In the fog, surrounded by graves, Old Gehrman sat in a wheelchair. Though he could stand, he couldn't bring himself to walk. He couldn't bring himself to live. In his chest, a sickness had taken root, one of the mind and soul.
Young men and women entered the dream. They died over and over until they were broken or until they left. All Gehrman could do was watch. He watched as his prize for this torment, this hollow creature, sat in one place, unmoving. It was just a doll. Even now.
A useless fucking doll.
He sat in that chair for years. On occasion, he would stand to offer his blessing to the successful hunters…by cutting off their heads. His bloodlust was long gone. The only thing left was pain. It was so, so painful.
He threw himself over the railing. He fell into the fog, into the nothingness that was the edge of this god's forsaken nightmare.
Then he was back in his chair.
He cried like a babe. He wailed for Laurence and Master Willem. He called out to them.
They never came.
But one day he did.
Johann died over and over again. He lost track of how many times he had been gutted. How many times his head had been smashed in. How many times he was ripped in half. How many times he lay on the stone, bleeding out.
He learned from each and every death. He became a force unmatched.
But it hurt.
He killed. He was killed. The mission he came to Yharnam with was long forgotten. All he knew was pain.
It was so painful. So painful. So painful.
Dorian sat in the attic of the house. It was in the summer, and he was sweating bullets. He had on three different pants, a shirt, a sweatshirt, and a coat. He had just woken up after he had passed out from heatstroke.
He put on another coat.
He still felt naked.
He still felt vile.
He was disgusting, horrid, the worst of the worst. He didn't deserve to feel sadness or anger. He could eat food. He could drink water. He should have just been grateful.
Dorian…owed him.
He threw up.
When he did, it was mixed with blood. Beautiful, beautiful blood. He started to cry silently. He couldn't let him hear.
It was so, so painful.
Gehrman's whole world was alight with pain most foul. From his soul to his body to his mind. All of it was tortured under this new madness. Unlike before, Gehrman was aware of something real despite losing all sanity.
He could hear his own screams. And he knew that they were not enough to convey this "truth". The years, decades, maybe even centuries of loneliness and nothingness. The feeling of being broken apart and stitched back together. The feeling of such deep self-loathing that he pulled out clumps of his own hair. Torturing himself, but never dying.
That's what this was. This madness, whatever "truth" it corresponded to, was pure torture.
…
Hours later Gehrman's eyes started to refocus. He came back to reality as Sunless was attempting to pick him up. He couldn't move a muscle, couldn't ask what was happening, his mind felt numb after enduring that bout of pure madness. It wasn't the same listlessness that he felt after "Dissociation," but instead a deep sorrow.
Sunless grumbled as he summoned a Memory, a pair of fragile looking wings attached to a thin cloak.
He jumped off the edge, carrying Gehrman with him. The pair fell slowly. Gehrman took note of the movement of his hair. He wanted to reach up and pull it out.
"When the hell are you going to wake up?" Sunless's voice broke through his daze.
He decided to say nothing until they finally reached the ground. When they landed, Sunless dropped Gehrman casually, and turned to face where they had come from.
The colossal statue was running away.
Gehrman felt his eyes widen. Without responding to Sunless's question, he stood up and looked around. Ridiculously tall mountains towered over them as far as the eye could see. Below, he actually saw normal looking grass and rocks. It shocked him so bad that his mind started to overtake his hollow heart.
This place…did we finally make it?
As far as he knew, the cohort's goal was to travel to the southernmost part of the Forgotten Shore and retrieve something left behind by the First Bright Lord. That legendary Sleeper had traversed all this way, with a cohort that was likely equally as strong as their own. It was this treasure that Cassia had seen in one of her visions. She also said it was the only way Changing Star could defeat Gunlaug.
Now, they had finally reached their destination, the edge of the Forgotten Shore. The most dangerous place in this horrid place besides the Dark Sea itself. It was where The First Lord (who had killed Fallen creatures) had finally perished.
The importance of this moment allowed Gehrman to sharpen his mind. He had already experienced all of the pain that rushed at him during that bout of pure madness, there was no reason he couldn't overcome it again.
…Though, it would be a slow process. Thankfully, he had a lot of time to recover.
[Blood Fragments: 188/3,000]
In just a week and a half he had gained nearly 200 fragments. What was more beneficial was his opportunity to consume the flesh of a Fallen Devil. The weird appendage he had managed to sever had been drained of blood by the [Portable Blood Imbiber] of course, but the flesh itself also gave him a noticeable boost in physical strength.
He also learned something: do not drink Corrupted blood. The amount was small, it didn't even give him the full 12+ fragments he expected from the creature. However, it had absolutely destroyed his mind. Taking blood three ranks higher was henceforth out of the question. At most he could keep it in the [Portable Blood Imbiber] as a secret weapon to coat his weapons in.
Though, he didn't expect this to be an issue any time soon. Gehrman had learned his lesson, and was now sufficiently wary of Corrupted creatures (as any sane Awakened should be).
"...you're up?" Caster's voice cut through the last of the haze clouding Gehrman's mind.
"Yeah," was the only response he felt ready to give.
The others all took a moment to look him over. Gehrman was not sure what he did when he was in the throes of madness, but whatever it was had disturbed them. This wasn't surprising. Even Seishan was caught off guard by his descent into pure madness.
"We need to start making our way up. We can find a safe space to rest for the night. In the morning, we will continue further," Changing Star stated it as a fact. Whether she judged Gehrman's condition to be good after analyzing it, or she simply didn't care, it was hard to say.
Either way, it wasn't an issue. Gehrman was the first to move towards the gigantic and daunting mountains.
…
The last of the Fallen Devil's blood entered his veins slowly. He didn't take it all at once like usual. He really didn't want to take it at all, but his arm was stabbed and torn from Caster, saving his life. There had to be a better way to keep me on the statue, Gehrman inwardly complained.
Dismissing the [Portable Blood Imbiber] and flexing his newly healed arm he let out a long sigh.
Gehrman stared into the fire. The small crackles and pops offered him comfort. He did not plan on sleeping that night, he was scared of what he might see when he closed his eyes.
Wordlessly, someone joined him. The shadows cavorted around Sunless, dancing at his arrival. Despite his short stature, he seemed to carry with him a presence that was larger than life. That was, as long as one looked for it. Otherwise he was the perfect scout he masqueraded as.
Sunless did not say anything; though it seemed that he wanted to. For that reason, Gehrman was the first one who spoke.
"I often say that I have multiple people living in my head, but that isn't entirely true. I wouldn't be able to survive in that state, so I adopted a new identity. The me that you see now is a conglomeration of all of that," Gehrman paused. He waited for a response or any indication of the shadows' thoughts. When none came, he continued. "The one I have the most memories of is an old man. I think because most of my memories are from him, a lot of my instincts are similar. Well, he was a teacher. He created a "Hunter's Workshop" and had many disciples. His style of hunting became synonymous with the term "slaughter" throughout the known world. But he wasn't truly happy…until he was teaching others. I think that might have been his real purpose, not to be a hunter but a teacher."
"Is that your dream then? Just to be a teacher?" Sunless finally asked a question, and it was a genuine one. In truth, it was something Gehrman had been pondering as well.
"...I want to build things too. Every single one of the people who make up my identity is also a skilled craftsman. They made weapons, but also appliances, little things made of gears and cogs. I guess my dream would be to be a teacher, then retire and make stuff, whatever I want," he turned to face the shadow. "Do you think that's silly? Do you think that's a stupid dream?"
"It's silly. I would never want to be a teacher. Kids are all idiots, and annoying as well," Sunless said. "But no, it's not stupid." He spoke with a conviction that surprised Gehrman. He nodded absentmindedly. This talk, like the one he had with Seishan months earlier, was helping him recover.
"When I told you all that the first thing I would do upon returning would be to continue hunting…I wasn't lying about that. I still have that bloodlust, I still enjoy the thrill of the hunt. Though the old man lost his lust for blood, the others still desire it. I still desire it. That peaceful dream will come after I have done what needs to be done. For now, there is only power."
Sunless nodded. He seemed to fully agree with this point of view. In that moment, he seemed like Gehrman's own shadow, a reflection of hate and murder. But also a boy who simply wanted peace.
"...That day, when I was bleeding out in the ditch. Why did you try to help me?" Sunless finally asked the question he had been dying to know.
"It's a selfish reason, as you might have expected," Gehrman turned his gaze upward, taking in the luminous night sky. "No one else in the Dark City was suited to become a Hunter, at least, not in my style. You were the sole exception. I wanted to make you my student," he flashed a wide grin at Sunless. "Then you went and learned all of the lessons I would have taught you on your own. You have a natural talent and genius that I've only seen once before," his smile dimmed slightly. "I wasn't needed."
Sunless blinked slowly. "Huh," was all he said before retreating into the shadows. He left Gehrman alone, and with that single thought: I am not needed. The lingering madness made it circle in his head again and again.
Biting the inside of his cheek until he tasted the familiar sting of blood, Gehrman made a quiet oath. If I am not needed, I will simply become someone whose strength allows others to grow on their own.
Simultaneously, in the shadows, outside of Gehrman's [Sixth Sense], Sunless was consulting Kai. The archer had been awake the whole time, and his Flaw–which Gehrman was unaware of–was functioning as well.
Sunless couldn't help but let his mouth fall open.
As every word the madman spoke was true.
…
Gehrman sat on the bloody lake of his Soul Sea, resting on the seemingly liquid surface. His face was forlorn as he considered the new moon–his third Soul Core–and its shape. Even with only about 200 fragments it was already becoming unique.
The craters that were present on any normal moon were abnormally pronounced. The divots they created became pitch black at their deepest parts. Furthermore, the lines that curved outward were sharp and deep. Small ravines cut across the celestial body like knife wounds.
This next "truth" was evidently a very unpleasant one…though, in retrospect they were all quite ghastly.
However, this moon was not the reason for descending into his Soul Sea. The mountain's corpses and bones of all his slaughtered prey were still displeasing to him after all. Even if he was starting to accept their place in his Soul, he would still rather not look at them. Especially with that unnaturally pale sky as the backdrop. It reminded him of the sky during Johann's hunt. The sky that had changed after the moon turned red.
Indeed more of his memories had come back, some of the fog parted to reveal some strange truths. For one: the Beast Plague of Yharnam was not as simple as a single supernatural disease. There was a secret behind it, one that was infinitely more powerful and terrifying than the beasts.
Gehrman recalled descending into the tombs beneath Byrgenwerth and finding…something. Ludwig's Holy Moonlight Sword, for example, was starkly clear in his mind. This alien blade was likely the tip of the iceberg when it came to the truth behind Yharnams disaster. It all connected back to the Arcane. Also known as the Eldritch Truth.
Johann had encountered this as well. He recalled meeting Master Willem in an impossibly old state when he himself visited the college. Then diving into the lake below…when he returned, the moon was red, and the true Hunt began in earnest. Everything after that, and what he encountered in the lake, was still a mystery.
This mystery was likely the reason he was so put off by his own soul.
However, he ventured forth into this horror willingly and curious. The face of the new moon was not the reason. Instead, it was a voice.
Something was calling him.
He couldn't pinpoint its location, so he started to wander about aimlessly. Only when he heard the voice grew louder did he know he was going in the right direction. And that direction was directly opposite of his Soul Cores.
He did not rush his pace as he was unsure of what awaited him. Gehrman could only assume it was a product of madness, one that was so great that it had breached his very Soul Sea. Of course, he wasn't sure if such a thing was even possible. Yet it seemed to be the only logical explanation.
After ten minutes or so of walking, he realized he had been wrong. There was another explanation, one he had not even considered. After all, it was supposed to be impossible. But then again, half of what Gehrman did was impossible.
So when his eyelids started to drop, he recognized the truth behind what was happening sooner than anyone else would have.
The call…was the Call of The Nightmare.
Before him, an incandescent seed had taken hold. Roots made of essence and countless strings of light sunk down into a crater formed on the otherwise flat landscape. Gehrman felt the sharp drop off with his boot, disturbed by how unnatural it felt. He tried to grapple onto something that made since, but found nothing.
In this patch of his distorted soul, the Seed of a Second Nightmare had formed.