He was sinking, not falling, it felt as if he was submerged in water, it was so thick that he could barely see the surface above him. The Moonlight was cast down, illuminating the world outside of it, outside of the red…

He tasted iron, the water was too thick, it wasn't water, it was blood.

Blood.

Blood Everywhere.

He screamed, and nobody heard.

He kicked his arms and legs to try and reach the surface, so he could breathe, so he could be free from it. Yet he felt weight hold him down, he saw hands, a countless and endless horde of hands, a mountain of corpses was below him. They weren't human, perhaps once, but they weren't now, beasts held him down, sought to drown him in the blood...blood...so much…

"We are born of the blood, made men by the blood, undone by the blood; Fear the old blood."

Fear...fear the blood...the old blood…

A hand pierced the surface, the owner offering their hand to him, to pull him free of this hell, their skin...fake...false...an illusion of life

He tried to grab it, his hand missing, mere centimeters away as he tried desperately to take hold as he felt the weight upon him grow. Perhaps this was his only chance, the last chance he would ever have before he would succumb to the blood…

He felt cold, that was what he realized the moment he felt his fingers brush against his savior's hand, they were ice cold. The blood, however, held a welcoming warmth to it, as if he belonged here, yet he couldn't...couldn't welcome it…

"What's that smell? ... The sweet blood, oh, it sings to me. It's enough to make a man sick"

He recoiled in disgust as his mind hardened for just a second, it allowed him to tense his muscles and do one final kick to cross the distance and desperately held onto his savior's hand…

...and with it, he was pulled from his hell.

The screeching of the siren melded with the warping of reality, light distorted as the rules of the world folded on themselves and imploded outwards. It was a mass of darkness-nay the dark could not even fill the gap, for it was void itself with no rules to it, sight something the mind should never gaze upon. The whispers was one such thing, rising out from the depths of it, growing louder and louder until nothing was free from the screaming horde.

Then it ceased.

Diiiiinnnng!

The ringing of Bell echoed throughout the city block, its streets long empty, and for good reason.

It started as a mere droplet upon the asphalt, followed by another drop of the red liquid, then another and another! ANOTHER AND ANOTHER! A Downpour of the foul liquid, the iron like stench of rotten blood flowed forth as the street was painted red.

At least until the tearing of flesh rippled out and with it a mass came alongside a rivers worth of blood that picked up cars and any abandoned vehicles. Pushed by the flow into one another and into the surrounding buildings leaving wrecks and red in its wake.

At the very center did it now lay.

Matted stained fur, cracked claws, and rotten teeth.

The first breath it took made its body snap, a gurgle caught in its throat, before its muscles tensed and emptied its gullet. A Mass of gore was deposited onto the ground, and with it gone did it begin to move, a dismorphed excuse for a clawed palm met the ground. Its second arm was far too small to even reach the ground, and with how it barely hung by a few strings of tendons of muscle it would have done nothing. Its rear legs were filled with gashes and open tears of flesh, from which maggots writhed in pockets of fat and muscle. The Beast's stomach had practically exploded out, leaving intestines and guts to be dragged in its wake as its battered maw turned upwards.

Nothing left its lips, yet glass around it shook and cracked, nearing the chance of exploding into shards…

Rotten Beast.

Click…Click…Click…

It did not need the ability to see, nor smell to hear it, the approaching footsteps that did not falter or sway at all. Though they were not alone, clad in leather and assorted dark cloth did they approach the Rotten Beast, no words were exchanged, only the unfurling of their weapons. The sharp turning of gears followed as grisly blades snapped out, some were made to stab and pierce through the thickest layers of skin. Others meant to cut and gnaw their way through bodies, and some were made to tap into the innate fear of all beasts; Fire.

Tonight, The Hunt resumed.