Bloodborne 191 Did He Say Friends?

Quip, on the other hand, wouldn't give him any time to catch his breath. His relentless pursuit of Francis drained the old man of energy. He could only dodge the man's attacks. If it weren't for Quip's obsession with reducing Francis to mush, the fight would have ended long ago.

Francis had lost his gun during one of his many attempts to escape the crushing executioner's wheel. His sword wouldn't be able to withstand the weight of his opponent's weapon.

Quip approached him once more. Instead of trying to crush him for the umpteenth time however, he kicked the old man in the guts. His boots felt like a hard rock, crushing his ribs and smashing his intestines. He groaned, and Quip smiled, revealing his few remaining crooked teeth.

"You can't keep running old man," he said. "Just accept your fate. No one will come to your rescue."

Francis's hand tightened around the grip of his sword. He knew what he had to do. He just couldn't bring himself to do it. Quip must have seen the defiance in Francis's eyes, so he kicked him once more. Francis rolled to the side, blood splattered on the floor, on the spot his leg was smashed to pieces.

"I'll get you for this," Francis said through gritted teeth.

"What's that old man?" Quip asked in a mocking tone. "I can barely hear you from up here."

He walked toward Francis as the latter prepared himself for the inevitable. He fought his aching bones and stood to face the executioner.

"I said I'll get you for this," he hissed. He took his sword and plunged it deep within his stomach. It hurt, but it was necessary. He had to rest the fight if he was to ever stand a chance.

"You're ruining the fun old man," Quip groaned. "I never took you for a quitter."

Francis pulled the sword, dripping with his own blood. "Somebody told me once that vilebloods had venom in their blood," he said. "Let's put it to the test."

Quip's lips pursed into a mocking smirk. "New hunters always take death for granted," he said. "Let's see how you feel after I'm done with you."

Quip charged. He was holding the wheel before him, using it as a shield as he advanced. Francis hopped on one foot. He knew he had no chance of escaping this upcoming attack. In fact, he put all his hopes on this final confrontation.

The executioner's wheel, although it was a peculiar weapon, resembled all wheels. It had many spokes, straight sticks, connecting the central hub to the outer wheel. When the executioner turned the wheel, you could barely see the spokes moving. It looked as though they formed one, uniform, disk.

Francis knew better though. There were gaps... gaps that could lead straight into his opponent's chest. He had one shot at this and he knew it. It was either that or stab himself to death. He'd never bring dishonor to himself in such a way.

As Quip got closer, Francis readied his sword. It wouldn't take the weight of the entire wheel, but it could easily penetrate the holes and stop the spokes in their tracks. At least that's what he hoped would happen.

Quip charged and Francis brought his sword forward, in a stabbing motion. The executioner fell over the vileblood, grunting as he slammed him on the floor. Francis felt the weight of the weapon against his chest, and its strange aura melting his flesh. He screamed, as Quip's limp body added more weight on top of the wheel.

"You... sly... fucker!" Quip whispered in between loud wheezes. "Don't... think... this the last..."

Quip slowly vanished into tiny dust particles, and so did his weapon. Francis lay on the ground, suffering. He couldn't move or speak, yet he wouldn't die. It felt as though somebody had poured molten gold over his chest. His body felt heavy, and every breath cost him.

Silence reigned over the hunter's dream again, save for Francis's occasional wheezes. He wished he could kill himself now. Who cared about honor if he had to lie down on the cold floor, agonizing for all eternity? It felt like he was turning into human goo. He still felt all the pain though, and that fact almost drove him mad.

He wished he could at least scream the pain away, but his body wouldn't respond. It was as though he was prisoner in his own, suffering body. Some time went by, and Francis started drifting off. He closed his eyes for a while, and when he opened them, he was unpleasantly surprised.

He was still in the same spot, suffering the same fate. He wished that Surgit would brace him with his presence in the dream. At least he could end his suffering. Surgit never came though. In fact, the dream felt deserted. He couldn't even hear the doll moving around, doing whatever dolls did in dream worlds.

More time passed and Francis drifted off once more. He was back in Oedon Chapel, fighting against his master. He saw him shoot Surgit once more before turning toward him. He was holding Karla, the only woman to ever stand by him through thick and thin. He heard another shot, and his eyes popped wide open.

Gavril was standing above him. He was holding a pistol, a wide grin plastered on his hateful face.

"Looks like your fight ended already," he said, assessing Francis with his sharp eyes. "Quip is cruel. He loves torturing his prey in this manner." Gavril chuckled. "I bet you'd love to stand and fight me now. I met your friends earlier. You guys are getting stronger. I want to see how you'd fight when you're all well trained and powerful."

Francis wanted to speak, to scream at the man and fill him with new holes. Instead, he stared at him in silence, like a crippled mute.

"I'll relieve you of your suffering," he said. "You and your friends should come find me when you're ready. For now, try to have fun in Yharnam. It's not like the hunt will last forever... Heh...Heh...Heh..."

He aimed at Francis's head then pulled the trigger. Francis felt the burning lead fracture his skull and get deep inside. He felt the searing pain... Then there was nothing. He loudly gasped for air as he came back to life. He was back in the dream, with no one in sight or within earshot.

"Did he say friends?"

Chapter end