What was the nature of the Nightmare Seed inside his Soul?
Gehrman had a few theories, but the most prominent had to do with the impossible cage that trapped Paleblood deep beneath his Soul Sea.
His intuition had always told him that something sinister was taking place there, but it wasn't until a few months ago, while traveling to Antarctica, that he got a better idea of its nature.
Surprisingly, it came from knowledge of the waking world.
He had been researching the cellular properties of blood more deeply in an attempt to improve his [Blood Manipulation] further. Understanding its broad molecular structure was great, but blood was far more complex that an arrangement of atoms.
It was the essence of life, after all.
Proteins, electrolytes, nutrients, and more all worked in a complex system to keep the body of almost every living thing running.
And it was even more than that.
White blood cells, for example, acted as part of the body's immune system; identifying foreign entities like bacteria and eliminating them, keeping life pure and sustained.
It seemed a bit odd to compare these things to Paleblood, but Gehrman couldn't shake the feeling that they were connected.
After all, Paleblood was more of an epithet. Unlike Ebrietas (which was the creature's actual name according to some of the mad men who tried to communicate with it).
But for the creator of the Hunters Dream, Paleblood was a designation.
One given by the being herself.
Johann had come to Yharnam in search of Paleblood – though the reason for how he had known that term escaped Gehrman still – and he had only found an answer in the Hunters Dream.
At the edge of the dream's workshop, in the corner, a message was left: "Seek Paleblood to transcend the hunt."
It was odd, in hindsight. The light the message came from was the same as the ones that existed with the Bath Messengers and the Gravestones that teleported him to the lamps around Yharnam.
Undoubtedly, this was the residue of the Moon Presence, but the true meaning escaped him.
Why had the Great One told him such a thing?
What was the purpose of the Hunters Dream? What was the purpose of the Hunt?
Why was he thinking about White Blood Cells?
Paleblood.
White blood.
Pale blood.
What disease was the Moon Presence fighting?
The erroneous, contrarian thing.
Dreaming up facsimiles of Yharnam, siphoning the power of the Nightmare Spell, creating Nightmare Seeds just outside her cage, forcing her vessel to grow stronger and stronger.
To replace him.
To do what?
…
Gehrman awoke under a yellowish grey sky. It felt as if the world had been tinted, becoming granier and dark.
The words of the spell rang in his ears.
"What?"
The Third Nightmare had taken him now of all times? He had not fallen into it when he had been lost in the deepest madness for days on end.
And the last time he died, all the way back on the Forgotten Shore, he had not entered the seed.
In both instances he had been hearing the Call for a long while, but had the Seed developed more than he thought.
Or was there something more sinister and purposeful going on.
"Master?" a beautiful voice called to him like a song. The Yharnam accent that he hadn't heard for over a year brought him right back to his old home.
Gehrman blinked a couple times and his eyes focused.
Maria.
He felt his words catch in his throat and he just stared at her. Her Hunters Attire was uniquely modified to her, fitting her beautiful form yet remaining elegant and refined.
She looked at him with a curious glance.
She was young, perhaps in her twenties.
Gehrman clenched and unclenched his hands, feeling power ripple through him.
Now that his body in the Waking World was closer to adulthood there was not as large of a gap between that body and Old Gehrman's body.
But Old Gehrman's body wasn't too old any more.
Unlike the last Nightmare, which he had been around 50 years old for, he was now in his 40s.
For a normal human, their body started to decline after turning 40, or maybe even sometime in the 30s.
But Old Gehrman had always been somewhat of a superhuman. He had fought on almost equal footing with Johann at the end of that night of the Hunt, and he had been well over 100 at that point. In his 40s, he was likely at his peak physicality, and now as an Ascended, he was even stronger.
At that moment, a profound dizziness took over and he fell to his knees.
Maria yelled out and ran over to him, bracing his body with her soft yet incredibly strong hands.
Johann and Old Gehrman fought. They fought at the end of the Nightmare…
The image of the dream workshop burning was so damn vivid that it shocked him.
And not only that, more and more memories started to return to him. The veil of pale purple fog was cast aside and he saw a dark scene.
The Old Hunters Nightmare, Simon, the grotesque image of Ludwig, turned into a supremely powerful beast…Maria, her throat bloody and her corpse moving with even more viscousness than he had remembered.
The Fishing Hamlet.
That yellowish grey sky.
Gehrman let out a sharp breath and he finally took in his surroundings.
The wet mud now clinging to his legs, the salty damp air.
The sun dried wood of a village sprawling before him.
The very same Hamlet.
And just like that, he fell to the ground, passing out.
…
When he came to, he felt a strangely sublime feeling. His head was resting on a most comfortable pillow.
Gehrman sighed and opened his eyes.
…half the sky was blocked from view. Blocked by protruded cloth, Maria's sharp and clean features peeked out above her breasts.
Thank the gods he was in his 40s, if he had been in his 14 year old body, or even his 17 old body, things would have gotten difficult.
He blinked a couple of times and spoke in Old Gehrman's smooth low voice.
"What are you doing?"
Maria blinked rapidly and a blush came upon her face.
"I-I was simply helping, there wasn't a…I-I'm sorry."
During the last nightmare Gehrman had suspected that maybe the younger lady had a crush on Old Gehrman. Though it was very clear that Maria had near unmatched talent for hunting, the fact that she took up the profession (instead of staying a Brygenwerth scholar) was a bit odd.
Now, looking at her blushing like a school girl, Gehrman couldn't help but clench his jaw.
In his 40s, Old Gehrman had indeed not been ugly, but the age difference (though not illegal) was still unorthodox.
What an odd start.
This was the first time the Spell did not try to throw him directly into Nightmare Creatures after spawning him in a new world.
Instead he got a lap pillow.
Gehrman sat up, dodging Maria's curves and doing his best to calm his nerves. Looking around, he again confirmed his location as the Fishing Hamlet.
A creeping dread rose from his stomach.
…he was fairly certain he knew the atrocity they were about to commit.
Old Gehrman's memories of what took place here (which had previously been hidden) were now revealed in all of their gruesome glory.
His face scrunched and his eyes closed tight.
The screams, throaty and gurgling, replayed and multiplied in his mind.
Slowly he opened his eyes and turned to Maria, she looked at him with deep concern.
And for a second, she saw her as Johann had seen her.
A bloody gash across her throat. The patients from the Research Hall calling for her. The corpse she was before he had approached. Her clearly disturbed state from the last Nightmare.
This was the event that would send her spiraling into the abyss.
The massacre of the Fishing Hamlet.
"Master?" Maria stood up, but kept a respectable distance from Gehrman.
"That has never happened before," Gehrman muttered and turned to Maria fully with a grave expression.
His mind quickly came up with a story to explain away his collapse. He recalled details of the Fishing Hamlet (though it appeared that the grey, fleshy entity at the end remained coated in the pale purple fog).
Still, he recalled the monstrosity that each of person of the Fishing Hamlet became, that same greyish, sea animal-like flesh infested and overtaking their humanity.
They had been sent by Luarence for that very reason.
Gehrman purposefully scrunched his features in confusion and deliberation.
"Maria, do you trust me?"
Her response came immediately.
"Of course, Master."
"Then when we get there, discard Laurence's orders and remain peaceful," he took off his cap and brushed his hair back. "The feeling I just got was eerily similar to the one that the Holy Medium exudes. We should not anger such an entity."
The Holy Medium was a term coined by the Healing Church, and often used in its sermons. But both of them knew that what Gehrman truly meant was the Great One Ebrietas, the source of the Old Blood.
Maria, to her credit, did not immediately yield to Gehrman's words.
"But, the people here have turned into monsters, no? Wouldn't it be unsafe to let them continue on?"
Far away, the crashing of the sea against the rocky beach echoed, daunting…and lonely.
"We will do what needs to be done, but first let us explore the possibility that their mutations are a form of failed evolution. Such data would be helpful, no?"
Gehrman broke character a bit, mentioning data. It was unlike his old personality to care about such things. His affinity with craftsmanship was one of feeling and natural talent, he did not speak of data as a scholar would.
Maria's look of surprise was muted, however, by one of contemplation. She was a scholar, after all, and the idea Gehrman presented was both logical and exciting.
Still, she was on the edge.
"I'll deal with Laurence, and we can come back to rid them from the world if necessary, but…" Gehrman trailed off and turned his sight to the village. "There is no great malice, more like…animalistic instinct. If we tread carefully, we may not have to fight."
This, once again, was odd for Gehrman. The First Hunter was a loyal and impossibly potent blade of the Healing Church. And he was one to follow orders to the letter and never modify them based on his own thoughts.
But the current Gehrman wasn't about to repeat the same haunting act that had crippled Maria to the point of suicide, and drove him deeper into instability and desperation.
After a moment, Maria nodded.
And the two of them, with Trick Weapons put away, walked toward the Fishing Hamlet.