The gnawing in the back of his head grew worse by the minute.

He had been grappling with it for some time now. Struggling to keep the Beast chained there. Out of sight but never out of mind. Such had become a daily burden since he had taken up his Saw Cleaver once more.

He took a deep breath and caught the tang of stale blood in the air mingling with the foul incense from barricaded doors. Orange silhouettes burned in the distance. Howls and shrieks warred with igniting quicksilver.

Another Hunt had already begun.

The hard soles of his boots crunched upon the stone walkways of the winding streets of Yharnam. The architecture shunned the unacquainted that traversed it, its sprawling paths casting shadows that allowed the blood-crazed to ready an ambush at the drop of a hat. One learned to walk with arms in one hand and steel in the other even on the best of nights.

Yet he would be late no matter how hurried his steps were. He could imagine the others milling about in the grave soil with their worn boots, wondering if his advanced age had resulted in him falling prey to a wandering set of fangs and claws while on his way. Or if he had slipped and fallen into the aqueducts, feasted on by the man-eating boars that had been allowed to grow fat on the bloated corpses.

If only he could blame the delay on his tragically long age. To have lived long enough to watch the city he called home become a shadow of its former self. To have witnessed hunters of noble intentions be usurped by men seeking to slake their thirst under the banner of the Church.

But he could not. Time had taken its toll, but he had been well past his prime long before now. Those glory days had come to an end with the lives of most of the League's members when they first encountered the skeletal beast whose body danced with blue sparks.

It had been unlike any other they'd run across. So rife with Vermin that it had required the entirety of the League to face. Its movements had been erratic despite only having vestiges of mangy dark fur and a skeletal frame. Its body crackled with lightning that ravaged those who braved it, reducing the others to little more the blackened corpses in its wake by the time they'd been forced to flee while dragging the Master of the League away.

He was fortunate. The make of his clothes was unlike those fashioned for the so-claimed Hunters that roamed the streets at night and he'd been deft of foot. But he had been unable to shake himself loose of the terror they'd experienced in the face of such an ancient horror—the Darkbeast, they'd called it.

He left the League then. Not just him, but many others as well. They left it to the newfound Healing Church's Hunters to hunt down the monsters prowling the streets in their place. That Ludwig fellow had taken to leading the newly christened Hunts back then, but by the time the call for the common man to join their ranks he had already set aside his arms and tucked his garbs away to live a proper life and sire a daughter.

Yet after so long he found himself clad in his weathered garbs. Armed with his weapons of old. Breathing in the stench of the blue sparks that still clung to them as a reminder of that fateful encounter. But even the nightmares that haunted him once in a blue moon birthed from those memories weren't the cause of his delay tonight.

It was the struggle against the monster that lay within—the Beast.

It had been such a small thing when he first noticed. A scrawny, mangy thing that'd grown within him as he imbibed the blood for the sake of quashing the Vermin that League sought. Something that lurked in the shadow of the vigor and strength that came from the blood, constantly begging for more.

It was feeble back then. So feeble that he had no trouble at all caging it within the dark recesses of his mind until he set aside his weapons. He had almost managed to forget about it, barring the occasional thirst that cropped up between the nightmare of blue sparks and the sleepless nights that resulted.

But it never went away.

It remained there, scrounging for what dregs it could sup upon while chained in the dark. Lurking. Waiting. It bided its time until he had grown so much older that he required the boon of blood to reinvigorate his timeworn muscles and sharpen his dulled senses, readily feasting each time he did so.

Now the Beast had grown too large. No longer was it a mere scrawny thing he could shove into the back of his mind with a leash wrought by willpower alone. It had become a vicious, looming monstrosity whose outline melded into the darkness; its crimson gaze never wavering as it awaited even the smallest of openings to shake free of its leash.

Then it would devour him from the inside out.

It was not an uncommon fate for one who hunted the Beasts. If anything, he had been lucky to have made it this far without vanishing as most others had or being put down as needed. How many of those from his age still roamed about?

Eileen was still around, he knew. And maybe Djura, though last he'd heard the Powder Keg had taken up residence in Old Yharnam. Perhaps the Master of the League still drew breath if the rumors he'd heard carried a droplet of truth, spurred by anger and the desire to stamp out the manifestation of man's impurities within the Forbidden Woods.

Too few. Too few by far.

He pushed away the time-muddled names and featureless faces of absent comrades once the scent of blood and stirred graveyard soil in the air reached his nose within a brisk walk of the locale. It was fresh. Thick. Practically cloying to the back of his throat by the time the cold iron gates came within view.

He drew a deep, haggard breath that left the tang of it clinging to the inside of his mouth. The Beast stirred within the confines of his mind, locked away by a tether that was old and rusted as he sampled the taste. It was horrifically familiar, leaving his aged heart to stall for a beat as he came to the entrance of the iron gates.

He palmed a Blood Vial and injector, driving the latter into the thigh and letting the contents flood him. The fresh blood spread like wildfire coursing through his veins, breathing vigor into him and sharpening his senses. He was ready for whatever laid on the other side.

Stepping past the archway, shattered stonework was all that was left of several of the gravestones. The names of those who slept beneath the earth had long been worn away by time and forgotten. Now they were denied even the enduring shape that the wrought stone provided.

Freshly butchered corpses were about. The mangled pieces had been beaten and scattered, loose tendons and muscles sheared apart. Torn arteries and veins had spilled their rich, crimson lifeblood into the desolate dirt.

A wretched knot tightened in his throat as he recognized the dead were those who'd joined Gascoigne's group. The visage on what was left of one of the heads was that of the youngest, severed in half at the collar bone and neck with such force it flew freely from the battered meat it was once attached. It now lay at the base of a slouching oil lamp, the pole intertwined with a gnarled and multi-limbed barren husk of a tree, cratered in the left side to the point one could make out the layers where flesh, bone, and brain had been scraped away by the rough bark before it came to rest.

Something had gotten them while he had been too slow. A short, deep whiff of the air left the tang of ignited quicksilver in his mouth. Pockmarks from where broken bullets bit into stonework and scrapings from where steel had hewn stone marked the battlefield as he trekked through with weapons in hand and senses at full alert as his skull began to pound.

It was then he stumbled across a slain Beast, large but not quite as monstrous as they had come. The cooling blood from its corpse having retained some of its luster meant it was a recent kill, perhaps within the hour or two. The scent coming off it was rank with iron and the tattered leathers had yet to be scraped off. The kill was through a heavy blade with a decisive chop after crippling it—Gascoigne's Axe was missing.

Still alive then. Had to be. Perhaps recovering in the chapel?

He replaced the vial in the injector before climbing the stairs towards the gates. It was then the additional blood to his faculties caught the fading hints of a familiar rich, spicy scent that had been a constant within his life. Something etched into his heart and carried such weight it prevented him from passing through the gateway.

He traced the slow-drying stains beyond the gate towards the pathway heading west. The fencing had been torn loose and the blood that had pooled now formed a half-dried skin on the surface beneath the final oil lamp. He gnashed his teeth and screwed his eyes shut as the scent mingled with death before he leaped down onto the rooftop of the columbarium.

Then he opened his eyes…

The pain that came over him was sudden and sharp even as his mind failed to process the corpse before him. It was akin to a blade of ice having pierced his chest. Sliding perfectly between his ribcage and into his heart, it gouged out the organ and left in its place only excruciating pain.

It was the pain of loss. He had experienced such once before. With the death of his wife long ago. But that paled in comparison to what he was experiencing now.

He whimpered as struggled for breath, dragging his fingers across his chest. The aged leather was dry and yet he could feel that where there should have been a heartbeat there was instead escaping red and biting cold. It seeped from the gaping wound, hollowing him out more and more with every passing moment—and with it came just as much pain.

The pain was so great the Old Hunter screamed as he backed away from the sight before him. He jerked and spasmed violently as the pain grew even more excruciating as something tore at the hollow from the inside. It clawed and gnawed and ripped at the wound from the other side with such ferocity that he never even registered falling from the rooftop onto the ground below.

A wretched cry clawed its way out of his throat as his entire body went through the agony. His world turned vivid red as the lifeblood that fled from his flesh painted on the air itself. The moon hanging over the rising architecture that seemed like the bars of a cage was the most vibrant shade of red by far.

Shakingly, he brought the injector to his chest and plunged it into the invisible wound. The contents flooded inside, refreshing warmth numbing the agonizing pain for a moment. But it was brief as even that began to seep out of the wound and continued to dye the world around him with a crimson veil.

He needed more to numb the pain. One. Another. A final vial. Then there were no more to relieve the empty cold in his chest.

His legs staggered towards the mass of fur and blood that lay before him. He felt a haggard sound escape his throat as his heart pounded in his chest and he threatened to choke on the saliva pooling in his mouth. His fingers that felt confined crackled and popped as if the bones were trying to adjust to their shape as he raised his weapon to cut away the layer between him and the only thing that could rid him of the pain.

Then he froze as a scent reached his nose.

Everything in his devolving mind told him that something was approaching. That something dangerous was closing in. His body tensed, hackles rising as he craned his head around in the direction of the scent and saw it.

A Silver Beast—a juvenile whose presence seemed to exist outside on the crimson dyed realm as it carried its young on its back. Its presence dwarfed its size by a great magnitude, almost as if its body was merely a flesh prison to be shed. And when he stared into those forward-facing crimson eyes, he found the depths mirrored that of the blood moon hanging high above.

Instinct took hold as a primitive part of him recognized what lay before him—a natural enemy and prey alike. Teeming with that which could put an end to his pain and plug the empty cold where his heart had once been. And the Silver Beast seemed to recognize the same.

The Hunter and Prey—the roles had to be determined. And so, he bared his fangs and claws. The tools that body had engraved into itself over countless hunts were brought to bear—ignorant of the pleas of the mewling young, the lamentation of the Silver Beast, and the Black Crow waiting in the rafters.

Never once did he hear when the chain had snapped.

[R-M]

Bell startled awake at the sensation of hot siderite severing his jugular and cleaving open his throat. The only thing that stopped the scream on the verge of burbling out from his throat was the familiar ceiling of his home, which came into abrupt focus in the dark. He clamped his hand over his mouth and choked it down, twisting his head in the process.

His ruby eyes shifted over to the bed that lay perpendicular to the couch where he'd fallen asleep. The sight of a small frame swaddled in white bedsheets, rising and falling at a slow but steady rhythm, left a fleeting exhalation of relief from his flaring nostrils. He moved his hand from his eyes and brushed away what was left of his sleep before looking at the magic stone powered clock—it had only been three hours since they had gone to bed.

Bell softly sighed as he closed his eyes once more. But in the depths of the darkness stirred the horror of memories that weren't his own. It was then he knew that sleep would not come to him that night.

The boy rose to his feet with nary a sound. Then he silently crept out of the basement while closing the door behind him as gently as possible to avoid waking the slumbering goddess on the other side. Ascending to the surface of the church long devoid of faith, he was greeted only with silence amidst invading silvery rays of moonlight as he emerged from the alcove behind the altar.

Bell still hadn't gotten used to the cold. It was during his first night here that he learned warmth would be a precious commodity after the sun went down. Night's chill bled in through the broken windows while the floor plundered what it could from his flesh and left nipping frost on his toes.

He made his way to one of the few pews that had endured time and solace to take a seat. The creaking of the wood could be taken as a welcome that broke up the silence and solitude that pervaded the abandoned sanctuary. Or perhaps a bade in the absence of the priest or priestess who once held sway to confess what laid heavy on his heart.

Bell let his head fall back onto the backrest and stared up at the dilapidated ceiling. The black canvas wrought by the night was painted by memories that weren't his own. They weren't hallucinations. They were too vivid to be just the delirium from an addled mind.

He could still taste the tang of blood in the air on his tongue. Feel the weight of despair. The empty hollowing that was the pain of loss. The bloodlust that stemmed from the need to fill the biting emptiness.

Henryk had never even noticed it was born from the Beast that he had kept tethered in the back of his mind. It never registered to him that it had liberated itself from those chains the moment he was unable to process the death of his beloved daughter. It had broken free upon coming across her mangled corpse the moment he turned away from reality and devoured his heart in an instant.

Had it been the same for Gascoigne as well? Was it because Henryk had long abstained from taking in an excess of blood that he retained his human form? Or was it simply that his mind and body had yet to register that he had lost his humanity to the bestial nature?

Why did Bell have these memories? None of the other men turned beast he had slain in a bid to return home had burdened him with their memories before. Was holding these memories his punishment? To never allow him a moment of rest? To never forget his sin of leaving a child whose family he stole alone in that world as he fled to the comfort of his Goddess, who had become the family he lost?

But… was it so wrong to want to leave that world behind? That place where the very blood coursing through your veins housed within it a horrendous beast? Just waiting to tear from your flesh after it devoured your heart?

Bell found himself placing a hand over his chest. Henryk's pain—that bottomless emptiness that had been agonizing beyond the ability to bear. It wasn't foreign to him since he'd experienced it once before with the passing of his grandfather. Even now it still lingered like a dull ache that he couldn't quite escape.

He could only imagine that if he had been in the man's place he wouldn't have been any better. The grief would have hollowed him out and he would have done anything to fill that void. The only reason that he hadn't was because Hestia had reached out her hand when he was at his lowest.

She was his Goddess. She was his family. She offered him a home when he had none.

Yet he could not forget the sensation of her divine ichor coming into contact with his flesh after he had returned from the nightmare that lay beyond death. The jubilation. The titillation. The exhilaration that only a drop of her blood had brought him now left him terrified that one day he would find himself unable to contain the beast he harbored within.

Bell felt fear.

Fear that one day he would find himself with his arms buried in her chest. Her beating heart and arteries entwined lovingly within his fingers while she looked up to him in silent horror. His mouth watering as he tore the organ out from between her breasts and sank his teeth into it, unbridled ecstasy melting his sanity as he devoured it wholeheartedly while the light fled from her eyes.

The boy dared not shut his eyes lest he feared he would find himself staring into what might already lay in the shadow of his own heart. Ruby eyes, the same shade as fresh blood glinting in the moonlight, and mangy white fur. A vicious silver beast lurking in the darkness and shackled by only by fear, ready to pounce…

Bell sat upright, pulling his eyes away from the moon. He needed a distraction from thinking about his fate until the sun rose. It was too late to wander the streets, so he turned to preparation for his next dive into the Dungeon later today with Lili to the Seventh Floor.

Rising to his feet, he went over to the effigy of a faith shattered by the descent of the divine and called forth the Little Ones to lay out his arms and items while he pulled out the contents of his backpack. He couldn't maintain the weapons themselves because he lacked any real experience with smithing and honestly, they sort of fixed themselves. But his stock of supplies was different and would serve as a good distraction.

His Hand Lantern needed more oil to fuel it. He still had a few Oil Urns left that were scavenged during his time preparing for the Beast that lurked on the bridge, the first obstacle he'd cut through in order to return home. It was cheaper than a portable Magic Stone Lamp, so he emptied one into its reservoir just in the event he needed it in place of a torch.

There were also a few Molotovs from that same hunt. The shade of Gascoigne had helped him greatly enough that Bell hadn't needed to expend them all to kill it. And the Old Hunter's Bell used to call forth the shade itself, along with the old map he had copied that outlined the winding area of the city he'd been in.

Then there was his stock of Blood Vials. Bell had roughly ten left since he hadn't been using them much once he'd gotten back from Yharnam. He hadn't run into anything on par with the Minotaur and Silverback to warrant using them. And after everything he had seen in the memories, he didn't plan on using them anytime soon either. But of those ten that remained he noted the one vial that was different from the others.

Iosefka's Blood—it had a different hue than the others by far, a pale-yellow color rather than the deep crimson that one would associate with Blood Vials. He supposed that was because she was a doctor and had done something special to it. Maybe she had made it cleaner than the blood he found off the dead on the streets during the Hunt, but he wasn't sure what that entailed.

He put it away and continued his inventory until he realized that he'd run out of the one thing he'd been actively using since he'd returned—Quicksilver Bullets. He'd made extensive use of it since he'd gotten back, especially yesterday given that it allowed him to deal with the soft-bodied Purple Moths once Lili sniped the Blue Papillion from beneath their cover. It was natural that he would run out at some point.

The problem was that the range of his Hunter's Pistol was too useful to ignore. Especially since he planned to return to the Seventh Floor and knew what awaited them. He needed more ammunition, but he lacked the components to make them… or did he?

Gherman had told him of a way to do it in an emergency. He had never been scarce enough on ammunition to warrant it. Not to mention he wasn't a fan of the thought of self-mutilation. But now was as good a time as any to do so.

He beckoned the Messengers to retrieve the antique five-bullet mold from the workshop that had been lying unused and set on the flat ground with a cloth beneath it to catch any stray blood. Then he flicked the Saw Cleaver open and brought the rear end around, holding the non-serrated edge of the weapon against his wrist. Taking a deep breath, clenching his teeth, and then screwing shut his eyes, Bell reluctantly slit open his own flesh.

He'd been told that quicksilver was part of Yharnam blood naturally. It tinged their blood with small traces that grew over time as they took in more and more blood. The Healing Church had some method of extracting it from the blood itself, giving them access to raw materials for bullets and blood for healing, but Bell was a Hunter of the Dream. Thus, even without the means of refining it, his blood would serve in its raw form.

The sharp sting of his arteries being cut open was followed by the warm sensation of his tainted blood seeping out of the gash, every beat of the heart pumping out more and more of it. He guided the streamlet towards the impressions of the mold, watching as it filled the chambers until they were full, and then sealed it shut.

The wound had already stopped bleeding by the time it was done. It was a shallow and clean cut compared to the messy, deep, and jagged wounds caused by the serrated edge. But that was still about a Blood Vial's worth of lifeblood he had offered up to make five bullets if he had to guess. He debated downing one to make up for it but decided against doing so since his body would replace the missing blood eventually.

Bell reviewed his stock of Antidote and the Potions he'd been given for completing the Quest next. Despite everything he was happy to have a surplus, given his concerns about what he could contribute to the party his Goddess had gone out of her way to arrange for him. He planned on meeting up with them tomorrow and would hand them off then.

However, he set aside most of his share to be given to Lili once it was time for them to meet up. It was only because of her that he managed to get them in the first place, and he wanted to reward her for it. She had been extremely helpful to him so far despite how costly it was to outfit her for that last dive.

But it was a small price to pay to keep her safe. Now and again Bell would see the face of that Little Girl he had left in Yharnam overlapping her own. He knew it was his mind playing tricks, either from the guilt of abandoning her after staining his hands with the blood of her grandfather, or due to the memories he had taken into himself playing a part of it. The reason ultimately didn't matter in the end given the crushing guilt was the same.

What did matter was that in protecting her, Bell felt like he was doing something other than running away from the Hunt. It felt like he was atoning for his cowardice by protecting her in that girl's place. It was a balm to soothe his soul.

It couldn't be considered altruistic because of that. He was using her to ease his own guilt, and he hated himself for it. But at least Bell was doing something to help her without the need to return to that place or take another person's life. He wasn't sure he could bear that weight without something inside of him shattering into pieces otherwise…

Bell turned his attention above. The moon had shifted only slightly, and it seemed like the night would be a long one. He took a deep breath and continued to do anything else but sleep, awaiting the rising of the sun to mark the start of a new day.

[R-M]

The dawning of a new day meant starting out with another disguise for Liliruca. This time it was that of a Beast Person, granting her a sense of smell that eclipsed that of her true form. She leaned back and stuck her nose high, taking in the individual scents mingling like dozens of ribbons in the wind as her morning routine.

Then her blood froze when she finally traced the scent that she had been expecting for a time. It was that of Ged, whom she could trace towards the tended foliage closer to that of the Main Street. It seemed he was lurking there, just out of sight.

And then Bell's scent reached her nose as she sat beneath the shade of the cultivated trees within Central Park, just outside of the monument to the Age of the Gods that was Babel. The scent of worn leather and heavy iron mixing with the fragrance of a boy on his way to a man with hints of blood clinging to him. He was coming from that same direction.

She wondered if Ged was attempting to ambush him but dismissed that was the case while they were outside of the Dungeon. There were too many witnesses around. If he was going to do anything it would be only after they had gone below the surface.

Still, Liliruca had been waiting for this day to come. It was only a matter of time before he showed up to get his revenge. Now was the time for her to turn it around on him.

Slipping behind the bushes once more and undoing her transformation as Bell neared, Liliruca greeted him with the mask of a smile that her lips had become so used to settling in when playing the role of an obedient Supporter. "Good morning, Master Bell… oh my, you look rather tired today?"

It wasn't a lie. There were shadows under his eyes, half-moon circles that seemed a touch more sunken than before. It was the kind of eyes she saw on Adventurers much older than him—or the members of Soma's Familia who were on the precipice of a relapse due to a lack of the divine wine, fringing between rationality and addiction. Not a great mix considering the butcher's weapon resting folded over his shoulder as he threaded his arm through the sides.

"Bad dreams last time," Bell answered before fishing through a pouch he kept on him for items he needed right away. He pulled free several Potions and held them out for her. "Still, I managed to complete the Quest thanks to you. Here's your part of the share."

"Are you sure, Master Bell?" she asked in a small voice to go along with her diminutive mask. "Even if it was a Quest reward, aren't these normally expensive? Are you really giving this many to me?"

He nodded insistently. "I wouldn't have been able to find them or gather them that quickly without your help, so I'm really grateful."

Liliruca accepted them with slow and practiced hesitance, reconsidering whether to risk her plans with him in this condition. She had approached him because he was strong and clearly had a protective streak towards her. At least while he was under the illusion of her being a small girl in need of support.

Then, from the corner of her eyes, she spotted Ged attempting to be stealthy while mingling with the rest of the people coming and going. He was staying just close enough to keep them within his view, but far away enough that he wouldn't be noticed if not for the fact that she was aware he was there in the first place. It would be easy to lose him in the bustle on the way down, perhaps moving off to one of the side paths on the higher floors before doubling back and leaving without conflict…

But Liliruca was tired of living with the thought of him coming after her. Of needing to keep an eye out over her shoulder for one who knew her secret. No, it would end today, and Bell was a means to that end. That had been decided from the very start of this little scheme and there was no point in wavering for his sake now.

The Supporter flashed him a smile and elevated her voice just loud enough to reach the ears of the eavesdropper. "Shall we head back to the Seventh Floor to continue where we left off?"

"Hmm… I think we can," Bell said with a touch of reluctance, though not because of anything she'd done. His gaze was instead drawn towards the holster that carried his ranged weapon. "Will we use the same method as before to gather the Blue Papillion? I only have five rounds prepared today."

"There shouldn't be any problems," she assured him. "We still have the equipment from before, and if needed Lili can help with the Purple Moths. Pallums have rather keen eyes, and though Lili's wrist-crossbow is not as powerful as Master Bell's gun, it can still kill them if their stones are hit and Master Bell can deal with the Killer Ants as before. We should be able to gather quite a bit of Valis to help outfit your companions tomorrow while Lili takes her day off."

He closed his eyes for a moment longer than it would take to blink and then nodded. "Right. Since I'll be with the others it would be best to earn enough for you to rest comfortably until we can meet again."

As he turned his attention toward Babel, Liliruca glanced out of the corner of her eye to spot that Ged had been listening. And with that, the bait had been laid. His best bet would be to act once they'd gathered everything from the Seventh Floor and made their way back, right when he thought they were tired from their work and easier to deal with.

Then she could flip the tables on him with the Magic Dagger she'd kept hidden on her until now. He was still only a Level One Adventurer, even if he was stronger than her. It would be enough to get rid of him without any issues, and she would finally be free.

As Bell began to lead them, Liliruca turned her attention back to the Potion he had given her. She quietly popped the cap of one of the vials and caught the faint trace of familiar spices. Then she took a quick sip, only for the taste to leave her frowning. Yep. He got taken advantage of.

The Pallum recapped the 'Potion' that she had been given. It had been watered down with the evidence masked by invigorating and pungent herbs, making it roughly a fraction as effective as it should be… at best. She had already expected it considering the shady circumstances leading up to them retrieving the Blue Papillion Wings in the first place, so she couldn't say she was surprised.

Even so, Liliruca found herself frowning as her thoughts turned to how happy he'd been when they'd parted ways. These were what he was planning to give to his party, who were likely as clueless and honest as him? She hoped that they never needed them, because it was liable to get them killed with how weak they were.

Her small mouth opened, words of warning in her throat. But she caught herself and snapped her lips shut before they could crawl out. The boy was a means to an end for her just as the other person who'd tricked him, so what right did she have to speak out on someone else doing the same?

Hopefully, he'll learn his lesson about trusting anyone else in this city when everything is said and done. Liliruca reaffirmed her resolve to end things today one way or another. Then the Supporter followed the boy who'd offered to protect her down into the depths with the intention of it being the last time they would see one another once Ged was dead.

She bit down on her lower lip to keep them shut the entirety of the way.

[R-M]

Ged Raish flexed his fingers as he stood within one of the numerous tunnels that made up the Seventh Floor of the Dungeon. He had been stalking the pair for hours now as they made their way down, keeping enough distance to remain out of their sight. Today was the day he'd decided to act and claim revenge for both the thievery and the injury he'd suffered from the pair.

He had been a fool to rely on the pathetic little Supporter and didn't think she would have the guts to steal from him. But according to the others in her Familia she had a habit of doing so. The only question was how she'd been doing it to this point, which he now understood was some kind of Magic that allowed her to hide her true appearance.

The real issue is that of the boy. Ged drew in a deep breath as he combed his thoughts of what information he could dig up on the boy. He was supposedly a fledgling Adventurer, yet rumors floating from Daedalus Street were that he'd killed a Silverback Gorilla that managed to escape during the event.

Ged had been an Adventurer for years. He knew how to hedge his bets. He could likely fend the boy off but doing so while retrieving the girl alive was another story. She was slippery enough that if she escaped during the commotion finding her again would be a pain to deal with. That was why he agreed to work with the other three members of her Familia to tighten the noose around her neck—or at least that was the original intention.

He turned his attention towards the entrance of a wider chamber. A glance over the mouth of the entrance revealed that the boy had managed to kill the remaining Killer Ants that had emerged from the walls, but doing so seemed to have left him exhausted. He was sitting on an outcropping with an axe of all things, eyes half-lidded.

As for the Pallum, the little thief was prying the magic stones from the dead bodies left in his wake. Most of the bodies had been decapitated with a singular cleave through their bodies from the axe, using its weight and sharpened bit to get through the exoskeleton. She pulled the stones free of one of the corpses and left them to turn to dust before moving on to the next.

Ged took a deep breath as he waited for the prime opportunity to act. He held his breath when the boy shifted his attention to his waterskin, weary eyes pulling away from his charge whose back was turned. It was at that moment that the muscles within Ged's legs tensed like coiled springs before he lunged, arm outstretched in one hand and blade drawn with the other.

"HELP!" Yet no sooner than he left the entrance did the Pallum call out with a childish, frantic voice that carried the sound of fear. But there was no surprise in her eyes as she faced him. In fact, she had one hand already reaching into her cloak with the hilt of a dagger visible through the gap.

Had she been expecting him?

No matter. She was both a Pallum and a Supporter, while he had been an Adventurer for years. The difference in their Status meant that he could grab hold of her before she could draw it, after which point he could put his sword to her neck and stop the boy from attempting to save her. Then it would be a matter of simply getting out while the others went ahead with their trap and—

BANG!

— then there was a loud, pervasive sound. It was almost like caged thunder ringing out in the stone chamber. Loud enough that it shook his bones and left his ears ringing when he came to an abrupt stop as what felt like a wet, hot blanket slammed into his chest with enough force that it robbed him of his breath.

Ged stumbled back to avoid falling over, leaving the Pallum to start retreating away. He made to reach out before she could. But he found that his body wouldn't listen to him when a whimper drew his attention to the boy, who was now standing with his axe to the side and one arm outstretched with a gun like those he'd seen in Lioad when he had traveled to Orario years ago. Had he been shot?

Ba-thump.

In that moment the world was dyed red as a wave of heat surged from the point of impact. It was so hot that it caused his blood to boil as it flowed throughout his body, burning him from the inside out. It bubbled up and out of his mouth as he let out a wet cough that spilled forth a torrent of crimson compared to the streamlets that began to leak from the corners of his eyes and canals of his nostrils.

Then came the pain as his body jerked violently and a hoarse, animalistic shriek echoed throughout the Seventh Floor.