The Want To Go Home

CH7 Bloody Deeds

HAHAHAHA I am BACK! Again. But here you go! Give me your thoughts like usual!

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The heavy stench of blood filled Central Yharnam's cemetery. The residences would tell you that the Tomb of Oedon was one of the only places in Central Yharnam that had soft soil. The rest of Yharnam had been reinforced with stone and bricks when the hunts had first started. Mostly to keep clean up of the aftermath easier. But they had always taken pride in the cemetery for its soft soil.

Soil Izuku was taking advantage of. The idea had struck him as he was on a search for bloodstones. Since the stones could only be made of a substance in beast blood that congeals together and crystalizes, Izuku decided to act on a theory he had. It took nearly two hours of digging but, he eventually made a pit in the soft dirt of the tomb... Which he preceded to slaughter the beasts of Central Yharnam and drag their bleeding corpses into the hole. And thanks to a recent investment in the KirkHammer, An obtuse stone cube that hunters use to mash beasts into paste... Something Izuku would take advantage of.

The entire process to nearly five hours, from the digging, killing, and dragging of the bodies. To the crushing and pulverizing of the bodies. And to make the process faster, Izuku used a rake he took from one of the mob to scoop up the less liquid remains. And as Izuku sat, staring into the deep crimson pool... He couldn't help but laugh. The slightly mad chuckles turned into crazed giggles and then into deranged sobbing as it donned of the poor hunter what he was doing.

And the worst part? He did not even feel bad. Not for desecrating the graves, of the bodies, not the murder and the bloodlust he had trouble dousing in a battle. He felt dirty... even when he went back to the serene Dream and sat with the Doll and or Gehrman. When he was in the forge, working on a project or reading to learn something he needed to know. He felt itchy, his hands felt heavy and, he could not help but scratch and scratch until blood was drawn from his hands and arms.

Eventually, he came back to his scenes the pool of cold crimson blood had shrunk. Peeking from the thick liquid were shards, some larger and doubled, and others normal-sized shards. And while scooping through the sludge, Izuku found quite a haul but, it was not enough... He'd need to do this again.

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The... ah... Gatling Gun? It wasn't advanced enough to be a minigun, but it was still much too advanced to be the Gatling gun from his world... Anyway, it was advanced much more than his meager pistol, but also much too large for him to just... take and use. But that did not mean he couldn't disassemble it and write down the steps and mark each piece with a number then, send each piece with the messengers.

And so he did exactly that; With a jar of paint and a handful of tools, Izuku set to deconstructing the nearly five-foot monster of steel and gunpowder. Hours had passed, and he had just managed to get the almost a thousand part gun into the hands of the messengers. And back to the Dream... The number of unnecessary bolts and segments was really causing Izuku to have a migraine.

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Izuku had always been a diligent studier. For every test and every lesson, he poured over the material until he could recite it by memory... even though his teachers made sure to keep him at the bottom of the class. So learning gunsmithing and weaponsmithing turned out to be a breeze. With the help of Gerhman in the forge and The Doll, in the sewing of his new armored garb, Izuku donned his new gear.

His new hunter's grab wasn't the bland black fabric that generic hunters use. Instead, it was a rich deep brown with green accents. Under the garb was chainmail that covered nearly his entire body. It was forged from the steel and bloodstone and weighed quite a bit but thankfully didn't hinder his maneuverability. In his right hand, he held a modified pistol. Using parts, Izuku had scavenged from the Gatling gun. And a few pieces from a repeater pistol, he had an oddly shaped hunk of metal. Which allowed him to fire bullets faster than with the original pistol. In his left hand, he wielded his cane. It had been reinforced as far as he could with the materials he had. It was longer than what he had used before. Tts blades in whip form had been refined and soaked in his blood while he worked on the rest of his gear. It had glowed an eerie red from the moment he pulled the still warm steel from his blood.