The great wooden doors groaned and coughed as you pushed them open with both hands. You quickly slipped inside the moment there was a large enough gap. The dead man’s body seated within was neither expected nor a surprise, you settled quickly on a rare and welcomed emotion - relief - glad that there didn’t seem to be any living creatures in this room… yet. The same could not be said for the rest of this location which still crawled with horrors. Reaching backwards with eyes still focused on the still corpse, you gently pushed the door closed behind you to secure this safe spot for a moment’s rest.

Upon closer examination, the withered man had clearly been here for a while. He was wearing typical student’s attire, save for a towering metal cage encircling his head. Spiders had once taken up residence inside its arches, their cobwebs now all that remained. The weight of the rusted cage had bowed his head forward, now he rested as if in eternal prayer. Scattered papers covered in a furtive looping scrawl littered the area at his feet. You picked up a couple of sheets and read them curiously but could not seem to put the narrative together, if there even was such a thing. Each page seemed to contain nothing more than rambling notes, stained with inkblots and smudged fingerprints, that the author had penned as though to remind themselves of the nonsensical contents. Each was signed off with a singular name – ‘Micolash’ - though not addressed to anyone. Intrigued, you reached forward to tilt his – Micolash’s? - caged head back and take a look at the face within.

The world immediately fell away. You felt as though you had been shrunk to the size of something unfathomably small and were falling helplessly through the woven ridges in the fabric of reality. You tried to scream but could not recall how to breathe, let alone how to coerce your voice into making a sound. Before you could contemplate your position, the world blinked itself back into reality and your feet hit solid ground. Knees shaking but otherwise unharmed, you patted yourself down as if to reassure your brain that you still had a corporeal form. “What… was that?” you wondered aloud, picking forwards carefully through the unfamiliar terrain. You seemed to be right outside another large building, not dissimilar to the lecture hall you had been exploring previously.

Cautiously stepping over the threshold, you peered into the murky darkness of the entrance hall. Your eyes were drawn to the farthest end, where a shadowy figure swayed in the doorway, chanting softly to the ceiling. The recognition was immediate – this was clearly Micolash. Though he was distant and the room was dimly lit, the lofty cage attached to the man’s head was an evident clue. Though he bore an obvious resemblance to the Micolash you had laid a curious hand upon mere moments prior, he was startlingly alive. The weeping candles along the perimeter of the room cast odd, flickering shadows against the walls and when the man threw his hands up in a grandiose gesture – a greeting? - you flinched instinctively. He shuffled forward as if to take a better look but could likely only perceive the telltale silhouette of your hunter’s attire. “Ohhh! A hunter! But you’re too late, no-one can stop us now…”

You noticed that, though the cage had a little square opening for his face, it was nearly impossible to decipher any features due to the oppressive shadows cast by the bars combined with the general darkness of the room. Despite this, you could hear well that he was smiling with all his teeth. If only you could hear the meaning behind his words as well, for you were utterly lost. Feeling foolish, you opened your mouth to begin to ask for an explanation. Micolash, seemingly convinced that no further discussion was to be had with you, had already spun on his heel and was striding back out into the gloom. “Hey! Wait!” you called to his receding form. He did not acknowledge your plea but rather picked up his pace, briefly stumbling on untied shoelaces before breaking into an ungainly run. Was there any choice now that you were in here with no sight of escape? You sighed and followed, one hand on your hat to keep it steady as you broke into a sprint. “Come on!” you shouted into the dark, “I just want to- huh?”

As you breached the threshold of the hallway and looked beyond, you realized this was not your average building. Multiple exits and entryways branched out from this stretch of the hall, and you knew this was not likely to be the true extent of it. After turning down a couple of different paths you found that some were dead ends, though most simply looped back to the original hallway. Large mirrors stood ominously at the end of some of the corridors, causing a momentary thrill when you caught sight of a humanoid figure, only to realise it was your own reflection. “Oooh, heh heh… hunter… you cannot catch me! After all, the Nightmare swirls and churns… unending…” Micolash’s voice echoed lazily over your head, mocking your futile attempts with childish glee. Exasperated, you turned back and marched down a different path. Maybe it was the same one? You didn’t know.

Just as your heel turned the corner, seeing no sign of the eccentric nightmare host, there was a thick grip on your ankle. You flew forwards, trying to raise your hands to protect yourself from the grimy floor rising up rapidly to meet you. However, you seemed to have lost the use of your arms. Eyes closed, you grimaced and waited for the impact. It didn’t come. Time felt as though it were standing still. You tentatively opened one eye to survey the situation but were unprepared for the scene that met you. A thick blue tentacle grasped at your calf, swirling slowly up towards your thigh. Another held you around the abdomen, supporting your body effortlessly. Shocked and disgusted, you kicked your entangled foot, not noticing the other appendages slithering up behind you to secure your arms. A damp, cold chill seeped through the fabric of your hunter’s attire wherever they made contact.

Eyes wide open now, you noticed the familiar towering silhouette of Micolash standing just behind the bloom of tentacles, like the creepy stem of a vile many-petalled flower. Squinting, you could see that the appendages were actually blossoming from his arm directly, issuing forth from some kind of portal which had rent his flesh jaggedly open just above the elbow. He did not bleed, a glow of eldritch blue glimmering at the edges of what would ordinarily be considered a grievous wound. Despite your wonderment at the remarkable scene developing before you, your foremost feelings were that of chagrin. You were furiously embarrassed to be caught in such a vulnerable and frankly humiliating position, especially brought about by this discourteous individual. Curiously, you wondered if he felt the same when you appeared before him, formed from the aether, a strange intruder in his… wherever this was. The chilled grip of the tentacles brought you back to the moment again. The thick, meaty one that had initially tripped you had wound itself securely, spiraling along the entire length of your leg. It glistened menacingly in the dim half-light of the hallway. You shuddered.

You continued to struggle with your restraints, looking up at Micolash expecting to see the same frustration you were emanating reflected back at you in his pallid face. What you didn’t expect was to see the vague silhouette of a slightly dazed expression, as though he had been slapped. He was staring directly at you, as though he could not quite comprehend the image conjured before him. He murmured something incomprehensible under his breath. The tendrils clenched briefly, as if in response. “Hey!”, you protested petulantly, “Release me! This isn’t fair!”
He did not respond at first except to angle the tentacles so that you were now leaning back against a wall, facing him. You supposed this was preferable, at least you could look at him properly to find out what you were up against. You reckoned your weapon might even be within reach from here, if you could just wriggle a little further... but he was so close already. The silvery aglets of his ridiculous untied shoelaces clattered and bounced on the stone as he continued to approach. Upon reaching you, he bent for a moment to observe his hopelessly entangled quarry with greater clarity.

He moved dazedly closer until you were sure, so sure, you could feel his breath brush over the bridge of your nose. You held your breath, unwilling to mix the two, but maintaining eye contact. You could see his face clearly now – drawn eyes, the same arcane blue as those accursed tentacles, framed on either side by eyebrows that gave him a perpetual look of ponderous concern. A sharp nose perched atop a baleful smile that seemed to extend for slightly longer than that of any other person you had met. Dark, greasy curls hung lifelessly around his head. Though he was certainly less unearthly than the creatures you had encountered up until now, he made your heart flutter far more warily. Your toes squirmed nervously inside your boots and you balled your hands into fists, digging your nails into your palms to ground yourself.

When his arm rose up towards your face, you tried without success to back away but felt the wall push you back towards his hand. He brought his index finger and thumb under your chin and tilted your face from side to side in tacit examination, giggling occasionally in giddy delight. You flinched at his unexpected touch, refusing to break eye contact first. The more stubbornly you met his gaze, fists still clenched, his expression gradually awoke from a dazed grin to something more… predatory. The way he stared, unblinking, into your eyes felt like communication of something far beyond your comprehension. You swallowed the thick lump rising in your throat and tried to ignore how his fingers, pleasantly warm, felt against your skin. You certainly weren’t thinking about how his touch seemed almost… keen, or how you might respond to these eager hands elsewhere…

This man was not normal, you understood that. But he was… a man. More than that, he was seemingly unscathed by the claws of beasthood. The scent of beasts was something to which you had become unwillingly accustomed. It hung in the air in Yharnam, an unmistakable wet-dog smell mixed with gristle and blood. Father Gascoigne had given this scent off in powerful, choking waves and it still made you nauseous to recall it. Micolash, however, smelled… different. Unusual. There was no denying that he smelled dusty, ancient, an obvious side-effect of being a living archive of his own consciousness. Beneath that, though… barely discernable was a light but insidious scent like the humid crackle of ozone lingering in the air before a lightning storm. Like an impending storm, his aura also made you feel slightly uneasy, pressure forming behind your eyes. You gave your head a small shake, as if to dislodge this errant train of thought.

Surely you were not justifying this… attraction? You didn’t even know this man! Shadows flickered once again on the walls and your eyes danced guiltily with their ghostly movements. Micolash, seemingly satisfied with whatever he had found within you, let go and straightened up. Despite the unfastened shoelaces, the caged head, the bizarre personality, the figure he struck now was undeniably imposing. You flexed your arms again, testing, and the tendrils held fast. Grim realisation of the situation you found yourself in was deepening by the second. Nobody knew that you were here. You supposed that didn’t matter, nobody was looking out for you anyway, save for perhaps the Doll. If you died in this forsaken place, would you return to the Dream? Is this even the same reality as you had come to know? Thoughts scrambled and fell over themselves as Micolash watched with acute interest. As he stood before you – over you – you felt a telltale dark fluttering deep in your stomach. Stupidly, making eye contact, your treacherous inner voice spoke to you again of thunderstorms, of vivid blue and crackling sparks. The questions you had been asking mere moments prior did not seem so vital. Words failed you, but your brain was whispering urgently in primal tongues. You could feel heat creeping up the sides of your chest, your neck, your face. You hoped beyond hope that he could not see how strongly he was affecting you simply by standing close. Crouching once again, he brought himself to your level. Grasping your hat with a flourish, he flung it carelessly to the floor with a grin.

He took your flushed face in his remaining hand clumsily and leaned forwards. You had no idea how this was going to work but did not have the time to ponder it before his lips were on yours. Surprisingly, neither of you were particularly impeded by the cage though you felt its burden as he leaned in against you. You got the distinct impression that he had never done this before, but what Micolash lacked in skill, he made up for with enthusiasm. You squeaked as he captured your bottom lip between his teeth and bit down, hard. You felt a sharp tongue swipe over the tiny wound he had created there, lapping at your bloodied flesh. You gasped, and he used that moment to push his tongue forcibly into your mouth. Taken aback, you complied. It wriggled inside erratically, like a phantasm.

Breathlessly, you pulled your head back, ashamed to meet his gaze. A thin string of saliva stretched between you and broke, dripping from his chin, while you blushed furiously at the floor. He let out a delirious giggle, rolling back and forth on the balls of his feet. Unaware of your embarrassment, or simply unaffected by such frivolous things as modesty or propriety, he swooped back down to try again. You tried to bring up an arm to push him back, then recalled the tentacles. Resorting to stammering speech instead, you rebuked him with the only piece of information you held.

“Micolash! St-stop…”

His eyebrows shot up momentarily when you mentioned him by name, but this did not dissuade him. He spoke – had he always had this wonderful low tone to his voice? – “Aahhh, hunter, not so fast… Our prayers are being answered at last… we must listen…”, trailing off into unintelligible mumbling. He chuckled, caressing the top of your head and sliding downwards. Unconsciously, you leaned into the affectionate touch. Your heart leaped into your throat when he wound his free hand into your long ponytail, imperiously angling your head upwards to expose the pale expanse of your neck. Your pulse thrummed violently as he brought his nose to trail softly across your skin, inhaling deeply. Trembling, it took all you had not to whimper pathetically when you felt his tongue lick a wet stripe along the sensitive flesh. “Mmmmn” he sighed, moving to nibble sinfully along the soft shell of your ear.

Relinquishing his grasp on your hair, he began to fumble with the clasp of your cloak. Once undone, he let it fall to the floor in a velvet puddle. You thought privately that you might join it there if you weren’t already reclining, feeling boneless under the simplest of his touches despite your feeble protests. It had, after all, been so very long since you had been able to share a moment like this with another person. Perhaps your prayers were being answered, though you would never beg such things of anybody, let alone the gods. Micolash fumbled clumsily again with the top button of your shirt, frowning as the small silver button slipped from his one-handed grasp. As if realising anew that he could control the tentacles as an extension of himself, he urgently sent each remaining tendril not occupied with your body to undo the buttons of your shirt. Stunned at their dexterity, you stared in awe as your upper body was fast exposed to the chilly air. You shivered violently, and he smiled widely.

Your chest was now covered only by a thin makeshift support that you had crafted in the Dream, and the chill was not leaving much to the imagination. His eyes roved hungrily, drinking in the sight. You blushed self-consciously, wishing that you had something slightly more beautiful or impressive to show for yourself in this moment. “Ooohhh, majestic!” he uttered without a hint of irony, stroking frantic fingers inelegantly across your stomach, along your sides. You closed your eyes, overwhelmed, as they wandered upwards and untied the knotted fabric at your back. Swiftly, without ceremony, it was tossed to the floor with your cloak. Expecting the eager touch of his hand, you squealed in surprise when a slick coolness bit across your chest. Without hesitation, a dexterous tendril began to stroke and tease your nipples. Your squeal choked off into a gasping moan as another swirled across to gently and rhythmically apply suction to the hardened nubs. Though cool, they were blissfully smooth and you allowed yourself to get lost momentarily in their silken touch.

Panting, you dared to open your eyes and found Micolash gazing rapturously, his hand desperately palming the front of his robes. The sight made you burn with need. “Uhn… M-Micolash… please…”, you whined imploringly as the tentacles continued their relentless assault on your sensitive buds and felt a wetness pooling at your throbbing centre. How embarrassing… he hadn’t even really touched you and here you were coming undone to the mere thought of it. To the touch of something inhuman. You blinked hard, trying to think straight again. You made another quiet desperate sound which seemed to snap him out of his reverie and suddenly he was upon you again, pressing open-mouthed kisses on your exposed skin, your neck, your chest. He nipped, occasionally startling you with the sharpness of his teeth, teasing to break your tender flesh. Your skin prickled in the wake of the wet marks he was leaving, and you found yourself hoping he would leave you with something that would never fully heal.

When you felt a warm thumb brush across your nipple, you went to cling to him, flexing helplessly instead against the restraining tendrils. Tears pricked at the edge of your eyes, and he ran his wicked tongue under your lashes to capture a salty drop before it fell. Wasting no time, he removed the other tendrils from your chest and kissed purposefully downwards, coming to rest on one breast. He suckled insistently on an abused nipple, swirling the tip of his tongue in movements that made your toes curl and left you whimpering and trembling with need. Humming contentedly, he laved your chest with his tongue, lost in passionate worship.

Content with his messy veneration of your upper body, he stood unsteadily before you, exhilaration pulling gasping breaths from his lungs. You thrilled as he tugged urgently at the zipper on his shabby pinstripe trousers. Idly, you wondered if it was as rusted as the cage upon his head. Such foolish thoughts were beaten away immediately by the sight of the prominent bulge straining at the fabric of his underwear. He manipulated the grip of the tendrils holding you so that you could bring yourself into a kneeling position, shuffling forwards uncomfortably on the stone floor. You felt absolutely intoxicated, dizzy with anticipation. You glanced at his face, indirectly, like the sun. Could he still remember the sun? Meeting his reverent gaze made you convinced, irrationally, that perhaps whatever this man had lost could be found again in you.

You let your mouth fall open and angled your head upwards urgently. Hands restrained, you still felt compelled to make him feel good. Nuzzling against him, you brushed your nose delicately along the heated flesh, savouring his musky scent. Slowly you let your tongue protrude, and tentatively mouthed at his scorching length through the obtrusive fabric. He exhaled shakily as your tongue played along his outline, clearly exercising great mental strength not to fall apart. “Mmmmn… hunteeer…” he trembled and whined quietly, hand gripping your head. He moved closer, perhaps unconsciously, and you captured the tip in your mouth. You sucked on it greedily, your tongue flickering teasingly across the clothed expanse, dipping daintily in for a taste of the fluid beginning to gather on top. He groaned in delighted anguish, pressing your face harder to his clothed front and you obliged his wordless plea. As you picked up the intensity of your ministrations, he became louder, more needy. “Aaaaagh! Ahn… ah…” he cried out, rocking into your mouth desperately. You tried as best you could to please him, but there was only so much you could achieve while he remained maddeningly clothed.

Unable to restrain himself any longer, Micolash pushed you backwards and impatiently jerked the offending fabric down to his knees which trembled desperately with the effort of remaining standing. The sight would have been amusing in its lack of finesse if you weren’t so hopelessly undone by him. Your eyes widened again as he brought it properly into your view. You were almost expecting to see something… eerie, another sickly blue tendril perhaps, but here he was. Absolutely, without question, human. Deliciously human. You felt the push of a tentacle against the back of your head, where it swirled nefariously downwards until it had a hold on your throat. You gurgled in fright, but at the first commanding squeeze, you obediently opened your mouth, tongue lolling as you drooled helplessly onto your bared chest. His expression was feral, eyes blown wide as he stumbled towards you. Gods, you were ready for him to take and take, until nothing remained.

Eagerly, Micolash thrust into your willing mouth. With little regard for your dwindling supply of oxygen, or the precarious nature of your gag reflex, he pistoned forwards. Moans and curses fell from his mouth feverishly as he lost himself in your warmth and the twirling embrace of your devoted tongue. He crooned incomprehensible chains of words, of which you could only catch occasional snatches referring to ‘Kos’ or possibly ‘Kosm’. You felt, distantly, as though you might have read this word somewhere, but your brain buzzed blankly in woolly protest as you tried to recall. The tentacle around your neck constricted rhythmically with a serene ebb and flow, leaving you dizzy while your pulse thundered in your ears. Somewhere in this, his hand had found your face again and his thumb gratefully stroked the wet tracks from your cheek haphazardly whenever you choked. You were a mess, drool coating your chin like the sheen of sweat on Micolash’s flustered brow as you drifted in a haze of hallowed indulgence.

Feeling the grip around your neck constrict urgently, and hearing Micolash stammering through his litany, you prepared as best you could for what was to come. Instead, to your astonishment, he withdrew rapidly from your throat with an audible pop. Dropping to the ground, he crawled to you like a starving creature. Hands and tentacles alike grasped at your trousers, the latter tearing the already tattered fabric in his haste. When they reached your underwear, you noticed his hand begin to shake. Once again, this was nothing but simple makeshift clothing created in the Dream, but Micolash gaped in admiration as he hooked his thumb inside to slide them down. You fought the innate urge to cross your legs, a vestigial compulsion that had no place in this reality. Once he had bared you completely, he halted his wild motions in euphoric appraisal. This lasted only for one lucid instant, before he seized your body with his many appendages and flipped you onto your knees, palms pressed firmly on the ground before you.

Facing the wall, you felt the exhilarating pressure of his scorching heat press against your core and quivered shamelessly. Impatiently, he brushed his length along your eager slit, coating it in your slick. This action alone made you groan and beg, canting your hips upwards to gain more friction. “P-please…”, you croaked, “I need… mmmph-!”, your choked pleas were cut off as the tendril around your neck suddenly unwound to stuff itself roughly into your mouth. Eyes wide, you attempted to adjust to the thick intrusion, warily running your tongue along the underside of its shaft. You dipped your tongue curiously inside a couple of its suction cups, and Micolash sighed and shivered. It tasted like the deep ocean, murky brine, with an unfamiliar undertone you could not place. The appendage grew warmer under the attention from your tongue, and it began to reciprocate your inquisitive motions. You flushed with the lewdness of the scene, clenching your thighs and aching as you imagined how it would look in one of those great mirrors.

Without warning, Micolash sheathed himself to the hilt in your swollen, eager opening, causing you to cry out in muffled shock. The delicious rhythm of his thrusts inside your willing silken entrance made short work of your remaining coherence, any burgeoning thought pounded ruthlessly from your mind before it could fully form. The tendril inside your mouth ceased its dance with your tongue, preferring to rock rapidly back and forth to match its master. “Mmm! Mmph!” you drooled uselessly around the tentacle, unable to quiet the lustful sounds clawing from your throat with every plunging motion from either end. You felt utterly full, transcendently complete. The tendril around your legs extended upwards, gently rubbing lubrication across your opening, one little cup coming to rest decisively on your clit. At the first hint of its soft yet insistent suction, you mewled pathetically. It continued, dutifully, as you whimpered and moaned, rocking frantically back against Micolash. You babbled wordlessly as you were impaled, not only willing but desperate for this man to take you to completion. Pleasurable tension was building precariously like a knot inside of you and you knew you couldn’t hold out for much longer.

“Aahn, h-haaah-!”, Micolash gasped and growled as he rutted into you hungrily. He grasped at your flesh with his hand, short nails raking across your back. You drank in his frantic, desperate, tortured sounds and they drove you forcefully towards your peak. The tension inside you was excruciating now and you were ready to crash like a breaking wave on his waiting shore. Howling his name, stifled and drooling, you came thunderously, clenching around him as blood rushed in your ears. Feeling your walls constrict and writhe around his painful hardness, he wailed and dug his fingers deeply into your sides. His eyes gazed without seeing, rolling up to the vast ceilings as he panted raggedly. “Aaaah, hah..! Oh, hunter, y- aaaaaaah-!” Micolash howled with incoherent reverence, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

You felt him spasm violently several times, clutching at you ineffectually as he did, before falling gradually limp as he sank to the floor. Rolling away from you, he gazed up to the ceiling, as though staring up into the vastness of the cosmos. Both of you did nothing for several moments, staring into the surrounding darkness as you tried to catch your breath. You could not quite believe what had just happened but your brain was still too hazy in the afterglow to begin any semblance of intelligent processing. Sluggishly, you pulled together your shirt, not bothering with your undergarments. You only noticed when you had done up more than half of the fiddly little buttons that you were actually able to use your hands again. Looking over at Micolash, you could see that the tentacles had disappeared entirely and he lay with both arms splayed out on the floor like an awkward tearstained angel. Smiling despite yourself, you shuffled closer to him. Gently picking up the edge of his robes, you lay the scruffy fabric across his exposed lower half to grant him some modesty.

Fumbling in your pocket, or what was left of it, you brought out a burned slip of paper with the hunter’s mark drawn carefully upon it. You knew that you should clench your fist around it, quickly, and pray that it returns you to the familiar glow of a Yharnam lantern. You would be able to return to the Hunter’s Dream, repair your clothes, forget all of this ever happened… in the end it would be nothing more than a fevered daydream. Despite your decent rationalising, you could not bring your fingers to close around the charred note. When your gaze fell again upon the form of Micolash, eyes now closed in transcendent contemplation, you let the slip fall to the floor. You watched it as it fluttered down slowly to the ground, swirling and churning on a nonexistent breeze.