As the clocks struck twelve, all the routine patrols came to a long-awaited end. Large, ornamented doors of headquarters creaked wide open, and like clockwork, Hounds from all over the city started slowly piling up in the main lobby. For some of them this was definitely the lowest point of their regular duties. Having to line up before the reception desks and fill out pages and pages of detailed reports, although mundane, sometimes felt even more draining than an entire night of hunting. Irritating as it was, no one really dared complain. After all, rules like this were set in stone almost seven hundred years ago. Even thinking about the possible repercussions for breaking them, could send a chill down one's spine.

Marked by all this paperwork, a sunny afternoon passed quite peacefully and around one and a half hours later, business as usual resumed. Voices engaging in light conversations, rustling of cutlery from the canteen, calming songs of birds outside the windows and occasional sound of heavy footsteps, made by hunters dragging their sore feet up the dormitory stairs, filled the narrow corridors. Beast activity dropped significantly for the past few weeks and the world around reflected that. Both Hounds and their Church authorities eventually lowered their guard. Of course, opinions that the recent developments were a bad omen circulated around the central once in a while, but at the end of the day it wasn't nearly enough for anyone to so easily let go of their newfound sliver of freedom. For that, they first needed a painful lesson…

It's safe to say that when the alarm bell rang aggressively, without any previous warning, the entire headquarters trembled. Instinctively dropping everything they might have been up to, all Hounds sprung right back on their feet at the very same moment. Many years have passed since the last time this god-forsaken bell could make a sound. Hell, for some hunters this was the very first occasion to have the displeasure of hearing it.

"Emergency! Emergency!"

A distressed, shaking voice of a young priestess echoed through the hallways. Easily piercing right through the awfully thin walls.

"All available Hounds are requested to appear in the main lobby at once! I repeat… All available Hounds are requested to appear in the main lobby at once!"

The order reverberated in the ears of every hunter, and it seemed like all hell was suddenly let loose. Despite having all the emergency procedures drilled into them from a very young age, with that many people being called up at once, Hounds inevitably spiralled into a bit of chaos.

Among all the commotion, without a sound, doors of one room opened up slightly. Out of them, a young man with bags under his eyes and long, unmaintained black hair crawled outside. He wore a mostly leather armor, mixed here and there with some chain mail or small steel plates. Trousers untidily tucked into heavy boots were held in place by a wide belt, with a one-handed sword attached to its left side. On top of all that lied a slightly tattered, ashen cloak and a dark, bloodstained scarf tied loosely around the neck. It was a rather standard-issue hunter's uniform, but on him, with this hunched-over posture and gloomy aura, it looked unfitting.

Paying no mind, to how disheveled he looked, the boy took a shaky step forward and almost instantly bumped into another Hound, the impact of which nearly sent him right back inside.

"Make way weakling!"

Strapping man growled at him, without stopping. Vince's ears ruffled up, as he himself stumbled back and forth through the door frame. The word "weakling" was something he'd gotten used to, but hearing it first thing after another sleepless night, still made his eye twitch in frustration.

"Asshole."

He cursed under his breath, before quickly looking left and right to make sure no one else was there to trample over him. With that done, he stepped out once again, slammed the door shut, and ran down to the main lobby. There, most of the Hounds were already lined up in files, standing at attention before the speaking platform, but with no one to take the lectern yet, they discreetly whispered to each other.

"What's going on?"

"No idea… But it has to be something big. Last time we got an alarm like this, it was about a bishop passing away."

"Dear Gods…"

Vince did not listen in on any more of the conversation. Spinning conspiracy theories was never something he liked to engage in. Nevertheless, he too was a little anxious. As he took his place in the rank, his head hung low. With fingertips tightly gripping the folds of his trousers, he took a deep breath and locked his eyes on the tips of his muddied boots.

"Look who showed up…"

"No less filthy than ever."

Barely audible sound of another conversation, coming somewhere from the back, caught Vince's attention. Unlike the previous time, however, it was much harder to brush off since it was clearly about him.

'Please… We have better things to do now.'

He thought to himself, squinting his eyes and trying to focus on anything else. Unfortunately, it proved to be a futile effort. Whether he wanted this or not, his supreme hearing could neither ignore the voices nor muffle them in any meaningful way.

"It looks like he managed to recover from the last encounter."

"For someone who can't even properly regenerate, you have to admit, he's awfully tenacious."

"He is, but doesn't his persistence disgust you? It reminds me of cockroaches."

Vince felt their judgmental eyes on the back of his head and bit his lip. As discreetly as possible he turned his head in their direction and caught a short glimpse of the gossipers. He knew these men. Not by name, but as scarce as the Hounds were in number it was inevitable to one day recognize most if not all of them. If his memory was correct, those two were from the first generation. Most basic of hunters with so little black blood in their system, that the extent of their power reached only as far as enhancing their physical attributes. This was awful. Belittling somebody else so casually and in the face of such dire circumstances. At times like this Vince thought that maybe, just maybe, the one who was unworthy of being called a Hound, wasn't him after all.

"I never heard about him using any of that Blood Sacrifice power too… Honestly, without the uniform and a blade, I surely could mistake him for a regular human."

"That's because he is, in fact, unable to perform those arts… From what I heard, he lost consciousness at the closest attempt."

Thankfully the pair in the back must have said a word too much. At last, their whispers caught the attention of the nearest supervisor, causing him to step in and finally silence the ill-behaved. "Disgraceful" was the last thing Vince heard from there before much more important matters arose.

Footsteps pierced the now dead silent lobby, as an old cleric, dressed in snow-white, ornamental garbs, hurried onto the platform. This already was something to have bad feelings about. Most of the time orders and announcements were extended to Hounds through regular priests, or at worst by a high-priest. Seeing a cleric appear in the headquarters understandably made everyone hold their breaths and a single thought came to the collective mind. Dear Gods.

Once the old man took the stand his arms extended forward, swiftly pushing flaps of his heavy robe to the sides. Like all other clergymen, he wore white gloves. A symbol of both his high ranking in the Church as well as great achievements made in the past. Despite this, when he reached upward to quickly adjust his glasses, those more perceptive could clearly see that his hands were shaking. Trying to calm down, he took a deep breath before gripping the lectern, but even that did not help.

"Almost half an hour ago a Beast has appeared on the south of the Cathedral Ward."

He spoke and with a single sentence, managed to make all colors instantly drain from the faces of gathered hunters. In one moment, almost seven hundred years of rules and knowledge vanished unexpectedly as if they were nothing more than a load of questionable commons and some fairy tales. Hearing that, Vince's eyes widened. Words that couldn't be said or thought in the presence of an individual such as the cleric, crept up his mind and hung on his tongue. Struggling to breathe in and out, he felt his knees and hands slowly grow more and more numb. Until today, it was widely known and accepted that the only thing Beasts fear or at least can't tolerate is sunlight. Certainly, as it is with all laws, there were exceptions. History recorded a number of incidents when these vile creatures poked their heads out during the day, but even those, happened only on particularly rainy or snowy days, with sun rays being unable to pierce through the thick, dark clouds.

"The creature was pushed back by passing Hounds. However, as keeping the attacked civilians safe came first, it wasn't killed just yet. Regrettably, we have no further details about potential casualties on either human or hunter side. With that in mind, we have to take action as swiftly as possible. You will all be sent outside immediately."

Having said that, the cleric paused for a second. His grip on the lectern tightened and a single drop of sweat ran all the way down his wrinkled forehead. He stubbornly avoided making any eye contact with the Hounds, instead fidgeting nervously by poking hair from his grayish beard. Even though he wasn't the one being put in immediate danger, it was evident, that giving out the order filled him with uncertainty. The burden of authority must have been merciless.

"I, Father Dunward, as a Cleric of the Church hereby command… All Hounds are to move out at once and begin their hunt in accordance with the emergency procedures. On-field leadership will be taken by Cain, Evelyn, and Zachary, who is already outside, for generations first, second, and third respectively. You answer before them and under their guidance you assess the situation, provide aid to those in need, spread the news further, and hunt down that hellish filth, which dared show its face in the holy light of day! Now go! Let the Gods guide your way and watch over your safe return!"

Gathering all his strength and determination, Father Dunward frowned and slammed his fist against the lectern. A moment of silence downed, but in it, a spark of passion was also ignited and its flames burst out harder than ever before. All Hounds proudly saluted the cleric, before letting out an empowering battle cry. Sharing their commendable enthusiasm, the old man too, stood up straight and raised his head high before answering his brothers and sisters with his own tribute. A truly touching moment, which unfortunately couldn't last longer than a single second. With no more time to spare, Hounds arranged into groups under their designated leaders and scattered in the blink of an eye. Vince, who currently had no leader to fall back on, followed a few steps behind. His whole body, still shaking in fear. After all, he knew better than anyone else that no amount of blessings and grand words could lift his curse of weakness. At best, it could only give him just enough strength to take a single step forward.

***

Running through the streets of Cathedral Ward during the day and seeing all these people gathered there was a strange experience. With only a few exceptions, Hounds generally only leave their headquarters at dusk and are required to return no later than noon. Sadly, their exposure to large quantities of people is therefore quite limited. For Vince, it was especially true. Lacking severely in nearly all hunting capabilities, more often than not, he was delegated into the least populated areas of the city, which at night tend to look like literal ghost towns. Making his way north, he couldn't help himself but admire the liveliness of the city and its residents. Being the one who had to turn their peaceful day into a struggle for survival was heartbreaking.

"Run into hiding! Quickly! A Beast has appeared!"

He shouted continuously, passing street after street at an almost break-neck speed. In defiance of his orders, Vince had no intention of reuniting with other third-gen Hounds and their leader. He had known Zachary and the others for quite some time now. He witnessed first-hand how absurdly strong they were, how fast they moved and how mighty were their blows.

"I'd only slow them down."

He muttered to himself. The only way, he could potentially make a difference was to just spread the news further and further. As such, his priority laid in making sure people knew what was going down and in giving them an opportunity to act accordingly. Having the citizens seek refuge in churches or at least their own homes, was the least and all he could realistically do. Being an anomaly with no way to either regenerate, even small non-lethal wounds or tap into the all-powerful Blood Sacrifice peculiar to the Beasts, Vince could only be compared to the first generation. Wanting to be specific, however, even that was actually a great overestimation. At the end of the day, what those hunters lacked in terms of the supernatural, they compensated appropriately with years of on-field experience. The only good thing to come from this was that Vince didn't have to struggle with the number of downsides other third-gens had to regularly face. For them, the line between men and beasts was the blurriest. Human bodies were never destined to hold that much power and because of that, these Hounds often had to pay the price for it. Unstable minds and major drawbacks for every time they infringed onto the territory of Beasts and used their strength were only the tip of the iceberg. Although Vince was able to bypass those side effects, he too had a steep price to pay. This price was weakness. Inadequacy that eventually pushed him into developing a whole new way of getting by. Despite being a Hound, he avoided fighting as much as possible, unsheathing his blade only when there was no other way. Having been trained in the art of battle, if a situation called for it, he could still take on some smaller or equally weaker monsters. Having to face off with a new mutation, strong enough to withstand the light of day, however, was far beyond him. With that in mind, he preferred his usual ways of providing support to other Hounds.

Unfortunately for him, in this line of work, this kind of mentality was just a half-measure and as the old Hound saying goes… Half-measures are never enough.

"Watch out!"

A familiar voice, the same one that called him a weakling not so long ago made Vince halt suddenly. Again, his ears ruffled up and eyes tried to shift in the sound's direction. Before he managed to catch a glimpse of a fellow Hound though, something huge and heavy ran straight into him. This time the crash didn't make him just awkwardly stumble around but rather sent him flying, as if he were a bolt launched from a crossbow. His body pierced the air and shortly after slammed hard into a brick wall of a nearby tenement building. The boy coughed up some slimy, black blood as he struggled to stand up from under the crushed stone. His vision blurred horribly, and ears filled with a nauseating ring. Coming back to his senses took him a solid second, but eventually, he managed to inch forward and raise his head a little. Laying eyes on the source of the collision, his luck must have run out. There it was. The Beast he tried his best to avoid stood right in front of him. It reached forward with bloodied claws while its white, hollow eyes made it seem like the grim reaper himself was staring him down. Feeling his whole body go numb, Vince let out an embarrassing squeal and his mind went blank. The only thing he heard was his own voice.

"I don't want to die."