Enter a grand dank hall from a brick passage and gate, Three Hunters. The floor is a lake of blood as high as their heels. Shallow plains and hills of emaciated pale corpses garnish the corners of the massive middle of this unholy place. On the other end of this gruesome sanctum, a doorless passage can be seen on the far-left corner. There lies the next destination. Mosey on further, folks with trick weapons and firearms.

    Soon, Nightmare Fog emerges on the entryway from when they came and where they need to go. Stronger than fortress walls, they act as phantasmic blockades, impossible to breach with any kind of sheer force in the known world. They also signify an important task the three must commit to advance. A great prey looms. They must slay it and succeed in doing so to unmake the doors of mist.

    “Help us,” called out a slow raspy voice of a man; he is blessed with the same lack of health and complexion as the corpses around him. He drags himself from the blood-coated ground, eager to alarm the visitors, perhaps beg for their aid.
    “P-Please, help... us. An unsightly beast.”

    The red waters are disturbed, rippling from the thud of beastly hooves, each the size of a grown boar. Long bent arms have their hands crawling forward. Hunched forward, this slow-crawling monolith towering beyond thrice the stature of the tallest Hunter out of the three. The pale muddy skin is all wrinkled, hairy and slimy. The creature is concealed in a thick tattered grey cloak and a torn hood; they are bathed well by what the floor is filled with. The mouth with horribly-chapped lips is split open from one hidden ear to another. Teeth are filed to fangs, chipped like a wavy top of a long old crumbled wall that is cannot a ceiling from its ruined state.

    From an arduous pilgrimage with all kinds of twisted sights, troublesome sounds, and terrorizing savagery—men, beasts, and cosmic kins alike, this small brave band will soon face an adversary the likes they have never had before. But, it is not the Accursed Beast that should have greeted them. No, this is something new. Something that even the Old Hero of the Healing Church himself personally feared, even respected. An astral outlander from a realm beyond the known existence. It is human in form but not in spirit and limit. A legend in his own right, this different ‘he,’ but was never given the proper prominence. Let dear Ludwig rest. This beastly bloke will entertain each guest.

    Now, he stands as a huge hindrance for what progress the Hunters must proceed. He is their prey. Or will they be his?

    The hunched giant still in the middle of the other side of the room hums the humble growl of tens of lions if their throats are made out of big brass. The Hunters raise their arms as they approach the prey. He should be no different than the plenty that they have slaughtered before. Be mindful of the cruetly he brings them and evade each of his attacks. Strike fiercely when privy an opening. Be at a safe distance to heal when wounded. Repeat. But, oh, if only he would make it that easy.

    Quick as a storm wind, the beast in gray gallops forth two wide inhuman steps! He closes the gap too soon for them to react well enough. Before they can move their feet to dodge, his thunderous halt comes with a powerful swipe of his outstretched left hand with the same ferocity as Vicar Amelia did as a belligerent beast. It greets the right sides of their torsos something brutal. They are all knocked back now with a searing pain to endure on their ribs.

    No quarter to give, the swipe came with winding up the power of the Old Blood, coating his limb with a swirling red ink. The bones in his unholy body crackle and crunch loudly!

    The Hunters regain better footing and back away in a hurry; they ready themselves in stabbing a blood vial onto each of their thighs. Too late! The backhand of the same lashing limb greets them again with equal savagery as before, aimed just above their ankles! The cloaked fiend bends forward from this devastating deed that his knees are nearly kissing the putrid pool beneath them all. This time, the arm with a clawing hand is blessed with the power of blood, intensifying the trauma that will be felt at least twice-fold, maybe more. How unfortunate for these Hunters.

    S w i p e ! They are knocked off their feet! Blood splashes up! But no, it is far from over. Or even more so, more terribly so, it is over. For them. The prey in gray swings up his blood-powered hand. The pointers that could grip well a hilt of a mighty blade coil together into an infuriated fist. He quickly wallops it down on their bodies one by one with the speed of an angered serpent committed to striking without mercy. Worse, he repeats this madness! Their eyes widen as their life is being violently taken away from them. There is nothing they can do. The repeating hammering stomps of the bloody fist are as swift as a few blinks of the eye and as merciless as if the three Hunters demolish together a pathetic lone huntsman with all of their weapons at their strongest forms.

    For ten seconds, the monster in gray plays a ghastly game of whack-a-mole on the visitors. Little fruits beneath the merciless mallet of a mad god. Thuds from his relentless strikes and splashes from the disturbed pool of blood are filling the foul air of these woeful walls. And then he stops. Muddy emeralds are upon the lifeless bags of flesh in clothing before him. Not a twitch from their limbs. Their weapons are left partly dipped on the red flood. The slim corpse who hailed on the Hunters watches helplessly as help is no more. Deep croaking breaths from the cloaked monstrosity. He stands before the Hunters, or, one could consider as prey. Lifeless prey, soon turning into pale mist and then removed from these horrid halls.

  T  H  E  Y   D  I  E  D  .   - - -

🎃  H a p p y   H a l l o w e e n .  🎃

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