Yggdrasil - Lower Levels
Gerhardt had been summoned before. Brought to another world to aide a fellow hunter against the dark forces alined against them. But every time before he had been brought to a place he had already seen, always another Yharnam across the smokey depths of space. He had been all over Yharnam, scurrying from shadow to shadow like a rat, checking every corner available to him, always on the lookout for hidden passages that would take him past the beasts before him or lead to a catch of supplies that would let him live just a little longer. He knew Yharnam.
This was not Yharnam. No wall in Yharnam was white, and no passageway was this perfectly square. It was some place he had never seen before. Perhaps this is what put him on edge enough to save him. Perhaps his hunter instincts, freed from the fog they had been enveloped it since his encounter with the thing in the moon, had gone into overdrive now that the fog was lifted. Perhaps it was the look of the man who stood before him, ringing the bell. He didn't have the look of a man in danger, one who was so desperate for help that they'd call out to strangers across the gulf of worlds. He had a different look, one that Gerhardt had seen on the faces of those poor souls opposite number; men so desperate for blood they struck out across the gulf in search of other hunters.
In truth, it was a combination of these things that put him on edge. That caused him to dodge to the side just as the man behind him (there was always something there, behind you) lunged forward with the needle. The man let out a yelp of surprise as Gerhardt turned to face him, practiced hands descending to the saw blade holstered at his side. Bringing it up and snapping it open in one smooth motion Gerhardt brought the serrated edge down on the mans neck and pulled. There was a scream as he stumbled backwards grasping at the jagged wound, but Gerhardt paid him no more mind. He knew what a death rattle sounded like by now. He turned to face the bell man, who had dropped the thing and was reaching into the pocket of his jacket. Gerhardt ran forward two steps, just as the man withdrew some sort of boxy firearm. Gerhardt flipped the sawblade closed before the man could get his shot off, swinging the weapon and leaving a clean wound across his chest before following it up with another slice downward. He crumpled as the bell clattered to the floor, it's melodic tone seeming to single the end of violence.
The whole exchange had taken less than three seconds.
Gerhardt breathed deeply, letting the adrenalin surge in his veins in what he was ashamed to admit was blissful. Despite all the many years of inaction he was still a man at the top of his profession, and as the blood of his enemies pooled under their still bodies and filled with air with its wet copper taste he felt himself settle back into the swing of things. The scent of blood, a feeling of acute terror, and the lurking danger of the unknown. He was home, and he hated it and he loved it.
He pushed those thoughts from his mind as he got down business. Nostalgia was all well in good but he was in the business of surviving. Surviving meant observing. He was in a long white hallway, pipes running along the wall. Behind him the hallway continued, but in front of him was what looked to be some sort of door. The men at his feet were wearing garb he'd never seen before. One had on a jacket and pants made out of some smooth material that made a high pitched sound when the fabric had scraped against itself. Maybe that's how Gerhard had heard the man sneaking up on him. The other was wearing a long jacket, a bit like his, but lined with fur. Under it, now stained and ruined, was some sort of formal suit made of a cheap material. Over by the needle man is a pile of clear bags with tubes running to them. Gerhardt stooped down and picked up the boxy device that man had withdraw from his pocket and, curiously, pulled the trigger. Two needles shot out of the front, attached to wires, and there was a very slight sparking sound like that of a dark beast. He pocketed it.
That's when he heard a short *bing-bong* as the door slid open and reveled a third man "Hey, you guys done yet. We got custo-" the mans words died in his mouth when he saw Gerhardt stooping down over the bodies of his comrades. "Oh shit!" He yelled, and raised up a short, boxy firearm. Gerhardt started moving immediately, drawing his pistol as he ran, but the mans gun opened up with a mechanical *Clackclackclackclack*. He felt hot lead penetrating his body, small bullets boring their way by the dozens into his body. He pushed through the pain and, still closing the distance, brought up his own gun and fired. The quicksilver bullet impacted the mans gun hand, netting Gerhart a scream and a flinch back. That was what he needed.
He could feel precious blood flowing out of his body, and there was only one way to fix that. He didn't like doing this. It was ghastly, but more to the point it required a free hand. That meant stowing a weapon, and a few seconds without a weapon in your hand could be fatal. He threw his saw cutter ahead of him, into what looked like the tiny room this man had been hiding in. He felt his hand warp, grow, painfully cracking into something more resembling a beast. He hit the gunmen in a dead run, pushing him up against the back wall as the door closed automatically behind them. He heard the man give a few wet gasps as he realized that Gerhardt was elbow deep inside of him before he ripped the arm from the mans stomach in a spray of blood. He slumped to the floor as Gerhardt felt the blood he'd been spattered with enter his wounds, pushing out the slugs and stitching them up good as new. He shuttered and shook what he could off his cape. That's when he heard another *bing-bong* and the door opened up again.
Please try to imagine this: you are in a back alley clinic specialized in dealing with substances that are not entirely legal. You have perhaps come here to get your weekly fix, have something illegally implanted into you, or perhaps sample this new injection that you have been assured is "better than space cocaine." The men who run this establishment go down in their elevator to retrieve some more product. They do not return, so the third man goes down to look. That elevator comes back up, opens it's door, and there is a armed man standing in the elevator. He is, like the walls, covered in blood and the man you came to get your fix from is slumped in the corner gutted like a fish. This man turns and looks at you.
It should come as no surprise that the moment Gerhardt stepped out of that elevator is the exact moment everyone else in the clinic remembered that they had a very urgent appointment across town. He silently watched them stream out of the building in blind panic, because really, what could you possibly say? However, after giving the room a good once over, he wished he had said something. He wished he had detained someone to explain to him exactly what had been going on here, because the surroundings were very familiar. It was all cleaner, of course. White walls, white beds with cushions, strange machines sitting next to them, but the setup was unmistakable. He'd seen it first hand, had had the procedure performed on himself.
These men had been performing Blood Ministration.
