Bloodborne - 179 Crown of Illusions

Francis stood in front of the archway leading to Martyr Logarius. The last time he fought the frozen skeleton, he was humiliatingly put down. This time, he had to fight it alone, without Surgit’s help. Not that the hunter provided him with any. He had actually died because of his stupid hammer.

Not this time old man. He muttered to himself over and over. But the old man couldn’t move past the archway. He hesitated for a while before he finally clenched his Chikage, took a deep breath then dashed forward. He wasn’t going to allow a pile of frozen bones keep him from seeing the Queen.

He’d searched everywhere for a path to her throne room, to no avail. The Queen must be hidden somehow by Logarius. The only way for him to find out about it was to engage him in battle and bring him down.

But how?

He was thinking about a way to evade the man’s fast attacks when he appeared in front of him. He was slowly walking towards him, a strange glowing sickle on one hand, and a sword on the other. Francis observed the approaching martyr with calculating eyes. He needed to be careful. Any sudden move and he’d have to prepare himself for the worst.

Logarius swept his sickle aside and a large red skull appeared, out of thin air. The skull emitted an agonized groan as it floated in the air, toward Francis. The old man ran at the strange red smoke then jumped aside as soon as he got close to it. The skull exploded, creating a short shockwave around it.

Francis jumped at Logarius immediately after but was welcomed by five more skulls travelling his way. They hit him head on. The old man felt his bones crack. His muscles tore as though some invisible force were pulling them apart from each end. He screamed but his voice broke as his throat was torn open too. Blood filled his mouth then the old man was no more. The explosion of the five skulls obliterated him.

Francis woke near the lamp again. Remember Surgit’s words, he told himself as he walked towards the elevator. He knew he was against some supernatural beast. Its nonexistent monstrous body didn’t mean it wasn’t one. The martyr had some peculiar weapons too. One could send exploding skulls flying in the air. The other sword, Francis suspected, must have some hidden power.

He dashed through the library and towards the snowy rooftops. He didn’t care about the ghosts that relentlessly followed him. He didn’t mind the gargoyles that tried to ambush him. He knew how they moved, he could even predict their next steps. Francis danced around his enemies then reached the archway.

He got in, determined to learn more about the martyr’s attack patterns. The giant frozen mummy walked slowly toward his enemy. The golden crown he wore shone bright against the moonlight. Snowflakes gently caressed Francis’ face as he moved to meet his new nemesis halfway.

The martyr swung his sickle and five exploding skulls flew at the old man. Francis jumped over them then ran at the mummy. He managed to land a hit before Logarius jumped backwards while brandishing his sickle in the air. Francis looked up just in time to see a giant red ball rapidly falling in his direction.

The old man jumped away. An explosion ensued and Francis cursed as he got hit by the shockwave. He injected himself with a blood vial then ran at Logarius. So far, he’s alternating between three attacks, he thought as he approached his opponent. Francis slashed with his Chikage. Logarius grunted then swung his own sword.

The swing was too fast, Francis barely had time to get his head away from the sword’s trajectory. The weapon hit him on the right shoulder. He felt his muscles tear and his bones break then shatter. The pain he experienced this time didn’t differ from the ones he felt before.

It hurt all the same.

Francis muttered all his courage and willpower to move away from Logarius. He shot two vials within his bloodstream then dashed to the right, just in time to avoid a diving Logarius. Francis rolled to the side again. Logarius was chasing after him. He fell to his back then started rolling away, uncontrollably.

The roof on which they fought wasn’t an even surface. Francis was pulled by gravity towards the edge of the roof. He’d fall to his death if he didn’t do anything about it. Or if something isn’t done to him.

Logarius caught up to the rolling hunter then swung with his sickle. The weapon caught the old man in the ribs then sent him rolling the opposite way. Francis coughed blood, struggled to get on his feet then injected another vial. He wasn’t ready to give up on the fight yet. He needed to learn everything about this martyr’s attacks.

Logarius was already in the air. His sickle, held in both hands, was extended behind his back. He dived at Francis then swung.

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A “Bang!” and a “Crack!” were heard as Francis shot the martyr. He’d chosen a perfect timing as well. He shot the frozen mummy before it landed its attack, bringing it to its knees. Francis felt his arm bulging and changing. He thrust his beastly fangs inside the martyr’s chest and tore through his insides.

As he retracted his beastly arm, Francis was showered with blood and sinew. It smelled horrible. The frozen body somehow kept warm on the inside. Francis looked at his steaming arm as Logarius struggled to stand up. He seemed too absorbed by the steam and the stinging smell to care about the giant mummy that stood above him. The sight of blood seemed to put him in some sort of trance.

Logarius towered above the old hunter. He brought his sickle downwards, aiming for the hunter’s head. Francis instinctively brought his sword upwards. With one arm, he managed to block the martyr’s swing then deflected it. He thrust his weapon and pierced Logarius’ icy body. Francis heard cracks as his sword broke the layers of ice than covered the old martyr’s skin.

Logarius attacked with his short sword, which almost cut the old man in half. With astonishing speed, Francis managed to anticipate the attack then jump backwards. He coated the blade with his own skin then stood in a strange stance. The Chikage was sheathed, Francis’ legs were spread apart.

His body was lowered, almost to a squat. He leant forward, holding the blade by its hilt, awaiting the martyr’s attack. He was at close range. The martyr wasn’t going to launch his exploding skulls. He only did that to put some distance between him and his opponent. Logarius swung with his sickle but seemed to stop in his tracks.

The blood that coated the Chikage seemed to make the weapon sharper. Blood gushed out of the martyr’s arm as Francis sliced it. Logarius grunted then swung his short sword. Francis deflected the attack then slashed the martyr’s leg. He was still standing in the same stance. He’d draw his sword, deflect, attack then sheathe it back.

After two more counters, Logarius held the long pole of his sickle in both hands then started growling. Some type of transparent aura started forming around him. It looked like a mirage distorted the air around the martyr. Francis attacked three more time but the martyr didn’t seem to mind him.

Francis jumped back then jumped once more. He must have felt something since he was frowning, clutching his weapon hard. With every growl, Logarius’ voice increased in volume. In the end, his voice reached its highest pitched then finished in a scream. A large shockwave covered a ten foot radius around Logarius. Francis jumped at the martyr to continue his offensive.

Something told him he’d be able to kill the martyr if he didn’t think too much. He had to rely on his survival instincts now or die remembering the martyr’s attack pattern. Logarius suddenly held his sword in the air then plunged it at the ground beneath him. The sword glowed then a strong wind started dancing around it. Francis looked up then cursed.

Hundreds of flying swords orbited around him. They all threatened to fall upon him at any moment. Francis tried to knock the sword over but Logarius blocked his way. Francis managed to counter the first attack and cut Logarius’ leg open. Blood gushed out and covered his face.

It’s all about blood, he heard himself internally mutter. It clears the mind, heals body and spirit.

Francis seemed too calm for someone in his situation. Swords danced around him then plunged at him from all directions. Despite all that, the old hunter managed to dodge some and deflect others all while evading Logarius attacks. Trouble began when the old martyr suddenly disappeared from sight. Francis looked up just in time to see him flying in the air, holding his sickle in both hands.

Logarius swept the air then landed upon the old hunter. Francis smiled then shot the martyr in the chest. As he was about to eviscerate his opponent, Francis felt his right knee failing him. It suddenly became hard to breathe and his vision became clouded. Three swords had hit him head on. One cut half his face, the other went through his right knee and came the other way. The third one had pierced his back and came out of his chest.

The old hunter didn’t give up though. He willed his body to move and his right arm to transform. He put his beastly arm inside the beast just a fourth sword pierced his back again. Francis felt the martyr’s warm blood get in through his injuries. He retracted his arm and let Logarius’ blood shower him.

It is all about blood, it feeds us, satiates us.

Logarius fell to his knees as his blood poured to the ground. His body started evaporating. The golden crown emitted sharp clangs as it fell to the ground. Francis collected the crown put it on his head then walked toward the throne on which Logarius sat at first. The four swords were still inside him. He limped and wheezed as he approached the throne.

The snow storm seemed to have gotten stronger. His torn clothes let icy cold wind tear through the hunter’s skin. It was nothing compared to the pain he experienced from the four swords he still didn’t manage to take away. As he reached the throne, the storm’s intensity spiked. Francis stood there, unable to shield his face from the sharp winds.

The storm ended as quickly and as suddenly as it began. Instead of the empty void at the end of the roof, Francis saw something new. A whole new building had appeared out of thin air. Beyond the countless stairs in front of the old hunter, the Queen was waiting. Francis knew he’d find her there. Call it a hunch or a prediction. The old man knew he had found his Queen at last.