NOVEL NEXT Chapter 3: "The Spell"
Ludwig forced the Hunter to follow him back to the church. Part of him wanted to deny the man his presence. The Hunter felt strongly that the Healing Church was an institution founded on greed and nonsensical pride. However, he knew Ludwig, and he knew he was a good person. He also knew that he needed more sedatives.
As his thoughts started to become more coherent, The Hunter started to understand why he was in such a fractured state. The reason was simply because his memories were not his own. Two separate lives dominated his mind.
The first life of memories were the most prominent. It was through these memories he recognized Ludwig, and it was from this life that his first memories had risen. This was the life of The First Hunter, Gherman. Gherman's life was long, even longer thanks to his time in The Hunter's Dream. He did not remember much about that dream, but sitting in his wheelchair, atop that hill was seared into his mind. The actual "life" Gherman had outside the dream was confusing and exciting. His very existence was dedicated to the hunt, and he was the very best. However, the whole reason for his endless hunt was such a horror story that some of his memories were trapped. However, several names and people still stayed fresh in his mind. Along with the dozen or so students he had, Master Willem, Laurence, Ludwig, and…Maria, left a deep impression on him.
The other life of memories was much shorter, and they were very different. It was for this reason that he was still coming to grips with those memories. As he failed to fully comprehend them, The more familiar memories of the hunt took center stage. This was most likely due to another batch of memories.
This batch only took place over a single night. There was the terror, exhilaration, and rage of one other hunter. They were decidedly not Gherman, since they started out the night as a fragile and inexperienced hunter. However, that single night stood out to him more than any of his other memories. For that night the nameless hunter went from inexperienced to transcendent. The talent of that one man was beyond anything Gherman had ever seen, and it was beyond Gherman himself. It was for this reason that the Hunter distinguished these memories from Gherman's. Though the details started to blur at the end, he recalled all the gruesome battles and ceaseless blood.
He recalled Yharnam in ruin.
However, now the Hunter looked around and saw the city as Gherman had seen it. Ailing, but very much alive. A city full of spirit and energy. A city being slowly broken by the Blood.
The thoughts of the Blood were crowded. So many different, yet intense emotions surrounded it. On one hand, he would be hard pressed to fight beasts so well without it, on the other, it was the reason for the beasts existence in the first place.
The origin of the Blood was not human, yet for some reason, it was also familiar.
This familiarity was not from any of the three memory batches. Instead, it was from something indescribable that had nestled deep within him. An inkling of the cosmos. Whatever it was, the Hunter was far too frightened to find deeper meaning in it. After all, it was frighteningly similar to that force that inhabited the wooden structure, the Hunter's Workshop, he now recalled.
The Workshop was where Gherman had been made into The First Hunter, it was where he crafted all of his weapons and gear, and it was where he taught a handful of disciples. For some cosmic squatter to be in there angered the Hunter to no end.
"Are you feeling better?" Ludwig called out from in front of him.
"Maybe," The Hunter responded. His thoughts were now in order, but there was still far too much to sort through. He needed a place of respite. For this reason, he did not push Ludwig away. He also needed him in case he could get more sedatives.
"Well, we're here," Ludwig raised his Hunter's Badge and the large gate guarding the "holy ground" creaked open. "Welcome back to Cathedral Ward."
…
The Hunter received odd looks from the denizens of the Healing Church. Those who didn't recognize him thought he was a patient. Those who did recognize him quickly looked away. Or rather, those who recognized Gherman.
The Hunter's identity crisis was not yet resolved, but he could feel the memories of Gherman overpowering the others.
None of this mattered though, all the Hunter needed at the moment was a place to rest. The feeling of wrongness that had been with him since he first opened his eyes was not yet cast off. The Hunter felt that he needed to understand that short life of memories to truly move forward.
"You shall rest in one of the sick bays here. Just for tonight, I'll make sure you are taken care of."
The Hunter made a grunt as he tossed himself onto the firm cot. Ludwig chuckled and pulled the curtain closed giving him some privacy. The Hunter let out a long sigh. All of this had been too much. The only time his short existence had made sense was fighting that beast…now that he thought about it, something had been off. The fight itself had been normal enough, but what was that voice?
The Spell. The answer came to him instantly. Now that he had the effects of the sedative in his bloodstream, the necessary memories came easily. This time, it had come from the short life, the life of a boy who had laid bloody and nearly dead next to two other children.
I can't remember their names! The boy's memories started to stir, and yet, so much of it felt like it was lost. The emotions of a child clashed with those of experienced killers in the Hunter's mind.
What a mess I am, the Hunter lamented. He had quickly lost track of his train of thought. The Spell, what is it? It's… The Nightmare Spell. An incomprehensible disease that has taken a good chunk of humanity. Typically those around the age of 17 would get it, but the boy had been much younger, he had yet to turn 13.
There was little similarity to the Old Blood. Though they both acted like a plague and have brought humanity to ruin, this seemed inherently different. The Beasts rose as a result of human greed. If they had not abused the Old Blood none of this would have happened. The Nightmare Spell on the other hand felt more like a divine punishment. As far as the boy knew, the Spell came out of nowhere.
The Hunter pondered upon which of their worlds had it worse. On the one hand, the Spell was far more inevitable, there was no avoiding it. However, it also granted abilities to those who passed its trials. Those who woke up from the Nightmares had increased strength and arcane abilities. From the boy's memories, these "Awakened" had powers beyond anything either of the Hunters could fathom. They were not borrowing power from a higher being, but instead manifesting the strength of their unique souls. Awakened were thus more pure than the Hunters.
The Hunters who fought the Beast Plague did not have to go through mystical trials, but those who fought would inevitably be corrupted by the Blood they used to survive the gruesome hunts. It was an inevitable fate for all Hunters that they too would become mad beasts.
If the humanity of the boy's reality stayed the course, they could theoretically build a society around their most pure and powerful Awakened, successfully staving off the Beasts, or rather, "Nightmare Creatures" that plagued their world.
It was fascinating how similar, yet different, these realities were. The Hunter continued to ponder this when a dull realization finally hit him. That boy, or rather, I have been infected by the Nightmare Spell.
As the sedatives continued to work, the Hunter felt his identity solidifying. Having a split personality would be debilitating during the Hunt. For this reason, he came to a conclusion. Right now, I am facing something new, but it still boils down to hunting beasts. This is something I definitely know. Across all my memories this is a commonality, and this is what will bind me. I am an old master hunter, I am a new yet talented hunter, and I am an aspiring hunter. I am none of them, and all of them. I know what I am, a name is merely a thing of convenience. .
The Hunter thought of Gehrman's youth. His rebirth in the blood of beasts. His creations of slaughter he would hone over decades.
The Hunter thought of Yharnam in ruin once more. The nameless prodigy was one of the only sane Hunters left, and by the end of the night, he was the only sane hunter.
The Hunter thought of a broken home. An old beast who prowled around, hitting anyone who came near. He thought of how he bled alone in that house, the last survivor.
The Hunter knew who he was.
So for now he would simply go by Gehrman.