---

Bogart stood up, throwing his arms up above him to stretch out after his long nap. He turned away from the fireplace to find Persephone waiting by the entrance to the room. She greeted him with the same soft voice he remembered from the night before, motioning to stairway behind her for him to follow.

"Good morning," he repeated, quickly dropping the blanket on a nearby couch as he moved at her command. As he took the first step downwards after her, he couldn't help but think that there had to be a better spot for the head of the house to hang out aside from the basement, but he followed the woman nonetheless. He was interested in thanking whoever was in charge for the hospitality and would do what he had to in order to make that happen.

"John. That was his name, right? I wonder if Persephone is his wife." Several more thoughts flowed through his head as he followed the woman down the stairway, but it wasn't too long before Persephone stopped and turned towards him.

She'd brought him to a door at the bottom of the stairwell, where John must be. He had things to ask her, but nothing that was important. He was far more interested in meeting the man in charge. Bogie shook his head and reached for the handle of the door.

---

Gear:

The scent of death.

The first thing that hit Bogart as he opened the wooden doorway. The smell of decay and rot. Flesh. Blood. It was overwhelming and unnatural, yet through the sheer darkness, the glaring eyes of John Johnson beamed straight into the hunter's core and through it, cold and distant. With Persephone shutting the door behind Bogart, the little source of light that had illuminated the cellar disappeared entirely, and as Bogart looked back instinctively, the doorway had vanished.

"Come now, Weiss hunter, surely you thought more of this place than mere sanctuary. Hideki would be disappointed in you, boy."

The air quickly chilled as John spoke through the cover of darkness, able to look upon the hunter as clear as day, still deciding whether he was predator or prey. The townsfolk had begun to pry once more, and Bogart's presence mimicked his father's actions before him only a generation prior. Last time, John had left the town in peace after having clashed with Hideki to a stalemate, but now with the weakness of his progeny, he was free to take care of the issue at the root. Still, John sighed, the fact that Bogart was so trusting, the fact he had let John determine the location of their meeting, all of these qualities were foolish and naive. Far too human to be a hunter.

"Hunting monsters, beasts, creatures of the night. Child's play. A true hunter requires only the greatest marks, men and the horrors that dwell within them. How many thralls of mine have you killed now, Bogart? Lifeless, unthinking, no creativity or desires of their own." Dull thuds, wet footsteps, and the pounding of the young hunter's own heart. Slowly, Johnson approached.

"And still you come to my doorstep near death. You had hoped to tackle the real 'threat' of Drum? That's almost humorous. When your father had told me the same thing, I believed him. But you..." the man's voice seemed to disperse throughout the black room, losing it's location amidst the stone until his cold breath touched Bogart's neck.

"...Worthless."

[Ghoul Count: ???]

---

Persephone had led Bogart through the house to a cellar door, thereupon which he entered into a dark room. The hunter was instantly hit with an eerie feeling, but more potent than that was the stench that radiated from every corner of the pitch black room. He'd originally smelled it when he went to see Esmerelda and it was a scent that'd forever be etched in his mind. Decay, rot... The scent of the ghouls he'd had to interact with many times over the course of the night, but it was of a different caliber at this very moment - it was as if he were in the heart of the ghouls' spawning ground.

John began to speak out from the cover of darkness. The way his voice resounded off the stone walls made it impossible for Bogart to pin down his location. Without the ability to turn away, the young man was forced to listen to his savior's chilling voice. What shook him more than the ill feeling he was getting was the fact that the man mentioned his father, Hideki, as if they'd met somewhere before. If they had truly met before, the fact that this man was still alive was alone a testament to his power.

The man continued to talk down to Bogie as if he'd been watching his every movement since his arrival on Drum. The endless walk through the cold, the life threatening fights with the numerous ghouls, and everything up until his arrival at the doorstep of the house. But all of that didn't matter as John's voice disappeared momentarily, the quiet striking through Bogart with its own power. The ill feeling he'd been getting suddenly made a turn for the worse, screaming within his head for him to turn and run and escape at all costs. More powerful than anything he'd felt before, even stronger than the panic he'd felt fighting the ghouls with his life on the line... It was true fear.

"...Worthless."

John's cold breath struck against Bogie's neck, causing the young hunter to rapidly pull away from the source. He couldn't tell his position in the dark room as he darted away from the man he'd come to see, backing up to a stone wall. As his hand touched the cool stone, a slimy sensation could be felt through his fingertips. Although fear and distress had taken hold of Bogart within the confines of this unlit room, the naivete within the young man was still powerful.

"Did you hunt with my father?" His voice quivered for a moment, but he got the question out. The situation was scary, but John had still invited him into his home and gave him time to rest. If he were a colleague of his father, then the man couldn't be all bad.

---

Gear:

"Kch...Hahahahaha! Boy, are you as deaf as you are dumb? Your father Hideki didn't come here to hunt prey with me, I was his prey." John said, his voice seeming to fade away slowly once again into the stagnant air itself.

The cool, slime-like sensation on Bogart's hand slowly began to ache, as if thousands of needles were jabbing themselves into him. Even as his eyes began to adjust, it was nearly impossible to see in the darkness. Yet, it became evident enough what exactly he was touching. Blood. Fresh enough to still coat his palm and fingers roiled and undulated violently as if fashioning themselves into tiny blades to stab into the young hunter's hand.

The pooled liquid on the ground soon swelled up around Bogart's ankles, an arm forming out of the mass. Slowly, it pulled itself up using the hunter's body as leverage, as Johnson rose out of the liquid, his shape becoming more defined as the blood and viscera became muscle and bone, and eventually skin. The man's body, even while naked, was pristine and in absolute peak condition, all except for the lengthy scar that ran from his sternum up through his left shoulder blade. Yet if he were Hideki's age or older, such a physique would be nigh impossible. While Bogart couldn't see the events clearly, John had made his form and presence known.

"Fight. Fight or die and serve to sustain me."

The blood in the room started to flow as if it had it's own brand of chaos, as more of it seemed to seep through the stone walls themselves and into the room, it's source unknown.

John Johnson:

[Swells of Blood: 1]
[Ghoul Count: ???]

---

As soon as he figured out what he was touching, Bogart pulled himself away from the wall. He wiped his hand against his clothes to get the substance off his hand as much as he could. The panic began to fill into his core as he could do nothing against the creature forming in front of him, hanging onto his body as it came to its full form. If there were any doubt in Bogie's mind, it was gone now - This is what he was looking for. The one that was spawning the ghouls and the source of the rumors that had originally brought him to Drum.

Bogart knew that he would have to kill the man in front of him if he himself were to survive. In spite of being able to rest for the night, John had proven himself to be the villain of the story. Unfortunately for Bogie, the dark, blood-coated room was a heavy disadvantage. If he were going to fight, finding a way out of the room was going to be the primary objective. He'd need not only the space, but the vision that the light of day would afford him.

The blood began to swirl and come to life as if it had a mind of its own, but Bogart didn't have the sight or presence of mind to pay it any attention, even ignoring the man that had spawned from the blood itself. Instead, Bogie began to strike out with kicks against the wall. They weren't filled with power, but were strong enough to do what he needed. Each kick would collide with stone, but what he was looking for was the door he'd entered through. The wood would make a vastly different sound when he found it, letting him know where to put his strength in order to make an exit.

Between kicks, he did what he could to strike out with his arms at the darkness in front of him. Whether his fists collided with air, blood, or John himself, they were little more than necessary distractions to help him make time until he could find the exit he wanted.

---

Gear:

John smiled as he watched the hunter immediately look for a way out of the room he had allowed himself to be trapped in. Yet with every kick came a resounding thud, the stone slowly but surely giving way, and the flow of blood into the room rose. Still, the door Bogart longed for was nowhere to be found, on any of the four walls. Still, as the hunter flailed, John approached calmly, letting the hunter's fist strike his chest directly, the skin and muscle bending inwards with the force, but not causing even remote discomfort.

Grasping at Bogart's wrist that had just struck him, John sought to yank the hunter off the wall and down into the filth below in one swift motion, even dislocating his arm should it succeed. Still, that wasn't the ultimate goal of his actions, instead looking to cause as little trouble for Persephone as possible, who was working behind the scenes to keep things neat and tidy.

Throwing his fist downward like a hammer, Johnson showed no concern for his own well-being or body as he looked to cave in the hunter's skull in a single strike, even if it should cost his entire arm in the process with the force he applied. After all, so long as the flow of blood continued, he was truly immortal. With a smirk, blood began to flow upwards and into the naked man's mouth, who savored it as if it were a fine wine. His chest began to crunch and shift, as it swiftly repaired the damage Bogart had caused with his flailing about.

John Johnson:

[Swells of Blood: 2]
[Ghoul Count: ???]

---

Bogart lashed out in every direction, doing his best to both ward off the enemy in the dark and to search for the wooden door he'd entered through. Each time his foot landed flat against more stone, his heart sank further into the pits of despair. The dull thud of stone continued to echo out as the hunter made his way around the room, finding nothing with his probing kicks that would help him reach survival. Death was imminent, but his will to survive was hanging on with what little hope was left.

The young hunter's arms lashed out in the opposite direction. With each swipe into the hollow portions of the room, his hands felt nothing but the damp air. However, his furious attempts at protecting himself paid off when his fist finally came in contact with soft flesh... or so he thought. As the flesh seemed to compact where he'd made contact, all good that could have come from it was swept away as his wrist was gripped by the man in the dark. With a powerful yank, Bogart was pulled off his feet and thrown to the grown. He yelped with pain as he could feel his arm dislocated, but a minor injury such as that wasn't death; therefore, he'd continue to fight.

Bogie thrashed about on the ground and throwing his limbs about with little respect for the martial arts his father had worked so hard to teach him. In this moment, however, it paid off as the sound of crunching stone and breaking bone resounded through his head. John's fist had narrowly missed his skull, colliding with the ground instead, but it was something that didn't seem to matter. The man didn't make a peep in spite of the damage that was dealt to him and through the darkness, Bogart could feel the blood flow passed him towards John.

While the creature healed the wounds that were dealt to him, both by Bogie and by his own power, the young hunter found the time to stand up once more. Scrambling to his feet, Bogart leaped with all his strength and struck out with a heel kick towards whatever wall he came in contact with. Within the confines of this room, John had an advantage. His goal, even if it wasn't through a door, was to make an escape. As soon as he made contact with a wall, he'd keep throwing kicks at it, even ignoring the enemy threat to his back to throw as much power as he could into breaking the bricks that kept him trapped.

---

Gear:

As Bogart continued to strike at the wall, Johnson's ruined hand began to coat itself in the blood around him, slowly forming new flesh, tendon, and bone to replace what had been lost, until it was pristine once more. Eventually, the hunter made progress towards his goal, as he kicked in one of the stones. A small wave of blood was quick to meet his efforts though, followed by maggots and flies that covered him in the process. The source of the blood had eventually revealed itself, bodies of ghouls and townsfolk alike extended from the top of the room all the way down to the very base of the small rocky outcrop where Johnson made his home, nearly a thousand feet if not more. It had to have been hundreds of years worth of corpses from more than just the town itself. All impaled and bled like animals to feed Johnson and his power.

And worse yet, they all still lived, or rather writhed and groaned as if they did, as if they could feel every moment of agony for the decades they were trapped and forced into darkness. Though, some were newer, ghouls of the townsfolk that had chased Bogart to this point had also made their way there at some point whilst he slept.

As the blood in the room slowly accumulated higher and higher to reach equilibrium with the new hole Bogart had made at only knee height, Johnson's more sinister abilities began to manifest once more. The blood that was covering Bogart began to ache in much the same way as when he had touched the slimy residue of the stone, the liquid jabbing itself like needles into his skin with every moment.

But Johnson wasn't content with merely that, now that he had broken a portion of the wall. As if it offered no resistance to his movements at all, John strode to the young hunter looking to deliver a strong blow with his interlocked hands into Bogart's back, as though he sought to launch the boy like a volleyball through the wall he so desperately wanted to break through, right into the tortured and grasping hands of the ghouls that lay beyond.

John Johnson:

[Swells of Blood: 3]
[Ghoul Count: Thousands]

---

Bogart's frantic struggling and kicking at the wall had finally succeeded in creating an opening. While he'd tried his hardest in order to get at least this far, he'd only managed to remove a single brick through all his effort and in turn had had the leg he'd used to remove it coated in the resulting cascade of blood and insects that flowed forth from it. The stinging sensation that he'd felt on the palm of his hand was now being felt across his entire leg. It wasn't extremely painful, but it was both physically and mentally discomforting.

As the torrent of blood funneled through the hole he'd created, Bogart knelt down to peer through it on his own, ignoring the creature that was coming after him. What he saw, in the brief moment before the blood filled up and covered it, was a sight far more disheartening than he'd felt to this point. With each passing moment, John and his lair were breaking barriers and creating new levels of fear within the young hunter's heart. The thoughts that followed were simple and exact.

"Nope."

Having knelt down into the blood, the majority of Bogie's body was now tingling with the same sensation. He needed to leave, but not in the direction that he had been trying to. He was going to backpedal, and do it with vigor. Leaping towards the opposite end of the room, through the darkness, Bogart was met with the closed fists of John Johnson mid-leap, sending him down into the pool of blood and encompassing his entire body. By the time Bogie was able to lift his head out of the filth, he'd drawn the weapon he'd been desperate to not continue to move.

His body was in pain, he'd surely had some ribs broken by John's strike, but from his seated position he fired. Directly opposite from where he'd been striking the wall, the gun would clear whatever was in its path with a large spread of pellets. Splashing the blood in ever which direction, filling the room with an impossibly loud bang, and striking the opposing wall with it's full power.

---

Gear:

Johnson sighed in satisfaction as his fists made contact with the hunter, plunging him into the blood with a satisfying crack to boot. Taking his time, he moved towards the crumpled mess before him, leaning down to drag him back up to his feet. Still, as he reached, his face was met with the barrel of the gun the hunter had kept on him. Still, John's face wasn't that of concern, instead popping an all to aware grin as Bogart pulled the trigger.

A bright flash and resounding explosion.

It was all that was needed to send not only the entire upper half of John Johnson's body splattering into pulp, but also blasting a decently sized hole in the opposite wall, small bits of light gradually making themselves known through the holes made in the second layer of stone, beyond the wall of ghouls and corpses. Still, something seemed... wrong. Even as Johnson's legs fell limp into the blood, the ghouls groaned and writhed as they always had. Even though Bogart had surely killed him, Johnson's malevolence hung in the air and weighed heavily on the hunter.

The blood roiled and bubbled fiercely as another hand near the hole Bogart had made breached the surface, pulling itself up and out of the blood along with the rest of it's attached body. Turning to face Bogart, Johnson laughed, blood still dripping from every orifice of his new flesh.

"Quite the gun you've got there. But I assure you, I've far more life in me than you or your father had bullets. Feel free to try again though."

John Johnson:

[Swells of Blood: 2]
[Ghoul Count: Thousands]

---

Bogart had taken a decent blow to his back and had been thrown into the puddle of blood, but he'd succeeded in blowing a hole opposite to the one that lead to the hoard of ghouls behind him. Sharp pains shot up and down his back, but more so than his body was the assault on his mind. The situation he'd gotten himself into was flooding his system with adrenaline as he panicked and put all his effort into getting out of there, at least for the moment.

John had been blown to bits by the power of the weapon that Hideki had given Bogie, but the fatal wound was not fatal to this man. Even regenerating half of his form, John still stood before the young hunter. The difference in their abilities was growing ever more present as they tangled together, making the need to kill John that much more dire, but if he wanted to do that, he'd have to draw him away from the puddle of blood.

This was even more necessary given the stinging and tingling sensation that now covered Bogart's entire body. Having been thrown into the puddle of blood, every inch of his body now stung the same way his hand and legs had just before. The feeling wasn't strictly painful, but it did seem to present its own sense of danger.

However, throwing off all the shackles that panic was keeping him down with, Bogie moved for the lit opening he'd created. Clawing at the ground, slapping at the pool of blood, and making an all-out scramble for the light, Bogie ignored everything around him in favor of reaching the warmth that the sun was pushing in through the hole he'd created.

---

Item Name	Power	Speed	Durability
Hunter Manual	-	-	2
SLAYER SERIES: Beastslayer, Onmyonta	8	5	8

"Ah ah ah, not so fast, Mr. Weiss. We're not finished here." Johnson said, driving his fist down like a hammer into the air, only for the force to manifest itself through the blood that coated Bogart's body, a powerful strike directly at the back of the young hunter's right knee as the liquid that coated him shifted onto that position before returning back into the pool, which seemed to lower slightly before refilling back to it's earlier levels with the blood from the ghouls.

Content that the strike would be enough to at least slow the boy's warpath towards the light, Johnson moved to approach him, looking to simply grab and toss the boy at the opposite wall, so that he may continue beating him into submission.

Letting Bogart escape would be troublesome, yes, but more than anything Johnson felt he absolutely must instill a true lesson on what it means to hunt, directly into the hunter's core, even if it should kill him. Especially if it should kill him. After all, the scar his father had granted him that day ached even now, and the prospect of murdering and feasting on his progeny only served to soothe it temporarily. Regardless, so long as the blood flowed into this room, he could strike from anywhere, and could not be killed. He would simply rise from the pool, reborn again.

John Johnson:

[Swells of Blood: 2]
[Ghoul Count: Thousands]

---

Bogart scrambled as fast and as hard as he could towards his goal. The closer he got to the light of the next room, the more he wanted to get there. Yet, before he could achieve what he was working for, a powerful blow made contact with the back of his knee, sending the young hunter spiraling headfirst back into the pool of blood he'd been wading through.

The force was powerful, but the damage had been mitigated by the fact that it had shoved the joint in the direction it was meant to bend, as if it were only done as a means of keeping him trapped. More than that though was a fact that was only made apparent when Bogie was able to raise his head back out of the blood. He'd been hit in the back of the knee, but John was only just moving towards him now. Without actually touching him, the owner of this house of horrors had still managed to hit him.

The young man leaped to the side, avoiding John's fingers by a hair. Pulling himself to his feet, Bogie threw out a powerful side kick towards the man that was trying to keep him trapped, but it was only diversionary. If it made contact, it had potential to do damage, but all he wanted to do was give himself enough time to make another move towards the well lit opening he'd just opened up with his firearm.

As he turned towards the room to move, he let slip a simple, "Fuck you, John." In the absolute, life-threatening danger of the situation, the tone of his voice seemed only as if he were fed up and tell his adversary to cut the shit. A far cry from what would have normally be acceptable.

---

Item Name	Power	Speed	Durability
Hunter Manual	-	-	2
SLAYER SERIES: Beastslayer, Onmyonta	8	5	8

As the hunter scrambled out of the way of John's grasp, the naked man's demeanor grew increasingly fiendish at the cowardice he was faced with. Taking the full brunt of the telegraphed kick to his arm and side, Johnson's apathy seemed to spill out of the shattered bones that came with the attack. It was something he could have easily avoided, countered, and punished, but the lack of rapport between the two left him wanting. Perhaps it was time to devour him and wash out the bad taste the experience was leaving on him. Sliding along his feet through the blood, Johnson stood tall as the attack carried him away from the already retreating Bogart.

"Fine. If that's how you want to play it, by all means... Choosing where you die is the last courtesy I can give to the father of a failure."

As the hunter scrambled into the light, John dipped his broken arm fist first into the liquid below, the blood gathering and flowing into the carnage and fueling his body, drinking from the sea of red he waded in until the room itself was dry as bone, and the corpses in the walls finally knew stillness and rest. Johnson's body was once more pristine, but his hair had faded to be white as snow, and his skin paled to a sickly hue, if viewed outside of the circumstances. Still, as he walked forward towards the hole Bogart had created, he brimmed with the absolute vigor and energy that could only come with the consumption of thousands of lives. Lives he had cut short himself.

As the sunlight graced his skin, there was no sizzling or flames, and he barely recoiled at it's presence, no more than someone whose eyes still needed to adjust from the night. In truth, for the sun to have any hold over him, it would have to first burn through the buffer of lifetimes of preparation. Through the hole was the foyer of Johnson's home, where Bogart had first entered. Yet what he witnessed Johnson exiting was nothing less than the air itself, no trace of the cellar of horrors that should have resided below, and no trace of the woman, Persephone, who had led him there. Rubbing his hand over the trademark scar on his chest and shoulder, the flesh fell away and in it's place came new muscle and skin, until it too was as spotless as the rest of his body.

"No need for this memento anymore. Go on then. Run. Fight. I'll break you down at my own leisure."

John Johnson [Prime]:

[Swells of Blood: 0]
[Ghoul Count: 0]

---

With giant steps and small leaps, Bogart waded his way out of the blood-soaked room and made his way into the foyer of the home. Just as it had done the night before, the warmth that wafted through the house did its best to fortify his willpower. Yet, it wasn't the fireplace that was doing the work this time - it was the sun. Ever fairy tale, every rumor, and even the hunter manual said that vampires were weak to the sun. The young hunter couldn't help but hope that if he could lure John out of his torture chamber, he could win the fight without having to fight through the impossible level of healing that had been displayed.

However, as John strode out of the room following his prey, Bogart was struck once again with a sense of despair. The sun had - at least as far as the panicked boy could tell - no affect on the creature. No burns, no fear, and barely a squint at the newfound light. The ally he had in daylight was ineffective, but exiting the room afforded the young man another advantage. He'd witnessed with his own eyes the blood that had been pooling contribute to John's healing, so pulling him away from that would, hopefully, give him enough of an edge to eek out a win.

More immediately than that though was the prickly sensation that continued to run along Bogart's body. Without a moment of hesitation, the young hunter began stripping off every article of clothing he had on, as it was all soaked in the crimson liquid. John walked out confidently as Bogie chucked his soaked clothing into every corner of the room until he stood - stark naked - in the middle of the foyer.

Putting up his fists and pushing his legs shoulder-width apart, Bogart finally acknowledges his opponent as a speaking being. "I don't know what happened between you and my father, but don't worry, I'll finish what he started. I'll fight."

The blood that had once coated him had been reduced significantly, leaving only a reddish hue from where it had stuck, but what was important was the mobility he'd been granted by leaving the pool of blood below. With his legs forward, Bogart was able to stride forward as quickly as he could muster. The distance between him and John was minimal, relying on nothing but raw, lunging strength to cover the space and throwing a right hook directly towards the cocky, talkative man's jaw.

Regardless of everything - the history between John and his father, the reason behind John's confidence - Bogart would survive this encounter with everything he had in his arsenal. Whether it was fear, anger, or pride, he would make sure to prevail.

---

Item Name	Power	Speed	Durability
Hunter Manual	-	-	2
SLAYER SERIES: Beastslayer, Onmyonta	8	5	8