Hawden. The once-idyllic countryside town had become a scene of ruinous chaos—woven in blood and suffering.
People from all walks of life surged through the narrow roads, desperately trying to escape the horrors that had descended upon them from the heavens above.
Horrors. That was all that could be said to describe them.
Towering crimson behemoths lumbered through the streets, their hulking forms painting the town red with every swing of their monstrous weapons.
"Ha! Mukor fight! Mukor happy!" A towering Bloodborne, wielding a two-handed axe, cleaved an elderly man apart mid-stride.
The old man had been clutching a handful of papers, but they scattered, stained red, as the lifeless halves of his body plopped to the ground.
Mukor barely acknowledged the kill before his eyes locked onto another target. Unlike the rest, who fled in terror, this one charged forward. The savage instincts of the Bloodborne, seeing such defiance, flared with rage.
Letting out a guttural cry, Mukor lowered his stance and rushed forward, axe raised high to cleave this fool in half.
"Raargh!"
Whu-Thoom!
Before the blow could land, an unstoppable force slammed into Mukor's back.
"Heugh!" The Bloodborne stumbled forward, his balance shattered.
Snarling, he whirled around—only to find himself staring at a golden bear, towering over him, its massive form shimmering like sunlight trapped in fur. The bear let out a deep, menacing growl before throwing itself at him.
Squelch! Crunch!
Despite its radiant, almost mystical appearance, its feral instincts remained intact. Clamping its enormous jaws around Mukor's shoulder, the bear bit down with crushing force, fangs tearing through sinew and muscle alike.
"Aaaaagh!" Mukor howled in agony, thrashing violently, his axe flailing in an attempt to dislodge the beast. But the golden bear refused to let go. Its powerful limbs pinned the Bloodborne beneath its bulk as it bit down harder—bone snapping beneath its teeth.
Mukor's cries choked off into gurgles. Within moments, he was nothing more than a mangled heap of flesh and blood, his bloodied form sinking into a growing crimson pool.
Alfred barely had time to catch his breath after felling the monstrosity before a hushed whisper slithered into his ear.
"Who?!" He spun around, scanning his surroundings.
Nothing.
The town lay in ruins. Buildings stood half-devoured by the Bloodborne's rampage, their timbers groaning as they collapsed.
Corpses littered the cobblestone streets, their lifeless faces twisted in terror, their blood seeping into the cracks like ink spilling on parchment.
Distantly, the wailing of the doomed echoed through the hollow streets, mingling with the monstrous roars of unseen creatures feasting in the alleyways.
The last remnants of Hawden's townsfolk had fled. Or, had at least tried to. The only ones left were the dead—or those moments away from becoming so.
Nevertheless, the whispers did not stop. They did not come from the mouths of the dead nor from the monstrosities lurking in the distance.
They came from within.
The whispers coiled inside Alfred's mind, an insidious chorus of voices growing louder, more numerous. His breath hitched as his body began to stiffen, his muscles locking up like chains wrapping around his limbs.
With great effort, he forced his gaze upwards. The sky—once a clear, endless blue—had become an unholy crimson, a gaping wound bleeding over the world. But that was not what sent a chill racing down his spine.
It was the figures descending from the rift above.
They floated downward like a feather caught by the wind, their flowing robes tattered and decayed; it was as if they were kings and lords from a forgotten era.
Despite this, their bodies betrayed that illusion—jagged, mechanical organs gleamed from beneath the torn fabric, their hollow eyes burning with something beyond death.
"Revenants..." Alfred gritted his teeth. His fingers twitched, fighting against the unnatural rigidity gripping his body.
Desperately, he reached into his pocket, his trembling hand brushing against the cool metal of his pocket watch. Closing his eyes, he let out a slow breath.
For a moment, all fell silent. The agony of the fallen. The wailing Revenants. The guttural screams of distant monsters.
Silence.
Alfred tried to speak, but his throat clenched shut. His lips trembled, his jaw locked, as if unseen hands were clamping down on him, strangling the words before they could escape.
But then—through the haze, through the endless whispers, through the growing despair—his eyes caught sight of something in the distance.
A crimson pillar. It reflected in his eyes, a beacon of defiance. Its foul visage seared into his vision. A fire soon ignited in his chest.
He opened his mouth again—and this time, his voice rang out, both fierce and full of clarity.
"Beasts of gold, rise at my decree!
As this hand turns—run swift and free!
Tick and shine, let thine spirits climb,
By fate's own breath, take form divine!"
Tick-Tock!
Tick-Tock!
As his words fell, a brilliant golden radiance erupted from his pocket watch, enveloping him in a halo of energy as the hands of the rapidly spun before fixing themselves at 6:06.
From the light, beasts emerged—no longer mere motes of energy, but fully realised, solid creatures of seemingly gold.
Their bodies gleamed under the crimson sky, every feather, every claw, every strand of fur sculpted as though forged by divine hands.
A pack of wolves lowered their heads, baring golden fangs. Bears reared up on their hind legs, their massive claws gleaming in the tainted light.
Above, falcons soared, their beady yellow eyes burning with fierce intelligence.
The golden horde turned their gaze skyward. A moment of stillness set into the scene. Then, as one, the horde charged.
Bears swiped massive claws at the descending Revenants, knocking them from the sky with devastating force. Wolves leaped up, jaws clamping onto ghostly limbs, dragging their prey to the earth below.
Above, falcons dived with razor-sharp talons, slicing through ragged robes and tearing into their spectral forms.
The Revenants shrieked, their cries echoing through the broken town as they were torn apart piece by piece.
As the last of them fell, Alfred felt the strength returning to his limbs. The whispers in his mind faded into nothing.
Breathing heavily, he turned his gaze to the horizon—toward the crimson pillar of light. His fists are clenched. A flickering determination blazed in his eyes.
"William…" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Sanguirs and Revenants…? Have you gone mad?!"
Even as he spoke, the pillar nearby burned ever brighter. Something or someone was trying to tear through the fragile veil that shrouded reality from alien realms.
Alfred narrowed his eyes.
This was far from over.
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Chaos.
That was the sole word Claude could use to define what he was seeing.
Complete and utter… chaos.
From the hill overlooking Hawden, the town lay sprawled beneath the scarlet sky, illuminated not by sun nor moon but by the wake of its own destruction.
A crumbling wall, long obsolete due to the town's expansion, encircled part of the settlement like a half-clenched fist. Beyond it, houses and shops spilled outward, their timber-and-stone structures built haphazardly.
The heart of the town still bore the same refined architecture of an older time—staunch stone buildings with high, arching roofs and narrow cobbled streets weaving between them like a maze.
But none of that mattered now.
Hawden was dying.
Screams, severed limbs, and glistening pools of blood littered its streets. The townsfolk who had tried to escape were hunted down by the Bloodborne, who prowled with a beastly enthusiasm, revelling in the slaughter.
Claude could hear Evelyn's panting beside him—ragged and uneven, only growing faster as she stared at the carnage before her..
"Evelyn, calm down." He turned and grasped her arm. "Panicking will get us nowhere. We need to find a way to escape this. Got it?"
She nodded, but the cold sweat on her skin and her darting eyes betrayed the truth—she was barely holding herself together.
Claude exhaled sharply. This was his decision, after all, bringing her here. He supposed this was merely repayment for a favour owed.
If she were to die here?
He doubted he would feel a thing. He had already done his part to help her survive.
Pulling Evelyn along, the pair slipped into the chaos, descending the hill and bypassing the crumbling town walls.
It was unclear if they had been torn down recently or if the weight of time had simply rendered them useless. Yet, as Claude sneaked past the walls, a question lingered in him.
Would the tragedy here have been lessened if the defences had remained intact?
Perhaps. Perhaps not.
Claude did not have the answer. And, unfortunately, he was not given the time to meditate upon the thought.
Next, the pair skulked through the town, hugging the edge of the streets as they inched closer to the heart of the town, where the crimson pillar of light loomed, its glow painting the ruined streets in a bloody hue.
Suddenly, Claude's eyes shrank to the size of pinpricks. A dozen Bloodborne were marauding down the main street, their towering forms rumbling towards them.
Dropping low, the pair dashed into a narrow alley, their laboured breaths the only sound echoing in the confined space.
"Huff! Puff!"
Claude raised a finger to his lips, signalling for silence. Evelyn nodded, though her trembling shoulders gave away her fear.
Rumble!
The crusade of hulking red giants thundered past the alleyway, their monstrous weapons swinging carelessly, sending blood and shattered remains flying in their wake.
Lost in their bloodthirsty reverie, they failed to notice the two figures hiding in the shadows.
Claude waited. Then, carefully, he peered out.
The cobblestone path lay in ruins, deep gouges left in the stone by the passing of the Bloodborne. The only remnants of life were smears of blood and discarded bodies.
He turned to Evelyn, motioning with his eyes. A moment later, they slipped out of the alley and hugged the ruined walls, inching ever closer to the crimson pillar.
However, Claude soon caught sight of something nearby. A Bloodborne. And a dead one at that.
The dead Bloodborne lay sprawled on the floor, a mess of mangled flesh and shattered bone. Deep gashes were carved through its thick flesh, massive wounds exposing torn muscle and pulped organs.
A severed arm rested several feet away, as though something had ripped it clean off with sheer force.
Claude frowned.
'What could have caused this…?' Then, an image flashed through his mind—Alfred's golden beasts.
If this was Alfred's doing, then it could only mean one thing: he was also heading for the pillar.
Claude exhaled slowly, the weight on his shoulders easing ever so slightly. If Alfred was nearby, then their chances of survival had just increased significantly.
And, if he was lucky, he wouldn't even need to fight—Alfred would handle it.
Nevertheless, as Claude's eyes darted towards the nearby crimson pillar, its visage now clear, no longer obstructed by buildings and chaos, his mind stilled.
His breath hitched. His body froze.
"Master…?" Evelyn's hesitant voice barely reached him as she watched his sudden stillness.
But Claude could not respond.
His glassy eyes stared ahead, unblinking. His body felt distant, as though submerged in water, trapped in a current well beyond his control.
He did not hear Evelyn. He did not hear anything at all.
The only thing that existed now was the pulsing crimson light—and fleeting images that flashed through his mind.