Laughed. Sickened laughter emanated from Lucien, for it would be inaccurate to say he himself was laughing. He chuckled in a thousand different voices, yet was crying in pain at the same time. It was as if he had mouths beneath his corrupted flesh that cried and laughed like two parallel theatre masks multiplied by the thousands. As Irina swirled hers and Lucien's blood around her, some of it began to... dissipate? No - [i]it was turning to ash.[/i] Lucien's blood transmuted into calcified skin cells with burning blue cores, skin to a swathe of hot cinders. Irina had unintentionally trapped herself in a swirling ash storm by controlling Lucien's blood. He slowly raised his sword up and brought his blade down quickly, not hitting Irina at all due to the range between them, but shaping the ashen winds around Irina into razors that burnt her flesh every time they cut her - he was cauterizing each wound to ensure she would bleed no more.

[i]The cauterization was bad news for Irina, as now she only had a limited amount of blood that she could freely manipulate against an opponent that possessed what seemed to have been much more power than she had. In short, it was a bad situation, one that Irina would have usually retreated from to access her wounds and plan ahead for a separate encounter.[/i] [i]The first thing that came to Irina's mind was identifying Lucien's current location, as she then whirled around to where the man had laughed. The goal now? It was to get out of this situation as fast and as safety as possible. [/i]

The air held the pungent odour of burning flesh and brimstone. In front of her she saw a glint of gold, shaped triangular and cone-like - an executioner's helmet? No, no it could not be. They should not be here. In its hand was an oversized wheel, stained with bits of gore and rotten meat from past kills. And then something landed in front of Irina, thrown by the Executioner. Something small and rough, slightly pink but now rotting. Her tongue. The laughter continued from the figure. It was no doubt that it was Daniel.

[i]The memories of Yharnam, of the hunt, they...they swirled within the Vileblood's mind, corrupting her, and ever so slightly pushing her closer and closer to the edge of utter madness. Yet a question remained within Irina's head, as she froze in place; as she stared at Daniel, the one that had caused her so much pain and suffering...[/i] [i]...How?[/i] [i]How could He be here? He was dead, a broken lunatic of a man crushed after he descended into his own insanity, into his bloodlust. So that begged the question...how was he here in the first place?[/i] [i]Unless, Irina's suspicions came true.[/i] [i]Instead of panicking, Irina attempted to ignore the apparition of Daniel, the one that had committed his life to her very death. She stared upon that thick grey robe, the bloodied pyramid-shaped head...the rotten tongue upon the ground. Irons forced herself to look upon it, before she began walking.[/i] [i]Straight towards Daniel, the one she knew was dead.[/i]