Johann sat on the floor, leaning back against a curved wooden surface. To the side of him stood a Doll. A beautiful ornament complimenting her grey hair perfectly hung snug under her headwear. Her beautiful features seemed to shine under the eerie light of the faux moon of the Hunters Dream.
He had found himself doing this a lot lately. It was probably a bad habit, relying on the Doll like this, but he had grown very fond of her over the years
…or rather, over the course of the night.
It was hard to make such a distinction.
Still, this feeling was very real. Johann didn't think of her in the same way that the perverted old man did, but a warmth did spread through him every time he saw her. One of the few things, perhaps the only thing, that stayed sane and normal on this godforsaken night.
Engaging in conversation with her was not entirely easy, but it had grown more so. That hair ornament seemed to have shook something loose in her artificial soul, and she had somehow cried in response.
She also responded meaningfully to some of his gestures, applauding any silly thing he did or looking confused at the truly odd ones.
When he bowed, the Doll bowed in response.
He liked that. The mutual nature of that exchange.
Still, she never broached a subject.
Until that day.
Gehrman was about to look up at her and ask her to turn his recent influx of Blood Echoes into strength, but she spoke before him.
"Good hunter. This may sound strange, but... Have I somehow changed? Moments ago, from some place, perhaps deep within, I sensed a liberation from heavy shackles."
Johann had been stunned, eyes wide and mouth agape.
She hadn't changed, not that he had seen.
And yet, the very fact she asked this indicated a difference.
What could be the source of such a thing? It was obvious. It was the source of the large quantity of Blood Echos he had received.
Maria of the Astral Clocktower had just fallen by his hand…after dying a few dozen times.
But how could that have caused this change? The Doll was fashioned after Maria, that much was obvious, but they held no other connection. It was impossible for the Doll to feel the erasure of Maria's soul from that horrible Nightmare.
It made no sense.
…
Only one other time did such a situation occur. Johann was going to sit down at his usual spot, he pulled off his cap, letting his sweat-matted hair free. Then he went about taking off the rest of the gear.
As he did though, the Doll spoke – once again – unprompted.
"Oh, good hunter. I can hear Gehrman sleeping. On any other night, he'd be restless. But on this night, he sounds so very calm… Perhaps something has eased his suffering."
Johann paused, his arm halfway out of its coat.
Now this made even less sense.
He had long pondered that moment with the Doll as he died again and again in that accursed Fishing Hamlet, and he had come to a conclusion.
Though they lacked a method, it was theoretically possible that the Doll had inherited some of Maria's spirit, somehow.
The reason was unclear, but the fact of the matter was that the Doll had felt something outside of herself, something so profound that she spoke up for the first time in her life.
So, even though it confounded Gehrman to no end, he had to accept it. Though the Doll existed on a separate plane, sequestered forever in the Hunters Dream, there was still a connection, a counterpart of her in the Old Hunters Nightmare.
Despite the powers of whatever made this Dream and that Nightmare, neither could claim full ownership of Maria's soul, it seemed.
However this new dialogue, these new words, indicated the same was true of Gehrman.
Something had happened in the Old Hunters Nightmare that had affected the old man here.
But how?
When Maria was killed, the Doll felt it.
…but the thing Johann had finally slaughtered was not Gehrman or a facsimile of him.
It was the Orphan of Kos.
…
On another night, Johann had been wandering through the Hunters Dream, passively putting off the continuation of the Hunt.
He was puzzled to find Gehrman away from his usual spot. After traveling about and searching a bit, he found the old codger.
Gehrman was weeping and wailing. He appeared to be begging for mercy, calling out to Laurence and Master Willem.
He was crying.
He was crying.
Where had Johann heard that cry before?
He was crying.
He was crying like a babe.
Like a newborn who had lost its mother.
Pitiful, vengeful, sorrowful.
It was the Orphan of Kos.
…
Gehrman was drifting calmly in the waves, currents pulled his body gently, rocking him like a newborn.
In the fetal position, he uncurled as something started to gently poke at him. He couldn't see anything, and he couldn't hear anything either. Still, he felt the incessant nudging of something relatively soft and smooth, but also firm.
He frowned and tried to reach out to catch it, but his body didn't respond.
In the end, he simply accepted the poking and continued to simply rock between the waves.
After an indefinite amount of time, a realization struck him.
For some reason, his thoughts felt rather simple. It was hard to think, and it was very pleasant to simply exist in the sea.
No harm was being done to him, and he wasn't harming anyone else, so why should he worry about anything else.
And then he was stabbed, his gut was pierced and it cleaved a hole into him. A jagged spear cut through him, incredibly powerful.
Unpleasant, was Gehrman's only thought.
But this was only the beginning. Soon large nets came and grasped him, interrupting his existence and pulling him towards a more painful place.
A place without the great bodies of water.
The poking continued, trying its best to stir him, and yet, he couldn't possibly be stirred. His purpose was to float in the endless sea, enjoying its sweet song.
Still, unbothered by this truth, Gehrman was brought onto harsh sands, his form thrust naked upon the beach.
He could see now, and what he saw started to make sense to him.
A yawning cavern, sheer cliffs surrounding the sides, a slanted battlefield.
As Gehrman struggled to think, he felt himself let go of something he hadn't realized he was holding on to.
His perspective shifted and became more numerous. He could see now, and his sense of touch went numb.
But then, he exploded with sensations. The sense of touch shocked him like nothing else. He was enveloped by some slimy, hot, yet decaying thing.
He tried to move his arms and this time it worked.
They felt heavy and foreign to him, but he crawled the best he could. Hanging on for any sort of hand hold.
He grasped a fleshy bit that was odd. The end of it was blade like, and it curved into something akin to a weapon.
His gnarled hands gripped tight and he pulled himself free. Biting, salty air assaulted him, causing the caverns that were his eyes to scrunch.
And he saw it again. That beach, that yawning cavern.
And a Hunter coming from the darkness.
Gehrman looked down, and saw the corpse of his mother.
He cried.
…
Various memories continued to assault him, some repeated many times, but eventually he realized something.
That damn poking would not go away.
It was getting very annoying, so eventually, Gehrman wrestled control over his memories, and then his mind.
He reached out with his Aspect and felt the poking thing. It confused Gehrman greatly. Its shape and feeling were most akin to an amputated arm-stump or a rather smooth skinned person. However it was much thinner and longer.
Even grasping it, the thing wriggled. Not malicious, but not entirely pleased either.
It seemed to be trying to tell him something.
Something like… 'Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.'
And then Gehrman realized he was asleep. Gritting his non-existent teeth he pulled on his new Attribute, invoking Agony.
There was nothing better than that feeling of most horrendous pain to wake someone up.
And indeed it worked rather well.
His eyes flashed open, and he was right back where all the dreams centered, that very same beach. Only this time, the scene was radically different.
Instead of an empty beach filled with solemn rage, it was littered with the corpses of dozens of Corrupted Beasts.
Those creatures that had been infected by the Kos Parastites had been utterly demolished, some had been brutally bludgeoned and some had been severed, but all were dead.
Well, accept for the few that were rushing out of the cavern opening.
However, a moment later they were cut down. A flash of a grey whip collided with their advancing forms, cutting them deeply.
The grey mass appeared to turn to liquid, evading masterfully blows from the deadly spears with great efficiency.
It appeared that the corpses of Kos were the final necessary catalyst.
Looking to his side, he saw the thing that had been poking him.
Its face was strange, full of hard lines and two indents that seemed to indicate eyes. On first appearance, it was quite similar to those messengers of the Hunters Dream, at least its top half appeared that way, two spindly arms jutting from its torso.
But below that, a singular, slug like body formed the rest of him.
It was obvious what this was, the creature was protecting him after all.
And why wouldn't he, Gehrman had brought the guy into this world.
"Took you a while, Phantasm."
The slimy, slug tail of the Echo seemed to shiver in response. At the same time, a tendril appeared from its slug tail, taking on the same smooth form of the thing that had been poking him.
As if to confirm he was alright, Phantasm poked Gehrman one final time.
The Hunter laughed as his familiar slaughtered the remaining creatures, granting him a well deserved break.
Gehrman looked up at the sky, and found it hard for his mind to focus.
In his idiocy, he seemed to have drunk the blood of Kos. No doubt it had healed him in less than a second, but it also had driven him into a maze of Madness for quite a while. Judging by the stars, several hours had passed.
And yet, he could still hear the din of battle above.
Gehrman grinned.
"Good, still some prey left."
Glancing at Phantasm, he patted the Echo on the back.
"Shall we go and join them?"