As if on queue, Marcus' final word was punctuated by the muffled sound of a door slamming somewhere beyond the door blocking their path, followed by the voices of several men, their words mostly unintelligible but some sounding angry, and all of it bizarrely accompanied by the gentle, steady sound of a small bell being rhythmically jostled; a sound any Yharnamite would naturally associate with afflicted church servants.
The voices grew louder and closer – at least five different voices could be identified – and within seconds a loud noise of shattering glass could be heard, followed by the sound of something wooden being smashed and small pieces of metal, like cutlery, clattering on a wooden surface. Every sound in the next room seemed overtly violent and aggressive, and judging by the noise, someone was in the process of destroying anything breakable in there.
“...teach the damn church!” a man growled just before the sound of something particularly big and heavy crashed into the ground.
“...Harold, and his plague-ridden...”
“...some blood somewhere...”

The voices were getting closer to the door as the destruction continued unabated, but throughout it all the ringing of the solitary bell continued calmly, getting steadily closer to the door and the room with the Hunters. When it was almost there they could actually hear footfalls: two sets of them, one somewhat normal-sounding, the other unusually heavy and producing little clicking noises with each step as the feet hit the floor. There was also loud, grunting breathing. The bell fell silent.
The door handle rattled a little, wiggling up and down several times as if someone was trying to open the door.
“Open door,” someone demanded from right on the other side of the door, their voice hoarse and dry, and it sounded as though the speaker had difficulty speaking. The quick, grunting breath did not pause on the words. “Open door.”