if a small rift into the Dream Realm lay within the mug, and even the barrier erected by Rom could not entirely cut off the influence of... this upon the world.

Yet, for me, this was no dangerous filth, but a chance—if not to significantly expand my capabilities, then at least to brush against the power of the Great Ones with the very edge of my sand.

Now, truly, I felt this with every fibre of my soul.

"Could it be that she deceived you?"

"Impossible," I smiled. "I am her patient."

She would not harm a patient even if her life depended on it. Such a flattering assessment clearly touched something in Maria's soul: unlike her, the doctor had not failed. However, the girl decided against developing the topic, switching to a more pressing one.

"Will this eliminate the root of the problem, Arthur?"

The question, full of curiosity and unconcealed concern, made me shake my head.

It was already a miracle that a practically ordinary human could kill the alien will within the blood without losing the qualities of the blood itself! And how could such a treasure be given away so easily? Lords of Dreams, the ability to sell one's talents is worth no less than the talents themselves. Without the ability to sell a talent, its utility is negligible.

"It will not fully save me from a potential fall, but it will certainly mitigate the risks," I replied after a brief silence. "In any case, we are out of time regardless. I have already done everything within my power."

A moment later, the purified blood entered my system.

I swallowed in large gulps, trying to finish every last drop before something deep within could react to the surge of power. I set the mug down and closed my eyes, blocking out the repulsive, caustic flavour that was so pungent my jaw simply went numb.

Unfortunately, this was only the beginning.

For the first time since partaking of the blood, a burning heat flared in my chest. Intense, painful—a guttural wheeze escaped me. A visceral sound, like a wounded beast. My legs gave way; I clutched my chest, feeling my heart begin to race. Iosefka had mentioned a slow heartbeat. Well, for a short while at least, I had resolved that problem without any interventions: the heart turned into a drum played by a true professional.

Thump, thump, thump, thump,

Bam-bam-bam-bam-bam...

My condition worsened, and regrettably, this did not escape the notice of little Lily, who came running, or the agitated Thalamus.

Perhaps the girl should have been sent away, but sending her anywhere else felt too dangerous. Maria's voice in my head, along with all other sounds, was drowned out by the pounding of my heart, and as it turned out, even this was not the limit.

A strange sensation washed over me. Visions began to form before my bloodshot eyes.

I saw raging seas and oceans. Depths humanity had yet to descend to. The boundless cosmos, so native yet simultaneously alien to the Great Ones.

My guesses regarding the nature of the unimaginable beings were confirmed: mere cosmic creatures drifting through dreams, somehow surfacing in the depths of seas and oceans. All human theories regarding their nature were simultaneously erroneous and correct: they belonged to the dream, the sea, and the cosmos. Born in the dream, wandering the cosmos, surfacing from the ocean depths.

The physical world receded, yet I could still feel the joy with which the slugs crawled over me. Hiding within the walls of the pub, they emerged, and I barely had enough strength to ask Lily and Thalamus not to remove them. They were helping somehow. They were not called the companions and familiars of the Great Ones for nothing.

However, while the Phantasm slugs posed no problem, there was something carrying significantly more risk, from which I could not escape even if I desired. Throughout the entire process, the projection of the Great Amygdala watched me. It reached out with tentacles that only I could see, examining and studying me. I had expected this. I made no attempt to hide, confident in my earlier conclusions.

Moreover, the visions granted me something. Something seemingly insignificant, yet simultaneously—insanely valuable.

I came to myself only toward nightfall.

A weight pressed upon my chest: little Lily had fallen asleep right there, hugging me tightly. Nearby I felt the spark of Thalamus's consciousness, keeping watch. A single short mental impulse was enough for the flower to understand that all was well, rewarding me with waves of... floral joy. I winced, unaccustomed to such vivid and alien emotions. My senses had sharpened significantly, making it difficult to say whether this was a good sign or a bad one.

"You may be dismissed. Thank you."

The Phantasm slugs, still crawling over me, seemed to be waiting only for this command, dissolving into immateriality. Marvellous creatures, indeed. Their very existence, not counting the immortal hunters, already gave me a hint on how to return Maria to the mater---

"Your skin has grown even paler, good Sandman..."

Something touched my cheek. Practically intangible, I had to make an effort to realise it was a hand. My eyes widened, refusing to believe what was happening.

"I... am I not dreaming?.."

To such genuine and unconcealed bewilderment—which she was likely seeing from me for the first time—Maria merely smiled.

"I am surprised myself, Arthur..."

Her voice echoed. She sat directly opposite me, yet simultaneously seemed to be... somewhere else. In my dream. She remained there. But with a small nuance.

"I see..."

Careful not to wake the soundly sleeping Lily, I gently raised my hand and swept it through the space. Lords of Dreams, fate had allowed me to glimpse something wondrous, truly fantastic.

At first, I didn't even notice how light and ethereal I felt. The body seemed surprisingly malleable, somehow familiarly quicksand-like, even if the sensation was more phantom. For now. I had known this would happen. Yet the scale of the changes was still beyond imagining.

I moved my hand carefully through the air, as if submerging it in familiar sand. Feeling the resistance, I overcame it, and saw the results: quicksand-like ripples spread through the space. The world began to bend in a small area around me. I closed my eyes, listening to my sensations. For now, the area of influence was relatively small. But it would undoubtedly grow.

"And the dream shall become reality," I observed thoughtfully. I turned my head toward Maria's projection. "How do you feel?"

The girl pondered briefly.

"I see you as if through murky water, good Sandman."

How curious.

"Can you... return?"

As it turned out, Maria had initially simply wanted to temporarily seize control of my body to... let us say, carry it to rest. But instead of the usual awakening within the body, she practically tumbled out, severely frightening both Lily and Thalamus.

Lily knew of Maria, of course—but the same could not be said for the flower. Fortunately, everything was resolved rather quickly and I was safely carried to the bed.

Maria could fairly freely sink back into the pub or "climb" out, but was incapable of moving far. Furthermore, interacting with physical objects was quite difficult for her. My body was more the exception that proved the rule.

If she wished, she could influence the physical world, but it required immense effort, and Maria admitted that simply being in such a state exhausted her. A couple of experiments showed that my newfound power could compensate for her weakness, effectively allowing the girl to roam the physical world almost freely for short periods—but it was highly likely an ordinary person would not see her. And even an extraordinary one.

I strongly doubted that the hunters chosen by Flora existed in such a manner. I already had a theory regarding the form of existence of the slugs, and it was the preferred method to return Maria to the world of the living, but apparently other mechanisms existed that could also help return her to this mortal dark fantasy. The discovery significantly altered my laid-out plans and required further thought.

Unfortunately, no one intended to give me much time for thought. It took tremendous effort to maintain my composure.

"Return, Maria."

"I would... like to hold the Rakuyo again," she confessed hesitantly.

"Not now."

I could see and feel that she wanted to say much more, but my tone brooked no argument. The girl nodded and vanished.

Maintaining an outward calm, I carefully rose. Of course, this could not help but wake Lily, yet...

"Later, little one."

She only managed to stare in surprise before her eyes rolled back, sent to dream a bright, happy dream. Once up, I put the girl to bed and headed toward the exit of the pub.

The street was empty.

Absolutely empty.

Not a single living soul, not a single lamp lit, and even the projection of Amygdala... She was nowhere nearby, which was far more frightening than her constant presence. I saw no one. No one was around. Yet an oppressive feeling of presence arose. Somewhere very close, right nearby. It was everywhere. Above, below, behind, in front. It was everything and it was nothing. No matter how much I looked around or tried to peer as deeply into the Dream Realm as possible—there was nothing. I simply could not see it, only knew that something was near.

A simple yet terrifying thought formed in my mind:

"The Moon Presence was cautious for good reason."

A chill ran through me; I glanced back, but saw nothing.

Unfortunately, it decided to announce itself differently. A voice arose in my mind. Indecipherable, distant, capable of dangerously pushing even me to the brink. It was no human tongue. No living creature could produce such a sound. The sound emanated from the very depths of the Dream Realm, and I was certain it wanted to reach out, but simply could not. The veil played a minor role here. The matter lay elsewhere.

The beast was simply so heavy with its own power that it could not surface.

"Formless Oedon," I stated with outward calm.

Practically nothing was known of this entity from the game.

Only one thing tied it to the other Great Ones: every Great One loses its child, and then yearns for a surrogate, and Oedon, the formless Great One, is no exception. That was what the entity did in the game. Precisely through this, the player gains the opportunity to acquire a third of an umbilical cord and then ascend to a Great One to oppose the Moon Presence. But that provided no answers as to who and what Formless Oedon was. And, most importantly, what its intentions were.

Amygdala preferred observation and study. The Moon Presence strove to manifest its body. The artificial Great One, created from the Byrgenwerth student, held the barrier between worlds. Ebrietas... Another artificial Great One, a former Pthumerian who never mastered her powers. Broken, drowned in despair—I could feel it even when I entered Amelia's dream.

What of Oedon? Unclear. Truth be told, the fact that the player did not fight it or interact with it in any way brought rather grim thoughts. Regrettably, those thoughts proved correct.

"You should not be here, Sandman..."

The monstrous voice arose in my consciousness once more. A cold wind swept through the street. I saw no one, but felt something try to reach out again. And fail again. Only this time, it decided to change strategy, acting in the most vile and terrible way possible.

The blood moon had not yet arrived, but I felt the approaching scent of rotten fish again. The chime of bells echoed in my head. I dashed back into the pub, locked it, and dropped to the floor almost instantly, disregarding my physical body: I needed to fall asleep immediately.

Formless Oedon had not only sensed me, but had guided the Orphan straight to the doors of my dream. Shown it a direct path, eliminating all obstacles.

I became aware of myself in the pub within my dream, managing only to see the fleeting, distorted shadow of the Orphan already standing opposite a calm Maria, who seemed to have been waiting for such an outcome all along. The girl turned to me, smiling. My power reached for the dead Great One, and I was undeniably far from defenceless—but it was too late: obviously, the Orphan had drawn its own conclusions. Or someone had offered it guidance.

A moment, and the Orphan of Kos vanishes, taking Maria with it into the depths of its nightmare.

***​

Morning brought exceptionally foul weather. Heavy rain poured; it was cold outside. As if enchanted, ignoring Thalamus reaching out and expanding to fill the pub, I went through my usual morning ablutions.

Maria had been right: my skin had indeed grown paler. Not so much that it was overly conspicuous, but one could definitely say I rarely saw sunlight, evidently preferring some watery depths. The need for a razor had vanished: without conscious desire, facial hair would no longer appear on my body.

That, however, was not the main issue.

"The light..." I murmured, stepping closer to the mirror, looking into my own eyes.

I barely felt it. Almost nothing. And I knew it was not the purified Old Blood to blame.

Usually, cleaning brought me pleasure. There was something meditative about it, a reminder of my first days in this world and the vivid feelings I experienced then. The material world was, after all, much more real and whole than the world of dreams. Regrettably, it now evoked no emotions in me. There was an emptiness in my soul.

After cleaning, I prepared breakfast for Lily and myself. The little one woke up just as the food was ready. At first she was glad I was up, but that joy lasted only a moment. Perhaps my gaze was too eloquent. Or maybe I still poorly controlled the increased power, and something, breaking through the barrier, screamed of what was happening in my soul. Emptiness could be much more terrifying than ordinary madness.

Lily grew frightened.

"You need not be afraid, little one," I said in the most ordinary of voices. "Sit, eat."

Though many in this world would have called Lily's illusion a fully grown woman, she remained but a child to me. A child whose heart awoke with fear from a single glance, a fear she tried with all her might to suppress, obediently sitting at the small table.

"Father... father... what... what happened..."

My gaze dropped to the fried egg.

"The Orphan reached its goal."

My voice sounded utterly routine and ordinary, as if sharing a random piece of news. Just a trivial event no one cared about. Lily understood. Her illusion began to distort, revealing her true form.

"F-father..."

"Focus on your food," I replied briefly.

I knew what needed to be done. Returning Maria was still possible. But the realisation that a dead Great One, due to my weakness, would plunge her into a terrible nightmare from which I had failed to protect her...

A spirit of light. I was supposed to send happy dreams and protect souls from the dark, but instead I had merely begun a rapid descent into darkness myself, failing even to protect a soul dear to me.

My light was fading not only because of consuming the blood of ancient monsters from the depths of nightmares. Not only because the people chanting my name saw not a positive figure, but a beast that sent good dreams. Vile, terrible, base, good Sandman—that is what they see. That is what I saw in myself. Saw. My confidence was undermined, trampled, crushed.

"I was mistaken..." I murmured. "I need to think, Lily..."

I rose from the table without finishing the meal and waved my hand; the remaining food scattered into particles of sand.

For spirits, it is primarily important that others see the light within us.

We feed on thoughts, and feelings, striving toward the light or the dark. But that applies mostly to weak spirits, whose existence is so implicit that an alien will can easily reshape their essence. I had perceived the Great Ones as insanely powerful nightmares, yet they showed no hint of what was happening to me as I sank into the darkness. I had thought this was due to their unique nature and age, but now that seemed only partially true—and I had long since arrived at the real answer:

They simply were not "evil" in the usual sense of the word. Nor did they consider themselves so.

By sinking into negative thoughts and feelings, experiencing cold in our souls, we ourselves strive toward darkness and carry it within us.

And we change.

By sinking into positive emotions and feelings, experiencing warmth in our souls, we ourselves move toward light and carry it within us.

And we change.

I had failed, and the very realisation of that failure affected me so strongly it extinguished the light within me even further. The stronger I became, the more my own thoughts and aspirations determined who and what I was. They could see me as anyone or anything, and only I decided whether to agree or not; to sink into the darkness coming from outside, or conversely—to reject it and continue reaching for the light. The world gave me a choice that had never existed before.

Or perhaps I had been desperately hoping to believe it hadn't.

Soon the pub opened for business. The door opened with the chime of the bell; cold air instantly penetrated inside, bringing the sound of rain. A familiar huntress crossed the threshold. Wearing the mask that linked her to plague doctors, she made no haste to remove it, deciding to begin the conversation differently:

"I have a... task," the woman rasped. She didn't seem to fully believe her own words. "I have come to help you, Sandman..."

I raised my eyebrows.

I had been certain that only disagreements awaited me with the Moon Presence. Ultimately, it was the one calling forth the blood moon, and largely by its will the Orphan enjoyed such freedom—not to mention everything else—but... It seemed that, for whatever reasons, a short, mutually beneficial cooperation between us might exist. And I was ready to gladly accept any help offered.

After all, I still needed to deliver the Rakuyo to Maria.

Spoiler: concept_art31

 

[Lemor]

Chapter 32

"Am I dreaming?"

To Logarius's credit, he met his new dream noticeably calmer and more aware than the first. After all, having survived the inner beast, the Vilebloods, his own hatred for them, and the Church's intrigues, the man could indeed boast considerable... talents.

"We have not seen each other for some time, Logarius," a female voice said quietly.

In that same castle, the old hunter stood opposite the woman on the throne whom he hated with his entire being, understanding, however, that this was not her. But that did not lessen the number of questions.

"Why have you taken... this form again, Master of Sand?" Logarius rasped.

The entity in the body of the hated Annalise leaned lazily against the throne, perfectly mimicking some of the original's mannerisms.

"It keeps you on your toes," the creature smiled affectionately. "A convenient way to set you in a working mood, friend."

For some reason, a chill ran down the old Executioner's spine. Even though the female voice was surprisingly human, and the Sandman himself had said nothing of the sort, the instincts within the hunter cowered like a frightened, cornered animal.

"Is the Sandman angry about something?"

"You are very observant," the female voice confirmed casually. "Something happened that has rather strongly affected my mood."

The illusory heart in the man's chest tightened: even his deepest thoughts were no secret to the Sandman. What must have happened to anger "It"? Gods, Logarius absolutely did not want to know. His task lay elsewhere. The former Executioner frowned.

"What must I do, Sandman?"

"You shall keep me company in the labyrinths, Logarius."

Logarius froze.

"Keep you? Company in the labyrinths? I... do not fully understand, Sandman..."

The woman's appearance transformed, turning into a pale young man with cold, practically lifeless eyes. He slowly rose from the throne, walking unhurriedly toward the tense follower, stopping directly opposite him. A warm, inviting smile crept onto the young man's face.

"Very little time remains before the blood moon rises; we must hurry somewhat. You are one of my most capable clients, well-acquainted with the labyrinths. Your help may prove useful. In any case, this is merely a minor precaution."

The inhumanly affectionate voice, sharply contrasting with the cold, freezing gaze, promised to gift the hunter more than one or two nightmares in the future. The Sandman unexpectedly sighed, turning toward the crumbling throne.

"Do not worry, you will not see nightmares, even if I turn into the most terrible of them."

It seemed the entire macabre atmosphere around the creature dissipated for a moment. Logarius took a bewildered step back.

"I..."

Arthur turned back to him, smiling just a fraction more genuinely.

"We shall see each other very soon, dear client. Goodnight."

***​

I was about to visit the Pthumerian labyrinths in the flesh for the first time. To venture where, it seems, only the first vicar of the Healing Church had once managed to tread, acquiring the blood of Queen Yharnam and offering it to Annalise.

Time was limited. The red moon was due to rise into the sky soon, and despite my unexpected temporary alliance with the Moon Presence, there was no way to adjust this. And, in principle, it wasn't necessary: I would have sought to enter the labyrinths as quickly as possible regardless.

The beast that had not emerged until now, sensing my power, showed me quite vividly that the leap in my capabilities was insufficient. Perhaps with the arrival of the red moon, having plunged into the Orphan of Kos's nightmare in a physical body, I could have returned Maria even in my current condition. But now I needed a guarantee. A guarantee such that no one in this wretched world could take her from me like that again.

Be it the Moon Presence in the flesh, the Formless bastard, or all the Great Ones combined. I might not be able to oppose them openly, but the chance to bite back painfully if need be had to be there: I had enough time to observe Annalise to say this with certainty.

Queen Yharnam clearly knew when and what to offer me.

I did not call Henryk and Gascoigne to join me. Not only because they had already done enough and earned a rest, but also because there was no particular need for them. Truth be told, myself alone and the Moon Presence's perfect weapon should have been enough. The former leader of the Executioners covenant was merely an additional precaution.

I tipped my hat, gripped my cane, and stood at the entrance to the pub. Lily, holding the pot with Thalamus, clearly did not want me to leave.

"I will not be long," I said as softly as possible. "I am sorry I have to leave you alone again..."

The flower in the pot twitched in displeasure. I huffed with exaggerated cheerfulness.

"Just joking. Practically alone. I will return as soon as possible. Thalamus will protect you; he has learned his lesson."

And not only him, but I as well.

The girl's illusion wavered for a moment. She lowered her head, nodding weakly.

"Return... return..."

Lily remained silent for a while, then added quietly:

"...return... return her..."

I gripped my cane until my knuckles cracked, adjusting my hat.

"Without fail, little one."

A grim, masked figure, familiar from the game, was already waiting for me at the entrance under the pouring rain. Who would have thought I would meet Eileen the Crow in person under precisely these circumstances.

"So you are not hiding..." I cast a glance over the impassive figure.

In some ways, the chosen of the Great One resembled true material ghosts from fairy tales: no one noticed them, yet they could roam practically freely through Yharnam without attracting attention. Omnipresent shadows, immortal and potentially mind-numbingly powerful. Truly, the hunters of the Hunter's Dream were the Great One's most perfect weapon.

The only question was how to fight a weapon that, under certain conditions, could even kill its mighty creator?..

"Good Sandman," the elderly woman bowed her head deeply. "From what I understood... there is no need for concealment."

I tapped my cane.

"Come now, come now," I laughed softly. "There is no need for such honours. The owner of the pub is the last person who deserves such treatment, sweetheart."

"I understand."

Excellent.

"As for concealment... You are right. A strange feeling, is it not? As if in a dream."

A chill clearly ran down the elderly woman's spine. She nodded grimly.

"I am... certainly not dreaming, good Sandman?"

I huffed.

"With all due respect, sweetheart, I doubt you will understand my explanation. Perhaps when Flora releases you, you will visit my pub and we shall discuss everything in a more favourable environment. How does that sound, eh?"

"Thank you, good landlord..."

Eileen, completely disregarding my earlier words, bowed her head deeply again, as if I were not the owner of a small pub on the outskirts, but the king himself!

The Moon Presence, consciously or not, had chosen the perfect person for the task: Eileen believed primarily in me and even carried an attribute connected to me in the form of a chalice. I assumed that in this reality, unlike the game world, this was precisely the reason the huntress became the chosen of the Hunter's Dream.

"My dear client should be at the meeting point shortly. We will have to hurry somewhat. Be so kind as not to resist, alright?"

My voice changed, making the huntress shudder. The raindrops around us began to slow, swirling into a vortex. My sandy essence, pushing through the barrier of the artificial Great One around us, burst forth, altering reality according to my will.

Power gives me not only the right to determine whether I reach for the light or the dark, but also to decide what is reality and what is a dream.

I took a step.

The raindrops frozen in the air sharply plummeted downwards; the world before my eyes blurred, and along with it, my dear follower and I did too. She, though tensing because the alien power of yet another creature had seized her again, made no attempt to resist. And thank the Lords of Dreams for that.

We became two imperceptible shadows sweeping through all of Yharnam. One step became equal to ten; buildings ceased to be obstacles. Very soon we found ourselves in the sewers, plunging ever deeper through branching tunnels, bypassing the rare hunter patrols. The filth and stench did not reach us: I had no need for extra dirt on my clothes, and plunging headlong into the atmosphere of dark fantasy held no appeal.

I was already bogged down in it, feeling a ringing emptiness in my soul capable of devouring me at any moment. It seems someone had grown too accustomed to always having her inside, ready to support any topic with her insatiable curiosity. Perhaps there was far more humanity in me than I thought. As it turned out, even small dream spirits wandering through countless worlds, sending vivid dreams, can suffer from loneliness.

How pitiful.

Logarius was waiting for us at one of the descents.

There was practically no lighting as it was, but the old staircase leading into nothing plunged completely into darkness, promising nothing good. I wondered how many lost Yharnamites, never having stumbled upon hunters, had accidentally found such descents and, without realising it, merely plunged deeper into the labyrinths of a fallen civilisation...

The waiting Logarius sensed our approach from afar, but that still didn't stop him from tensing when our figures emerged practically from nowhere with a gust of wind and dissolving particles of sand. Eileen the Crow, unable to withstand the journey, hastily removed her mask, bidding farewell to her breakfast, and began inhaling the less-than-clean sewer air with a somewhat frightening relish. Logarius, surprisingly enough, didn't even bat an eye upon seeing this, though he only grew more tense, gripping his scythe.

"Motion sickness?..." I arched my eyebrows. "I thought hunters had a good vestibular system, sweetheart..."

Eileen coughed, laughing hoarsely.

"I will try to get used to it, good Sandman..."

"There is no need; I won't be giving you such rides often," I reassured the woman, shifting my gaze to the former leader of the Executioners covenant. "I hope you did not have to wait too long, dear client."

Logarius merely nodded.

"As long as necessary."

"The best possible answer," I stared down the descent. "A bit gloomy here, is it not?.."

The hunters had lamps with them, but they provided weak illumination, and fortunately, thanks to me, there was no need for them. I tapped my cane. Reality rippled around me, spreading a faint light.

"This is better, is it not?"

"This is a true miracle, good Kind Lord of Sand," Logarius said quietly.

I pulled a smile onto my face.

"My ale—that is a true miracle. This is merely parlour tricks. Let us not linger."

The old hunters nodded, marking the beginning of the true descent.

***​

As I had mentioned once before, what was a mechanic of instant teleportation to different parts of the labyrinth in the game—sealed by wards opened by Great Chalices—was here a unified system of intersecting labyrinths.

Admittedly, these bloody catacombs were a true marvel of Pthumerian civilisation. One had to possess an inhuman, truly twisted mind just to plan such a monstrous structure, let alone build it. Not that I could blame the former rulers of these islands for anything; their motivation was simply perfect: the game hinted, if not directly then quite unambiguously, that the Pthumerians had worshipped the Great Ones for a very long time.

Their entire civilisation was built around the Great Ones, and these monstrous labyrinths were their... let us say, tombs, perhaps sanctuaries, or something similar. A home where they could feel comfortable. And along with their terrible Gods, the Pthumerians themselves and the rest of the fauna.

We moved quickly, not getting tangled among the numerous forks, plunging ever deeper through the already explored parts of the labyrinth, aiming to reach the practically unexplored sections of this masterpiece of nightmarish engineering.

"What a charming creature..." I drawled.

It was enormous. Three heads taller than me, bloated, malformed, with blades replacing its arms and a black hood over its head. The devil himself would break a leg trying to figure out what it had once been and how much time it had spent in the labyrinths.

Be it giant rats, true spirits stuck in a liminal state between worlds, scorpions, slugs, or lycanthropes scenting fresh blood—my accompanying hunters gave them no chance. A few cannon shots, a couple of swings of the scythe or daggers were enough to solve almost any problem.

Perhaps my clients were only slightly confused by the spirits, but with me, they had no problems and could have none. Upon seeing me, the majority of the spirits would either bow their heads in acknowledgment of seniority or flee. And if previously I had perceived this with a certain degree of irony, too accustomed to my own weakness and the need to dodge and negotiate, now I took it as a matter of course.

However, this was not about the spirits right now.

The beast that blocked our path was different. Hypnos wake me, we were facing a true boss.

"I will handle it, Sandman," Eileen stepped forward.

I obediently stepped back, giving the huntress full freedom, watching the unfolding events with interest. We had managed to form a rather simple strategy: Eileen always went first. At first, Logarius was a little surprised, but he quickly grasped the idea, realising that the hunter of hunters had absolutely no fear of death.

Well, completely justified.

I remembered some battles in the game being quite long. In this world, everything usually happened quickly, if not instantaneously. Mistakes were rarely forgiven, and we were destined to witness precisely that.

I frowned with interest.

The blade pierced the huntress like a hot knife through butter. She barely had time to do anything, merely staring at the blade in surprise. The creature sharply pulled out its blade-arm, allowing the blood-choking huntress to fall.

"Sandman, she..."

"Shh..."

I cut Logarius off mid-sentence, carefully watching the huntress's death. The woman managed one more convulsive breath, but then went limp and...

The world before my eyes shuddered, revealing what it seemed only I could see: the Hunter's Dream, reaching out to its owner in all its terrible magnificence. Giant pillars reaching into the sky; an unremarkable hunter's workshop, where Gehrman rested all this time with the Doll sitting in a field of flowers.

Eileen dissolved into countless particles of energy, vanishing without a single drop of blood on the ground, but not for long.

"I was too overconfident, Sandman..."

Without any wounds, the very same Eileen appeared behind us, effectively risen from the dead. Or, more accurately, she hadn't died at all.

"The projection dies, but not the body..." I murmured thoughtfully. Djura had already shown me much, but I was seeing this process live for the first time. "The Hunter's Dream helps you bypass the veil and exist as if you were a normal living being. Perhaps that is why it feels as though you are dreaming?.."

I spoke barely audibly. So that only individual words could be isolated, explaining practically nothing.

"I do not understand, Sandman..."

Of course you don't. I turned back to Eileen with a huff.

"This is a solvable problem. Logarius, did you understand anything?"

The old hunter frowned, clearly not understanding the question.

"What are you speaking of, kind Sandman?"

Eileen coughed into her fist. Nevertheless, the Moon Presence had created a truly terrifying entity.

Naturally, the beast had no intention of listening to our pleasant conversation. With a hungry roar, it lunged straight at me. Logarius was about to step in front of it, but I merely waved him off, taking a step forward and extending my cane.

I could be soaked in darkness, there could be emptiness deep within my soul, except...

I had the right to decide.

"I suppose you haven't seen bright dreams in a long time, wretched soul?.."

The tip of the cane met the beast's forehead faster than it could impale me on its blades. I tapped it quite softly; ordinarily the creature wouldn't have even scratched itself, but this was not an ordinary case.

The blade stopped right in front of my face. The malformed humanoid beast trembled, dropping to its knees before me with a loud thud. I leaned on my cane, stepping right up to the creature's face hidden behind the old hood, lifting it, staring at the truly vile, frightening, repulsive, disgusting... no, not a face. The muzzle of a creature that had never even been human.

A soft smile crept onto my face, like a loving father seeing his own child after a long separation.

"You are in pain and afraid, are you not?.. I feel your exhaustion... It is a pity I cannot offer you any ale, but at least allow me to end your nightmare."

Something inside the creature before me growled shrilly, trying to kick out, but I was faster and, in a way, more ruthless. I placed a hand on the beast's head, penetrating the very depths of its soul with my power, tearing apart the beast that had long since consumed the consciousness of the once-rational being, after which, unexpectedly to myself, I began to plunge the already agonizingly dying soul into a sweet sleep.

Perhaps a sleep that would last only a moment before death, but would stretch long enough to at least somewhat heal the wounded, starved soul.

The beast's gaze seemed to clear for a moment. The creature did not wheeze, but took a slow, heavy breath, followed by a relieved, weary exhalation.

The final exhalation.

The body fell.

"Shall we move on?..." I turned back to my protégés as if nothing had happened.

Truth be told, I was a little surprised to sense rather strange emotions from Logarius and Eileen. I had been certain that my demonstration would at least frighten them, but...

The hunters' gazes, full of some frightening hope, seemed to awaken something within me.

I do not necessarily need to possess the light within my soul to bring it to the world around me.

Very soon we would find ourselves in parts of the labyrinth where, if a human foot had ever tread, it ended—Lords of Dreams grant—fatally. To be honest, this evoked quite well-deserved respect toward the first vicar of the Church. He was consciously ready to jump into the very depths of the Abyss for a mere ghostly chance at ascension, and he got what he wanted.

Though, ultimately, only a slow transformation into a beast awaited him.

I hoped Queen Yharnam would send word as soon as possible—otherwise, I feared, we might be stuck in these cursed labyrinths for quite some time yet, despite all my abilities...

Spoiler: concept_art32

 

[Lemor]

Chapter 33

"Queen Yharnam did not disappoint..." I stated thoughtfully, turning to my protégés. "The interconnections of this world are astounding, are they not?.."

Obviously, neither Logarius nor Eileen understood me. But, strangely enough, the fact that I spoke completely incomprehensible, sometimes insanely strange things fit perfectly with my image.

"That is so, Sandman," the former Executioner agreed quietly.

I smiled to myself. It was immediately apparent that someone had spent more than a year both in the role of a leader and a subordinate. Here, the mere fact of participation and agreement mattered, not any constructive conversation.

I shifted my gaze to the one because of whom I had decided to mention the dead queen and the interconnections in the first place.

A man stood before us. Or, more likely, a once-man. Pale as death, with a writhing, snake-like creature crawling over his body. The cannon in his hand showed best of all who stood before us—a hunter. A fallen hunter. Lost among the labyrinths, he had somehow managed to survive and attract the attention not only of the dead queen's wandering consciousness, but also of...

One of Amygdala's projections.

The pale hunter clutched a massive bone belonging to my acquaintance in his hands. Grotesque, resembling a giant club, it emanated such a familiar, eerie power that I could recognise it among thousands of shades.

After my contact with Formless Oedon, the projection of the Great One had not shown itself, but obviously continued to invisibly participate in the proceedings, somehow influencing the events. A neutral observer with its own goals.

I, the Sandman; Queen Yharnam, who had sent one holding a connection to the Great Amygdala; Eileen, who worshipped me but served the goals of the Moon Presence; and even Logarius, invisibly tied to the Church, thereby creating even more connections. We were all somehow connected to one another, our interests intersected, we came into conflict and collaborated.

Still, our little city was one big village. How charming.

"You look tired, my friend," I said with a smile.

"My name is Vallar," an elderly voice whispered. "I will guide you, Sandman..."

"Come to me."

It was not a request. Rather, it was the voice with which leaders issue commands to their direct subordinates. The madman was clearly surprised by my words; a strange grimace flashed across his face, his gaze began to dart, and his body trembled. He doubted, feared, hated, holding a conversation simultaneously with himself...

And not with himself.

"Yes..."

Twitching, barely restraining himself from lunging at his prey, he approached me, staring straight into my eyes. I saw that this was no classic beast or simply a maddened human before me. If only a little, I could help.

"Relax, my friend..." I whispered, extending a hand. "You will feel a little better now, just don't forget to drink my ale later—you owe me..."

The snake-like creature hissed but dared not attack me. I touched the pale, elderly head. The body, sensing far from pleasant sensations, tried to jerk, but...

Still, I was in no mood to force a show of warmth out of myself, already extinguished after recent events. Vallar opened his mouth, unable to resist; he stared into my eyes with a certain desperation, evidently seeing something far from good in them.

Well, in vain.

Vallar's eyes rolled back, his body went limp, but did not fall. His exhausted consciousness journeyed into the depths of sleep, and my essence kept it company. My power allowed me to act roughly, but I did not exercise this right, instead acting as I had when I was still a very weak dream spirit: I carefully reached for the familiar associations of the dream's owner, replacing them with my sand. An inflamed, maddened consciousness wouldn't have noticed the deception even back when I was a weakling, let alone now...

And there was no need to speak of the inner beast—the will swirling inside the madman wouldn't even think of barking at me.

Inside the dream, time flowed differently. I allowed the former hunter to rest, reaching out to early memories of the past, where he had lived a quite ordinary, peaceful life. The mutant hardly understood what he was seeing or why, but... that didn't stop his tormented soul from resting a little and returning to a past he barely remembered. A past that didn't even exist, for I merely simulated it from distorted fragments of memories, adding significantly more of my own.

But who cares?..

Outside the world of dreams, not a moment had passed. Our guide opened his eyes, nearly dropping his... club. For a moment, it seemed to me that not a maddened mutant was looking at me, but an entirely ordinary human. There was no fear, no terror, nor anything else in his gaze.

"Thank you..."

I smiled politely.

"I am in a bit of a hurry, my friend. A soul that is dear to me needs help, you understand?"

"Yes... yes..."

If, before my slight intervention, the madman had helped us rather in spite of himself, now he did so of his own free will. What will he had left.

Time in the labyrinth flowed strangely. No, quite normally—there were no spatial distortions—but determining the time of day was impossible. We navigated by a watch, and I had enough methods to know the exact time, but the monotonous descent ever deeper into the labyrinths, with occasional encounters with the inhabitants of the local zoo, still made its mark.

Besides, I was the only one who truly didn't need rest. My allies, including the self-appointed guide, were slowly but surely tiring. From the battles, from the cold walls and narrow passages, from the need to plunge into what seemed like the Abyss itself.

Usually, they probably tried not to think that their entire world was one giant Abyss.

I felt the red moon drawing ever closer. The air felt lighter, and even the area of my power seemed to slowly expand further. With every hour, the world whispered louder and louder that just a little more and my essence would finally break free, subjugating materiality to my single thought.

There was a simple explanation for this slow yet inevitable process:

There is a slight error in the phrasing I usually use. The red moon does not rise in the usual sense of the word. Rather, the Moon Presence simply gradually suppresses the will of the false Great One in order to manifest more of its own power. The red moon never descends. It simply manifests when the veil of the Waking World thins. And then it vanishes once more.

Previously, I had thought the Moon Presence simply couldn't reach the Great One created by Byrgenwerth for some reason. Of course, I had doubts, considered other options, yet mostly settled on this reason. But a better understanding of the Great Ones and contact with the Formless bastard provided a more logical explanation, aligning well with Flora's cautious nature:

Rom's existence simply helps her for now. Concealing the red moon and the presence of the veil not only hinders but also brings benefits while the Moon Presence gathers blood and shapes its own body. Formless Oedon could not freely contact us, let alone reach us, but the existence of the veil provides its benefits most of the time. It turned out that by the time of the game's events, that benefit from the unfortunate transformed student was already gone.

Of course, this didn't provide answers to all the questions even remotely, leaving plenty of contradictions and food for thought—but now was not the best time to dwell on it.

Eventually, we reached Yharnam's tomb and prison.

"Here..."

The sent mutant had done his job and even bothered to point in the right direction with a hand as skeletal as death. A true professional. We stopped before the gates. Large, massive, full of strange depictions, they were, however, unsealed—as if inviting us inside.

"Excellent. Thank you, Vallar. You haven't forgotten our little arrangement, have you?.. When you see fit, call me, and the Sand Bowl will visit you itself, if you so desire."

An ugly, but no less genuine, happy smile spread across the madman's face.

"Good Sandman... Good..."

The snake-like creature hissed in agreement.

Charming.

The madman, having fully completed his task, turned around and headed back without saying goodbye, soon disappearing among the countless labyrinths. I saw how Logarius and Eileen, who had been tense all this time, slowly exhaled. An ordinary—and even an extraordinary—person wouldn't have noticed the shift in their grim mood at all, but not me.

"He is not bad," I closed my eyes briefly. "Wait for me here."

"We can help, Sandman," Eileen said doubtfully. "That is why I am... we are here."

The elderly huntress cast a quick glance at the former Executioner.

"If the Sandman said we need to stay here, then we will not be of any help to him," Logarius stared at the open gates with a cold gaze. "We would only become a burden..."

"You are absolutely right," I nodded benevolently to the man. "I will not be long."

I boldly took a step into the unknown.

It turned out to be spacious inside. What I saw before me heavily reminded me of the arena from the game. Empty, cold, this place could hardly be called the tomb of the immortal queen of a quite advanced extinct race. However, a single look at Yharnam made it clear that thousands of years ago, events occurred that clearly pointed to... contradictions among the Pthumerians.

Bound in chains, with a ripped-open belly, dressed in something akin to a wedding dress, she created an image that was not even eerie, but...

Desperate and sorrowful.

The immortal was fully conscious, staring at me with dead eyes.

"Queen Yharnam," I removed my hat, bowing out of respect for the immortal's patience and suffering. "Do not consider it rude, but it is rather damp in here."

"Sandman..." Yharnam drawled. "Please, help my child, Sandman..."

I didn't know how vastly the Pthumerians surpassed humans, but their consciousness was definitively stronger than a human's: no human could withstand several thousand years in captivity, wandering as a formless spirit. Unfortunately, even taking into account an inhuman consciousness and transformation into a more... supernatural being, passing through such an ordeal without a trace was impossible.

I nodded.

"Mergo, is it not? You want me to grant liberation to his wet nurse and..." I trailed off, deep in thought. "What fate do you wish for your poor child, Queen?"

From the woman's bloodied, ripped-open belly came the cry of a dead infant. So loud and piercing it could inadvertently drive one mad. In a way, Mergo's fate resembled the fate of the Orphan of Kos: they were Great Ones already born dead.

"Free his soul," the woman's face contorted. "Please... Grant him peace... Protect him..."

"From his father," I narrowed my eyes. "Formless Oedon has become a bone in the throat for many beings, has he not?"

The Pthumerian Queen nodded slowly.

"Every Great One loses its child, and then yearns for a surrogate," the queen spoke in an otherworldly, chilling voice. "The Great Oedon thirsts to sow as many seeds as possible... To reach this world... Stop him..."

Offspring are a wonderful beacon. Even if they are dead or stuck in a liminal state between life and death. For the Great Ones, who carry their will through blood, it meant even more.

I did not know the motives of every Great One seeking a replacement for a dead child, but the Formless bastard certainly did not want to simply become a decent multidimensional father. Too heavy, too powerful, he, like I just recently, wanted to incarnate. And children could help him in this like no one else.

Without even trying to conceal my state of mind, which was clearly far from the light, I smiled coldly. I wonder if, upon learning about me, he felt wrath, realising that his ultimate desire was fulfilled by some little, arrogant spirit?..

The queen could not fail to notice the changes in me.

"Your sand is no longer golden..." Yharnam tilted her head. "Have you decided to become more sincere?"

I was so astonished by the question that I opened my eyes wide in surprise, then laughed out loud. Such an interpretation of my fall was too absurd. It was so amusing due to my own view of what was happening that even trying to hold back my laughter would have been sacrilege.

Morpheus put me to sleep—to the Pthumerian Queen, my light was just a fake! I, reaching for the light, enjoying the warmth emanating from me, had never been anyone or anything good in her eyes from the very beginning.

And, at the same time, not bad either.

The name and image of the Sandman carries too many possible interpretations, and the light coming from me is merely an outer shell. I slowly calmed down, still feeling the amusement tearing from the depths of my soul.

"That is an interesting question. It is a pity I do not have time to discuss it with you. You can feel it, can you not?.."

The queen nodded.

The veil was thinning. The red moon was drawing closer.

I stepped right up to the Pthumerian. Even though a humanoid, she bore little resemblance to humans: taller than an ordinary human, yet insanely thin, with a long, pointed face.

"Do you also wish for liberation, sweetheart?..." I arched my eyebrows. "You should have enough strength to break free from here yourself, should you not?"

She could break her chains, but all this time she hadn't done it.

"He could take advantage of that," the queen said with unbearable pain and exhaustion in her voice.

Lords of Dreams, a situation worthy of dark fantasy.

"I see," I sighed. A thought unexpectedly arose in my mind. "The first vicar of the Church... Did you try to strike a deal with him too, but he deceived you?"

"I tried to find a suitable person for a long time," the queen's eyes turned icy again. "But I never found one... Please, help my child, Sandman..."

"I will do everything and more. But for that, I will need power. The power that remains in you."

"Take it... take this curse entirely... Just please... fulfil your promise..."

The queen, which clearly would not have pleased her servants, fell to her knees before me, tilting her head, exposing her neck, staring at me with a mad gaze. I'd wager that if I dared break my promise, she would dig me out even in my next lives.

Though...

Who said I intended to break it?

I ran my tongue over my teeth, realising there wasn't really any other way. Who would have thought the Sandman would end up pretending to be something of a classic vampire. Annalise would be thrilled. Very soon I would likely have to fulfil my part of the agreement with her...

I sank my teeth into the immortal Pthumerian's neck, feeling a truly special blood, unlike any beast's, penetrate my body. It did not require purification like ordinary blood. Perhaps for a moment I even understood why Annalise loved blood so much: the pleasure I experienced was hard to compare to anything else.

Like sweet nectar, a forbidden fruit worth all the riches of the world, it penetrated my body, changing it even further. The voices of the beings who believed in me grew even louder; my perception expanded, pushing me to a new level of existence. Processes that were bound to happen over time anyway accelerated manifold.

I pulled away from the queen's neck, feeling my entire body trembling. Through tonnes of earth, the red moon appeared before me.

"Oh, Lords of Dreams..." I rustled.

My body changed, taking the form of grey sand, solidified in the already familiar visage of Arthur Sand. And, as if reminding me of how I had traversed this path so quickly...

"How many eyes..." I uttered thoughtfully.

My entire sandy body was covered in eyes. Different ones, large and small, they lived a life of their own, looking at each other with curiosity. But that was only the peak of the transformation.

I lowered my gaze to the queen, whose eyes were fading right in front of me.

"Allow me to see you off in a more welcoming place..."

My dream burst into materiality. The image of the pub superimposed itself directly onto the queen's tomb and prison. Not the one on the outskirts of Yharnam, but mine: more modern, spacious, combining a piece of this time as well as another, more advanced one. A moment later, my sandy body became entirely ordinary again, made of flesh and blood, and even the extra eyes vanished.

After all, even though my blood had drawn me much closer to the Great Ones than I perhaps desired, I had not become a Great One because of it. I am the Sandman, and I will remain so.

I smiled.

"Welcome to the Sand Bowl pub, sweetheart. Ale, is it not?.."

In the truest sense of the word, the dying queen poorly understood the meaning of my ritual, but did not resist, obediently accepting the mug of ale. There was something very ironic in the fact that I had drunk her blood, only to treat her to a drop of my own. Nevertheless, the effect was there.

Crystal clear tears flowed from the woman's eyes; she exhaled, smiling.

"Th-than..."

"Thank me in your next life, when I fulfil my part of the deal," I said ironically. "And now, look into my eyes, sweetheart..."

Yharnam obeyed without question, staring into my eyes. Brown, completely ordinary, they still enchanted the woman's soul, sending her into a final dream. Vivid, sending her thousands of years into the past, before the onset of all the horror, where there are and never were any Great Ones. An ordinary, peaceful reign, an ordinary marriage of convenience, a beloved child, and a quiet old age with the knowledge that the future promised to be cloudless.

Something the queen could no longer even dream of.

"Oh, good Sandman..." she whispered, finally departing this world.

I reached out with my power to her soul, carefully grasping it.

"You might experience a little turbulence, but believe me, it is for your own good. Goodnight," I said quietly, and then...

Let us say, I gave the soul a nudge.

My power plunged into the Dream Realm in an invisible stream of sand, imperceptibly carrying the queen's essence so far that she would inevitably break free from this wretched world and, encountering no obstacles in the form of Formless bastards, proceed to the cycle of reincarnation. The pub dissipated as if it had never been, and along with it, the queen's body.

I remained standing alone in complete silence, listening to the surrounding space.

"...It didn't work out, did it?.. Underestimated me, thought I would fall into madness again. What a pity... Truth be told, I underestimated myself too. But that isn't my problem, it's yours, is it not, friend?.."

There was no answer, but a cold wind blew through the space, promising me nothing good.

Well, the feeling is mutual.

I turned around and headed for the exit, tapping my cane. Logarius and Eileen were waiting for me, expecting new instructions.

"Everything went well. Your work is done, Logarius. You will receive your reward later; for now, you may rest. I have a separate matter waiting with Eileen. Goodnight."

I poked the surprised Executioner with my cane; his eyes went wide before he plummeted through space, sent back to the surface.

"Oh Gods..."

Eileen the Crow clearly understood that I had gained my benefit from the descent.

"We are heading to the Orphan of Kos's nightmare, huntress. And after that—together we shall visit the Hunter's Dream. Hold your breath for a moment, sweetheart."

The huntress barely had time to stare at me in fear before I grabbed her by the scruff of the neck, plunging into the dream world in the flesh for the first time, setting off in search of the stable nightmare, creating a veritable sandstorm in the Dream Realm just by existing.

It was time to return my brazenly stolen priestess. Taking back what was stolen already feels somehow odd, damn it all!..

Spoiler: concept_art33

 

[SEYRAWYN]

Thanks for the chapter !

 

[Lemor]

Chapter 34

To brazenly invade the personal space of a godlike being—previously, the very thought of it seemed mad to me, simply impossible in its foolishness. But descending into the dream world in the flesh seemed even more impossible.

The material world is much denser, much more real and structured. If matter enters a weakly structured space, a storm will erupt in the Dream Realm. My very existence became a true nightmare for the Dream Realm. Wherever I passed, unstructured energy turned into sand flying behind me; the inhabitants of the plane dared not come anywhere near the sandstorm that inevitably moved toward its goal. When the red moon passes, I will not be able to plunge into the dream world so easily, but right now my power could unfold to its fullest, which I used without a twinge of conscience.

A sandy path built itself toward the nightmare. The Dream Realm knew what the contender for the title of Lord desired, and it obeyed without question. Had my mind been weaker, had I not known how to direct my thoughts and keep them in check, I would have become the embodiment of chaos. Fortunately, my mind was more than developed enough to handle my own power. It is a pity that this did not apply to many Great Ones. Perhaps, had they taken some preparatory courses before acquiring their power, this cursed dark fantasy would have been slightly less grim.

In the game, it was Amygdala who transported the player to the place called the Hunter's Nightmare. A domain controlled by a dead child. A nightmare where, for quite obvious reasons, blood-drunk hunters flocked. I intended to cleanse this place alongside the immortal huntress, and I did not need a guide to slip inside.

"Where are we?"

Eileen's voice was full of poorly concealed terror. Even though she was a rather tough huntress, one should not forget that she still remained human, not devoid of fear. What she saw before her and subconsciously felt could not leave her in good spirits. A sky that seemed frozen in twilight. Air literally saturated with inhuman suffering. A sense of unreality; with every turn of the head, the maddening brain signalled that something... wrong was happening.

I inhaled deeply the blood-soaked air, lowering my gaze to my completely bloodied footwear. A veritable river of blood opened up before us, stretching seemingly into infinity.

Now I began to understand why the Orphan of Kos did not dispose of the intruder in its own nightmare the very moment the hunter appeared in foreign halls in the game. Firstly, the nightmare belonged far from solely to the orphan. Rather, to a greater or lesser degree, to everyone who ended up here. There was simply no control over the space, as if the Great Ones did not care about such a trifle at all. Secondly, this place turned out to be so vast and chaotic that even for me, were I the owner of the nightmare, noticing the arrival of intruders would not be all that simple. And that is provided I consciously controlled the area. The Orphan was simply not sentient enough to even try to control anything.

I did not notice myself begin to speak quietly.

"Too many intertwined souls, too many owners influencing the nightmare in isolated spots, too much suffering, seemingly coiled through all space into a spiral..."

An awful, pitiful sight, unworthy of such a powerful creature. In the game, the state of the nightmare was even more repulsive, and all those hunters who were supposed to die along with the so-called 'Old Yharnam' were not here—but did that make it any easier?.. Not particularly.

My whisper clearly did not add to the elderly huntress's peace of mind. I sighed.

"This place is called the Hunter's Nightmare."

I took a step, pulling my foot out of the bloody puddle, standing on the liquid as if stepping onto an ordinary solid object. It was likely so real that, even if I ascended into the material world, the blood would not disappear. I wonder how many real... things there were in this place?

"The Hunter's... Nightmare?"

From Eileen's tone, one could tell she was already guessing something.

"Yes," I answered with a smile, looking attentively through the mask into the woman's eyes. "You will do your usual work and hunt the hunters. You will cleanse this place and grant the tormented souls peace. Your... temporary peculiarity will allow you to do this. Do not worry, I will handle the bigger fish and the master of this nightmare myself."

"Leaving me here alone is a true crime, good Sandman..." Eileen laughed quietly, with palpable exhaustion.

"When I resolve my issues, I will help you finish with the rest," I reassured Eileen.

"I understand."

Good.

I took a step, crumbling into sand, venturing into the very depths of this nightmare.

***​

The Hunter's Nightmare was a haven for practically all blood-drunk hunters. Intentionally or not, the nightmare consumed them, giving the dead souls no rest. The phenomenon was interesting. I allowed that the Orphan deliberately hunted foul-smelling souls, but something told me that the nightmare itself unconsciously strove to absorb the fallen souls.

In any case, that was the last thing that interested me right now.

My first stop was the area belonging to the soul of the first vicar of the Church. Oh, I very much wanted to see such an entertaining personality, even if nothing remained of that personality. The Hunter's Nightmare harboured many interesting figures, and I very much wanted to see at least two of them.

My body materialised in a cathedral. A cathedral seemingly copied directly from the Healing Church. Large, spacious, and cold, merely being inside it was quite uncomfortable. However, what else could one expect from the nightmare of such a rare talent?..

"You created a truly monstrous organisation, my friend. And you found a disciple to match yourself. Unfortunately, that will not save your brainchild."

My voice echoed through the false cathedral, clearly reaching the beast's ears. Huge, wreathed in flames, it sat lazily upon a giant throne like a resting king, completely ignoring me. I can imagine what a horror it was for the Church when their highly respected vicar, a true leader guiding the entire Church, turned into this. How much did they burn him, that this fire reflected upon his very soul?..

Laurence knew that the inner beast was consuming him. And, evidently, that is why he allowed the Choir to emerge. His life was not worth as much as the idea and the faith.

I shook my head, realising that the beast would ignore me until the very end, until I fulfilled a certain condition. Fortunately, I absolutely did not give a damn about that condition. Only a madman would search for a single skull in this maelstrom of horror.

My power reached out to the beast and, even if it desperately wanted to, the beast could not ignore it. A wild shriek rang out through the cathedral, flames flared, space began to deform, trying to resist an alien will, but to no avail. The beast's flame-wreathed muzzle appeared right in front of me, attempting to bite, experiencing neither fear nor doubt. Truly, a unique beast, born in a unique man.

"You must be wondering what became of the Church during your absence..." I narrowed my eyes. "Do you know what madness Gehrman committed? You two didn't just happen to get along so well back then..."

My only answer was the mad howl of an irrational beast. I felt not a hint of intellect from the first vicar; the emotions, too, belonged to the beast, and not to a human at all.

A pity. That is probably how one could describe almost the entirety of bloody Bloodborne—a pity.

The cane vanished from my hands. My body turned to sand; I reached for the flame-engulfed head, my mind brushing against the mind... against what remained of the beast. I created an entire world before the creature's eyes, in which the first vicar's beast saw the Church. It saw old acquaintances and what had happened to them. And, I must say, the beast clearly did not like what it saw.

"Master Willem... Master Willem..."

I stared at the beast in surprise, then laughed merrily.

"You respected the Master so much that even the beast was imbued with this respect?.. I haven't seen anything like this before..."

The beast, interrupting itself with a growling howl and attempts to devour me, continued to repeat the name of the Byrgenwerth scholar.

"I suppose I will inevitably visit him. I am not sure this will calm you, but I can promise that I will show the Master enough respect. How does that sound, Laurence?"

The beast, surprising me once more, calmed down a bit, ceasing to repeat Willem's name. Still, the inner beast, despite being born of an alien will, was a part of the original personality. The beast grew from it, fed on it, gradually taking over.

A unique beast for a unique man, eh?

"That is wonderful. You look so tired... You are a true monster who deserved your punishment, but no soul deserves eternal torment. You shall see a sweet dream that will grant you long-awaited peace. In exchange... just try to be a little kinder to living beings in your next life, alright?.. Goodnight, First Vicar."

The cathedral began to collapse, consumed by a sandstorm. The last thing the beast saw as it drowned amidst the sands was a sweet dream, full of hopes and dreams.

***​

This place was not only a prison for blood-soaked sinners. Innocent souls were here too, and they became my next target.

Little Lily was still considered a 'small' Celestial Emissary. In the Church's understanding, she was almost a failure, an unsuccessful product, a defect upon which further experiments were warranted. In the game, one could encounter a full-fledged Celestial Emissary, noticeably stronger and more capable, wielding a vast array of supernatural abilities. But there were even more unique specimens dwelling in the nightmare.

I stopped in a clearing of white sunflowers, planted around a tree covered in those same sunflowers. The nature of the sunflowers reminded me of the flowers growing in little Lily's consciousness, but the differences were visible to the naked eye. Oh, they were very real, which could not help but intrigue me.

Is it possible I could take a couple for Lily?..

The tree of white sunflowers was surrounded by beings similar to the Celestial Emissaries: elongated, practically bloodless, with unnaturally long arms and hooked fingers, with seemingly burst, malformed heads, they knelt before the tree as if praying to it. The plant, as if from the depths of the cosmos, produced a strange, mysterious hum.

"Living Failures," I smiled. "A fitting moniker, indeed... I got a little delayed, friends."

The transformed ones slowly turned to me, reaching out with their long arms. The air of the nightmare vibrated, opening a rift into the cosmic void. Still, despite all its horrors, an amazing world.

Right beneath my feet, a sandstorm began to swirl.

***​

Truth be told, I didn't exactly want to meet Ludwig again. The hunter, consumed by the cursed sword and the inner beast, even though he was a loyal follower of the Church sincerely striving for the best, was perceived by me rather simply as a fanatical fool who handled his job well up to a certain point. Fanaticism itself can be directed into the right channel, but a truly dangerous fanatic must have brains.

I liked Karl and Micolash much more in this regard: they were rare bastards, ready to commit any madness, yet one could work with them. To expect that they wouldn't do anything stupid, despite all their madness. Moreover, I knew what I could buy them with, and I was sure I was paying enough so they wouldn't even think of making mistakes, knowing the price of failure.

Ludwig deserved respect for his surprisingly pure motives and loyalty, but... his mindset was too different from mine.

And yet, I came. Despite everything, he did not deserve his fate. And, since I was the one in this world who brought him to this state, it was I who ought to free his soul.

"I see you've already managed to devour many in such a short time, Ludwig," I huffed. "The holy sword followed you even here..."

Filth. It was hard to call this area of the nightmare anything else. Everything was piled with eternally rotting, fused corpses. Everything was flooded with blood, from the floor to the walls and even the ceiling, from which chunks of someone's flesh fell now and then. The culprit of the celebration was a chimera combining the features of a huge beast, a horse, and perhaps some alien creature that blended the traits of many beings.

The Holy Moonlight Sword clearly belonged to the Pthumerian civilisation. The real question was what this... horse was doing in the sword. What was the purpose of this artefact? Who exactly created it and what guided them when they did?

I was a little interested in studying it. Perhaps sometime in my free time. Though first I needed to finally resolve the issue with the dead man.

"Sandman..." Ludwig's voice rang out from the equine maw. "Did you come... to mock me?"

Upon seeing me, he did not rush to attack. Instead, he continued to lie among the gnawed bones, studying me closely.

"That would be too petty," I replied matter-of-factly, examining the carcass. "Your mentor just cannot calm down, can he?"

"You... you were the one who did this..."

"Oh, it was only a matter of time," I shrugged. "In any case, at that moment I truly wasn't feeling my best. I have come to correct an oversight."

"You want to... want to..."

"Merely to grant you peace."

The neigh of a horse, transitioning into hysterical human laughter, became my answer. The carcass rose, holding the sword shining with moonlight in its hands.

"Monster!" roared Ludwig. "Monster!!!"

I huffed. My body turned to sand, numerous eyes opened, fixing their gaze upon the carcass.

And once again, a storm began. I needed to hurry to Maria.

***​

I walked unhurriedly through the immense hall. What was supposed to be a clinic, but in reality turned out to be a place for the Healing Church's inhuman experiments. The dimensions of this place were astonishing. Construction had clearly taken a long time and required vast resources, but organised fanatics who have seized power are rarely stopped by such trifles.

I heard the screams of patients experiencing unbearable torment echoing here and there. They called for Maria, completely convinced they were undergoing treatment under the care of the kind beauty, feeling guilty before her for their... brokenness.

"Wait just a little longer, and you will resolve this matter forever yourself, sweetheart..."

My voice echoed through the countless corridors, drowning out the patients' screams. The sandstorm followed me, but somewhere... off to the side, allowing this area of the horrifying nightmare to exist for now.

Maria was found exactly where she was supposed to be—in the Astral Clocktower. With a bloodied collar, deathly pale, just as in our first meeting, she dozed quietly, though submerged in a nightmare within a nightmare. A personal hell, from which there would normally be only one way out—dying by the hands of the Moon Presence's chosen one. Perhaps, despite all my efforts, Maria still desired this, but, I am afraid...

I was a greedy creature who wanted to see a different outcome.

I approached the sleeping girl closely, reaching my hand out to her, not at all surprised by what happened next. A power undreamt of by humans suddenly seized me. I smiled, staring into Maria's cold, dead eyes.

"Cannot wake up?.."

Maria released my hand, allowing me to step back. I watched her behaviour with interest, expecting some words, but none followed. The bloodied girl rose, reaching for her Rakuyo. They seemed to have been at her side all this time, rather than manifesting out of thin air.

"What wonderful potential. But this is just a fake, darling. Have you already forgotten that I have the original?"

A combat stance became my answer, followed by a dash. I had not undergone any specific training, nor had I fought monsters on the brink of life and death. Rather, I myself was the monster being fought. Instead of trying to dodge the girl's blades, I brazenly passed through her as sand, ending up behind her, allowing myself an unheard-of liberty by embracing the girl from behind.

"You know me well enough, Maria," I whispered in her ear. "I can no longer be defeated like this."

The girl broke free from the grip, jumping back.

A dash.

As if we were playing tag, somewhat resembling a frolicking little dream spirit, I laughed, simply turning into sand once more, not allowing the girl to reach me.

However, the real game of tag began after that. Being in an unconscious state, Maria stubbornly continued to attack me, growing stronger with each swing. It seemed the girl enjoyed this sort of battle much more than our earlier dance: I saw true grace, a love for blades that she displayed in every one of her movements. Perhaps she had liked our earlier dance, but, obviously, the attempt to kill me pleased her, consciously or not, much more. The very fact of the battle, the opportunity to show her skill.

I believe such girls were called 'tomboys'?.. How charming.

I continued to evade all attempts to reach me, allowing the girl to give it her all. At some point, she truly stopped holding back, resorting to what she wielded by right of blood. Maria dragged the blades, which flared with an otherworldly light, across her own body, sprinkling them with her own blood. Her actions bore more of a psychological nature: after all, her body had long since been dead, and now in this manner she merely turned, out of habit, to the power hidden within her cursed soul.

And, I must admit, Maria truly was powerful. The cursed blood resonated with the surrounding space; the girl became even faster and even stronger. Her blood, as if alive, reached out to me on its own, and unlike ordinary attempts to reach me, now she truly did have a chance. She would have had one once upon a time.

But now the outcome could only be one.

"How strong is the Orphan of Kos's hatred for you, that it sent you so far into the nightmare... I am sorry I could not protect you from this..."

Maria's body froze, no matter how she tried to break free. With the clang of steel, the Rakuyo fell from her hands, crumbling into nothingness. I approached the girl, gently lifting her chin, seeing nothing but solid cold emptiness in her eyes.

This did not suit me.

"There has been a wall of misunderstanding between us for some time now. Unfortunately, darling, no matter how much humanity is left in me, I am too far removed from your feelings. Previously I considered this a sufficient reason to maintain a little distance between us, but your disappearance showed me that I am capable of experiencing other, completely different emotions. I believe we can reach a... compromise."

I smiled, then slowly opened my mouth, sticking out my tongue and biting it until it bled. Lifting the girl's face with all possible tenderness, I kissed her, reaching out with my mind to hers, literally forcing her to swallow my blood. From the surging power, bearing the imprint of Yharnam's energy, the girl's body shook in convulsions; in response, I merely embraced the soul that was dear to me, soothing her mind with mine, sharing my own feelings and emotions, continuing to closely monitor her condition.

Fortunately, Maria did not let me down.

"Judging by everything, you are feeling much better, darling," I said with amusement in my voice.

My answer was round eyes full of bewilderment. I saw how Maria tried with all her might to hide her bursting emotions, but, I am afraid, deceiving me was rather difficult—and she couldn't have deceived an ordinary person right now either: too obvious a blush had appeared on the deathly pale girl. Right now, there was probably more warmth in her than ever before.

"Arthur..."

I hugged the girl even tighter, gently stroking her head.

"You do not need to say anything; I know what is happening in your soul. You can calmly give vent to your emotions."

Evidently, my words reached Maria after all. Tears flowed from the girl's eyes; feeling that no force was restraining her anymore, she clung tightly to me, barely keeping herself from bursting into tears. Unfortunately, her pride simply would not allow her to truly burst into tears.

But, I suppose, even so the result was more than satisfactory.

Almost.

The girl broke free from my embrace for a moment, but only so that she herself could reach for another kiss. Obviously, she was striving for a new, quite pleasant feeling, and I had no intention of denying her anything, intending to satisfy her every desire. After all, I had spent far too long as a dream spirit, sending sentient beings dreams in which practically all their desires were realised.

I don't think I need to elaborate on what that meant and how much I could offer my priestess.

The main thing was not to let her forget herself and to remind her in time that we were still in the nightmare of a godlike dead child, driving one mad just by its cursed existence—but, I think, that could wait a little.

Just a tiny bit.

Spoiler: concept_art34

 

[Lemor]

Chapter 35

I found myself on the beach once again.

It bore a striking resemblance to the one I had visited when I went to that cursed village. With only one obvious difference: a yellow moon tinged with red, somewhat resembling a pulsating eye.

I would have liked to call it beautiful in its own way, but...

No.

The surrounding space looked somehow sick, inflamed, full of the inhuman pain and suffering that had haunted the orphan even before its birth—which it never managed to survive.

As if in confirmation of this, the guest of honour, gazing at the pulsating moon, stood next to its mother's corpse, never having managed to get her image out of its head. Whether a few years or centuries pass, the mind of a Great One will remember—never finding salvation.

I shook my head.

For such mighty beings, the lack of a developed mind is the most terrible curse.

The smell of fish and rot hit my nose; on the edge of consciousness, the ringing of bells could be heard.

There was not a hint of fear.

Either I had grown too arrogant after gaining power. Or perhaps the return of my priestess to my dream had given me additional confidence. Or maybe it was simply that I had truly felt genuine compassion for the dead child.

But most likely, it was all of the above: having obtained power that made me a genuine threat, having recovered what could almost be called my greatest weakness, I had earned the right to bring light to a place where it had never existed. Having no light in my soul, to create it out of nothing.

I closed my eyes.

A personal nightmare that you yourself cannot control. Driven by all-consuming hatred, used by an elder kin for its own ends. Deprived of any help, doomed to eternal suffering.

Poor, unfortunate child.

I simply couldn't find the strength in myself to feel truly negative emotions toward this ugly, grotesque creature, despite all the terror it had put me through before.

It was time to end this.

I opened my eyes.

"Do you think the moon will help you, little orphan? Unfortunately, your kin, just like you, are far from such concepts. Still, you are amazing creatures... Amazing, absurdly powerful, capable of elevating the soul of any being with mere blood, and at the same time, surprisingly... unviable. The species itself."

This thought turned out to be so spontaneous that I froze for a second, comprehending it better.

Every Great One loses its child and yearns for a surrogate, yet the Great Ones do not help the children of their kin and prefer to keep apart from one another, pursuing their own goals. Individualism is absolutely normal for god-like beings, but not in the case of such high offspring mortality.

Perhaps looking at the Great Ones from such a perspective is inherently wrong, but to see a clear trend toward the gradual, agonising extinction of such powerful beings...

Quite unusual.

The orphan, it seemed, didn't even hear me at first. I obligingly continued:

"Still mesmerised by the moon?" I smirked. "You must be very tired... This nightmare has exhausted you, hasn't it?"

At first glance, I spoke in the most ordinary, human language. But that was only how it would seem to a simple human.

My voice echoed in waves. A special mental projection, a frequency so close to the orphan. A language that the stillborn Great One knew even before birth, passed down to me through the memory of blood. Through the depths of seas and oceans, through the depths of the Realm of Sleep and boundless space.

The child, mesmerised by gazing at the pulsating moon in the company of its mother's corpse, snapped out of it, twitching its entire twisted, grotesque body, turning to face me. The surrounding space trembled imperceptibly, and this was especially noticeable by the pulsating moon.

In such moments, I return time and again to the fate of the Moon Presence's chosen ones: practically ordinary humans forced to go through such a nightmare. Throwing themselves time after time at beasts that can bind and tear your soul apart, without even realising it. No wonder the game had an ending where the hunter themselves turned into a Great One: truly, to defeat one's own employer, simply discarding the remnants of humanity is not enough.

"Oh?"

The cleaver chopped my body in half faster than I could do anything. The master of its own nightmare, even if unaware of all the power available to it, still remained the master.

However...

My bisected body, already about to scatter in bloody chunks all over the beach, crumbled into sand, gathering next to the corpse of Kos.

"You saw what happened to your unfortunate mother... You comprehended everything from beginning to end..."

My body took the form of hardened sand. The sand was strewn with countless eyes staring at the orphan.

The orphan began taking deep, ragged breaths, emitting sounds from its throat that could only be described as the embodiment of a stillborn nightmare.

The rage of the dead Great One grew stronger and stronger.

The concept of elder and younger, despite all their individualism, was still familiar to the Great Ones. For the child of a Great One, my status could be quite strange: being weak, I was simultaneously, in every sense, older than the unreasoning child. Moreover, it was very hard to call me kin to the Great Ones. As inhabitants of the Realm of Sleep, we all belonged to the same plane and could be considered kin, but the god-like Great Ones, nonetheless, differed.

Blood—that is the key, bloody Bloodborne.

And this key had now become a part of me. It flowed through my body and soul, even if not turning me into a Great One, making me closely related enough that we could sense each other and experience a strange, paradoxically cold sense of kinship. More importantly—power.

The orphan felt that a rather close relative had come to visit. The orphan knew that this relative was stronger, older, and in a normal situation it most likely wouldn't have even attacked me like this...

But we had already met, and right now I smelled of Maria. She was literally watching everything through my dream, which kept threatening to manifest in this space. The hateful soul, cursed by the orphan, which I was stealing from it once again.

Our relationship couldn't be called friendly in the slightest, could it?

I was once again impaled on the cleaver, hoisted above the ground. Only this time, it didn't bother me in the least.

Scrutinising the child with countless eyes, I reached out a hand to it, touching its ugly face that blended the features of both an infant and an old man.

It didn't take a humanoid form for nothing. For most of its existence, it had seen humans. Their distorted, warped forms. Broken, contorted, frozen in a grimace of horror and suffering.

"You remember what your mother looks like, don't you... Isn't it time to take a more comfortable form and set off on your final voyage? I will help, whether you want it or not..."

My power abruptly crashed down upon the orphan, literally pressing it into the ground. A pained howl rang out, which didn't faze me in the least.

I only allowed the cleaver to sink deeper through my flesh, grabbing the creature's bald head with both hands, literally forcing the child to stare into my eyes.

"I am far from the light, am I not?.. But do not worry, I do not need light to help you..."

From my very first day in this cursed world, my mind had been much more developed than that of the vast majority of sapient beings. But the blood memory of the Great Ones had blurred the boundaries of my perception even further.

All-consuming colourless sand crashed down on this nightmare like an avalanche, but the dead child didn't react to it at all, continuing to stare mesmerised into my eyes, which were swallowing it more and more.

The inflamed, pulsating moon behind me began to dissipate, and along with it the body of Kos, gradually leaving in this nightmare only my sand, the dead child, and me.

I squinted in satisfaction, feeling the resistance of this area of the nightmare growing weaker and weaker.

It was one thing to send a human into sleep in the material world, and quite another to put a god-like entity to sleep right from within a nightmare.

I needed some preparation and literally all the power available to me, with immense, unceasing mental pressure.

"And now, close your eyes and rest, naughty child..."

The face that blended the features of an infant and an old man wheezed painfully, blood flowing from its eyes, which, however, did not stop the orphan from finally submitting: its eyes gradually closed.

I smiled broadly, faintly resembling a being trying to give a child sweet dreams. More like a terrifying demon.

The area of the nightmare before my eyes finally crumbled, bending to my will. The sand completely swallowed us, but...

Not at all to cause harm.

The orphan, just like an ordinary human, drifted into sleep, forgetting who and what it was. I showed the child what I myself had seen through the blood: boundless oceans, the depths of the dream world, the cosmos through which the Great Ones so loved to drift.

I took on the role of Kos, the child's mother, gifting the Great One the concept of care closer to humans than to the Great Ones: affection, a parent's love, endless care and protection, which the orphan could never have even imagined.

Kos had not been killed. She hadn't washed up on the shore, where her lifeless body with a Great One inside was gutted to the core to extract an interesting object for research.

Instead, the child was able to be born, continuing to wander through reality together with its mother, seeing a completely different side of the Universe—bearing little resemblance to this cursed world. I had things to show and ways to amaze even a god-like being.

The sleep of a Great One could last thousands of years, but unfortunately, I didn't have that much time. I could stretch time within the dream, but my mental capabilities were limited.

I had to bring the dream to an end in such a way that the child would perceive its conclusion as the beginning of a new journey.

Gradually, I began to distance myself from the child within the dream. Giving it more and more freedom, spurring its interest in exploring a universe that had no end and no edge.

Universes so impossible and absurd that anyone would want to take a look at them.

Phenomena so wondrous that they could only appear in a specific world with unique laws and rules.

How could one not want to look at them?!

"May you have such an opportunity in your next life..." I uttered slowly, drawing out every sound.

The stillborn Great One threw its eyes open for a moment, staring at me with a bewildered, pure, frightened gaze, reaching its twisted arms toward me as if wanting to be held in its mother's embrace, but...

The orphan's form dissipated into particles of energy before it could do anything.

All that remained was an unformed area of the nightmare, roamed by my sands, and myself, gradually taking on my usual human guise.

Almost.

"I feel a strange sense of peace, Arthur..."

"You are no longer burdened by the curse," I shrugged. "I think Gehrman is experiencing something similar right now... Are you ready to face him?"

It seemed my unexpected question caught the girl slightly off guard.

"Gehrman?"

"In the future, we most likely won't have such an opportunity. You need to settle the matter with your mentor before we find ourselves on opposite sides of the barricades again."

Perhaps without direct conflicts or disagreements, especially because of the Formless Oedon factor—but that was all strictly temporary. A matter of months or a couple of years, at best. In the grand scheme of the Great Ones—a mere blip.

Maria sighed heavily.

Of course, she knew about the old mentor's feelings. She couldn't not know. She respected him infinitely, absorbing all the knowledge he offered her with immense curiosity, but she couldn't reciprocate his feelings.

Because of my existence, a situation that was already difficult for the girl had become even worse.

Still, I knew how to help Maria muster up some courage.

"You simply must see the Doll—she will surprise you greatly," I smiled promisingly.

I wanted to see this miracle of the Moon Presence in the flesh no less myself. I knew she retained some sort of connection with Maria. I would like to study it before any unpleasant surprises arose.

Maria definitely caught a certain gloating radiating from me, feeling a strange discomfort.

"Oh Gods..."

I left the unformed part of the colossal nightmare, stepping out into the main area belonging to the countless cursed souls inhabiting this place.

In a way, the Hunter's Nightmare had become the true embodiment of Hell in this world. This space had expanded so much and absorbed so much suffering that even the thought of trying to claim it for myself seemed absurd in its stupidity. I'm the owner of a humble pub, not a nightmare aiming for the position of an evil God of Death!

"Eileen should have gathered a good harvest for the Moon Presence..." I muttered, trying to find the anomaly I needed.

And I found it.

Eileen, like an Angel of Death, had managed to sweep through practically the entire nightmare during my reunion with Maria and subsequent interaction with the Orphan of Kos. Tireless, deprived of the ability to die, she had significantly thinned out the Hunter's Nightmare, sending the tormented souls away—which greatly lightened my workload. Getting rid of this place without extra souls would be considerably easier.

As a raven, I flew through the nightmare, landing on an old lamp that barely illuminated the horrific, twisted, blood-soaked space.

"You look simply splendid, sweetheart..."

Eileen, clutching her weapon tightly, breathing heavily, almost blasted me with her firearm. Covered in blood, she clearly wasn't thrilled with her work. Too old for this sort of shite, I'd say.

"Good Sandman..."

Someone obviously needed a rest. After all, physical tirelessness does not equal mental tirelessness, does it?..

"You have done more than enough. The Moon Presence will clearly be pleased with you... I would recommend you close your eyes, Eileen."

"W-what?"

It seemed my words put the poor hunter on edge.

"Nothing special," I twisted my beak into something madly and remotely resembling a smile, clearly not adding to the hunter's positive emotions. "Just that some sand might get in your eyes. I'm afraid your mask won't be of much help..."

I soared into the sky, flapping my wings, slowly beginning to feel the pressure of the threshold gradually returning to my shoulders. The night was coming to an end; I needed to hurry up a bit.

In the next moment, a sandstorm crashed down upon the Hunter's Nightmare, ridding the world of this place's existence forever.

***​

I had long wanted to take a look at the Messengers in the flesh.

The Messengers were small creatures that helped the player travel through the nightmare. Through them, the player was also able to purchase items. Truly amazing beings, which, prior to Lily's appearance, I had wanted to acquire as helpers. At least one.

I could definitely say that the little ones reminded me of slugs: just as strange, slipping through materiality and immateriality, they obviously shared a connection with the slugs, though having clearly developed much further than their brethren.

Like the slugs, the Messengers' reaction to my appearance was quite positive: the ugly humanoid little ones wailed, reaching out to me right from the bath.

It was immensely amusing.

"Ah, the little ones, inhabitants of the dream... They cannot speak, but they are still quite lovely, aren't they?"

A deep, soft, gentle, almost lullaby-like voice distracted me from contemplating the little ones reaching out to me. A voice so reminiscent of Maria's, and at the same time belonging to an entirely different being. Perhaps devoid of life in the conventional sense of the word, but definitely possessing its own mind and soul. The Moon Presence, even if it distorted Gehrman's desire, had still fulfilled it quite well, gifting the old man a special companion. Perhaps even a bit too special.

I turned to the Doll, smiling.

"One of them is reaching for me rather desperately. I wish to take it."

One of the little ones really was reaching for me more desperately than the rest. Was it not destiny?

A faint surprise flickered across the porcelain face, full of weak but living emotions.

No wonder the player couldn't see the life within the Doll: she was entirely and completely part of the dream world, and without possessing certain... distortions, simply perceiving the Doll clearly would be quite difficult.

"Good Sandman, honourable Kind Master of Sand," the Doll curtsied. "You are entitled to take almost anything you desire here. I believe... Flora, of the moon, of the dream, will not object."

I doubted the Moon Presence cared about these little ones at all.

I extended my hand, touching the hand of the Messenger, sending it to my own dream to the sound of its satisfied wail. Such a useful assistant would definitely find a place in my pub. At the very least, little Lily would surely be happy to meet a new friend.

I looked around once again, surveying the surroundings with keen interest. There wasn't even a hint of the true master of the Hunter's Dream. Perhaps I simply couldn't sense it, but that was unlikely. Most likely, the Moon Presence truly was somewhere far away, even though it couldn't have failed to know I had visited this place.

Well, that would be for the best for everyone.

"I... wish to rest..." Eileen said in a detached voice, heading toward the workshop.

"Welcome home, good hunter."

At the Doll's greeting, Eileen merely nodded, wearily making her way inside the workshop, where a long-awaited bed already awaited her. We watched the elderly hunter go.

"Soon she will leave this place..." the Doll murmured.

She definitely felt sadness over this, not yet suspecting just how many graves would soon appear in the Hunter's Dream.

"Far from the worst fate."

"That is true..." the Doll agreed. "Good Sandman, might you answer a question of mine?"

I guessed what she wanted to ask.

"Of course."

"Was it you who helped me feel relieved?"

The Doll touched her chest, seemingly not entirely aware herself of what she was experiencing. Born into the world with a mind and knowledge, but devoid of personal experience and an understanding of basic things, she was in many ways akin to a child only just beginning to know the light.

"I became self-aware with a heaviness in my soul, but now it feels as if I have been freed from heavy shackles..."

"It's hard to explain, sweetheart. I think it's better you see for yourself..." I said thoughtfully. "I am certain you two have things to talk about."

My dream gently—as gently as could possibly be managed—infiltrated the Hunter's Dream. And with it, the soul I cared for, who had been observing the events from the side.

Maria materialised before the Doll, and the expression on her face was far from calm. Genuine, unadulterated shock, bewilderment, and a wrath growing right before my eyes, barely restrained by Maria's titanic efforts.

Oh, she guessed why she saw an entity so similar to herself standing before her. Practically a sister, but... calmer, more affectionate, more gentle and feminine.

The Doll, clearly not comprehending the emotions of the one thanks to whom she was even brought into existence—and with whom she shared a surprisingly strong bond—tilted her head uncomprehendingly.

"Who are you?"

At the exact same moment, the workshop door opened, and Gehrman was just about to wheel himself out in his chair, but...

An oppressive silence descended upon the Hunter's Dream. Maria met her master's gaze, and, Lords of Dreams, the scene unfolding before my eyes was worth absolutely everything I had to go through in this cursed dark fantasy.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Maria's voice resembled grinding metal. It wasn't a question, but the whisper of an ancient evil awakened from its slumber.

Gehrman, as befits a true man and one of the strongest hunters in history, let out a croak, nearly clutching his heart, and slammed the door shut—seemingly not entirely understanding what he was doing himself.

The Doll, as if instantly losing her life, froze impassively, thoroughly bewildered.

Morpheus put me to sleep—I never would have thought it would be easier for me to destroy the colossal nightmare of a god-like entity than to keep myself from laughing out loud.

Spoiler: concept_art35, 35.1

 

[Lemor]

Chapter 36

It was very hard for Maria to refrain from violent actions. Regardless of everything, the girl's character was far from simple, and she took the appearance of the Doll as, if not a personal humiliation from her dear master, then something very close to it.

Having laughed to my heart's content—unfortunately, mostly to myself—and realising I had to intervene, I carefully conveyed a simple thought to the girl's mind: the Doll is not an object of the master's... sordid fantasies.

He wanted to bring her back to life—that is true.

He wanted to be with her—that is also true. And, like any human, he had his own idealised perception of the object of his love.

The Moon Presence merely manifested, in its own way, a rather bright and, in many ways, naive dream for the old man.

I knew this was not entirely true, and... many of Gehrman's desires were clearly far from so pure and bright—but who am I to be surprised by the presence of vices in a human? Ridiculous. In dark fantasy, Hypnos put me to sleep!

I smiled, watching as Maria, having come to her senses and visibly calmed, unhurriedly headed toward the workshop, internally preparing for a very difficult conversation.

Fortunately, this matter was settled as well.

"Vice is an integral part of human nature," I muttered thoughtfully. "He who denies the presence of his own vices is mired in them deeper than the rest."

A simple thought, but for some reason very easy to forget.

"Am I also prone to vice, Sandman?"

A voice full of genuine curiosity and surprise pulled me out of my thoughts.

"Perhaps you have the potential," I replied thoughtfully. "But not right now. Right now, your most vicious feeling is the love that fills you from top to bottom."

The Doll, pondering my words, pressed a porcelain hand to her chest.

"I am a doll, created by humans. I was made this way."

"Not 'a doll,'" I corrected. "But 'the Doll.'"

I wouldn't have corrected a self-aware machine devoid of a soul in such a way. But the Doll had one. Who this soul belonged to, what and who it was before manifesting in this new hypostasis—that was an entirely different question. Perhaps a maddeningly important question, which, however, did not concern me.

There were many questions connected with the doll assistant of the Hunter's Dream, and I feared I wouldn't be able to answer them all, even if I crawled into her soul.

An almost imperceptible, living, and very sincere smile blossomed on the doll-like face.

"I thought I was capable of loving only the humans who created me, honourable Kind Master of Sand. Now I have learned that this is not so."

I merely chuckled carelessly at that.

"You have yet to learn how to determine what and towards whom you truly feel. Only then will you realise that some of your feelings do not belong to you at all, and you will learn to separate them. This is normal."

Blood. I was certain that when manifesting the Doll, the Moon Presence had used a great deal of Maria's blood. Perhaps far more than just blood. I had clearly underestimated the bond between these two souls from the very start.

Ideally, it should be severed, and I had a few thoughts on the matter—but for now, it wasn't a pressing issue. I had enough power to prevent any nasty tricks. I would certainly keep an eye on my priestess's soul.

The Doll tilted her head thoughtfully, comprehending my words.

"But I am sure that I love you. It makes me sorrowful to realise that you are deprived of this feeling..."

How charming. She found it unpleasant to see that someone was deprived of such a beautiful feeling. And how did she even find out?

Truly, a manifested dream, burdened with a soul.

"For you, it is the strongest emotion; I can understand your sorrow," I replied calmly. "But there is no need for it. Other emotions are strong within me, fully compensating for any shortcomings. I do not feel sorrow knowing how weak your other feelings are, aside from love. Why should you torment yourself? Gift your love to others, while not forgetting about yourself."

I raised my eyebrows, staring with irony at the Doll as she pondered my words.

Oh, I felt it. I felt the curiosity radiating from her, so reminiscent of Maria's curiosity.

"So strange..." the Doll said slowly. "A being incapable of love gifts more love than anyone else. I do not understand..."

"It's just part of my job," I replied with a smile. "In time, you will understand everything. In the most extreme case, should fate smile upon us, I will help you. I promise."

"Thank you, good Sandman," the Doll bowed to me.

"And yet, sweetheart, I am infinitely far from the concept of a good being," I sighed softly. "The price of a promise. I want to exact the price for it right now."

My unexpected words caused the doll-like girl to freeze briefly once again. My only answer was a short, curious nod.

She didn't ask what kind of price. She wasn't concerned that I might get what I wanted and never give anything in return. I didn't even need to offer anything: I could just say what I wanted, and she, if possible, would give it.

The mere fact of my offer already meant too much to her. Who would have thought that a maddening monster from the depths could have a hand in the birth of something so pure.

There was a certain wicked irony to it.

"Excellent..." I squinted, reaching my hands toward the Doll's head. "And now, while we still have a little time, look closely into my eyes..."

The Doll obeyed without question. The light in her eyes began to fade, sending her soul into even further depths of the dream.

Let's see what I can manage to learn in the remaining time, if anything at all...

***​

Gehrman looked devastated. He watched the gloomy Maria leave with a gaze as if he had buried her anew—only this time not physically, but in his own heart, which for the old man was perhaps an even harder ordeal.

We had a free minute. Judging by Gehrman's look, it was clear he wanted to tell me a great deal, and there would have been very little room for polite words—but...

"Thank you, Sandman..."

The hunter sitting in the wheelchair took off his hat, bowing his head.

I thoughtfully surveyed the hunter's workshop.

"I acted mostly in my own interests, but I will accept your gratitude. Are you having trouble sleeping?"

Gehrman flinched.

"The last dream... was a good one..."

"The curse of the Orphan of Kos has been lifted," I smiled. "Did Maria tell you?"

"Pretending you don't know what we talked about?"

I raised my eyebrows.

"My friend, I'm not that fond of digging through other people's dirty laundry."

Gehrman gave a tortured chuckle.

"Maria... She isn't exactly a stranger to you..."

"You are right, dear client," I easily agreed, placing a hand on the old man's shoulder. "But you're confusing me with someone else. My curiosity has its limits. Did the appearance of his apprentice really make the first hunter's head spin so much?"

The body in the wheelchair trembled weakly. Gehrman's inner beast. Previously indifferent, as if having died along with Maria's death, it had awakened once more, reacting to my existence.

We would have a separate talk with it.

"Right up to the end, I couldn't believe she hadn't left this cursed world yet..." Gehrman muttered, switching to a barely decipherable whisper. "I... remember that before..."

I cut the old man off, carelessly patting him on the shoulder.

"You've had a hard day, old man. You hunters usually sleep off the day to hunt at night. Let this day alter your rhythm of life a little. One day the moment will come when you'll make your contribution. For now... Good night, Gehrman."

A power that Gehrman simply could not disobey crashed down upon him. His consciousness faded faster than the first hunter could do anything.

Gehrman's body, along with his wheelchair, slowly rose into the air, heading toward the first hunter's room. I followed.

There was no reason to doubt the old hunter's loyalty, but I needed guarantees. And there is no better guarantee than the clear mind of a man relieved of a beast's pressure, whose desires—every single one of them—will be fulfilled in a dream.

In reality, he could never be with Maria, but who was stopping him from imagining another world?

A world where there wasn't such a gap in age and status between them. A world where Maria resembled the Doll more than herself, for the old man's ideal was, first and foremost, the image in his head. A world with no Healing Church, no horrors of the hunt involving the Great Ones. An imperfect, yet beautiful world in its own way.

"Your dream will be long and eventful. Do not treat the Doll as a tool, and do not let the Moon Presence's future chosen ones treat her as such. Through your own fault, she is one of the last beings in this world who deserves that, dear client..."

Gehrman tossed in his sleep, then relaxed. A faint, peaceful smile appeared on his face.

Only the beast remained.

Oh, this would be difficult—but I think...

The Sand Bowl would be able to find an approach for any client.

Very soon, we left the Hunter's Dream, returning to the pub as if nothing had happened.

Truth be told, I was certain Formless Oedon would make the next move. But, fortunately or unfortunately, nothing happened.

I had thoughts on what the bastard might do next. And I needed to start preparing for it as soon as possible, expecting the worst.

What one could be sure of was that the Healing Church's level of danger could change drastically—it wasn't only I or the Moon Presence who knew that the enemy of one's enemy is one's friend.

Since Amelia hadn't taken any action, it could only mean she had temporarily decided to lie low and start preparing for an opportune moment. I didn't even consider the possibility that this might not happen. In the shortest possible time, I would need to verify this—but the hope for an easy victory...

No, the Church would still drink its fill of others' blood, whether I wanted it to or not.

We were slowly approaching—if we hadn't already arrived at—a situation where an attempt to completely destroy one side could mean the end not just for all of Yharnam, but for all the islands. With the development of my powers, the stakes only grew, which couldn't help but be irritating.

I shouldn't forget about the Moon Presence and Amygdala, either. Even though I was confident the latter posed no serious threat to me, writing her off would be incredibly foolish.

One way or another, I needed to take advantage of this new period of calm to start repaying debts, visit certain places of interest, and begin preparing for the next storm.

However...

After a small, well-deserved celebration.

I am, first and foremost, a pub owner, am I not?..

***​

Iosefka looked around nervously. It constantly seemed to her that she was still being watched. Constantly. Wherever she went.

Thoughts that she was now under the Sandman's protection calmed her, but not completely. Not to mention that the Sandman himself could be watching her—just on a whim. After all, she couldn't say what went on in the head of such a... special entity.

Not that it bothered her... too much. In the end, the Sandman was not human and certainly didn't think in the same categories as certain churchmen. And even his self-identification as male was likely just a convenient whim as well. Perhaps one day she would find the courage to talk to him about it directly. Someday. Definitely. Probably.

And yet...

I hope the purified blood didn't cause any side effects... the stray thought flashed through the girl's mind once again.

The Kind Master of Sand must have already drunk the blood she had purified. And Iosefka could only guess what it might lead to. Concentrated, brimming with such monstrous power that its smell alone could start driving one mad.

She had never done anything so insane and absurd. Even weak doses could cause horrific consequences, but the obtained... extract couldn't possibly be assimilated by any human being.

Iosefka stopped in front of the nocturnal pub. It seemed the pub was closed, but the moment she carefully pulled the door open...

With the ring of the bell, the world seemed to distort.

Bright lights struck her eyes. The pub, previously small, had expanded—which was absurd in itself. The pub, which had barely fit a few people, remained itself on the one hand, but on the other...

It was as if it were from some strange future.

Iosefka's gaze began to dart across the pub's clients, recognising many faces with horror.

Even those who shouldn't have been alive.

At one of the tables sat pale-as-death, grey-haired Master Micolash, resembling a ghost risen from the dead. Catching her gaze, the dead man smiled at her madly, making the girl shudder. Next to Micolash sat Karl, clearly not sharing the joy of the Master's company.

At another table sat the hunters—gloomy as the night, keeping their weapons close. The girl recognised them: Father Gascoigne, the former priest; the old hunter Henryk; Logarius, leader of the Executioners himself; Eileen the Crow, hunter of hunters, seemingly not entirely understanding what she was doing here.

However, she was far outdone by another guest whom the girl also recognised—Harry. One of Ludwig's closest, albeit rather dim-witted followers. He clearly hadn't expected to be... invited, looking with unhidden terror at the guest of honour. Who would have thought the Sandman would have so many followers from the Church. Formerly from the Church.

But they weren't the ones drawing the most attention.

Lady Maria?

Iosefka's eyes widened.

One way or another, everyone present was glancing at her, and even Master Micolash didn't attract such attention. Sitting in the company of a strange flower and a little girl in a blue hat somewhat resembling a mushroom, she was inspecting her Rakuyo, ignoring everyone around her and in no hurry to touch her ale.

Her ale...

The smell—it's so alluring...

Iosefka closed her eyes.

"Welcome to the Sand Bowl pub, Iosefka."

The girl opened her eyes, surprised to find herself already in front of the counter, behind which stood the smiling pub owner.

There are changes, the girl's mind noted reflexively.

She had no doubt that the blood had played its role in the changes she saw. Pale skin, the faded light in his eyes—as if replaced by something else. It seemed the pub owner had grown a bit taller.

And yet, this was definitely the Sandman. His smile was... too unique.

"You should forget about your work for a while, sweetheart."

The creature's ironic voice helped Iosefka surface from her thoughts a little.

"We... we will have to run a few tests..."

Only the dead Gods knew how much courage it took for her to say that.

"Absolutely," the owner chuckled. "We will return to this matter later. Rest."

"Are e-e..."

"Not everyone," Arthur shook his head, as if having read the unasked question from her mind. "Inviting one particular dear client is rather difficult."

"I... I understand..."

Iosefka didn't even notice how she ended up sitting at one of the tables with a mug of ale in her hands. The feeling of surrealism didn't leave her, and it seemed to grow stronger with every passing second.

The small pub that had miraculously expanded, completely breaking the girl's mind...

The strange architecture, as if from the future...

In the end, the dead sharing the pub owner's celebration...

It seemed that having come to the pub of the Sandman, the Kind Master of Sand, the good Lord of Sand, she could no longer count on an ordinary afterlife...

Maybe that's not such a bad thing?

Iosefka closed her eyes, taking a sip of ale.

Magical, invigorating—the girl herself didn't notice when tears began to flow from her eyes. A strange peace arose in her soul; she slowly began to drift into sleep. With every new sip, problems bothered her less and less, leaving room only for tranquillity and peace.

Whatever horrors awaited her in the future, even if it were to be her own sister...

The Master would surely protect her soul, rotted within the Church.

Just like the souls of all those who decided to drink "Bloody Maria" ale by his side.

Spoiler: concept_art36

 

[SEYRAWYN]

Thanks for the chapter!

 

[Lemor]

Chapter 37

Annalise sharply opened her eyes.

A guest?

The queen was not surprised by the absence of the servants obliged to protect her nearby. She carefully climbed out from under the silky blanket, feeling the cold wind blowing against her body through her light nightgown.

Not that this bothered the Queen of the Vilebloods in the slightest.

No more than whoever dared to go so far as to disturb the queen's sleep, making the servants guarding her rest simply... leave? Disappear? Vanish?

A dream?

There were not that many who were potentially capable of this. And even fewer of those who so loved to act when the queen went to sleep.

The answer came almost instantly the moment Annalise approached the balcony doors. The cold wind was coming from there. There, too, was the one who had once again disturbed her sleep.

A smile crept onto the queen's face.

"Hast thou lured us into thy dream once again, Sandman?"

A sand crow that had lost its former golden light. Annalise's first thought was that the patron of her line had decided to change his style.

However, the stray thought left as quickly as it had come. Not that it was important or in any way interesting to Annalise.

"You are not asleep."

Annalise frowned.

"Well, well... Thou wouldst not come to us in the waking world just like that, disgustingly good Sandman. Hath something happened?"

Instead of an answer, the crow began to change its form, taking on the guise of the pub owner.

"I struck a deal with you, Queen," the man smiled politely. "I merely came to fulfil my part."

Annalise stood rooted to the spot. Her heart tightened, her stomach twisted into a knot. It had been a long time, a truly long time, since she had felt anything like this. Even in the most terrifying and dire situations, she was more often angry than...

Excited, like some young maiden?

"We were prepared to wait for years, Sandman..." the queen practically purred.

However, her image did not look innocent in the slightest. Her facial features sharpened, sharp, predatory fangs revealed themselves, her eyes bloodshot.

Her patron's smile grew a little wider. The world before the queen's eyes blurred, and she didn't even notice how she ended up in the man's surprisingly affectionate embrace.

"You thought too poorly of me, Queen," the voice whispered affectionately.

Annalise trembled, feeling the man's tone change. She lifted her head, meeting the gaze of cold, inhuman eyes.

He felt absolutely nothing—she could easily tell. He smiled warmly, spoke in such an enchanting voice, as if he were her most loyal subject and lover, but...

For the Sandman, it was merely a deal. Before this, Annalise had dreamed only of her Child of Blood, but for some reason, the complete indifference of the entity that had promised to fulfil her cherished dream made the queen's black heart clench unpleasantly.

The man leaned close to her ear, whispering softly.

"Any form. You can wish for almost anything."

The world before the woman's eyes blurred once more. Before she could blink, in place of the pub owner, she saw a man so beautiful that he could barely be distinguished from a gorgeous woman.

And even his eyes, previously indifferent, filled with endless love.

A moment, and now before her stood a sturdy and stern man, capable of protecting her from any misfortune. His gaze, previously full of almost fanatical love, became more gentle, more mature, and self-assured.

A moment...

And an almost exact copy of herself appeared before the woman. In the same light nightgown, with the ironic look of someone who knew all her secrets and vices, but didn't laugh at her in the slightest, ready to fulfil almost any hidden fantasy.

Oh, Annalise loved herself. Very much so. And she truly felt her breath catch at the sight of herself.

And yet...

"We struck a deal with the Sandman, the Kind Master of Sand, the Kind Lord of Sand, Arthur Sand," the woman pronounced haughtily. "And with none other."

"Very well."

A moment, and before her once again stood the deathly pale young man with a cold, indifferent gaze.

Or, perhaps, a tiny bit less indifferent. More favourable. Even if it wasn't what the greedy queen had desired...

It was already better than nothing.

"It would be amusing to see how he looks at Maria..."

A stray thought flashed through Annalise's mind.

Perhaps such an opportunity would present itself to her in the future?

The man lifted her easily like a feather, carrying her to the bed like a princess, hovering over her, and after a brief pause, kissed her. Annalise closed her eyes, feeling that her patron was definitely quite... experienced.

And yet, she had still underestimated the Sandman's abilities.

The queen threw her eyes wide open, digging her claws into the man's back. A guttural growl, full of inhuman pleasure, escaped her throat.

Blood, so sweet that no hunter could compare. The blood of the Sandman, the Kind Master of Sand, the Kind Lord of Sand, seeped into her system, filling her with such pleasure and power that she had never experienced before.

Annalise was already bound to him forever, but now...

The patron had decided to do everything to ensure she clung not only to their Child of Blood, which was bound to be born, but also to the pub owner himself.

Truly, a vile, repulsive, two-faced, cursed, terrible, good Sandman.

***​

Despite all its horrors, nocturnal Yharnam was mesmerising in its own way. Grotesque, soaked in blood from head to toe, yet at the same time surprisingly ordinary and familiar to Maria's mind. The city continued to live, and the girl was ready to wager it lived... relatively peacefully, only thanks to one being.

Arthur sat atop the tower as if nothing had happened, observing the city with curiosity. One might think he was simply gazing at the city, but Maria knew that wasn't the case.

In reality, he was observing the... clients, whose numbers were growing at a tremendous speed.

Someone had a strange dream, sharing it with those who had seen similar ones.

Someone heard the random stories of drunkards, enthusiastically telling tales in numerous pubs about the patron of weary souls, where in the Kind Master of Sand's special pub they could, by drinking a special ale, make all their dreams come true.

Someone heard other variations of the stories about the Sand Bowl. About a certain covenant bearing the mark of a bowl. Or perhaps a cult?.. Or just a small interest club?

Everything and nothing. With only one goal—to spread faith in the pub owner. Now only this, in the short term, could give the former dream spirit more power.

However, that was more of a secondary goal.

"There are more and more of them..." a male voice uttered softly. "Amelia's patience is enviable, but she won't be able to stay silent for long..."

The good Sandman had concluded a non-aggression pact. And formally adhered to it, just as the Church did.

Another matter was that the spread of faith in the Sandman did not directly harm the Church in any way, while simultaneously turning into a genuine catastrophe for it. If even within the Church itself those bearing the bowl attribute were increasingly common, then what was there even to talk about?

If the Vicar did not make her move in the near future, she would automatically lose.

"I will wait," Maria replied curtly.

It was difficult for her to hold the Rakuyo in her hands. They, unlike her, belonged to the physical world. But she still held onto them as tightly as she could. The Research Hall, her final regret, still troubled her.

"I understand your feelings, Maria," the man turned his head to her, smiling. "An extra minute of delay equals the suffering of... the patients."

Maria didn't answer.

This was her main regret that she wanted to resolve. This was also the first promise the Sandman had made, and one of the most important.

Arthur smiled.

"Lately, I've been visiting the Research Hall more often."

"You visit it?" Maria raised her eyebrows.

"Your surprise outrages me, darling," the man chuckled. "Adeline constantly mentions you..."

Maria froze. She couldn't believe she was still alive. Adeline. The patient who believed in her perhaps more than anyone else...

"Can I see her, Arthur?"

"Very soon, and not just her," the Sandman turned his attention back to the city, pondering something. "You will become the guide who frees the suffering souls and leads them to the pub, where they can drink ale, share their pain with one another, and fulfil any of their dreams..."

Sometimes Maria still had a poor grasp of the scale of Arthur's actions.

Even if limited by the physical world, he could already rival the Great Ones and, in certain matters, even surpass them. But the Sandman was clearly dissatisfied with this.

The Old Blood had its limits, unlike myth and legend. Now the spread of faith was the main source of power for Arthur, which, however, he seemed to spend only on diluting his ale with his own blood over and over again, so that unfortunate souls could eternally enjoy it, be they living or dead.

The Sandman was a pub owner, and from the very beginning, this was an integral part of his legend and essence, which couldn't help but affect him.

"I want you to promise me something."

Arthur raised his eyebrows in surprise. Maria knew he did not forget promises and made them quite rarely, and yet—she still dared to voice her desire.

"And what is it?"

"Promise me you won't give me your blood anymore."

The expression on the man's face became so surprised that Maria couldn't help but smile.

"That almost insults me," the Sandman feigned indignation. "Why? Is my blood not..."

"I fell in love not with your bloody ale," Maria said softly. "But with you."

Arthur was silent for a while, seriously pondering something. The man raised a piercing, cold, eerie, and inhuman gaze to her, in which, however, the girl could see a little bit more than the rest. A faint light emanating from the very depths of his soul.

"Very well. I promise. But one day, this promise might have to be broken."

Maria nodded slowly.

Her final regret would soon be resolved, after which she would be completely free, and she wouldn't care whether the Sandman would eventually be able to resurrect her completely or not.

She would be at peace as long as she could somehow hold her Rakuyo in her hands. If the Sandman was strong, then she would be strong. And if necessary, she would find a way to become even stronger.

In the end, she, unlike him, was a hunter.

And she, unlike the pub owner, loved a good hunt.

***​

Money. Money is good!

Iosefka knew how important money was. And how important it was to have a lot of money. Well... and patrons who are genuinely interested in your research, of course! That's even more important!..

What am I thinking?! Iosefka grew flustered.

It seemed she was too nervous about the opening of the new clinic. Iosefka's Clinic, but now not just in name!..

Large, with modern equipment and personal assistants controlled only by Iosefka. Moreover, sufficiently qualified ones who listened to her every word!..

True, their slightly fanatical speeches betrayed them as obvious worshippers of the Sandman, but that was supposedly a good thing, right? In any case, definitely not a bad thing.

No less joy and quiet pride for the girl was brought by the fact that her beloved patients started coming at the very first notice. The closure of Iosefka's Clinic, while not critical, took a rather noticeable toll on the Church's reputation. The reopening of the clinic, but now under the patronage of... someone else, was presented more as Iosefka's personal struggle, unable to abandon her patients no matter what!..

The girl had no idea who was spreading rumours or how, completely unversed in such... er, games, so she simply quietly rejoiced at the opportunity to continue helping patients and conducting research, all while receiving more and more love from ordinary Yharnamites.

Quite quickly, Iosefka forgot about all her problems, practically moving into the new clinic. It didn't take her long to immerse herself in her work so much that the appearance of one person became like a bucket of cold water for her.

"Sister?"

The appearance of her own blood on the clinic's threshold was a huge and extremely unpleasant surprise for the girl. She was sure the Vicar would order her not to touch her. At the very least, she hoped she would have a little more time.

The assistants had to be sent away. Iosefka knew the conversation had to be private, whether she wanted it to or not.

"Your voice betrays all your joy," the older Iosefka smiled.

"I no longer work with the Chur..."

"Oh, can I not come of my own free will?" the older one feigned a gasp.

"You can," Iosefka's voice grew slightly colder. "But you wouldn't without a purpose!"

A wall had been growing between them for a long time. And the only thing holding the younger Iosefka back from speaking up was fear. But was her fear still that strong after what she had been through?

After the celebration of the living and the dead in the owner's otherworldly pub, the psychopath didn't look quite so threatening anymore!

"How bold you've become," the older Iosefka feigned admiration. "And I thought you would remain a slug that would never dare to raise its head, sister. You elicit much more sympathy from me like this."

Iosefka could no longer hide her disgust, grimacing.

"What else do you want from me?!"

"I came to the clinic," the older sister said coldly. "In recent days, I feel that something is wrong with me. Do you not help your patients?"

Iosefka had already opened her mouth to object indignantly, but...

"For the last time... And don't ever come back!"

The older Iosefka merely smiled coldly at this.

"That monster is a good influence on you..."

The younger one didn't bother replying, deciding instead to focus on the examination. She conducted the usual procedure and even drew her sister's blood, but...

"You are healthy, sister."

Perhaps there were minor deviations from the norm, but nothing serious.

The older Iosefka frowned.

"That's impossible. I have strange symptoms."

"Strange... symptoms?"

"I sleep poorly, I've developed an aversion to food and urges to eat something unusual," the older sister raised her head in thought. "Yesterday I felt dizzy and started feeling nauseous..."

The younger Iosefka blinked in surprise.

"You couldn't possibly be... pregnant?"

"I haven't been with a man," the older one smiled coldly, but from her sister's look, she apparently realised something. "I couldn't have... could I?"

It seemed to the younger one that a small gust of cold wind blew through the clinic, followed, to Iosefka's surprise, by particles of sand.

I am safe.

A strange warmth rose in Iosefka's chest. Even if her sister went mad and tried to harm her, the good Sandman would protect her. And even if she died...

She had nothing to worry about.

"We will run a few more tests," the younger one said after a short silence.

"No," the older one replied unexpectedly, standing up. "I've heard everything I wanted. Farewell."

The girl watched her departing sister, who loudly slammed the door behind her.

Iosefka didn't even notice a faint smile creep onto her face. She guessed that nothing good awaited her sister. Perhaps something far more terrible than what she herself had wrought.

And no one would help her.

It seemed that even within the younger Iosefka there was a place for darkness, which she skilfully hid from herself.

***​

Yharnam didn't frighten Lily as much anymore. Especially at night.

In some ways, she resembled a ghost wandering the city in a blue hat. Flashing here and there, simultaneously catching and avoiding the eyes of the rare people out.

An unexpected gift from her father, which he had brought from somewhere in the dream world, helped her perhaps even more than his own blood. She felt she was close to something, and joyfully shared this with her father, delighting in her achievements. Be it wandering through dreams or maintaining an illusion that, as she grew, resembled an illusion less and less—she was developing.

But most of all, this was noticeable in how her consciousness developed. She understood more and more, and wanted to continue learning new things. Overcoming her fear was perhaps the very first thing she had to do. Father, fortunately, didn't mind! Under supervision, of course, but he didn't mind!

Lily stopped upon hearing a child's cry. She tilted her head.

Silently, with almost childlike curiosity, she headed in the direction of the sound.

Something vaguely familiar was happening.

What was a child doing alone in the middle of the city at night? Where were their parents? Who were these bad people trying to steal them? The girl didn't know, nor was she particularly interested.

The hat on her head shone with an otherworldly, cosmic light. Her body began to distort, turning into something terrifying.

But what she knew for certain was that the kidnappers clearly couldn't be their dear clients.

Soon, Yharnam once again plunged into silence.

Spoiler: concept_art37

 

[Lemor]

Chapter 38

When your child grows and slowly begins to take on some of your responsibilities—it's wonderful. Even if Lily's maturation was... slightly accelerated, it didn't hinder experiencing the joy of the girl's growing up in the slightest. Not only was I glad to watch the development of a soul I cared about, but I also gained a little more opportunity to leave the pub for a short while without unnecessary worries.

I had long wanted to meet with one rather intriguing individual. Probably someone who could potentially bring some use in the future, but at this stage was more of an icon of this world, a true Master whom I simply wanted to look at and speak with. A Master who, willy-nilly, raised truly terrifying monsters, madly burning with their ideas.

Of course, I was talking about Master Willem, the head of Byrgenwerth itself.

In Yharnam, this place is practically never remembered anymore, but when it is... Be it a pauper or a rich man, a churchman or a hunter, people's voices would be filled with respect and fear! Mostly fear, of course.

And one could understand them.

"It's amazing that humans built this..." I muttered.

An enormous, grotesque building, one could tell by looking at it that it had been... abandoned for quite some time.

Of course, I knew that was not true. In reality, there was life in the institute, and not just life. Somehow, Master Willem, blindly feeling for the supernatural, not only managed to turn a student into a Great One, who created an additional boundary between reality and the dream, but also plunged a good half of the entire building into the Dream Realm.

A stable rift, which for ordinary and even extraordinary people could become a portal into a world from which they would never escape. That is why no one tried to remember Byrgenwerth seriously—the place was considered an anomaly that only a fool would be willing to poke around in now.

I chuckled, taking a seemingly very small step, but...

"The Lecture Building?"

I myself did not expect to be thrown so deeply inside right away. Enormous bookshelves, dim lighting, and the smell of old books appeared before my eyes. A surprisingly pleasant smell.

It became easier to breathe. My perception expanded significantly, as if several layers of clothing had been peeled off me. Lords of Dreams, there is something amusing about the fact that next to the source of limitations... how to put it correctly?

There were no limitations!

I could reach Rom instantly if I wanted to. But right now I was in no hurry.

After all, I wanted to take a proper stroll here.

The thought arose to secure a guide in the form of Micolash. The madman clearly wouldn't mind giving me a tour here, but in the end I abandoned that idea: the candidate for the guide was crawling nearby, and I didn't want to distract busy clients needlessly. As it happened, they had more work right now than I did.

I smiled.

"Are you going to hide much longer, little spider?"

Lords of Dreams, it's a bit uncomfortable to admit to myself that I wanted to stumble upon the little spider almost as much as I wanted to meet the Master.

Spider legs began to stir. From a dark corner, slowly, clearly trying to hide its fright, crawled out a little nightmare with a rather telling name.

Patches the Spider.

The arachnid creature of considerable size with a bald, dead human head that crawled out of the darkness looked more amusing to me than vile or frightening, which for this world was a true miracle of nature that ought to be entered in the Red List.

"I wasn't hiding at all, G-Great One!" the little spider rattled off. "I was simply... resting, ha! Ha-ha-ha, yes, resting, ha!.."

A thoroughly fake laugh, as if a repulsive merchant had been caught in a petty lie and was trying to turn it all into a joke. Pure gold, Morpheus put me to sleep!

I smiled.

"Amygdala, do you hear her voice?"

Patches, scurrying around me on his spider legs, clearly misunderstood my question:

"I hear only the Sandman! Only him!.. I mean, you, of course, you, exactly!"

My smile only grew wider.

I had missed this so much! No double meaning, such fake and exaggerated sycophancy that any halfwit would understand it. Gold, not a nightmare! How did this creature even come into the world and live to this age?

Oh, it doesn't matter!

"I coexisted with one of her projections for a while, but after the appearance of our mutual acquaintance, Amygdala disappeared," I explained my interest. "I assume she decided to distance herself a little from our game. I just want to make sure. Do you hear her voice?"

"Oh, so that's what it is!" Patches perked up. "And I was beginning to think... Ha-ha-ha! These things happen!.. Hahahaha..."

"You can stop laughing."

It was not a request.

"Yes, yes, I beg your pardon," Patches quieted down instantly. "No, Great One! I don't hear..."

At the last words, the little spider truly grew sad. To tell the truth, I remembered him very vaguely from the game, but I could definitely say that he mentioned Amygdala often.

I nodded thoughtfully.

"Have you resided here long, Patches?"

The little spider stared at me in surprise.

"Am I really so famous that even the Great Ones know me?! Oh Gods, I already thought I would never be recognised!.."

I chuckled cheerfully, immersing myself for a moment in distant, almost forgotten fragments of memories. What a human could not remember no matter how much they wanted to, I literally pulled out of my head with forceps and restored piece by piece.

"Oh, you truly are much more famous than you think..."

Having learned that he was a celebrity, Patches stopped thinking about the fact that there was a "Great One" next to him, visibly relaxing. And when I asked him to act as a guide...

"Times are tough these days... Byrgenwerth is quite large, and I am, actually, a professional, so... that is, I meant to say I would gladly guide you, K-Kind Master of Sand!"

My gaze, apparently, became far too eloquent. I chuckled once more.

"Nightmares can have good dreams too, Patches. If you give me a good tour, you will see the brightest dream of your existence. How does that sound?"

Apparently, the little spider did not expect to actually be "paid" anything. Patches' eyes lit up, and he began to bustle around me.

"Now that's what I call an approach! That's how business should be done! Let's go, let's go, Sandman, I'll give you the best tour of this wonderful place—a true luminary of science!.. There is no other place like this in the whole world, ha-ha-ha-ha..."

"You can stop laughing."

"Yes, yes, of course," Patches gave a slight jump. "Follow me, Sandman!"

I watched the little spider rapidly retreating among the shelves and followed him with a smile.

Surprisingly enough, the little spider hadn't lied and truly knew this space well. Unlike the game, it was much more anomalous, and a step in the wrong direction could potentially send you to an absolutely random place. For me, this wasn't a big problem, but it still spared me unnecessary discomfort.

The more we strolled through the numerous lecture halls, passing through the massive bookshelves and increasingly stumbling upon restless souls that continued to read books even in a waking nightmare, the harder it was for me to imagine the scale of this place. How many resources had been poured into it, how many years it had taken to build something like this—honestly, it took my breath away.

I examined some of the books and was impressed by how mad in their passion the people of this world could be. Countless theories, countless experiments, and records, records, records about everything in the world. Byrgenwerth was the embodiment of what fanatics with minds, wielding power and a simply enormous amount of resources, could achieve. And also those devoid of any limitations of laws and morality.

Patches didn't want to get into a confrontation with the local inhabitants and suggested simply bypassing the pale students, who had lost their human form, flashing by from time to time—but instead I walked toward them.

After all, if I didn't help these souls move on now, the probability of them being able to leave this space in the next few decades, if not centuries, would trend toward zero. There was not a trace of saints in such a specific establishment, but I was still against the existence of places one cannot leave.

There were more... specific creatures here as well. Fluorescent flowers, like distant relatives of Thalamus. Only uglier and with more teeth. I hope my little friend won't want to draw inspiration from the forms of his lesser brethren.

Arachnid humanoids with bloated heads and eyeballs sprouting from them.

Walking humanoid tentacles, eager to latch onto your head if you got too close.

Patches was horrified by the childlike curiosity with which I approached each of these creatures, as if they weren't lethally dangerous beasts, but some kind of turtles in enclosures. What would be an extremely dangerous trial and a waking nightmare for experienced and strong hunters—or rather, something in between—became a tourist stroll for me. It had been a long time since I felt so relaxed! Still, sometimes you need to find time for a stroll.

"A truly interesting place..." I muttered.

We stepped out onto the veranda. A massive lake appeared before my eyes. Covered in fog, truly enchanting, I roughly understood how this place... had acquired its current form, but I still couldn't help but admire the genius of the humans who had created something so monstrous.

And, of course, the personal genius of the true Master. Well, I could definitely somewhat understand the fanaticism of Micolash, or the first vicar, or anyone else—Willem deserved all the honours. It's one thing to only hear about it, another to see it all with your own eyes.

"And this, Sandman, is the main attraction of this place—Moonside Lake!" Patches dramatically proclaimed in the tone of a true guide. "I'll warn you right now: attempts to take a dip might end badly!.."

"Have you tried?"

"Of course not!" Patches lied brazenly, twitching a leg. "How could I?!"

"I understand," I smiled once again. "I think I've seen enough, Patches. You've done good work."

"Happy to oblige, Sandman!" the little spider chuckled proudly, becoming more serious, however. "Before you send me to sleep, may I..."

I caught his desire.

"If I meet Amygdala's projection, I will put in a good word for you."

"Oh, Great Sandman! The absolute best! Hahahaha..."

"You can stop laughing."

"Yes, sorry..."

Just an amazing creature.

"Good night, Patches."

I placed my hand on the head of the spider, who gasped in surprise, and his consciousness instantly faded. Trying not to delve too deeply into a rather... specific consciousness, I quite easily sent a dream full of arachnid women in the company of Patches, praying to Amygdala, who admiringly commented on the shine of his legs.

Lords of Dreams, there is no limit to the madness of sapient beings...

The sand caught the sleeping spider, sending him into the depths of the dream world, where he could peacefully enjoy his reveries.

Left alone, I looked around thoughtfully, and then...

A step.

The sand caught me, sending me further, into the very heart of this place.

I looked around.

"Probably not the worst place to spend one's old age..."

The lake appeared before my eyes in all its splendour, next to which sat an old chair, as if stolen from the home of some luxury-loving duke. Sitting in the chair was a man in ceremonial robes: a tall, rigid headpiece resembling a papal tiara or mitre in shape.

An old, multi-layered mantle, like the cassock of some high clergy. Or, perhaps, a rector's academic gown?..

A long staff, apparently acting as a walking cane. Numerous ornaments. A golden mask covering his eyes. However, I could definitely tell that its presence did not hinder the Master from seeing in the slightest.

I walked up to him almost point-blank, not at all surprised that my appearance neither confused nor surprised the old man.

Most likely, he had known about my existence for a long time. He couldn't not have known, even locked—was he locked?—in this space. He simply preferred to observe everything from the side. Probably one of the most correct strategies.

"Must be lonely, old man?"

My tone was as carefree as possible. As if I truly were a young pub owner for the common folk, and not the "Sandman."

In the game, Willem did not speak to the player. He only pointed his staff at the lake. But my goals clearly did not align with a hunter who came to hunt Rom.

And the old man clearly wanted to talk to me much more than to a hired monster killer.

"Sand... man..."

A quiet, barely audible voice. A dead man who, defying all laws and rules, continued to live. He was no longer human, and hadn't been for a long time. In the end, he too strove for ascension, just like everyone before him.

And he, albeit in a highly distorted sense of the word, achieved success.

"Don't trouble yourself," I smiled. "Just open your mind."

To my mild surprise, the Master unerringly understood what I was talking about. There was not a hint of resistance, or anything else—the natural barrier of consciousness simply vanished, as if it had never been there.

Amazing!

It might have seemed as though nothing changed, but...

Willem touched a hand to his throat.

"Why... can I speak?"

I gently patted the old man on the shoulder, smiling.

"You cannot, Master. It merely seems to you that you can."

Willem slowly, carefully looked around.

"Have I fallen asleep?"

"That is a debatable question. We are already between the waking world and the dream," I said softly, lowering my gaze to the lake beneath which resided the unfortunate student turned Great One. "With all due respect, old man, it will be hard for you to understand what I am talking about."

Fantasy overlaps reality, and reality overlaps fantasy. In places where the line is blurred, understanding anything at all becomes very difficult. The human brain is not very friendly with abstract matters.

"I was never able to open my eyes..." the Master interpreted my words in his own way, sighing quietly. He inspected me through the mask. "Do you not fear the Old Blood, Sandman?"

I did not try to hide my visual or, more accurately in the Master's case, spiritual differences from a human in any way. I gave a short nod.

"You determined that the blood was harmful, but could not deal with the cause of the harm."

"Apparently so..." Willem said softly. "Have you come... to kill Rom?"

"I cannot free her right now," I shook my head, examining the lake. "She not only limits, but she also restrains. This plays into our hands. The consequences will become far too unpredictable if we free her now."

"Why do you call it freeing?"

Oh? Was that a hint of indignation in the Master's voice? Did he consider Rom a success?

I shifted my gaze to the old man.

"Your teaching is built around eyes, Willem. And you are right in your own way: good eyes will give you the right to see and reach what was inaccessible."

"Then... why?"

I tapped a finger to my temple.

"The mind. Not the eyes. Seeing is not enough. Sometimes it's better to remain blind, old man. Not a limitation, but a safeguard."

Willem was silent, pondering my words.

"I... saw..."

The Master pressed a hand to his mask, beginning to whisper something haphazardly under his breath. I could not determine what exactly he was thinking or feeling: it was an unstructured chaos, consisting predominantly of the horror of what he had seen and experienced.

"In a certain sense, you achieved your goal," I decided to support the elderly Master. "You achieved immortality. Is that not what you desired?"

The old man gripped the armrest of his chair.

"I cannot understand why they nicknamed you the 'good' Sandman..."

I chuckled.

"I truly do have quite a lousy personality. But I do not need light to create it. Has it been a long time since you saw a sweet dream, old man?"

Through the mask, I could definitely tell that a cold, piercing gaze was fixed on me.

Definitely, Willem realised he couldn't do much. Even a child could strangle him—that's how weak the Master was.

"What... what do you want, Sandman?"

"Who said I needed something to gift you a good dream?" I raised my eyebrows, after which I smiled openly. "Nothing of the sort, Master. You truly won't be able to bring me much use. But I respect your mind and knowledge, regardless of everything. And I want you to pass them on to a certain girl who has achieved some progress in the research of the Old Blood."

I think Iosefka will be absolutely thrilled by the appearance of such a teacher. Lords of Dreams, I hope she doesn't have a stroke. Doing research while dead would definitely be harder for her.

To tell the truth, I had no far-reaching plans on this matter. Let's just say...

It was simply a small investment that cost me nothing. Why not?.. After all, in the end, everyone will come out ahead.

Willem did not answer immediately. He fell into serious thought, lowering his gaze to the lake. The Master perceived this as a deal with some terrifying demon with far-reaching consequences.

Well... Given the existence of Formless Oedon, I assume the consequences truly will be far-reaching. In the most nightmarish sense of the word.

Unfortunately, such are the realities of this grim world.

"I accept..." Willem uttered softly. "I... will become your dear client..."

I laughed cheerfully. And the old man knows much more than I thought!

The lake, calm until now, rippled. The bright, clear moon seemed to tremble for a moment, tinged with red, but then regained its former colour.

The Orphan of Kos truly was the least of my problems...

Spoiler: concept_art38

Author's note: there will probably be no new chapters over the next few days. I have only five chapters left to translate, which I would like to post all at once. I will try to finish the translation faster, but it will depend on the phase of the Moon Presence.

Hope you enjoy!

 

[SEYRAWYN]

Thanks for the chapter!

 

[Lemor]

Finale?

Amphibians. Inhabitants of the cursed village, the existence of which, fortunately, the world quickly forgot. They had long ceased to be human; their minds distorted to such an extent that they could barely remember a past where they did not have to hide from the outside world, constantly anticipating the appearance of hunters who would come to finish what was started.

Even if the amphibians did not remember, they felt it. Subconsciously, they understood what a nightmarish position they were in. They prayed to the dead Great One, seeing this as the only way out. It was not a conscious decision—they simply trusted their own feelings, which, it seemed, were instilled in them by the slugs that had set out for the new Great One.

A good end could not await them. In any form. A quick death was a blessing they could not even dream of.

And yet...

They had a hope of making their fate at least a tiny bit less hopeless. Perhaps infinitely far from what could truly be considered a good end, but still enough for their souls to find long-awaited peace.

The crowd knelt before an altar in the shape of a bowl, filled with a strange, incomprehensible liquid. The creatures, shrouded in a thick fog, emitted strange, frightening sounds, offering prayers to their new God; they brought sand from the cursed beach, embodying his changeable visage; they awaited word from him.

They believed that he would come again. They saw his vague guise in their distorted dreams. They felt that their prayers reached the addressee and were heard, which drove the amphibians into genuine religious ecstasy.

All that remained was to wait.

And wait they did.

"A-a-a-a..."

"AaA-a!"

"Aaaa!"

A howl filled the village forgotten by the world. So unnatural and frightening that it would make the blood run cold in the veins of the most experienced and strongest hunters, should they hear it.

Next to the altar in the form of a bowl, covered in a thick fog, scattered with sand around it, a figure appeared. Or, perhaps, it had always been there. A sand crow, having perched neatly right on the bowl, observed the amphibians, the bowl, and the strange liquid within it with curiosity.

The beak of the sand crow twisted into an entirely unnatural semblance of a human smile.

"A new 'secret' ale recipe... Well, who am I to judge the clients for their tastes and preferences."

In the end, the real secret was in one thing. In what was the main driving force in this world, the source of the greatest curse and blessing.

Blood.

The howl of the amphibians grew even louder.

A celebration reminiscent of a waking nightmare was beginning.

***​

Micolash and Karl could not be considered master and student, nor friends. It was obvious that if not for the Sandman factor, Karl would have been long gone. The opposite was true as well: had the former student of the School of Mensis received even a ghost of a chance, were the Kind Master of Sand not against it, he would certainly have used it to permanently rid himself of the dead Master who refused to leave their cursed world.

And yet, regardless of everything, they worked perfectly with each other. Because both were fanatics who understood better than anyone else the full benefit of directly serving the pub owner. Because they had tasted knowledge and opportunities they would never have had under normal circumstances. Because they knew that disobeying the good being could mean torments for them that their pitiful minds might simply be unable to withstand, shattering into thousands of shards.

Master Micolash had managed to familiarise himself a bit with the methods of the Kind Lord of Sand, and therefore obeyed willingly, which served as an excellent example for Karl. After all, the student does not want to repeat the master's mistakes and prefers to learn only what could bring him benefit, not suffering.

Everything else could be suppressed within oneself.

"You have guests coming..."

They no longer repeated past mistakes. Now the Sandman's preacher spent most of his time working with Micolash, who monitored the situation and was ready to take control of the negligent student's body at any moment. The Host of the Nightmare, even limited, studying under the good Sandman, could do more than Karl.

Both the Church and the Sand Bowl avoided open conflict. But petty dirty tricks with the potential to grow into something more, should the temporary truce cease...

Those were always welcome.

Besides, who ever refused small, dubious tricks?.. It was already obvious to everyone that something on a massive scale was going to happen in the very near future anyway. Literally at any moment. Perhaps it was already happening. It simply wasn't visible yet.

Without changing his expression, Karl adjusted the hood on his head and turned the corner.

Footsteps were heard; the pursuers sped up, having noticed the target's atypical behaviour.

Unfortunately for them, the fanatic played unfairly.

Just as recently—recently?—the Sandman had led them through pursuers in the rain, Karl navigated between the streets and alleyways, literally dissolving into Yharnam.

Only, unlike that situation, he had help.

Random passers-by who, merely casting a glance at the preacher walking past, would walk forward, entirely accidentally colliding with the pursuers.

Small crowds seemed to disperse on their own, becoming impassable again the moment the pursuers merely tried to pass through them.

Their seemingly small city had a thousand and one places where one could shake a tail, temporarily take cover, create yet another point where... perhaps, members of a small interest club would gather. Or, perhaps, a covenant. Or maybe a cult?..

Everyone interpreted the Sand Bowl in their own way. But no one doubted that, regardless of what it was, one could be certain: the Sandman, the Kind Master of Sand, the Kind Lord of Sand would definitely notice them.

Would offer ale, the flavour of which could compare to nothing else. Would allow them to speak their mind about anything. Would send them into a sleep where any desires could come true.

And even after death, their souls would be able to continue eternally drinking ale in the pub, the Master's haven, enjoying their own world.

If there were still some ghostly boundaries preserved before the Healing Church tried to clamp down on the growing cult, then now...

Now they were spreading their influence openly. By any methods, in any form, preserving only the general concept of the Kind Master of Sand's pub.

"We've lost them."

An affectionate voice, full of unhidden madness, rang out in Karl's head.

The former scholar stopped, looking back at the passing crowd going about their business. He smiled coldly, setting off on his way once more.

It seemed as if nothing had happened at all.

***

​

The Vicar of the Healing Church almost always prayed. In a way, it was supposed to be practically her main purpose. The one who was not supposed to have that much power, but the one who, if anything happened, could try to steer the Church in the right direction and smooth the edges where necessary.

Unfortunately, little remained of the original intent. Her word was already akin to law. The restraining mechanism in the form of the Choir, in the way it was conceived, no longer existed.

Now she could not merely try to steer the Healing Church in some direction. Now her word was the word of the Church.

Finally, the prayers to which she dedicated the lion's share of her time, trying to restrain the beast ever growing within her...

No longer played such an important role.

"O Formless Oedon, do you hear my voice?"

The woman's voice was full of affection, unprecedented calmness, and tranquillity. She no longer felt that unbearable pain; there was a lightness in her soul that she had forgotten long ago.

Amelia looked at the rune, the symbol of the Great One, an interpretation of his voice. The one who would protect their Church from the Sandman's power, hold him back, allow them to prepare and strike.

Who would have thought the situation would take such an unexpected turn...

A cold wind swept through what seemed like the entire Church. Ebrietas, observing from the side—a former Pthumerian who still remembered the past—trembled, trying to warn Amelia, but she could not.

It was too late.

A faint, calm smile crept onto Amelia's face. Half of her face distorted, taking on the guise of a beast. She was no longer herself, but for now she simply hadn't noticed it. And, perhaps, she never would.

Events were only gaining momentum.

***​

In Cainhurst Castle, for the first time in a long while, there was a celebration. A true one.

Numerous servants decorated the castle; the mood of the Vilebloods somewhat resembled the euphoria of a blood festival, but much stronger. They felt the queen's joy. A joy so strong that they simply could not hold back wide, frightening smiles.

And the impending celebration had a very specific reason.

The queen's long-awaited pregnancy. The Child of Blood, which was to appear very soon. An heir who could lead their tainted line further.

An uncharacteristically calm and serene Annalise sat in a rocking chair in her chambers at the very top of the castle, wrapped from head to toe in blankets. The eternally young queen lovingly examined her belly, stroking it now and then. She felt life germinating within her, feeding on her blood.

She already felt how something inside her reached out to her, drawing her somewhere into the dream. For now, it was only a vague feeling, but the queen could definitely say that the child born of the union between the Vileblood Queen and the Sandman arrived from the depths of the dream would be far more special than she could have hoped for in her deepest dream.

"Sandman, Kind Master of Sand, Kind Lord of Sand, Arthur Sand..." she whispered softly. "The Smiling Lord of Sleep, bearing light and salvation... The world is so unjust... Our line hath not earned such a blessing..."

A faint smile appeared on the queen's face.

Now there was no longer any sense in bloody rituals. Much would change and, quite possibly, she would have to cast aside the title of Queen of the Vilebloods and become someone else. Perhaps one who would help bear the light, without having even the tiniest fraction of it within herself. After all, to bear the light, one does not need to possess it.

She was ready to do anything for the child. And for the one who had gifted this child.

***

​

Lately, Arianna had been feeling unwell.

Even if the life of a prostitute could not be called good, she could, at least, boast a roof over her head, rather... stable work, decent earnings, and good health. With her lifestyle, possessing good health was almost impossible, but the vile blood did its job, easily compensating for the girl's consciously chosen way of life.

All the more unpleasant a surprise for Arianna was the sharp deterioration of her condition. So sharp and severe that the girl instantly realised the full abnormality of her situation.

The most repulsive thing, however, was the smell that began to emanate from her. Something completely inexplicable, carrying a hint of something vile, frightening, cold.

Arianna could turn a blind eye to everything, but not to the smell.

There was no sense in going to an ordinary clinic, and the prostitute knew this. Besides, she doubted that anyone would generally want to provide any sane services to her—she was known in narrow circles, which, however, she did not regret in the slightest. Her chosen path was still better than what her queen, much dirtier than herself, could offer.

An unexpected salvation popped into the girl's head entirely by accident.

"Be careful with the clients, Arianna. You never know who might decide to visit you next. If you feel that something is wrong, find the Sand Bowl. Goodnight."

The smiling, eerie young man she had accidentally met on the street.

Did Arianna have many options?..

To her surprise, the search for the Sand Bowl turned out to be quite simple. Her clients and even some of her friends knew perfectly well about this place. It seemed as though half of Yharnam had known everything for a long time, but didn't speak of it directly, merely dropping some distant hints, all of them without exception just smiling at her attempts to find out something.

As if the entire city was being turned into a cult worshipping some deity, and the Healing Church could do absolutely nothing about it.

Need it be said how much this frightened a practically ordinary prostitute?

And yet, she had no real choice.

"Seems to be here?.." the girl whispered, opening the pub door.

With the ring of the bell, she was met by a smiling young man with pale skin and practically colourless, cold eyes, in the depths of which, however, one could see a faint spark of... something.

The white flower standing on the bar counter shivered.

It seemed the pub owner was not surprised at all to see her. He merely smiled a little wider.

"Welcome to the Sand Bowl pub, what can I get you?"

Arianna shivered.

Something told her she was dragging herself into some massive predicament...

But then again, there was no other choice anyway, was there?..

Spoiler: concept_art39

 

[Lemor]

Interlude I

Lately, Willem had been having nightmares far too often.

An ordinary fisherman, he differed little from any other human. He lived outside the city, fished regularly, and traded quietly. The man's life was rather lonely and routine, but quite peaceful. Perhaps many would even envy such a measured pace of life.

Unfortunately, at one point, everything changed.

A child's cry.

Willem found it difficult to say when he had first heard it. Perhaps it was when he accidentally dozed off in his boat while out fishing. Or, maybe, when he stayed at an inn in Yharnam.

The only thing he was certain of was that it had happened in a dream.

Oh, Yharnam. Willem did not like this cursed city, but he didn't have much of a choice. The islands were far from true civilisation. Perhaps he would have liked to set off for the mainland, far away from here, but who finds it easy to abandon everything and set off for nowhere? Besides, one could hardly call Willem young anymore.

At first, the fisherman tried to ignore the crying that arose now and then, seemingly resembling a distant call.

But the nightmares grew in number, and at some point, something changed. The man began to hear the hateful crying in the waking world as well. However, Willem was already beginning to doubt when he was asleep and when he was awake.

It was far from an ordinary cry. Up to a certain point, it had been possible to ignore it, but the man's condition kept worsening and worsening. Both physically and psychologically. He realised he needed help and set off for Yharnam once more.

Not navigating the city very well, knowing how poorly they treated "outsiders," Willem initially wandered among various doctors. All as one, they offered either to let his blood or to transfuse him with another, healing kind.

Something in Willem's chest tightened and resisted; he would leave hastily, practically breaking into a run, certain that broadly smiling madmen were staring at his back. Every single one of them!

The stench of blood, the hateful stench of blood, it was everywhere! But there was no choice. Willem kept searching.

And, having practically despaired, luck unexpectedly smiled upon him.

"You've visited so many clinics, but haven't turned to the beautiful Iosefka?!"

Willem had stopped in one of the numerous pubs. Surprisingly, that stench of blood the man felt... practically everywhere, was absent here. Or at least, practically absent.

The people who came in for a drink generally looked healthier and... Oh Gods, saner, even if something on the edge of his consciousness whispered to him that this was merely a screen hiding something more.

He still had no choice, however.

A certain Joseph struck up a conversation with the fisherman. A well-groomed, middle-aged man in a rather expensive coat, quite heavily built, but with a kind, sympathetic smile on his face. Calm, devoid of any madness, Willem felt surprisingly at ease next to him.

"Iosefka?"

It seemed as though the entire pub had been eavesdropping on Willem. The moment he asked again, a surprised murmur rolled through the pub.

"Not knowing... Iosefka! How is that even possible?!"

"Unbelievable!"

"Ha-ha-ha!.."

Whether it was a destitute old man, so drunk he was barely aware of himself, or a middle-aged man exhausted from working at the school who had decided to relax over a mug of ale—the reaction was the same, even if it manifested differently.

"Is she... that famous?" Willem looked around warily.

"Oh, my friend," Joseph chuckled. "Iosefka's Clinic is one of the few places that makes Yharnam a slightly less shitty place. You should have gone to her first and foremost."

The fisherman did not like such attention paid to his person. Even if the atmosphere in the pub was different, some strange, eerie premonition would not let Willem go.

As if he were crawling out of one net and into another...

The fisherman grabbed his head. The faces before his eyes began to blur. For a second, it seemed to the man that a stream of strange, living sand flew through the pub.

The child's cry rang out in his head once again.

"Do you... hear that?"

Joseph looked around in surprise.

"You mean these drunkards? How could I not!" the man chuckled, instantly becoming more serious, however. "You don't look well, Willem..."

The fisherman shook his head, feeling the delusion slowly begin to fade, and along with it, the ever-retreating child's cry.

Willem took his mug, draining it in one gulp. Bitterness spread down his throat; the fisherman squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing them.

"I need to go..."

"Of course," Joseph patted Willem on the shoulder. "Goodnight, Willem."

"Goodnight, Willem..."

"G-good night..."

"Goodnight!"

They are quite friendly, a stray, strange, unnatural thought flashed through the fisherman's mind.

For a second, it seemed to him that everyone in the pub was looking at him, smiling as best they could and knew how. Everyone was bidding him a good night.

This thought was both frightening and, for some unclear reason, reassuring.

Finding Iosefka's Clinic turned out to be surprisingly simple. Willem had no idea it would prove so famous. Because of this, however, difficulties arose: queues. The man had to make an appointment and stay in Yharnam for another few days just to get a consultation with the girl.

Perhaps, in a normal situation, he would have given up on all this long ago, but upon arriving in Yharnam, the child's cry only grew louder. In one of his latest nightmares, it seemed to the man that he was standing right in front of a pram, already thinking of reaching his hands out to the invisible child, but...

Something frightening, enormous, disproportionately powerful stopped him.

And from somewhere, Willem knew what it was.

Mergo's Wet Nurse.

"How curious..." Iosefka muttered, having listened to Willem. "I cannot say that you are healthy, Willem, but I do not think your nightmares are connected to parasites..."

Willem stood rooted to the spot.

"Parasites?! Do I... do I have parasites?"

"You ate raw fish, did you not?" Iosefka clarified sympathetically.

There was neither disdain nor mockery in her voice. Only sympathy and a desire to help. Willem would have liked to say she was pretending, but...

No. The girl's enveloping care provided an almost maternal comfort, inspiring trust.

"Sometimes... it happened."

"Everything is fine, Willem, the clinic will be able to help you," the girl said affectionately.

"That is not the main thing right now," the fisherman shook his head. "It's the crying, it... it's driving me mad! Can you help me?! Anyone?!"

For a second, it seemed to Willem that the atmosphere in the clinic had changed imperceptibly. The girl's gaze, previously full of warmth and care, seemingly became a little more detached.

The previously warm room began to feel rather cold and even alien to Willem.

"I am afraid, Willem, I will not be able to help you. You are already mad," Iosefka shook her head. "For... some reason, you have gained 'Insight' and now you see and hear things you were not supposed to. I am sorry."

This made no sense. It sounded as if the fisherman had come not to a clinic, but to some charlatan with a magic crystal ball.

And yet...

"Can no one really help me?" the fisherman muttered, lost.

Iosefka bit her lip, averting her gaze.

"There is... someone who can help you."

"Who?!"

Willem nearly jumped up, grabbing Iosefka's hands. The girl didn't even flinch, continuing to look somewhere off to the side.

A peaceful, eerie smile unexpectedly crept onto Iosefka's face. She stared into Willem's eyes, whispering softly:

"The Sandman, the Kind Master of Sand, the Kind Lord of Sand..."

The longer Willem stayed in Yharnam, the more he understood what a dangerous position he was in. At first glance, the city lived a normal life, but one only had to dig a tiny bit deeper, and an entire abyss opened up.

The man learned that under no circumstances should one start asking about the Sandman on the street. Day and night, the Church tried to pick up the trail of the pub owner's numerous followers, but did not dare to act too openly: there were too many of them now, and too large an explosion could happen prematurely if they started suppressing everyone. Therefore, minimal proof was needed, at least some kind of suspicion. Like a strange, twisted game, in which the true rules, if they even existed, could be interpreted in dozens of ways depending on whose hands he fell into.

Pure madness, in which Willem was taking a lethal risk just to rid himself of the horrific crying, not even certain that the so-called Sandman could help him.

"Here?.." the man muttered, lost.

Dirty, tattered, he had had to run from two hunters. And how did he even manage to shake off those monsters?.. A miracle, nothing less.

As it turned out, within a certain radius around the strange pub, hounds passed by now and then, wishing to grab anyone remotely suspicious. Not necessarily for anything bad, no violations.

Just... routinely maintaining order. A couple of questions. Or, maybe, something else, depending on the hunters' imagination and the phase of the moon.

Willem, having surveyed the empty, cold street, carefully opened the door, finding himself, to the ring of a bell, in what appeared at first glance to be the most ordinary pub.

Quite small, rather old, albeit well-kept, with fairly dim lighting; one could tell right away that the pub owner could not be called successful in the slightest.

That was obvious, however, from the pub's location alone...

And yet, the fisherman instantly understood that this was merely a screen.

The pub owner was the face of the pub. And this face...

Made something on the edge of the man's consciousness scream in terror.

By appearances—quite young, neat, well-groomed, with a slight smirk on his lips and cold, impenetrable eyes that gave off a faint, otherworldly, frightening glow.

"Welcome to the Sand Bowl pub, what can I get you?"

The pub owner's friendly voice made Willem freeze; his body trembled uncontrollably, he tried to open his mouth, but could not.

The owner only smiled a little wider at this.

"Calm down, my friend," he chuckled. "Come, sit, relax. I see you've run into some sort of problem..."

As if enchanted, Willem obediently walked up to the bar, sitting near the pub owner, looking somewhere through him. The owner, not in the least surprised by his behaviour, stepped away for a moment.

The fisherman didn't even notice when a mug of ale appeared before his eyes. Willem's face twisted.

"Blood, blood again... All this just to return to this cursed blood!"

"Everything in this world is tied to blood," the owner chuckled. "Do not compare this blood with the rubbish the Church ministers offered you."

The fisherman flinched.

"How do you know that?"

"I have been watching you for some time," the owner openly admitted. "Your anomalous 'Insight' caught my interest; it's not often one meets such unique people."

The pub owner's smile became even more eerie; there wasn't a hint of warmth in his eyes. Willem understood that sitting before him was anyone but a human.

The man swallowed. The fisherman understood he was signing up for something terrible, but he had already gone too far to stop.

"Can... can you help me? Rid me of this hateful crying?!"

The pub owner squinted thoughtfully, lowering his gaze to the mug of ale.

"What owner would refuse to help his dear client, Willem?"

Even if the fisherman understood that neither his name, nor his biography, nor even his secret thoughts were hidden from the frightening owner, the mention of his own name still triggered a fresh wave of goosebumps.

It frightened Willem that so much attention was being paid to his insignificant figure. How he wanted to run away and beg for help, but...

The man, barely restraining the trembling of his hands, understood perfectly well what the owner wanted from him, tightly gripping the mug of ale. It shook, nearly spilling the liquid from which the man could smell the lingering scent of blood.

"Hush, Willem," the Sandman rustled affectionately. "I am willing to promise that my ale will bring you no harm, neither now, nor later. To speak frankly, I am not very fond of making promises, dear client. Is my word enough for you to believe in my sincerity?.."

Oh Gods, who in their right mind would ever believe that...

The stray thought flashed through Willem's head so fast that he himself barely had time to comprehend it. Unlike the owner.

"Oh, that is rather hurtful, dear client..."

Under the creature's malice-free laughter, the fisherman convulsively squeezed the mug, sharply throwing his head back, swallowing everything to the last drop. The ale, tinged with sweetness and carrying something unimaginable within it, spread through the man's body, washing away all bad thoughts and anxieties.

It became so quiet and peaceful in his head...

"Oh Gods..."

The fisherman felt tears of relief flow from his eyes; his chest felt so light and good...

The pub owner smiled in satisfaction.

"Now you will fall asleep and see the sweetest dream of your life, Willem... And when you wake up, you will help me a little. Rest assured, this is in your best interests as well."

"W-what am I... what will I have to do?"

Willem's tongue tangled; he could barely think straight, but he still managed to cling to the remnants of a consciousness crumbling into sand.

The man's lucidity pleasantly surprised the owner. He answered willingly, like to an old friend from whom he kept no secrets:

"A certain beast is preventing me from picking up the trail of the unfortunate child. It knows I want to deprive it of one of its beacons."

The owner chuckled.

"Unfortunately for it, it is far too loud. You've managed to feel that in your own skin like no other. Soon it will all be over—wait for the blood moon. Goodnight, Willem."

The frightening pub owner's final words were not a wish, but an order. Willem's consciousness was simply switched off, sending him into a truly beautiful dream, full of hope and light. So long and vivid, as if he had lived an entire lifetime, full of everything he could and could not have dreamt of.

Upon awakening, somehow finding himself in an inn room, the man already knew what he was going to do next and how.

The voice of the crying child no longer frightened him.

The man didn't even notice when he became one of those who began giving ephemeral hints to those who had not yet become part of the covenant. Or, perhaps, the interest club. Or the cult.

Having unexpectedly settled in Yharnam for a while longer, the fisherman did not attend gatherings, but from somewhere, he began to be recognised anyway. And, moreover, followed. This career growth did not frighten Willem in the slightest.

"You've changed significantly since our last meeting, Willem."

The former fisherman did not answer immediately, examining the mug of ale before his eyes.

"I merely drank a little blood..."

Joseph smiled knowingly, sitting next to his comrade.

"Yes, I had exactly the same reaction... One day you should visit the Preacher; he will gladly reveal the details to you."

The former fisherman closed his eyes.

"I... I still want to leave Yharnam..."

"Unfortunately, there's no running away from this, my friend," Joseph patted Willem on the shoulder, standing up and adjusting his coat. "These are not forces we can oppose in any way. Only blindly follo..."

"No," Willem replied unexpectedly firmly. "We must not follow blindly."

A long, heavy silence arose between the men. Joseph, squinting, unexpectedly burst out laughing.

"Yes, exactly so. The Sand Bowl values people like you. I will definitely put in a word for you to the Preacher; you'll go far. Goodnight, Willem."

The former fisherman barely had time to reply properly before his conversationalist simply vanished, as if he had never been there.

Willem grimaced in irritation. His former fear and timidity were gone, as if washed out of him. Only his goal remained: to rid himself of the cursed crying and stop seeing the horrific images that were seeping into reality more and more strongly with each passing day.

As if the Sandman was spurring him on with the prospect of uncovering something terrible, forcing him to work better.

As if he had a choice.

The next days... weeks... perhaps more, passed in a haze for the cultist. He only remembered fragments, somewhat reminiscent of a dream, in which he participated in strange gatherings, how he stood before a bowl, the symbol of the Kind Master of Sand, and said something.

Remembered how he conducted strange rituals.

Remembered how he caught hunters trying to infiltrate their ranks.

Finally, remembered how a beautiful, frightening blood-red moon appeared in the sky.

By that time, unnoticed by the organiser himself, it had long since taken root in him.

He found himself in some kind of circle strewn with bones and skulls. A lump rose in Willem's throat, but he held it back.

What had he been participating in? Where did he get the material? Did he do this to people?

However...

Right now, that wasn't so important.

After all, he hadn't finished the ritual yet.

Willem, standing in the centre of the circle, squeezed his eyes shut, softly whispering words that seemingly arose in his head on their own. Slowly, drawing them out, feeling the air tremble as the hateful crying was heard from somewhere in the distance, sounding closer this time than ever before.

The call had to be repeated three times.



"She, who is without face and without step.

She, who is neither mother nor death.

The cry is heard, but the child is unseen...

Wet nurse without arms, guardian without eyes, If my dream is close to His dream—come.

Hear my cry..."



"She, who is without face and without step.

She, who is neither mother nor death.

The cry is heard, but the child is unseen...

Wet nurse without arms, guardian without eyes, If my dream is close to His dream—come.

Hear my cry..."



"She, who is without face and without step.

She, who is neither mother nor death.

The cry is heard, but the child is unseen...

Wet nurse without arms, guardian without eyes, If my dream is close to His dream—come.

Hear my cry..."



Willem slowly opened his eyes, feeling a cold, freezing wind strike his face. The former fisherman burst into mad laughter.

"There you are... It was you who sent me all those nightmares! Because of you I couldn't sleep! Because of you and this cursed child!!!"

His call was heard. Before him appeared a creature resembling a bird with enormous black wings.

With strange black growths, in black garb resembling a dress, with an impenetrable hood hiding its face. The beast, Mergo's Wet Nurse—he blamed her perhaps even more than what had been emitting the hateful cry all this time.

The cry produced by the formless dead child in the pram, which had appeared alongside its eternal Wet Nurse, forced to become the warden of a corpse.

Willem's laughter did not cease even when blades appeared in place of the Wet Nurse's arms. The former fisherman harboured no illusions and knew that he was merely bait, a bridge between the Kind Lord of Sand and his target.

Just an unlucky man who had the misfortune of seeing and hearing more than the vast majority of sapient beings see and hear.

Perhaps he really shouldn't have eaten that fish...

Willem squeezed his eyes shut, awaiting his own death with peace in his soul, knowing that after it the Sandman would not abandon him and he would drift into an eternal sleep in the owner's pub, where any dream of his would come true—but nothing happened. Only the cold, otherworldly wind continued to burn his face.

And sand.

Willem burst out laughing again, but this time even louder and madder.

Small particles of colourless sand swirled around, as if in a strange dance. The pub owner hadn't left him to die, nor had he turned him into a bargaining chip. A bug unworthy of even an ounce of a true God's attention.

"You overestimate my place in the world far too much, and underestimate your own far too much as well," the Sandman said with a smile. "You did well, Willem."

It seemed as though the pale young man had been standing behind him this entire time. In modest, rather old, but clean clothes, he scarcely resembled a powerful entity capable of standing against true monsters.

Then again, there was a grain of truth in that.

After all, the Sandman didn't know how to fight.

The world blurred before his eyes. Next to the smiling young man appeared a young woman in hunter's garb, clutching a Rakuyo in her hands. Everything about her screamed that she was made for battle and desired to enter it, intending to defend her God's interests.

"Can you handle it, Maria?"

Willem flinched, hearing true, undisguised, inhuman warmth and care in the Sandman's voice for the first time.

The maiden manifested from nothing merely gripped her Rakuyo tighter at this, leaving terrible bloody cuts on her arms with a swing of the blades. The blood that flowed from the woman's arms became a power that filled the blades, now trembling from otherworldly force.

What Willem saw next was hard to describe. Despite all his anomalous "Insight," the man struggled to understand what was happening. At first glance, he saw an ordinary, bloody duel between two otherworldly beings, but in reality...

"It is best you do not look, dear client," the Sandman whispered softly. "You wouldn't want to start seeing even more later, would you?"

Willem lowered his head, covering his ears, trying neither to hear nor see what was happening. The pub owner, completely ignoring the duel, walked up to the man, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder.

"It's all over now... And not just for you."

The artificial Great One howled, attempting to lunge at the Sandman, but the Rakuyo piercing her chest prevented Mergo's Wet Nurse from reaching her target. Right before her eyes, the sand-covered entity walked up to the pram, pulling the smile of a loving father onto his face.

"Who do we have crying so loudly here... You've been calling for help for so long... What a persistent boy..."

With the laughter of a parent proud of his own child, the sandy hands pulled a bundle out of the pram, in which Willem saw no one. The Sandman, however, had an entirely different opinion on the matter.

The sandy eyes flared.

"I am sorry that such a beautiful child was never destined to be born, Yharnam..."

The child's cry only grew louder, the space trembled, the cold wind began to rush haphazardly here and there, trying to hinder the Kind Lord of Sand, but it was all useless: the two entities were far too distant from each other, and the difference between them wasn't so great that the true culprit behind the events could protect his dead formless child, a valuable beacon.

The Kind Lord of Sand looked at the formless dead child for a while, after which he began to softly sing a lullaby.

Willem did not know the language his God began to sing in. But he was certain it was a lullaby. Affectionate, full of the warmth and care of one who could grant such long-awaited peace and sleep.

At first, the child did not react to the lullaby, but then the Sandman began to rock the little one, continuing to hum softly.

The crying grew quieter.

The bundle stirred; Willem could have sworn that something reached out invisible arms toward the Kind Lord of Sand.

The Sandman merely laughed cheerfully at this.

"Did you really think I was your mother because of Yharnam's blood?.. Why not? "

The dying Wet Nurse froze, seeing the young man crumble into sand, beginning to alter his form.

"Q-Queen..."

Yharnam stood in place of the Sandman. Whether it was her appearance or even the power she projected around herself—it was her.

The Wet Nurse fell to her knees, feeling her strength rapidly leaving her. The dead child, crying for the last thousands of years, whom she had watched over all this time, did not just calm down, no.

The formerly turned Pthumerian heard a child's laughter.

"There we go, that's good..." the Sandman whispered in the queen's otherworldly, affectionate voice. "You did well, Mergo... Goodnight, little one..."

The last thing Willem saw before consciousness left him was the sand, which, swirling into a vortex, covered the bundle with the formless infant.

Willem did not remember ever sleeping so soundly and well. He hadn't felt so good and free even after trying the Kind Lord of Sand's ale for the first time.

And when he woke up...

He found himself in his fishing boat not far from home, holding his familiar, old fishing rod in his hands.

"What?.."

The fisherman jumped up. The old boat creaked and wobbled, threatening to bathe the unfortunate fisherman.

There was fog everywhere, but Willem could still see the moonlight seeping through. A moon completely devoid of any hint of the colour red.

"So it was all a dream?.." the fisherman muttered, lost, lowering his gaze to the murky water.

Something on the edge of his consciousness tried to reach him, but the man was distracted by something.

His stomach growled. He was starving to death.

Apparently, he needed to catch some more fish. He probably needed to become more selective, because lately he had been eating, at times, insanely strange fish...

"Did I get food poisoning or something..." Willem scratched his head.

Yes. It was important not only to shove whatever into one's mouth, but also to know how to cook it!

Most likely, he would no longer eat fish raw in the future...

Spoiler: concept_art40

 

[Lemor]

Interlude II

Plip, plop...

Plip, plop...

Plip, plop...

An obsessive, distinct sound of dripping water. Adeline had long grown accustomed to it. This sound had become the centre of her world, her direction, her anchor.

When it began to fade, she felt very ill.

Brain fluid. She needed brain fluid. Lately, the clinic... the Research Hall... the laboratory where they were locked up...

It seemed the Church was having some problems.

Not many remained in the clinic who could still comprehend anything. But Adeline was different. No matter how many horrific experiments she had been through, even though her head had swollen long ago and was constantly wrapped in a soaked, dirty cloth—she still retained the seeds of reason.

Now and then, the woman heard the clinic doctors rushing about somewhere, heard fragments of their speeches filled with strange anxiety. It was hard for her to make out what they were talking about, but something was definitely happening. Gradually, there were fewer and fewer voices, as well as patients. Fewer Blood Saints. At times, Adeline felt as though she was left completely alone, but she knew this was not the case, occasionally hearing the agonised wails of her friends. Voices that gradually fell silent, promising to leave her entirely alone at some point.

Perhaps it would have been so. Perhaps, one day, she truly could have ended up completely alone in the Research Hall, until she died of thirst. So pathetic and useless that they didn't even bother to finish her off. What a failure!

Or so she thought.

"You have come to me again..." the woman muttered. Because of the cloth, she could not see, but she felt it with her skin, heard along with the dripping water a strange sound, as if sand was rustling before her. "Did you bring me brain fluid, Sand?"

She asked this every time, knowing the answer in advance. But she asked anyway. Just in case?

Adeline tried to be polite. Perhaps because she was always polite, no matter what happened, Lady Maria was especially kind to her.

How is she doing? When will she come to her? She hadn't been here in so long... Could something have happened? No, impossible! Lady Maria will definitely come. Just later.

"I have no brain fluid for you, Adeline..."

The answer, as always, was the same.

For some reason, the woman felt a strange guilt from the voice. Otherworldly, cold, yet warm and sympathetic in its own way.

Perhaps the owner felt guilty because he could not bring her brain fluid?.. Or not? But if not, then why?

What was he guilty of before her?

"In that case..." the woman said after a short silence. "May I see that dream again, Sand?.."

Their conversation followed a single script. This suited Adeline perfectly. It gifted a sense of order, a correctness to what was happening.

Perhaps due to irreversible changes in her brain, she poorly remembered the dreams that Sand sent her. But she remembered for certain that they were good dreams.

And scary.

They had no sound of dripping water. How could that not be frightening?..

But at the same time, somehow, the dreams gifted her a sense of peace. Somewhere in the depths of her soul, images flared up now and then of a clear field where she sits under the rays of a warm sun; her face, unburdened by wet, dirty rags (and her head is not bloated!..), is blown by streams of gentle wind, she feels not a hint of all-consuming pain, and along with it, the thirst to taste brain fluid once more was absent...

But then the dripping sound would return, tearing her from the dream, simultaneously gifting both relief and terrible torment.

And then, after some time, it all repeated.

Sand visited her rarely, but regularly. She had already managed to get used to him.

And to notice that lately, he had begun to visit her more often.

"Of course, sweetheart," the voice whispered affectionately. "You don't have long to endure now. You might have noticed it yourself. I am sorry that you had to spend so much time here..."

Adeline tilted her head.

It seemed, on the edge of consciousness, she caught the context of Sand's words, but...

Plip...

Plop...

Plip...

"What are you talking about, Sand... I do not understand... Do you have brain fluid? Even a littl..."

The woman fell silent, feeling Sand touch her, beginning to stroke her bloated head like a little girl.

"Your tormented mind will gain freedom very soon, Adeline... This will be your last dream. In it, you will see a symbol with words. Remember them as best you can..."

Adeline twitched.

Plip, plop...

Plip, plop...

Plip, plop...

"I do not understand, Sand..." the woman wheezed. "What are you talking about? I..."

Sand's voice became even quieter and more lullaby-like.

"Maria has been waiting for so long... If you only knew how much she wants to see you..."

It was as if something exploded in the woman's head, drowning out the dripping sound. Before her eyes, she saw countless visions of dream fragments.

She dreamt not just of peace in a field blanketed in fragrant flowers. She saw a symbol of a bowl before her eyes, as if imprinted upon her soul. She heard the familiar, beloved voice of the beautiful Lady Maria.

The beloved voice of the beautiful Lady Maria, who, piercing her with cold, inhuman eyes, softly said:

"The Sandman, the Kind Master of Sand, the Kind Lord of Sand, the Smiling Lord of Sleep, bearing light and salvation..."

Adeline herself didn't notice when she began repeating the words from the visions. The woman remembered that this was not just Sand before her. And how could she have ever forgotten!.. After all, Lady Maria herself had asked her to remember these words! It was Lady Maria, wasn't it?!

"...very soon..." the fading voice obligingly answered the unasked question. "Good night, Adeline."

The dream overtook the woman once again. This time even brighter and more vivid.

In a light, snow-white dress. With loose, clean, long hair. With a happy smile on her face, she, fanned by a fresh breeze, ran through a flower field towards a figure on the horizon. A truly beautiful figure—a refined aristocrat with fair, practically snow-white hair, who had supported her throughout all this time. Who had tried to help her, a useless failure! Kind, affectionate Lady Maria!

Adeline saw Lady Maria whispering something to her in the distance, but could not make out exactly what. The woman tried with all her might to run to the lady as fast as possible, but, no matter how she tried, she never could.

Lady Maria's figure was just as far away; Adeline couldn't hear what she was saying at all.

Plip...

Plop...

Plip...

And yet, Adeline didn't give up! No matter how hard it was for her, she tried to discern, to listen to the distant voice, to run to it.

Plop...

Plip...

Plop...

The last few months... perhaps years?.. All this time, she was guided only by the dripping sound in her head. It tortured her, stripped her of the remnants of her mind, but it was also her main guiding force.

And only Lady Maria was an exception, which the Sandman knew perfectly well.

Which he knew perfectly well and used.

Plip...

Plop...

Plip...

Adeline stumbled, never having reached the woman's ghostly figure. She clutched her head, but instead of touching hair, she met hateful rags. Dirty, soaked with brain fluid.

"No, no, no... I do not want to hear this sound..."

Plop...

Plip...

Plop...

"Oh Gods..."

Plip...

Plop...

Plip...

Adeline could no longer see anything. Only darkness remained, and the sound of dripping brain fluid. It was guiding her once again, it was the meaning of her life.

So close. She was so close to Lady Maria. But this sound, this cursed sound! It was to blame. It was all to blame! She doesn't want to hear it. Never again. Never!

"Repeat after me, Adeline..."

"Lady Maria?!"

Having lost the ability to see, the woman could only orient herself by sound. Adored Lady Maria was right in front of her! Adeline lunged forward, hugging her legs.

"Forgive me for being so r-rude..." Adeline whispered. "I am just a little tired..."

"Everything is fine, Adeline," Lady Maria's voice answered her softly.

"You are so kind!" Adeline exhaled in relief. "W-what must I repeat?! S-speak faster, the dripping sound is getting louder!"

Maria's voice rang out in Adeline's head. Some words, images, meanings, the symbol of the bowl. Bright, filled with the thick, sand-tinged blood of the Master. She couldn't forget this symbol, no matter how sick she felt.

"Have you remembered?.." the voice asked softly.

Plip...

Plop...

Plip...

Plop...

Plip...

"Yes! Yes, I remember!" Adeline exclaimed, pressing herself into Lady Maria's legs. Madness was rolling over her once more. "Please, do not leave me... I... I promise to be good... Do you hear it? An obsessive sound, so distinct. Plip, plop... D-do you think water drips exactly the same at the bottom of the ocean? Do you hea..."

Adeline abruptly fell silent, feeling Lady Maria hug her tightly, beginning to stroke her head.

"As hard as it is for me to say this, you will have to put in a little effort. Your nightmare is almost over," the voice whispered affectionately. "It is time to wake up, Adeline..."

"But I do not want to," the woman sobbed. "I do not want to..."

Unfortunately, she had no choice.

Plip...

Plop...

Plip...

Adeline twitched, unexpectedly feeling a change in temperature. She found herself in the Research Hall once more, chained to a chair. Lately, the woman had been too violent, which was why they decided to bind her for a while.

"Vile, terrible Sandman," the woman whispered inaudibly. "I remembered everything well..."

Plop.

Plip.

Plop...

Remembered, despite everything.

Thanks to the dreams, even having forgotten them, she knew what was required of her. Nothing could make her forget the instructions.

First, she needed to get the opportunity to walk around the Hall again.

Adeline became much calmer. The woman stopped falling into fits and even found the strength to stop asking for more brain fluid.

No matter how poor the treatment of the remaining patients was, they were still given minimal care, not allowed to die. Perhaps, in the near future, the woman would have been forgotten altogether, but the situation was not that bad yet. Adeline's atypical behaviour couldn't help but arouse interest, which, however, did not mean anything good for the woman.

They began to interrogate her again, check her again, examine her unfortunate brain again, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Previously, she assured herself that it was an honour for them. Every patient believed they were doing this in the name of humanity, Blood Saints. The belief in this was especially strong when Lady Maria watched over the Research Hall.

But the moment she disappeared, it became increasingly difficult to believe. It was self-deception, an attempt to escape into lies from a horrific reality, and until the Sandman's appearance, the woman herself was glad to be deceived.

The sandy creature had to exert considerable effort to pull her out of this state, despite all the madness and the dripping sound, the loss of which without consuming brain fluid frightened the woman to the point of insanity.

Having found no changes in the patient, they let Adeline go once again. Good behaviour was rewarded: they stopped chaining her to the bed. Now she could even sometimes leave her ward and chat with the remaining patients!

Because of the rags on her head, it was a bit difficult, but still possible. More problematic was that there were almost no possessors of even a glimmer of reason left in the Research Hall, and simply reaching the remnants of the personalities of madmen screaming in pain was difficult.

But still possible. Adeline had... abilities for this.

Who would have thought she would ever have to call upon them.

Over the following days and weeks, the woman roamed practically the entire Research Hall. Leaning against the cold wall, navigating by memory and the sounds echoing through the clinic, the woman visited the few patients of the Hall who remained alive.

Adeline felt for a woman's hand trembling in convulsions. Judging by everything, the fact of a bloated head slightly embarrassed her...

The Blood Saint knew exactly who was before her: every wail was special in its own way. Some were higher, some lower, not to forget the specific tonality of the voice! Adeline perfectly distinguished her friends.

"Martha, how are you?.."

A gurgling lowing was the answer Adeline received. It seemed she was choking on brain fluid. What foolishness! It's meant to be consumed, not choked on.

What will Lady Maria think if she sees this?..

"You should calm down..." Adeline whispered. "I am here, Martha... Hush, hush..."

Her only answer was a scream, but the woman was not perturbed in the slightest: she continued talking. Asking how she was doing, why she was so afraid of brain fluid, telling her about her dreams.

The voice of the Blood Saint, despite being quite soft, somehow drowned out Martha's wail. And she, under the effect of some strange influence, whether she wanted to or not, listened to the Blood Saint.

Perhaps the only true Blood Saint of her kind.

Gradually, Martha calmed down, only continuing to emit strange gurgling sounds. Her pale hand gripped Adeline's hand tightly. So tightly that it threatened to break it.

A smile appeared on the Blood Saint's twisted face, hidden by dirty rags.

"I am so glad you feel better... Do you like bedtime stories, Martha?"

The woman's behaviour was atypical, but right now almost all the Healing Church's resources were directed toward some problem. The Research Hall had not shown the desired success, funding was in big question, and the remaining staff reacted poorly to the patients' madness, as long as they didn't get too loud.

As long as Adeline didn't try to leave, didn't bother anyone, didn't make noise, and obediently passed all tests—moreover, calmed the irritating screamers!—she could calmly walk around the wards and... talk with the other patients. Perhaps, had the Church not been so distracted, had they not lost interest in the Research Hall, had they paid more attention to Adeline, had they realised how unusual the woman was compared to the rest of the test subjects...

Then they would have understood that she was the first and only truly successful test subject who managed to touch the otherworldly.

Plop.

Plip.

Plop...

Gradually, unnoticed by the Research Hall staff, everything sank into silence. The patients' wails died down; for the first time in a long while, the wards became truly quiet. The victims of the experiments became a bit more obedient and, it seems, much happier.

This couldn't help but please the staff: against the backdrop of the latest news in Yharnam, they already had plenty of reasons for nerves. The Church, along with the cult that had seeped into every corner of the city, were about to reach a new level of confrontation, and only the Gods knew what this could lead to.

If only those in the Research Hall guessed that they would become the very first casualty of a conflict that was supposed to have moved to a new stage long ago, but had been delayed by all sides until the last moment, to gain just one more extra day for preparation.

However, everything has its beginning and its end.

"...you look anxious today, Adeline. Could you tell me why? Do you lack brain fluid again?"

A man with a soft smile on his face—Adeline couldn't see, but could bet on it!—and a patient voice, filled with warmth. Formally, Mr. Wilson was her attending physician, but...

Extra clarifications were probably unnecessary.

Adeline did not answer immediately. Night had fallen over Yharnam and, the woman was ready to swear, this night, like countless nights before it, was a special, bloody one.

"Why did you decide to come to me at night?" Adeline asked after a brief silence.

"Oh," the male voice chuckled in surprise. "How exactly did you figure out that it is night right now, Adeline?"

She was constantly wrapped in a dirty rag, her head unnaturally bloated, making it quite difficult to distinguish day and night. Previously, this could be figured out by the patients' screams and the noise made by the Hall staff, but now the clinic maintained almost perfect silence almost all the time, and only the rare sounds of footsteps and whispering were proof that Adeline wasn't completely alone yet.

The Blood Saint once again did not answer immediately.

"Plip, plop..." Adeline muttered softly. "On special nights, this sound gets louder. Do you hear it? Plip, plop... plip, plop..."

"Special nights," the man clearly smiled, repeating after her. It seemed the researcher was genuinely interested. "Curious. You haven't said anything like this before."

"I was afraid before," Adeline confessed honestly.

Mr. Wilson clicked his tongue in irritation.

"It does not become a Blood Saint to be afraid. Do you not remember what all this is done for?"

"To help us and all humanity..." Adeline answered.

"And you lied anyway?"

Mr. Wilson's voice resembled the voice of a disappointed parent. Perhaps this would have greatly upset the woman before, but...

"Why did you decide to come to me at night, Mr. Wilson?" Adeline inquired softly. "Is something bothering you, can I help you with something? Have you also started to hear this dripping sound?"

"I am the one asking questions right now, Adeline," the voice said softly, but firmly. "One patient was able to tell us what you've been doing lately. Why have you been teaching everyone these strange prayers?"

Adeline tilted her head, seemingly staring through the dirty rags straight into the eyes of the flinching Mr. Wilson.

"So, you already know..."

"What were you teaching them, Adeline?" the researcher's voice became even stricter. "I have already done everything to speak to you first. This is your last chance. Otherwise, entirely different people will talk to you. You won't want that."

The woman wasn't scared in the slightest, merely smiling broadly beneath the vile rags.

"Are you bothered by the rustle of sand? Has it gotten too loud?"

Mr. Wilson clearly did not like her words.

"What do you know? Answer, Adeline!"

It seemed something really was happening. In the usually calm researcher's voice, malice flashed, mixed with fear.

It was already too late.

Plip...

Plop...

Pli...

Swish.

"Ah!" Adeline exclaimed. "Yes, I hear it! I hear it! We all hear it!"

Mr. Wilson didn't have time to ask a question. Wails, screams, and squeals began ringing out all over the clinic. The Research Hall patients seemingly lost their minds overnight. Among the chaotic sounds, Mr. Wilson could only make out a distinct:

"Lady Maria!.."

"Lady Maria!"

"Maria! Maria! Maria!"

"Lady Maria!!!"

The Research Hall plunged into a cacophony of sounds. A call directed to the otherworldly realm.

"I see," Mr. Wilson took off his glasses, staring at Adeline with not an ounce of emotion on his face. "You are smart, Adeline. Unlike the rest of the scum. Why did you decide to do this? Do you not know what awaits you next?"

Adeline, to the researcher's surprise, laughed softly, lightly.

"Sand, a clear field, the wind, and Lady Maria... Lady Maria, you have finally come... Lady Maria, I must look terrible from the outside, I am so sorry... Forgive me, and all of us..."

Mr. Wilson stood up, staring thoughtfully at the deranged woman. Evidently for the last time: the patient wasn't getting out of this ward alive. Perhaps, before her pathetic death, she would bring at least some use to the Church. Clearly, their project had completely failed; the insane frenzy happening right now would surely be found out.

And, considering the tense situation, they definitely wouldn't ignore it. The so-called Sand scared the higher-ups far too much. Any public mention of him meant major problems. And where did she even hear this, let alone instil such a thought in the rest?..

Already wanting to leave and go deal with the arising problems, the man stopped: Adeline suddenly fell silent. So abruptly and spontaneously that it couldn't help but alarm the researcher.

An otherworldly, cold wind blew; a strange sound rang out in his head, as if slipping past him was...

Sand?..

Mr. Wilson turned around, feeling the anxiety and fear slowly turning into panicky terror. The researcher's heart seemingly stopped for a moment.

"Lady Maria, where have you been all this time..." Adeline sobbed. "I see you... It's so strange... Why can I see you? I... I can't see anything... Oh, Lady Maria..."

Next to Adeline, illuminated by the moonlight, stood a ghostly female figure. Quite sturdy, yet refined, clad in a hunter's garb, clutching a Rakuyo in her hands.

Mr. Wilson realised he wasn't imagining it: the patients really were calling out for that very same Lady Maria. Calling from beyond the grave, somehow having impossibly truly reached the other side.

Then again, was it really so "impossible"?.. What is impossible when it comes to the Great Ones?

In vain. The Healing Church dared to go against the Sand God in vain. From the very beginning, Wilson was certain this would end in nothing good.

"Oh Go..."

The researcher's head fell, rolling across the floor. Blood spilled across the entire ward; the man's body collapsed.

Lady Maria stared at the corpse with an expressionless gaze, flicking the bloodied blade. She turned back to the woman chained to the chair.

"Adeline..."

"It really is you, Lady Maria..." the woman sobbed. "Your voice has changed, but it is still you..."

Maria walked up to the patient, sitting down beside her.

"The balcony key, do you still have it? You haven't forgotten my advice?"

"Oh, Lady Maria," Adeline whispered affectionately. "I lost my old sense of smell long ago and can no longer inhale the scent of flowers. I am so sorry..."

The dead huntress closed her eyes.

"I'm sorry..."

"Oh no!" Adeline panicked. "You are not to blame for anything! It is we who let you down..."

"No," Maria shook her head. "It was I who showed weakness and left you. I turned out to be too weak..."

"You say terrible things, Lady Maria," Adeline whispered in fright. "M-maybe you... you have some brain fluid?"

Maria stared at Adeline with pain in her eyes, rising slowly.

"You will no longer need brain fluid. Trust me one last time."

Adeline laughed.

"I am so sorry, but you say such silly things, Lady Maria! I will always trust you... All of us will..."

Maria found the strength to smile. She felt how, along with the pain and regret she experienced, came a previously unseen relief. A relief she couldn't even dream of.

Arthur kept his promise.

She, on the other hand, did not. The Sandman's blood, which had allowed her to be here, meant that her promise not to drink his blood was already broken. And yet... she still felt relief.

"I will visit you a bit later, Adeline... I'm sorry for leaving you again..."

"Of course, Lady Maria," the Blood Saint said softly. "I will wait."

Adeline barely had time to feel anything. The bloated, repulsive head in rags soaked with brain fluid fell from her shoulders; her fading consciousness managed to feel a moment of disorientation and falling to the floor, after which...

The world before the woman's eyes flared. Otherworldly sand caught her fading consciousness, carrying it into the distance. For a moment, it seemed to the woman that she heard the ring of a bell, as if she were invited to some pub, after which...

Adeline found herself in a lush, blossoming field. In a light white dress, completely healthy, young, and full of strength. The woman raised her gaze to the bright sun, squinted, after which she gently sat in the field, inhaling a scent she had already managed to forget.

Unprecedented purity and peace captured her soul, leaving not a hint of all the horror, as if it had been an ordinary nightmare.

"Plip, plop..." Adeline muttered. "I don't hear it at all... And I don't want to hear it. How wonderful..."

A pure, bright smile crept onto the woman's face.

And she didn't want brain fluid anymore, either!

Somewhere outside the dream world, the ghostly figure of the huntress strolled through the Hall, leaving rivers of blood in her wake. The Research Hall was emptying, finally becoming part of history.

One would like to say that the huntress went out on a hunt, but...

No.

Lady Maria came for a harvest, and there was no one who could stop the dead soul that had broken through into the world of the living. A soul that was right now being fed by the patients screaming her name, begging for liberation and salvation.

The girl stopped briefly by the window, staring through the grate at the red moon in the sky.

Her appearance was merely a consequence.

The cause, however, was that...

Arthur got caught.

Spoiler: concept_art41

 

[Lemor]

Interlude III

In the depths of the Pthumerian labyrinths, in an enclosed space covered in countless writings, stood a sphere filled with seawater.

"And what have you achieved in the end, Sandman?.."

No answer followed, but the Vicar of the Church did not need one. The monster in human guise looked thoughtfully at the figure in the glass sphere. Naked, bound by chains, with a muzzle on his face; an ordinary human did not know how to breathe underwater and would have died long ago, but...

This did not apply to the individual for whose sake the personal prison had been erected.

Amelia, with the interest of an animal that had already caught its prey and was about to eat it, looked into the unblinking, otherworldly eyes of the deathly pale man, trying to see something in them.

For someone who had been caught, driven into a trap, locked in the very depths of the labyrinth, and cut off from the lion's share of all otherworldly powers, the Sandman was far too calm, even relaxed.

She was certain he could not get out. The walls of the labyrinth, the runes upon them, the seawater soaked in the blood of a dead Great One—all of this restrained the essence of the Sandman to one degree or another. Amelia knew for a fact he could not escape. The distant voice of the Formless Oedon assured her of this. No way out.

Then... why?

"An animal imitating human logic..." the Sandman's cold eyes narrowed. "I feel a little pity that Amelia's personality lost to you. She was capable of more..."

Hearing a quite ordinary, albeit frighteningly cold male voice in her head, the vicar flinched, baring her teeth.

"You..."

"Do not worry," the soft voice rang out in her head. "I cannot interfere with the workings of your mind; you have limited my abilities thoroughly. I am merely broadcasting a thought into the surrounding space, which you, whether you want to or not, enthusiastically try to catch yourself..."

Half of the woman's face twisted into a monstrous grimace.

"In that case, how do you know what I am thinking, Sandman?"

The vicar was ready to swear the creature smiled.

"Lords of Dreams, just as I said. What a pity that a clear mind suffered such a crushing defeat to the beast..."

Animalistic rage, humiliation, anger—Amelia, or what Amelia had become, nearly drowned in these emotions. Perhaps outwardly she still looked like the Vicar of the Healing Church and continued to believe it herself, but would the real vicar give in to such a simple provocation?..

The answer was obvious.

What was the Sandman talking about? What had he caught her on? What did he mean? Why was he so self-assured?

"You continue to pretend as if everything is going the way you want it to..." Amelia whispered. "Your Celestial Emissary has a different opinion on that matter..."

The creature had no grounds for such self-assurance.

They had been preparing for this for a long time. The mere construction of a personal prison for the Sandman cost more than a dozen lives: unprecedented runes, which even the long-deceased Master Caryll could not easily decipher and comprehend, crawled along the walls like snakes, soaked in the blood of Ebrietas, driving one mad just by their appearance. Was the dome with chains even worth an additional mention?..

However, the personal prison in the depths of the labyrinth was merely a prelude.

Amelia understood they would only have one attempt. And, not without the Formless Oedon's help, they achieved success.

The cult's preacher, the abnormal scholar of the School of Mensis, rested in a cage, awaiting execution.

As did the owner's beloved Celestial Emissary, hidden beneath the guise of a young girl.

The Sandman's only real weakness, for whose sake he was ready to bow his head himself, was the Small Celestial Emissary.

A rat that had escaped them, a useless byproduct that unexpectedly caught the eye of the Kind Master of Sand, beginning to work in his pub.

Catching the Sandman was difficult. Almost impossible. Probably fundamentally impossible for a mortal. But the creature's favourite little pet...

That was an entirely different question. At the cost of the lives of almost all their strongest hunters, they managed to catch her during a night stroll, luring her with a child's cries. The Church had studied the strange Emissary's habits quite well, creating a perfect trap for her that even the pub owner could not thwart.

There was a possibility that the Sandman would not even bat an eye over this. And for that case, Amelia was prepared to go even further.

The pub owner, whatever goals he pursued, did not want the city to disappear. For the Healing Church, Yharnam was no less valuable, but if the Healing Church disappeared...

There hadn't been a major transformation of humans into beasts in Yharnam for a long time, had there? What use were Yharnamites if they couldn't even help lead humanity to the so deeply desired ascension?

Whether the Sandman had any sympathy for mortals or not wasn't so important. What was important was that he needed to preserve the city.

Fortunately, it seemed the Kind Master of Sand had unravelled their scheme. He surrendered the very moment he learned his little pet was in their hands and that they were ready to resort to extreme measures.

"You promised you would let her go..."

The Sandman's voice somewhat resembled a father disappointed in his own daughter. Calm, devoid of any emotions, yet impossibly cold at the same time.

"And I will let her go," Amelia easily agreed, smiling. "Just not right now. You have turned her into something completely unique, Sandman. We want to stu..."

The woman's face, previously glowing with youth and beauty, contorted into a bestial grin, losing any hint of humanity. The walls trembled, and along with them, the dome in which the Sandman stared at her with an unblinking gaze.

The Night of the Hunt continued. The threshold was blurred, making the Sandman stronger now than ever before. But Amelia knew he could not do anything.

Not only because they had securely restricted him. But due to the existence of another Great One who, for some reason, was interested in the Sandman's disappearance perhaps even more than she was herself.

"You made a grave mistake striking a deal with the Formless Oedon," the cold voice rang out in her head. "I am infinitely far from the light, sweetheart, but I am used to dialogue with almost anyone and anything. Such is my nature, as a dream spirit who once wandered through the dreams of countless beings. To the Formless Oedon, your existence is even more insignificant than the life of a slug is to you. Believe me, his goals differ drastically from yours..."

"Vile liar," Amelia grimaced. "You need followers loyal to you and your plans, Sandman. You could have tried to strike a mutually beneficial deal with me, but you chose to subjugate instead."

The creature was no better than them. They had subjugated the city with blood. What had the Kind Master of Sand done?

Was it not the very same thing?..

And how was he any better than them?

"I offered a path you couldn't even dream of," laughter rang out in Amelia's head. "The Church in its current form was doomed from the start, and I wanted to provide an alternative that could satisfy everyone. To reduce the number of casualties and do everything as peacefully as possible, regardless of anything. You were not satisfied with such a scenario. I must admit, I was too naive..."

"You intended to destroy the Church from the very first day," Amelia scoffed. "You proposed betraying the Church not to an ordinary minister or a foolish hunter, but to the vicar..."

"I could, and wanted to, show you the path to liberation from the inner monster. I could have told you how to draw closer to the 'ascension' you so desire. That is a fair price for obedience. The cherished wish of the first vicar was right in front of you, sweetheart, but your pride did not allow you to agree. You merely pretend to worship the Great Ones. You are just a bunch of arrogant madmen, desperately reaching for knowledge that you canno..."

"Silence," Amelia growled. "Silence! Silence, silence!.."

There was no former calmness in the current Amelia. The woman grabbed her head, growling gutturally. It took an immense effort for her to suppress within herself... no, not the beast. Herself.

The man bound in chains within the sphere merely smiled again at this.

"I value a clear mind, even if it belongs to a monster. You, however, discarded it, becoming a common animal. Conversing with you has begun to tire me. Try not to forget to inquire how Iosefka is feeling..."

Any hint of interest vanished from the Sandman's eyes. If the creature had looked at her with at least some emotions before, then now...

Now nothing remained.

Something deep within Amelia's soul whispered to her that this was an ordinary, cheap provocation. That the creature, despite its position, despite the hostage in the form of the beloved Celestial Emissary, still continued to toy with her, as if it were in complete control of the situation.

And if Amelia would have paid attention to this in the past, then...

Now in her place was a monster that believed itself to be the vicar.

A guttural growl tore from the depths of her soul. Malice mixed with a sense of humiliation and some strange reluctance. A feeling of horrific loss that would be impossible to compensate for, even if they gutted the Sandman down to his last particle of sand.

No! Nothing was lost. Now that he was in her power, she would learn everything she wanted. Everything and even more.

Ascension was closer than ever; she merely had to reach out and take what rightfully belonged to them. Had they not done enough?! Had they not paid a sufficient price?! They had forsaken everything, humanity first and foremost, and what was the result?!

"The next time we meet, you will speak in an entirely different manner."

However, no reaction followed from the Sandman.

Amelia could no longer remain in this prison. Even her current consciousness had a limit: she could not stay too long in a prison covered in shimmering runes, soaked in the blood of a Great One. Turning around, the woman headed for the exit.

The news...

Surprised her as much as they left her in a stupor.

The Research Hall had been destroyed. Someone or something had slaughtered everyone inside it, and even set it on fire.

Just as they had burned down the Sandman's pub, their Hall was burned down.

Was it a fair trade?

Right now, they were unsuccessfully trying to extinguish the former clinic, and only the dead gods knew how much research they had lost. The loss was painful, but far from critical: the Research Hall had been operating at a loss. It demanded many resources but gave nothing of worth in return.

Something else surprised Amelia much more.

"Is it... quiet in Yharnam?"

"It bothers me too, Vicar," the older Iosefka replied softly, looking piercingly into her eyes. "The cultists cannot not know about what happened."

The pub where the Sandman resided had been destroyed. Akin to the destruction of a god's sanctuary, this couldn't help but attract the fanatics' attention.

Amelia was silent for a while, examining Iosefka.

She looked as usual. Would she be playing into the Kind Master of Sand's hands if she asked a question? No, no, that wasn't so important right now. The cultists were much more important.

Thoughts tangled in her head; thoughts arose of going on a hunt herself, of bringing as much destruction as possible so that any probable plan of the Sandman would be ruined in the bud, but...

Could it be that he was counting on exactly such a reaction?

Or not?

Or yes?

Or not?

Or yes?

Or not?

Or...

"We will be on our guard," growling notes slipped into Amelia's voice.

The older Iosefka froze.

"I... understand."

"You have nothing to worry about," Amelia said softly, answering the unasked question. "Anything else?"

"No."

Amelia raised her eyebrows.

"Do not lie to me, Iosefka. My sense of smell has become quite sharp. I can smell a lie."

The false Iosefka was no longer sure if it was worth talking about this right now, but it seemed as if she had no choice.

"The Small Celestial Emissary turned out to be... fake."

Amelia needed to see it with her own eyes to understand what Iosefka was talking about.

The girl in the blue hat locked in the cage turned out to be an utterly confused human. A middle-aged man trying to understand where he was and why.

Catching sight of the women walking in, he was already thinking of opening his mouth, but a single glance from Amelia was enough for something inside the man to tie into a knot.

He had only wanted to have a little fun with a girl strolling at night in a strange blue hat, and now he found himself here...

"Wait at the entrance," Amelia turned to the older Iosefka, thoughtfully inspecting the human. "I want to speak with him."

The older Iosefka knew what would happen next. She gave a short nod. The door closed. At first, the girl heard nothing, but then...

A wail rang out. Wild, filled with inhuman terror. To the vicar's credit, it did not last long: a growl, the crunching of bones, followed by an oppressive silence broken only by distant smacking sounds.

When Amelia walked out, the man was no longer inside. Only bloody stains on the floor and walls, and pieces of torn clothing.

"You need to wipe your face, Vicar," the older Iosefka said. "It is covered in blood."

Amelia smiled affectionately at Iosefka.

"I know. Thank you, Iosefka."

However, her mood did not improve. In place of the girl was a common criminal who was awaiting execution anyway. The Sandman was openly mocking her.

Now the vicar had no doubts that he had intentionally allowed himself to be caught. That he knew about her plans from the very beginning. The Sandman could have toyed with her a little longer, but instead, he practically immediately showed that he had actually locked himself up voluntarily.

What for? To what end? Did he want to show her that rats had bred in the Church? She knew that already!

Did he want to show her that all her attempts to oppose him, even with the Formless Oedon's help, were just a game to him? So much so that he was willing to sacrifice his own pub and freedom?

Or, perhaps, he decided to play along, knowing how far she was willing to go?

Weren't these thoughts far too naive?

Or yes?

Or no?

Or yes?

Or no?

The situation was simply absurd. They had caught the Sandman, restricting his powers, yet it was Amelia who still felt like a cornered animal.

She knew she used to be smarter. She tried to remember how she used to think. But she simply couldn't. The instincts of a monster demanded blood from her, an unending hunt. She wanted to escape the Sandman's trap, whatever it might be.

If all of Yharnam turned into beasts, that would clearly go against his plans, wouldn't it? Was that not the only way out?!

Amelia returned to the altar, asking the older Iosefka to leave her alone.

There was no longer any point in ordinary prayers, which had previously calmed the inner monster. Instead, there was a point in praying to the Formless Oedon, in trying to receive advice and direction.

And Amelia prayed.

She prayed long and desperately, trying to hear the Formless Oedon's voice once more.

But her only answer was silence.

***
​

Nothing happened in the end. The Night of the Hunt had passed, the threshold had stabilised, depriving the Sandman of the lion's share of his abilities. He had not disappeared anywhere, remaining bound in the sphere filled with cursed seawater.

However, Amelia did not feel any calmer from this. On the contrary—her paranoia only grew stronger.

Nothing happened a day later, nor a week later.

The vicar once again tried to go down to the Sandman, but now he would not speak with her. It seemed she had completely lost his interest, and his subsequent actions showed this perfectly: the Kind Master of Sand willingly struck up conversations with almost anyone else.

She sent other ministers of the Church, and he absolutely calmly made contact with them. And this did not end well for the Church in any way.

"He was so affectionate," a nun of the Church whispered breathlessly. "We discussed so many things, I learned of a multitude of wondrous things, Vicar... And he also worried about me, told me not to stare at the strange runes on the walls! No man has ever looked at me like that, Vicar. I..."

"You need not continue," Amelia said coldly.

But the nun did not listen to her; the woman's eyes burned.

"I have never felt such affection directed toward me, Vicar! The gaze of a merciful god, it is far too enchanting..."

Practically everyone the Sandman spoke to changed. The reaction varied; for some it was stronger, for some weaker, but all of them, one way or another, began to feel more positive emotions toward the creature.

Gender was irrelevant—some hunters said they saw not a young man before them, but a beautiful woman, the embodiment of their dreams, whose affectionate voice alone could awaken their inner beast.

"Like a dream made flesh," a hunter wheezed. "The most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life..."

"What did she look like?" Amelia closed her eyes.

The hunter, it seemed, was only waiting for this question.

"L-long golden hair, bright green eyes, a figure no woman could even dream of... She... she seemingly looked straight into my soul..."

"Do you realise that you did not see a woman before you?"

"It is hard for me to agree with that, Vicar," the hunter bowed his head. "For... for that being, those are all trifles, are they not? If I so desire, he... she... it will be w-whoever and whatever..."

Amelia saw that the hunter was irrevocably lost.

Age was likewise irrelevant—the Sandman understood people well. Lust was merely the most obvious human quality, but far from the only one. A few meetings were enough for him to understand what interested a person and begin to adapt to them.

Be it a nun who had lost faith in life or an old researcher fixated solely on experiments—he spoke with everyone and could interest anyone. This was not merely an otherworldly influence breaking through all barriers, but experience that could only be accumulated across centuries.

A cold, inhuman mind, treating human feelings and thoughts with disdain. Too primitive, too simple—he took this as a given.

The Sandman was interested neither in his conversationalist's kindness, nor in their sins or lack thereof. The creature refused to react only to animals, and even then, not all of them: certain dogs brought to him attracted the entity's interest, and even with them he established contact, turning rabid hounds into affectionate and obedient pets.

There was no need to clarify how strong Amelia's hatred became when she heard of this.

He saw her as an animal unworthy of his attention, and showed this with his entire being.

Or did he not show it?

Or did he show it?

Or did he not show it?

Or did he show it?

Amelia forbade communication with the Sandman. Organising this required its own special approach: simply covering one's ears was not enough. The voice of the Kind Master of Sand penetrated straight into the brain, and it was from the brain that the voice rang out. The only real way was to drown the creature out with another sound, and a solution was found quickly.

Grotesque bells were fixed to the heads of unfortunate researchers, ringing almost all the time. The sound was so loud that the Church's followers could not hear their own thoughts, and even just concentrating on work was difficult: ears bled, researchers complained of constant headaches, but Amelia saw no other choice.

However, even so, reports reached her that the researchers would now and then faintly hear the Sandman's laughter, openly mocking their attempts to oppose him. To oppose the one who was already in their power.

Or was he not?

Or was he?

Or was he not?

Or was he?

The greatest disappointment for Amelia turned out to be the Kind Master of Sand's blood and internal organs. Obtaining them was not so difficult; when designing the sphere, they had initially accounted for the possibility that they would need some part of the otherworldly entity.

The problem was that, unlike the blood and internal organs of the Great Ones...

The body parts of the Sandman were a part of him. Parts that he could control. The prison had practically stripped him of all his power and he could not freely command his essence, and yet this was enough for...

Little pranks.

If researching ordinary Old Blood was difficult, researching the Sandman's blood was scarcely possible in principle: the blood could seemingly be no different from the blood of an ordinary human, then suddenly begin to flit about right inside the test tubes, or dissolve into nothingness right before the researchers' eyes. The excised internal organs, though quite unusual, differed little from the internal organs of humans who had turned into beasts. They had neither the specialists nor the technology to properly research the creature.

What evoked particularly strong hatred in Amelia was that the Sandman seemingly didn't even feel pain when his internal organs were excised. His body simply began to regenerate, as if nothing had happened.

However, it was probably naive to expect that a being of such a level would truly experience any serious torment due to their actions.

After all, Ebrietas, whom they had been researching for a long time, had never once shown that she was in pain. So why should the Sandman?..

More interesting were the experiments involving injecting the blood into test subjects. Interesting, yet at the same time practically completely useless.

The test subjects noted that their sleep had improved.

Need it be clarified that this was not what Amelia wanted?

Day after day, week after week. Before the vicar could look back, more than a month had passed, during which they not only learned nothing, but also reached a point of unprecedented paranoia.

The Sand Bowl cult had seemingly evaporated. If before they would stumble upon traces of their activities now and then, now the entire cult, like a single living organism, had laid low.

Even Ebrietas stopped answering her, and the methods that had worked before no longer affected the Great One—she simply did not answer her, just as the Sandman did not answer.

Amelia felt she was approaching the edge, returning time and again to the creature's prison.

"What are you trying to achieve, Sandman? Does it really not hurt you at all?.."

There was no curiosity in her voice. Rather, the poorly concealed hatred of a predator that had realised its complete helplessness before someone far more terrifying and dangerous.

The man's entire body, bound by chains in the seawater, was pierced by long needles, drawing blood from him drop by drop.

As he had countless times before, the Kind Master of Sand merely continued to look at her with an expressionless gaze. Oh Gods, how she wanted to gouge out those eyes...

No answer followed, just as countless times before.

Amelia closed her eyes briefly, feeling the runes crawling along the walls once again straining to penetrate her distorted mind.

"I do not know what you have planned," Amelia said softly. "But I know what you definitely do not want, Sandman."

For the first time in a long while, a faint spark of interest flashed in the creature's eyes, literally pushing the woman to speak further.

"The next Night of the Hunt will be a special one for Yharnam, Sandman. A night that will forever change this city."

They needed to replenish their research material anyway. They needed to smoke out the cultists somehow anyway, who, Amelia had no doubt, were preparing a new strike.

The loss of a part of the city would seriously hit their capabilities, but when survival is at stake—collateral victims could be ignored. For the current Amelia, they meant absolutely nothing in principle.

Before, she had tried to adhere to some kind of balance so that the city would continue its existence and continue fulfilling its role, but now...

Now that didn't bother her as much anymore.

Either ascension or doom awaits them.

"I have heard countless stories from the ministers of the Church," Amelia continued softly. "About the unprecedented discoveries of people from afar, about the cosmos and the stars. Tell me what you know, Sandman. Satisfy my curiosity, and then there will be no need for everything else. The Church will need neither your blood, nor your internal organs, nor the lives of the unfortunate Yharnamites."

Amelia didn't know what exactly it was, but...

It seemed she had gotten through to the creature.

"Satisfy curiosity..." the otherworldly, faint voice rang out in her head. "Perhaps, somewhere deep within you, a fragment of the real vicar still remains..."

The voice chuckled softly.

"You keep waiting for me to take some action... You keep looking for a trick, but you haven't even guessed where the real threat comes from... You turned to Iosefka, didn't you? Asked how she was feeling?.."

Amelia's pupils constricted.

"Is that all?"

Her only answer was an oppressive silence.

Ultimately, he truly was a creature infinitely far from the light. He was interested neither in the victims, nor in the price Yharnam and his followers would have to pay for his silence.

There was no need to even speak of the price the Kind Master of Sand himself would have to pay.

"You have made your choice, Sandman."

This time, Amelia did not ignore the Kind Master of Sand's words. Lately, the behaviour of her closest subordinate truly had begun to seem strange.

The vicar could feel pain coming from her. Something was bringing her suffering, a fear that the psychopath had not known before. At first, Amelia thought this fear was directed at her.

But the sandy creature forced her to notice that what she feared first and foremost was far from being her.

"What troubles you, Iosefka? Are you feeling unwell?"

Amelia sat with her back to the girl, examining the enormous bloody symbol in place of the altar. The rune of the Formless Oedon, drawing all of the vicar's attention.

The vicar felt Iosefka's heart beating rapidly, felt her body tense up.

"I am pregnant."

The girl's voice was as indifferent and cold as humanly possible. As if she were talking about something mundane.

An entirely sincere, honest answer. Amelia frowned.

"I am genuinely happy for you."

"Thank you, Vicar."

They were dissembling. Both of them.

"What I cannot understand..." Amelia continued. "You do not seem like someone who would want to have a child, Iosefka."

The vicar turned around, meeting the girl's gaze.

"I have a reason for this," she answered neutrally.

Amelia was already thinking of objecting. Of offering help in getting rid of the problem. But the words got stuck in her throat. A voice rang out in her head, a cold, otherworldly wind blew, the candles went out.

The vicar turned back to the Formless Oedon's rune, understanding that this was a warning.

She could not touch Iosefka, much less her child.

"To the Formless Oedon, your existence is even more insignificant than the life of a slug is to you. Believe me, his goals differ drastically from yours."

The Sandman's words arose in her head on their own, forcing Amelia into silence for a long minute.

"You could have said this earlier," Amelia said softly. "You will be provided with proper care."

These words put Iosefka on edge much more than the expected reaction.

"I can take care of myself."

"That is out of the question," Amelia objected coldly. "You will be helped."

It was impossible to tell what the false Iosefka was thinking or what she wanted to say.

"I understand," the girl pulled a smile onto her face, as if trying to mirror her sister's smile. "Thank you, Vicar. I..."

Iosefka wanted to say something, but cut herself off.

"I will take my leave."

Amelia did not react to this in any way, returning to her prayer once more.

She already guessed that she had made a mistake. But she simply couldn't understand how serious it was. In any case, she intended to go to the end; the monstrous origin demanded an end to this through the most effective and destructive method.

What Amelia didn't know was that her biggest mistake was not Iosefka.

But that she had become too fixated on the Sandman and his cult.

Out of nowhere, an enemy had arisen for the Healing Church capable of destroying them all single-handedly.

An enemy chosen by the Moon Presence.

***
​

The closer the Night of the Hunt became, the worse Iosefka felt. Something was stirring inside her; a distant whisper arose in the girl's head, forbidding her from getting rid of the creature herself.

She could never boast of having vivid emotions. Especially towards other people, even if it was her own sister. Human lives meant nothing to her.

All the more forcefully the emotions hit her along with the appearance of the voice. With every kick in her belly, with every movement. Panic and terror seized her more and more strongly, and there was no one who could help her. Like a punishment for everything she had done. A price the older Iosefka did not want to pay.

The girl knew of only one being who could help her.

Sanity was leaving her. She increasingly stumbled upon thoughts that her condition was a blessing. That she was different, special, chosen. That her condition was truly magnificent!

And the more often she caught herself having these thoughts, the stronger the terror she experienced.

She needed to act.

She saw how certain events were happening in parallel. She saw the vicar's condition, knowing that soon the Church would pass the point of no return.

It probably already had.

She ignored the news about the appearance of a strange hunter of hunters. The fate of the Church did not interest her, and she cared even less when entire squads of hunters began to disappear.

The situation became a bit clearer when one group of hunters managed to escape.

It was a man. Probably middle-aged. With facial features that no one could remember, clad in hunter's garb. Unkillable, ignoring any wounds, so strong and fast that even beasts could not rival him. It was impossible to capture him, impossible to defeat him.

A being so incomprehensible and absurd that, it seemed, he could make even the Sandman tense up.

Belonging to no faction, having neither a name, nor a face, nor a motivation for his actions, he simply appeared out of nowhere, beginning to bring death.

The Night of the Hunt imperceptibly approached.

For some reason, the vicar was very worried about Iosefka. She was placed under round-the-clock surveillance.

The girl felt that if she didn't do anything, she might completely lose herself on the Night of the Hunt. The kicks in her belly were getting stronger, causing more and more suffering; something terrible was imperceptibly bearing down on the Church, and something deep within Iosefka's soul whispered that she could be of interest to the impending disaster.

There was only one being left who could help her. And it was quite close.

It was impossible to sneak unnoticed to the Sandman just like that.

There could only be one attempt, and exactly at the moment when the Church would be weaker than ever, distracted by other problems, including the vicar herself—on the Night of the Hunt.

The girl waited patiently. She played the part of an obedient victim who had accepted her fate, but was not giving up until the end: she deliberately tried to find her sister again, but she, along with the rest of the Kind Master of Sand's cult, seemingly evaporated, forcing her to wait. Wait, wait, wait. Until the very end.

And wait she did.

Iosefka woke up in the middle of the night from a feeling comparable to worms swarming in her head.

However, her mind was clearer and more lucid than ever. She already knew what she needed to do.

Jumping up, the girl screamed, attracting the attention of her guard and observer.

There were two of them, but one had disappeared somewhere.

"You..."

"Where... where is the other one... where..."

The hunter frowned.

"He had to leave. Someone attacked the Church, you need to calm do..."

The girl unexpectedly lunged at the hunter. The hidden scalpel in her hands went into the wheezing hunter's throat like a hot knife through butter.

The older Iosefka, breathing heavily, with a wide smile on her face, stared at the bleeding corpse of the surprised hunter.

Still, the strongest is far from always the one who wins.

"How interesting..." Iosefka whispered. "I've never worked with hunters before... What a pity that such an opportunity is lost..."

The girl turned to the window, through which the red glow of the blood-red moon was seeping.

It was the first time she was seeing its glow with her own eyes, having achieved such "Insight" for the first time. However, most likely, this was far from her own insight, but that of what was inside her.

"What a beautiful s..."

Tears flowed from Iosefka's eyes. Her head, and along with it her stomach, twisted in excruciating pain.

Time was limited.

Only the gods knew what difficulties Iosefka faced to reach the entrance to the labyrinths, descend into them, and, without catching the eyes of the beasts, reach the Sandman's personal prison. She knew the path well, but that did not negate the dangers the labyrinths held.

To the older Iosefka's surprise, she saw no guards. Moreover, even the doors leading straight to the Sandman were open.

Barely standing on her feet, Iosefka walked inside, trying with all her might not to look at the runes trembling with a bloody glow. The unintelligible voice in her head grew louder; a cold, freezing wind blew.

The father of the creature that had settled in her womb was somewhere nearby, and he was clearly not thrilled with his chosen one's actions.

The older Iosefka slowly approached the sphere in which the Sandman floated. Cold, inhuman eyes met her without any surprise.

The creature definitely knew she would come. Unlike Amelia, the false Iosefka was not interested in how he knew at all.

"Sandman..." the girl whispered. "Help me... Help me, please... I know you gave preference to my sister... It is my own fault... And yet... Please, help me, Great One... Rid me of this blessing before I start valuing it more than my own life..."

Iosefka leaned against the sphere; her legs gave way.

"I will free you... I will free you right now..."

She had never experienced such fear. An entirely new, terrifying feeling had taken hold of her. The girl's psyche simply was not prepared for this.

The Kind Master of Sand was silent. Silent for so long that Iosefka already thought he would ignore her.

But...

"Not a single soul deserves eternal suffering, sweetheart," a surprisingly soft, otherworldly voice rang out in her head. "Wandering through countless lives, we all inevitably commit both terrible acts and good ones..."

"Yes!" Iosefka smiled broadly. "Yes, yes! I swear... I swear that fr..."

"Usually, I try to look at this from the perspective of an ordinary investment," the voice continued as if nothing had happened, filling with a strange, frightening irony. "Letting a soul go and investing bright thoughts into it is more profitable than subjecting it to suffering, plunging an already dark soul into the Abyss..."

A bad premonition seized the girl.

"Wait... wait, don't..."

"But your case is quite unique," a chuckle rang out in her head. "There is much more humanity left in me than I thought. One half of me tells me to make an investment once again. But the other half of me hears the voice of my dear Lily, her crying, and the pain she experienced. Unfortunately, as much as I would like to, I cannot look at this situation impartially..."

The older Iosefka felt despair begin to seize her.

"Hypocritical beast!" the girl screamed, striking the sphere. The sphere proved to be much stronger than Iosefka's hand. A bloody mark appeared on the sphere, but this did not deter the girl in the slightest, causing her to continue hitting it over and over again. "You are not a God! Not a God!!! Just a bastard who thinks far too highly of himself, who decided he has the right to decide others' fates! You don't care about the fate of this little town, but you care about a single little girl! Make a deal with me! Make one! I am ready to pay for everything, I am ready, please! Sandman!!!"

Her only answer was laughter.

"Do not worry," the voice chuckled. "I don't want to upset you, sweetheart, but the vicar's plan to turn all of Yharnam into beasts is not destined to come true..."

Iosefka beat on the sphere until her strength left her completely. She collapsed, leaning against the sphere. Fear, pain, and hatred had taken hold of her so completely that she completely forgot about everything else.

Forgot where she was.

Forgot about the problem that had arisen for the Church.

Fortunately or unfortunately, they decided to remind her.

A sound. The sound of heavy footsteps brought her back to her senses a little. The girl opened her eyes, turning to the figure that had entered the Sandman's prison.

Tall, broadly built, clad in hunter's garb, in one hand he held an axe splattered in blood.

And in the other, the head of Vicar Amelia.

On the face of the once beautiful girl was frozen a contorted grimace of animalistic malice and hatred.

It seemed that until the very end, she could not believe that her life would be taken by an enemy who had come literally from nowhere. One with whom she had no scores to settle. One whom she didn't even know and for whom she couldn't even prepare. Absolutely unfair, absurd, wrong. It shouldn't have happened this way.

However, perhaps she could have tried to prepare somehow. She would have caught on earlier if the Kind Master of Sand hadn't captured all of her attention.

"How interestingly events have developed..." the voice muttered without any surprise.

He knew the unknown hunter would come here.

The hunter who had come for them.

Iosefka felt the gaze of the creature with the axe in his hands. She knew he had come not only for the Sandman, but for her as well.

"What... what does he want..."

"A third of the umbilical cord," the Sandman answered as if nothing had happened. "And my life. I am weakened right now, am I not?"

The Sandman was clearly amused.

With a trembling hand, Iosefka pulled out her scalpel. The hunter tossed the vicar's head aside, silently heading towards his targets. However, halfway there he had to stop.

The bloody runes trembled. Next to the sphere appeared the huntress with the Rakuyo. The older Iosefka couldn't help but recognise her, feeling madness taking hold of her more and more strongly.

"Lady Maria?"

The bloody runes on the walls shone ever brighter. Shimmering amongst themselves ever faster. The cold wind blew ever stronger.

The Formless Oedon wanted to intervene. Too enormous, too powerful, his influence was too limited. But the red moon, the runes obediently traced by the vicar further blurring the line between the waking world and the dream, the anchor in the form of the child inside Iosefka—these were sufficient arguments for the Great One to be able to reach into reality with the edge of his essence.

The hunter chosen by the Moon Presence swung his axe.

Maria swung her blades, leaving bloody cuts on herself that transformed into her power.

The world trembled. It seemed the blood-red light of the Moon Presence passed through all barriers straight into the depths of the labyrinth, to the Sandman's prison.

Unfortunately, Iosefka's crumbling, inflamed mind simply could not comprehend what happened next.

A dash. A swing of the Rakuyo. A flash of the moon's bloody light, followed by seemingly living runes. The trembling of the earth beneath their feet, as if the labyrinths intended to bury them underground forever.

And only then...

"I was beginning to think you wouldn't come, Great Ebrietas..."

Maria's sudden dash backwards. The Rakuyo piercing the sphere filled with seawater. A crack, after which torrents of cursed seawater spilled outwards. The needles flying out of the prisoner's body. The chains caught by an invisible force, tearing them apart, finally freeing him.

The last thing the false Iosefka saw in her life was the sand bursting outwards. A critical mass of energy crashing down upon the world, creating a massive rift into the very depths of the dream.

In the next moment, the ground beneath her feet vanished. Iosefka felt herself falling somewhere. Into an endless darkness, full of images she could neither imagine nor comprehend.

Unfortunately, this was merely the beginning of her nightmare, which promised to stretch into eternity.

The girl felt something grab her. It enveloped every particle of her body, like a giant tentacle that possessed neither volume, nor form, nor scent. A voice that was so loud Iosefka felt her head bursting from the inside, though she had no right to such a miracle.

She would live, regardless of anything.

Iosefka felt her clothing change. A wedding dress appeared on her body, akin to the one worn by the Pthumerian Queen.

Unfortunately, the older Iosefka's agonising consciousness had time to comprehend her fate, causing her to scream, shaking the Realm of Sleep with her terror.

The Formless Oedon had chosen her as his bride, and now the bride descended into his Dream Realm. A bride doomed to remain eternally in the Great One's nightmare, incapable of even fulfilling her sole role and becoming the mother of the future anchor.

A truly useless, doomed bride.

Spoiler: concept_art42

 

[Lemor]

Epilogue

One had to give the Healing Church their due; they had arranged a personal terrarium for Ebrietas, perfectly suited not only to her dimensions but also, let's say, the peculiarities of her form of existence. Of course, the Pthumerians did the lion's share of the work, but restoring it and bringing it to its current state, generally speaking, also cost considerable effort!

It was an enormous, dimly lit space. The air was so humid that simply being here would be, to put it mildly, uncomfortable for an ordinary human.

However, this place was not built for humans.

Ebrietas looked like a true Great One: massive, terrifying in her appearance alone, her power, even if it could not compare to the power of... let's say, true Great Ones, still exceeded the bounds of human understanding.

All the more absurd was how weak and helpless the creature before me was. Abandoned by the whole world, unaware of even a fraction of her own power.

She was nicknamed the Daughter of the Cosmos, but her fate was to rot on earth for eternity. A Pthumerian who had gained immortality and power, ending up locked within her own body. A pathetic, frightening fate.

"I am glad we were able to come to an agreement, sweetheart," I chuckled. "And I am not that scary, as you can see."

I spoke not only in the language of humans but also in the language of the Great Ones, embedding waves into my words that could be fully caught only by my simultaneously distant and close kin. After all, I had taken far too much power from them.

The space, and along with it the Great One's body, trembled. She clearly disagreed with me, but, of course, did not argue.

How charming.

I had thought for a long time about who I could forge a new alliance with. An alliance that could save my sandy arse at a crucial moment.

Amygdala preferred not to interfere, never having made contact.

With the Moon Presence, by definition, we could not see eye to eye on... let's say, certain key issues regarding the future. We didn't even need to negotiate anything: both I and it knew this perfectly well.

We collaborated? Wonderful! Now it would be a good idea to get rid of the hindrance if possible. Of course, in a way that avoided unnecessary risk. That was exactly where the problems lay.

There was no one suitable left besides Ebrietas. In a sense, she was my last hope. It was difficult to reach this Great One, and to do so without attracting unnecessary attention, but I didn't give up. Far too much depended on it.

Little Lily became an unexpected salvation. Ebrietas flatly refused to speak with me, but then my little rascal volunteered to help and tried talking to her herself first.

And to my immense surprise, it worked. Though, was it really worth being surprised about?..

If Ebrietas could perceive me as an old and very malicious beast, little different from the other "true" Great Ones, then little Lily was the embodiment of purity. A genuine, immemorial little ball of light, whose life the Church had nearly taken away.

Ebrietas's desire was quite simple to me: she wanted freedom. An abandoned, broken, frightened Pthumerian who simply wanted to end her suffering. Unlike the other Great Ones, I could understand her perfectly.

And, of course, grant her wish.

Not simply take her life and send her tormented soul onwards, but, like a true "good adult," help the artificial Great One touch the otherworldly. Teach her to use her power and, finally, help her leave this world.

"You have nothing to fear," I say with a smile. "If I dare to do something bad, little Lily will not forgive me later. No profit, not even a phantom one, is worth that, eh?"

Ebrietas's body trembled, this time without its former fright. I caught the waves directed at me, raising my eyebrows.

"Of course, I will be glad if you visit her. Do not worry, you will still have time to see her and say goodbye before the ritual."

Now the Great One was truly pacified. Lords of Dreams, what a strange situation.

Of course, Ebrietas alone was not enough to come out of the water dry in every sense. The Great One was a crucial cog in the plan, but far from the only one.

As they say, he who owns the information owns the world. Thanks to Gehrman and the Doll, I roughly knew the Moon Presence's plans. I knew that Flora was going to choose a new hunter.

At the same time, I knew that the Church and, equally importantly, the Formless Oedon were preparing a very unpleasant surprise for me.

I could be cornered. The cult had become too large, and I very much did not want Yharnam to plunge into chaos, which would inevitably happen should an open confrontation begin.

Even if no one got to me and the souls I cared about, I could still lose a very, very great deal.

No less important to me was Maria's promise. I had already dragged it out far too long; I needed to use the situation somehow.

And I used it.

Knowing what the Moon Presence was preparing. Knowing what the Healing Church was preparing...

I decided simply and without fuss to step out of the game. Make myself a victim that the hunter would personally want to come after. Allow the Church to capture me without a fight and let Maria "pay back" for this capture. The girl had received not only a great deal of my blood, even if she strongly opposed it at first, but also a great deal of my sandy essence, which allowed her to hold sway to a limited extent at quite a distance from me. Though, only on the Night of the Hunt.

I couldn't shake the feeling that breaking the promise to Maria not to drink my blood might result in something, but I saw no other way.

Giving away so much of myself was quite risky in and of itself. There was a certain threshold of essence, after the loss of which I could recover as if nothing had happened. And I had to step beyond it. Falling into the hands of the Church, I had already single-handedly stripped myself of a portion of my powers.

I had to lose even more by playing along with the Church. They couldn't kill me, but they drank a fair bit of my blood. Lords of Dreams, not just "a fair bit," but a very, very large amount!..

To tell the truth, at some point I thought something inside me might just snap. The seawater seemingly made me heavier, the chains pulled me down, and the bloody runes turned into a barrier for me, beyond which I could barely feel or see anything.

I could not plunge into the Realm of Sleep, which, to put it mildly, put me greatly on edge. The situation was so unpleasant that even the faith of my followers barely reached me. Having managed to get used to the desires, feelings, and emotions of my followers, who were becoming more and more numerous, the sudden silence, broken only by a distant whisper, frightened me.

The formless bastard put enough into the head of the transformed Amelia to bind me thoroughly. To my immense fortune, there were those who could help me.

Only a small matter remained: stall for as much time as possible, draw all the attention of the monster that had lost its clear mind onto myself, and wait for the outcome.

The followers had received all instructions in advance. In case the Moon Presence's hunter didn't make it in time and the vicar tried to unleash bloody madness in Yharnam, they would have tried to stop her.

This offered no guarantees. There were, in principle, no guarantees and there could be none. I might not have withstood the imprisonment, I could have underestimated both the transformed Amelia and the Formless Oedon.

It could have turned out that the new chosen one of the Moon Presence wouldn't even attempt to come for my life. I laid down some safety padding in the form of the older Iosefka, remembering the umbilical cord that was absolutely useless to me, but did I have guarantees?

No.

And yet, by and large, the plan worked.

The hunter came for his prey. My interest club and the rest of the city were practically unharmed, having survived the natural disaster that was the Moon Presence's chosen one. Maria fulfilled her cherished wish.

The older Iosefka and the vicar's death were not even worth a mention.

Yharnam was severely shaken up, but in a way that only the Church fully noticed. As an added bonus—the Moon Presence and its chosen one, whether they wanted to or not, clashed head-on with the Formless Oedon.

I had a phantom hope that the two Great Ones would get at each other's throats, but, unfortunately, that would have been a far too fantastical scenario.

The Formless Oedon could be forgotten for a long time: Arianna, a relative of Maria and Annalise, had received help. The main anchor in the form of Mergo, the unfortunate dead child, following its mother, received long-awaited peace.

I guessed who might have the last umbilical cord potentially connected to the Formless Oedon, but for now I didn't see a problem in it. That was more of a problem for the Great One.

The Moon Presence, too, was clearly not thrilled about having "clashed head-on" with its kin. Flora is far too cautious; she is only in the process of forming a body, so such a blow definitely couldn't pass entirely without a trace for her. Her hunter, along with a good portion of her power, was saved, but not for free.

In the near future, most likely, there will be no red moon. Perhaps for the next months or even years, which, of course, meant nothing within the lifespan of the Great Ones.

But it meant a great deal to Yharnam and its inhabitants. This city had long deserved peace and, even if not forever, it will get it.

True, the fact that the crisis was postponed and the Healing Church had been practically completely destroyed did not mean I could relax.

It merely meant that the problems that had fallen upon my unfortunate shoulders were now slightly more mundane.

So, for example, I needed to somehow return Arianna to Annalise's line without spilling unnecessary blood. Still, leaving a carrier of such special blood in her current position was too risky. Maria, who, even though she had renounced her line, still bore a direct relation to it, was also displeased with Arianna's position.

Actually, it was these mundane problems that I took up.

I must admit, Annalise's shocked gaze, directed at Arianna, was simply priceless. No less precious was the gaze of the prostitute herself, having realised she had signed a deal with the devil.

Truth be told, had the situation been different, I would have simply let her go. I was interested neither in her personality nor in the path she had chosen. But her blood was far too special, and she was far too close by blood to Maria and Annalise.

Truly, the women of Cainhurst Castle made an unforgettable, immense impression.

I shouldn't forget about Amygdala either. It bothered me that the Great One had never shown up. The absence of negative intentions did not mean she would always remain neutral towards me. Careful preparation was needed in case of unpleasant surprises.

It was no less important to visit the younger Iosefka and Master Willem. It was not hard to guess that a highly talented, truly brilliant, and extremely diligent girl, obsessed with researching the Old Blood, who had gone even further in her blood research than the Master himself, greatly appealed to Willem.

It was as if I saw a duo of a beloved grandfather and an even more beloved granddaughter, who could talk for hours—adjusting for Master Willem's madness—about their passion.

There was an obvious benefit to their collaboration for me, which I did not realise right away. Their joint research could help me fulfil my own desire:

To resurrect Maria in the fullest sense of the word. Without flaws, without limitations, I wanted to go much further than my initial plans and bring her existence as close to my own as was at all possible and impossible. Normally, this would be unattainable, but this world had managed to prove the opposite time and time again.

And for the sake of this, I was ready to go very far.

Even if the path to this takes much longer than I had initially assumed.

***​

Gehrman could not be called an empathetic man. The old man was by no means foolish, having trained many hunters and possessing a decent understanding of people, but the Doll remained an enigma to him.

The idealised image of Maria did not display many emotions. Her doll-like appearance further complicated attempts to figure out what the beauty was feeling, or if she felt anything at all.

For some reason, this day—or night?—became an exception: Gehrman, not without surprise to himself, could definitely see that the Doll's mood was very, very high.

A smile was distinctly visible on the doll-like face, her eyes sparkled strangely, the Doll spent almost the entire day in the garden, and the old hunter was ready to wager she was humming something under her breath.

Gehrman never dared to ask a question. But, one way or another, he was glad that she felt an emotional uplift, only guessing at the reasons.

The Doll herself, paying no attention at all to the Hunter's Dream, sitting among the flowers, was entirely elsewhere in her thoughts.

Bound to Lady Maria, sometimes images and dreams, echoes of her emotions and feelings, reached her.

Freed from her final regret, having survived a long period with constant thoughts that Arthur could disappear at any moment, right now she was dancing as if nothing had happened.

In the most ordinary empty hall of the most ordinary theatre—of which there were more than one or two in Yharnam—with the sole spectator being a clapping girl in a blue hat, Maria, who could never boast a love for luxurious dresses and much less dancing, was now in seventh heaven, as if her most cherished dream had been fulfilled.

All problems, even if not forever, were left behind. Only her beloved man remained, with whom she danced a slow dance in the twilight, forgetting about all the horrors she had already been through and those she still had to go through.

Right now, they meant absolutely nothing.

"What a sweet dream..." the Doll muttered, closing her eyes. "Thank you for allowing me to continue seeing it, Sandman..."

The Doll opened her eyes, smiling brightly.

Definitely, when the time comes, she will help him. She had the capabilities for this, just as she had secrets that only she knew about. Secrets that, perhaps, could stir something even within the soul of a Great One. For now, though...

She could watch the dream a little longer.

Spoiler: concept_art43, 43.1

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Author's Note: you can find all the art and illustrations used in this work here:

https://mega.nz/folder/GphjlIaA#9JlfnUq-xwvpnPQj8dXRiQ


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