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Everard had watched genocide. He had committed it.

The war against the Vilebloods was never truly a war. It was a slaughter, ordered by the Healing Church. The Church that promised so much good in Yharnam - the saviors of Yharnam.


Once the Executioners were given their orders, Master Logarius marched the host to the castle of Cainhurst. They took 3 days and 4 nights to arrive; having lost a dozen men to the freezing cold and the wild beasts in the woods. But they arrived nonetheless - and quickly began the siege. Exhaustion did not matter to the men of the Executioners; the Vilebloods were to be purged. They were filthy, corrupted, impure. The men were renewed and fought with a righteous vigor, for they were of the Healing Church.

Everard did not share the same sentiments.

They were not killing just heretics. They were killing women and children, too. They were not swift deaths, for the Executioners used weapons designed to brutally pummel the Vilebloods. Some used swords and axes still, but the most vindictive of the host preferred to use the Wheel Logarius gifted them.


Many of the Vilebloods had partaken of the cursed blood, stolen from Yharnam. They were presumed immortal because of it; they would regenerate from near-death. Executioners were told to pummel them into nothing to prevent this. So they did. They did not discriminate, either.

In the courtyard, Cainhurst sent it's soldiers; knights clad in wear that looked more like a noble's clothes than a warrior's. Their coats were of a rich black and red, with white ruffles along their collars and wrists. Their masks were carved intricately and a lock of white hair tied neatly in a tail followed their masks. Their weapons too, were adorned and more befitting of a royal than a soldier. Rapiers with a hidden gun and long, thin curved swords. He had wondered if they were noblemen; all that was left to defend their collapsed kingdom. Some had jewelry tied to their necks, pearls along a string with a blood red jewel upon their chest.


Once the courtyard was cleared and the knights were dead, they stormed the castle. Everard was one of the first inside. When the Executioners had battered down the great doors to the keep, screams erupted in front of them; men and women that appeared to be servants took arms against the rush of Executioners while the noble women and children huddled in corners.

Everard hesitated.


A hand pulled him backwards by his right shoulder, another grabbed his left and spun him. He was turned around to face an Executioner that towered over him; wearing the golden ardeo. The man lifted it up, his eyes bore into Everard’s, frantic and angry.

“Why are you hesitating?

Everard stared at his brother. He stammered, “I-I can’t… Why are we-”

His brother shook him with a glare, “Get over yourself, they are heretics. Beasts!” He let go, and lowered his ardeo. “You’d best move quickly, little brother. Wouldn’t want the others to see your weakness.”

Everard watched his older brother walk away, and then the screaming crashed against his ears.


He ran.