Fate Blood Hunt

A/N:

Warning: SPOILERS out the wazoo for the ending of Bloodborne.

I started writing this because I really wanted to read this story, but no one had written it yet. So I did. That said, I can't recall any time that I've actually written fiction before, aside from a rather embarrassing attempt at fanfiction shortly after I graduated high school, and most of my writing was college mandated and for engineering papers. We'll see how this goes.

I really wanted to see this idea done and I wanted to see if I could get a sort of happy end for as many of the characters as I liked as possible. It's really sad that I'm using Bloodborne to get a good end. What's wrong with me?

Chapter One

A sound. Not quite a sound, the deep thrum of a noise low enough and powerful enough to be felt in the lungs more than heard in the ears. A ringing, the sharp clear sound of a bell, echoing long after its source had ceased. It was both of these and neither, in as much as sound and pitch can be used to describe a sound and sensation that wasn't noise to something that didn't have the proper organs or senses at a high enough level of consciousness to understand. It was an echo, a ripple across reality and dream, unfelt by all save one. The Good Hunter turned within her dream, drifting and curling through the air, curious. There was very little here in the Hunter's Dream, and nothing unexpected. The Doll below, the occasional hunter passing through the workshop, and the somewhat rarer ringing of a summoning bell. But this was more than that.

The Good Hunter descended from behind the bright moon in the sky to the field of flowers where she had fought Gherman and her predecessor. Blood no longer stained the gentle rises and falls of the meadow, but memories lingered. Elegant tendrils of flesh touched the open ground, lightly anchoring her. She moved forward, thin tentacles keeping her low while the rest of her twirled above, drifting and dancing in constant motion.

She moved past the gate, ribbons of flesh gently writhing behind. A gentle tug on the wrought iron fence propelled her onwards to the workshop. A pause at the gravestones of awakening to see where her hunters were. Clarence was dodging the swipes of a particularly grotesque Cleric Beast in the streets of Cathedral Ward. A bit strange as the Church Hunters, even unbound by the Dream, were usually able to stop things before they went that far. Oh. And there he went, back to the Lantern before charging forwards again. He was young still, new at this game. He'd learn some semblance of caution eventually.

Violetta was cackling madly as she crushed and cut another man-eater boar apart with a Ludwig's Holy Blade. CONCERN/CAUTION/WARINESS undulated through the Great One's flesh, warring with AMUSEMENT/PLEASURE/JOY. Violetta was Gascoigne's youngest, the little girl in the window who recognized her as a hunter by her scent, then asked the Good Hunter to look for her mother. Upon learning of the mother's demise and her father's subsequent complete loss of sanity and rampage in vengeance for her death, the Good Hunter had taken the girl and her older sister to be under the old woman's watch in Oedon Chapel while she went out and hunted. They were sweet girls, and the Good Hunter took the time to sit down with them in the calmer moments of the night for comfort, both for the girls' sake and her own.

Only a few years later, (or perhaps a little longer or a little less, time passed strangely in the Dream) Violetta turned up in the Dream, wearing a much smaller cut of her father's old hunting gear. Speaking with the Doll later, the Good Hunter was able to learn some of what had happened after the night of the long hunt. At some point, Violetta had sought out older experienced hunter's so that she could learn her father's craft to combat the weakened but still ongoing scourge of beasts. Eventually, after growing in skill, she had made a contract with the Blood Minister, binding her to the Dream.

Violetta was the first of the new hunters recruited after the night of the long hunt, when the Good Hunter had ascended, usurping the Moon Presence in the process. With the Church devastated and so much of the city in ruins, hunters were needed. Violetta reveled in the blood maybe a bit too much, but had thus far been able to return to herself after the hunt concluded. With luck and focus, it would continue. The Good Hunter had no desire to lose one of her hunters. Not ever. They were hers.

The Good Hunter never spoke to Violetta. She never spoke to any of her hunters. There was concern about the affects her words and presence might have on the hunter; she'd never seen it end well when a Great One spoke to or interacted with a human during her hunt and she didn't want to break one of her hunters, especially her first. Maybe if she practiced with a few humans she didn't care about, but where would those be found in the Dream?

There were other hunters scattered throughout Yharnam and the surrounding area, but there were no ongoing fights, nothing interesting, so she had to kept moving. Time was somewhat flexible in the Dream, but it was still short. Pushing her awareness out, she found what she sought.

CREATION/HOST/CARETAKER.

"Ah, Good Hunter." The Plain Doll turned her head from the gravestone once connected to the Hunter's Nightmare. She bowed her head, turning it slightly. "How can I help you?"

CALL/REQUEST/BELL/SUMMONING ABOUT/REGARDING/FOR SELF/HUNTER/GREAT ONE.

"How strange. Your hunters know a little of how to call upon you, but do any others?"

NOTHING/FEW/NONE. SOURCE/ORIGIN/CAUSE UNKNOWN/UNCERTAIN. SELF/HUNTER/GREAT ONE INTENT/DESIRE/PLAN: GO/TRAVEL/SEEK SOURCE/ORIGIN/CAUSE. WONDER/CURIOSITY/INTEREST. CURIOUSITY/SEEK-ANSWER/QUESTION: CREATION/HOST/CARETAKER STABLE/CONTENT WATCH/CARE-FOR/OBSERVE DREAM/NIGHTMARE/WORKSHOP.

"Of course. As is my duty, I will look after the hunters in this Dream." The Doll clasped her hands to her bosom. "Take care Good Hunter. You have grown in strength, but I shall still pray for your safety."

One of the Good Hunter's many slim limbs reached out to gently touch the Doll's cold porcelain cheek. GRATITUDE/HAPPINESS/JOY.

The Good Hunter slipped higher into the air, one tentacle grasping at the roof of the workshop to tug herself upwards a little bit faster. The summons had come from a different direction into the Dream. The gravestones below connected to the lanterns in the waking world, but all she felt from the summons was a vague sense of elsewhere. She considered how best to follow. The thrum of the chime still echoed faintly in the under layers of the Dream. Reaching down through the fabric of the Dream around her, there was a slight pull. Allowing herself to be dragged along, the Good Hunter gave what would be recognized on a human face as a fierce grin but was for herself a twisting of tentacles and odd flesh, then vanished and left the Dream behind.

As she grew into her power, the Good Hunter had never ventured too far from the Dream into the Cosmos. Not for lack of desire, but for lack of knowledge and perhaps strength. She knew there was much to find out in the vast expanses of the sky, but she had not the skill to reach it yet. And even had she the skill, she might not be capable yet for her youth. There was some caution as well, there were many beings much more powerful than she. Some were sympathetic in spirit, some were indifferent to the tiny specks below, others were actively malevolent. Nonetheless, she was young enough and small enough that she did not expect to draw attention unless she sought it out. So she stayed close to the Hunter's Dream, growing in power and experience, playing in raw unformed Dream at the edges far from the workshop.

The resonance between the worlds waking and dreaming pulled at her, giving an impression of unimaginable distance and speed, but little sensation of movement. Still, the Good Hunter enjoyed this new experience, as the fragments of dreams and not-space around tugged at her. So this was what was past the edges of Dream. A sense of distances and directions not perceivable to a human viewpoint but with her expanded existence, within her grasp. Moving fare distances forward, a slight left at the drifting vast bubble of dream containing a world in flames, great ships decorated with golden eagles floating in the sky raining fire and death upon numerous raging green beasts. Shortly after, a hard right at no particular land mark, followed by skirting the edges of an endless plain of ash in a dream at the end of its time. A great figure with a gaping black hole in his chest dripping thick sludge did battle with a smaller figure wielding blades of lightning.

Another dream, a scarred man with white hair, a sword upon his back and another in his hand, facing off against a great beast of wood and moss. More dreams flashed past and slowly drifted by. An old man with a long beard threw arcane power against an odd pale man with no nose. A woman with golden hair, afflicted with madness and brilliance in equal measure, stood atop a crumbling masterwork, struggling to restore its function while crying defiance against the skies and a vast army approaching. A fragment of the masterwork somehow greeted her and the Good Hunter waved a tentacle in bemused response. More distance, though no time passed by and she could tell her destination was fast approaching her.

The twisting of dream and reality moved up around her, bringing her just under a small fragment of a dream, barely begun. Within, an endless open plain, the sky trapped in a just barely breaking dawn or the bloody reds and oranges of darkening night. Scorched grass and bare dirt made up the ground beneath. Above, the sky was filled with slowly turning gears, intersecting, twisting and turning, grinding a low thunder. A tenuous connection stretched between it and another nearly identical dream, this one fully realized with a dreamer that knew of its existence. Blades scattered across the barren earth, far off in every direction. An impression of SELF/BLADE/HUMAN BONE/STRUCTURE/SPINE BELONGING/POSSESSION BLADE/WEAPON/TOOL. She slid nearer to the first faint dream, not into but through, and it parted around her.

And there it was. The source of the call. She pushed gently towards the waking world but stopped. Her current form wasn't suited for this. Dream-flesh and eldritch geometries were all well and good in dream, but in the waking world they didn't fit. Reality would push against it, leading to a complete rejection or space distorting in uncomfortable fashions. Fortunately, on the other side, the outline of a body was manifesting and began to pull her in. The Good Hunter wouldn't fit as she was, but that was okay. Long tentacles pulled into themselves, compressing tightly together. Long fronds of delicate flesh twisted together into a single mass, pulling in. Her awareness, stretched around dream and Cosmos and space dwindled, focusing in around her, something the Good Hunter did not expect. SELF/HUNTER/GREAT ONE became me, hunter, human, and then she swung her blades up to stop a spear from striking her through the face.

Shiro fell, the ground hard beneath his aching body. Above him, the madman in blue armor withdrew his spear, spinning it through the air in his hands.

"You know, it's kind of a pity, kid. You get some credit for not being completely pathetic and fighting back, but there can be no witnesses and all that crap" He waved his hand dismissively through the air. "For what it's worth, I'll make it quick." He pulled his spear back for the final thrust.

By this point, Shiro was at the end of his limit. He'd be stabbed, not died somehow, staggered home and collapsed. He would have been content to not move for a day, but then the crazy spearman had shown up again to finish him off. Shiro had fought back as much as he could, reinforcing a poster, a stick, a fire poker, and redirecting the probing strikes that he had a sinking feeling were slow attacks. He tried, but he was a terrible magus and he was only human. And now Shiro was lying on his back, bleeding from a dozen cuts, trying desperately to move out of the way of the spear.

Steel clashed and the spear was stopped before it even made it halfway to him. The moment before the spear was stopped was difficult to process. It happened fast, more quickly than he could really understand, but it wasn't the speed that made the understanding difficult. Whatever happened resulted in a pressure, building up behind his eyes, pushing, building into a tearing pain before peaking and leaving the world feeling just a little bit off, askew somehow, as if wearing colored lenses and pulling them off to reveal a slightly tinted world that wouldn't leave no matter how much you blinked.

There was a woman standing in front of him, a sword and dagger held crossed in her hands and pushing the spear up. Her hair was white and pulled back into a functional braid, her clothing was well made and elegant. A half cape hung from one shoulder, a jaunty cap upon her head with a feather fluttering in the lightly moving air.

The skin of her neck bulged and Shiro's eyes widened as her exposed flesh twisted as if something large and confined within was fighting to get out before giving up and settling down. His head throbbed; Shirou blinked. Her skin was flat and the pulsing gone.

"So you were a Master after all, huh? This looks promising." The spearman hopped back, covering a dozen feet with the motion. "Well then, I am Lancer, and I'm gonna assume you are Saber. Shall we?" Lancer took a ready stance.

And then the woman, this Saber, spoke. Her lips didn't move.

It was the same pressure as when she had first appeared but worse. Far, far worse. It was breathing in until your lungs were full then continuing to inhale. The headache when in the midst of deathly illness when even the slightest of movements reverberated around inside. It was clawing inside of his skull, his eyes were about to pop from their sockets, there was a tearing sensation deep inside him, and it stopped. Shirou fell to his knees staring, arms slack, motionless at this terrifying thing that spoke to him.

Something had irrevocably changed. Not broken inside him, not yet, but it was close. So very near to the edge of sanity and understanding and madness. Shirou slumped onto the ground, barely able to move.

Her head flopped and lolled on a limp neck, twisting around to face him more completely, her body remaining in mostly the same position. Her features were graceful but worn, indicative of a hard-lived life, and attractive such that it was noticeable but unremarkable. It was steel beneath silk. But there was no emotion, no recognition in those pale eyes. Her face was completely blank.

The woman's arms dropped limply, the tip of the larger saber in her right hand digging into the dirt and the dagger swinging freely at her left side, the arm jerking occasionally. She opened her mouth to speak.

A series of unintelligible sounds came out. Coughs and grunts, wordless noises that formed nothing of sense mixed with the clacking of teeth. Her voice was rough and clumsy, not quite tripping over the sounds, but speaking as if the insides of her mouth wouldn't move the way they were supposed to. Partway through, her teeth snapped together suddenly over the tip of her tongue and she inhaled harshly. She stumbled and her legs shook, seemingly about to buckle.

Lancer looked at Shiro before laughing. "You've summoned a Servant at the last moment but she can't even stand, let alone fight," He shook his head. "Let's get this out of the way." Lancer shot forward toward the presumed Saber, spear extended ahead of himself.

One arm raised her sword in a clumsy redirection, knocking the spear a few inches off course. In the same motion, Saber dodged to the side, moving her body entirely out of the way of the strike. Halfway through the dodge, her left leg spasmed, tumbling her to the ground.

"What the hell kind of Servant are you? Can't speak, can't even fight, tripping over yourself. Get up Saber, this is embarrassing." Lancer struck forward again, intent on ending his bumbling opponent.

Shirou could see Saber still partially collapsed on the ground, struggling to get her body up and moving. Sword and dagger moved together to knock Lancer's final thrust into the ground less than an inch from her neck. A high-pitched shriek filled the air like microphone feedback before rapidly fading into static. "Give. Me. A moment." She ground out, words still high and clumsy. "It's been… a long time… since I had a body like this, I cannot be blamed… for being a little unfamiliar." As she spoke, her words became more sure, odd pauses and static in the words lessening. She struck out with her dagger at Lancer's wrists, forcing him back. "If you will allow me a moment to reacquaint myself with my body, I'd be happy to fight you until one or both of us is dead."

Lancer raised an eyebrow. "You're being awfully reasonable about this."

"But of course. You want a good fight, as do I. I haven't had a chance to try to cut anyone down in a very long time." Saber looked sad, though the expression wasn't quite right, a facsimile of emotion. "I'm not sure how long exactly, but far too much time all the same."

Lancer barked out a laugh, "I think I like you. Get used to your body again, then we'll both get a good fight out of it."

"Then I thank you." Saber slowly stood, trying not to fall over. "I suppose I'm giving you a bit of an advantage here, showing off like this, but it's the quickest way I can think of."

As she moved with a clumsiness somewhere between a toddler barely able to move without falling and a gangly teen not yet familiar with how quickly their body was changing, Shirou began to pull himself up from the ground. He looked at Lancer, who looked back from watching Saber and smiled. It was not a nice smile, too many teeth and too much vicious humor, but it was better than getting killed, so Shirou was okay with it.

Shirou turned his eyes back to Saber as he tried to get some strength back into his body. She began with simple motion, extending her arms, flexing her hands, moving slowly back and forth before quickly moving into weapons stances with her odd sword and dagger. When she had fought Lancer, they were two separate weapons; now, they were held in the same hand, the dagger hooked to the base of the pommel on the saber. With Saber's current level of dexterity, Shirou couldn't see how she wouldn't injure herself. Saber seemed to agree, as she broke them apart. Her motions were stiff and rough, but were gaining, or perhaps regaining, a fluidity they had lacked in the initial clash with Lancer. Her movements picked up speed and soon she was a blur of steel and leather, unable to be followed by mere human eyes.

Saber ended her spinning dervish with both blades as one again before turning to Lancer, excitement shining in her eyes. "I could probably do better, but I've kept you waiting long enough." Saber took a ready stance, dagger held angled slightly back and sword held in front.

Lancer grinned. "I think this is going to be fun." He vanished, reappearing in front of Saber, spear swinging upwards. Saber leaned back, retaliating with a slash, then Shirou was only barely able to follow the flow of the battle, let alone the actual actions. How could anyone move so fast? It was beyond belief.

A dozen clashes in the blink of an eye, redirections, parries, and counter-attacks. A few more and Saber was just a little too slow. A stab from Lancer got past Saber's guard and cut across the side of her neck. A trickle of pale white blood slid lazily down.

"What are you?" Lancer asked.

Saber looked confused, then clicked her blades together and lifted a gloved hand to dampness at her throat. Lifting her hand before her eyes, she smiled faintly. "Sometimes, when sanity is lost to the howling void, a final blow is struck. And things change a little more than you meant them too. But here I am, and there you are. If we both survive this, I would be happy to exchange tales of bloodshed the next time we try to kill each other." Blade broken apart again, Saber stood ready. "My blood should have little bearing on this fight."

Lancer chuckled, "Does that even mean anything? I get the whole 'cryptic mystery person' act you've got going on, but damn. I think I'll hold you to those stories and that fight."

Saber pulled something out of her pocket, something white, a little longer than her hand. Lancer moved towards her, but couldn't stop her from crushing it.

And then Saber was even faster than before. Even with as little as Shirou could process from the fight, he could see that. Ash clouds streaking behind her as Saber moved. The half moments where the two combatants clashed were more in Saber's favor, sword blade impacting against spear shaft rather than spear tip blocked or driven away. It wasn't quite an even fight, but it was close enough that Shirou couldn't tell who had the upper hand.

Suddenly, they stopped. And for a moment, Shirou couldn't tell why. Then he saw the streak of red on Lancer's side, blood on Saber's dagger, and Lancer's spear pierced deeply into her shoulder. But she gave no reaction, gazing off into nowhere in particular.

"Oh," she whispered in a soft voice full of unfulfilled longing. "I'd almost forgotten the scent. He was right, the sweet blood does sing." With that, Saber lifted the dagger to her mouth and drew her tongue along the tip of the blade. It could have almost been erotic, Shiro thought, but for the truly terrifying grin and satisfaction across her face.

Saber's eyes blinked rapidly and she inhaled harshly. A feral grin graced her lips. Saber twisted away from Lancer, dragging his spear with her turn and stabbing him in the thigh. Then, to Shiro's eyes, she vanished. And reappeared promptly next to Lancer, blades spinning into him. Lancer jumped back, avoiding the majority of the swings, but one sliced through the top of his arm. Saber had grown even more aggressive, rushing forward, leaving openings in favor of getting another hit. To her credit, it was working. Even as she drove Lancer back, he grinned. It continued like that, at least until she overextended and he took advantage to pierce her through the same shoulder.

It would the normal reaction to backpedal, make some space to regroup, but Saber just lashed out again, more fiercely than before. Several deep cuts appeared on Lancer with his spear otherwise occupied.

Streaks of blood made their way down his face and arms while larger trails made their way down from Saber's shoulder. Both stood ready for the fight to continue until Lancer swung his spear onto his shoulder and jumped back, straightening casually. "Hell of a fight, Saber." He grinned. "Unfortunately, my Master requires me to leave. I was only supposed to be scouting for other Masters and their Servants, not fighting them."

Shirou blinked as he realized that the fight was over. His eyes darted back and forth, taking in the carnage; he couldn't help but think that the yard was ruined. Not the most important thing, given he wasn't dead, but it stuck there in his mind. White and red blood splashed everywhere, none on him somehow, mostly mixed into dirty pink. Craters and scattered debris covered the ground.

"This is rather pushing past the limits of those orders."

Saber looked lost. "We're done? Already? But…"

"I'm afraid so."

"Later tonight, I'll be hunting through the outskirts of the big city if you want to 'bump into' me." Saber smirked at Lancer.

What. No really, what? She wanted to fight Lancer again?

Lancer barked out a laugh. "I think I like you Saber. I look forward to seeing more of you in the war. Later." He waved a hand loosely in farewell then hopped up to the roof and ran off.

"You don't run into too many like that," Saber sighed wistfully, a faint smile on her face. Then she turned to Shirou who was still lying there, barely moving, in shock. "And I'm pretty sure you're the one who dragged me to this waking world. I am…" An unbearable pressure pushed against Shirou from all sides. The scent of moonlight in a falling city. Drifting and twisting through the sky. The sticky feel of blood drying in between his fingers and in his hair. Deep underground caves and chasms and the mysteries sealed within, let out again. The boundless feral joy of the hunt, the chase, the fight, ducking under a scything set of claws and striking back, not a killing blow but a start. An unshakable sense of SELF, but not his own self, a different self, a self made out of…

Pain across his face. Had Saber slapped him? She gripped his forearm and lifted him up from the ground where he lay gasping and shaking. When had he fallen? "Up you get. I don't think that's going to work. Why doesn't… No matter." She pulled Shirou fully into an upright position and set him before her. "The Lancer called me Saber." Then under her breath. "…which seems to work better than..." That building pressure behind his eyes. "...does for you." Shirou staggered again at what he assumed was probably Saber's true name. "What do I call you, little summoner?"

Shirou exhaled heavily with a breath that he realized he hadn't taken. "Forgive me." He bowed hastily. "I am Emiya Shirou. What are you? Who was he? What's going on? Why aren't I dead?" The river of questions rushed out. His hands were shaking. What was this madness?

Saber tilted her head. "You aren't ready for my name yet little summoner. My existence is strange, and that twisted nature carries on my name, spoken in tongues and concepts you aren't meant to know." A smirk. "Though if you want enough Insight to know my name and what I am, continue on this path. I have no doubt you will reach it well enough. You have the makings of a strong Hunter."

The way Saber spoke of insight seemed to imply much more, but Shirou wasn't what it was or if he really wanted to know. Saber turned her head behind her, looking at the wall. "There's something similar to that Lancer coming this way. I'll take care of it so we can continue our conversation." Or apparently past the wall. Saber jumped up to the roof and upon landing lightly, she let out a joyful cackle. "I'll be but a moment." Then she was gone.

"Wait… Wait!" Shirou ran after her, forced to take the long way around. He ran through the house and down the hall before barreling out the front door. Past the edges of the property and down the street, he heard again the clashing of blades. Sprinting around the corner, he saw Saber dodging back from a white-haired man in red. Behind them further down the road was a girl. She… was that Tohsaka-san? What was she doing here?

Ending Authors Note: Violetta and other kid are still around because I hate that quest so much. Thoughts, critiques, give me what you've got. I'm never really written fiction before, so I'll take whatever you can give me.

I make absolutely no promises on any kind of consistent update schedule, unfortunately. I do expect to have this finished eventually, I have most of the story plotted, I've got all of the start, I've got the end, I've got bits for the middle. Now I just have to figure out how to mash that all together into a cohesive and mostly enjoyable story.

So… this was supposed to be maybe 2000 words. It got a little out of hand.