A Hypocrite's Lament

The dark gloom of the night silently blanketed the Nation of Fontaine, reminding all inhabitants of the hour of slumber.

Meanwhile, the bright crescent moon, which hung silently in the sky, quietly watched the lives underneath it impartially.

On this night which was no different from another, however, some refused to succumb to the sweet allure of the night and persisted in the waking world.

In Poisson.

"Huff... Huff..." Supporting his body by leaning on the wall, Marcel grasped his chest as cold sweat dripped down his forehead profusely. He was slightly trembling and his breath was short.

His eyes, on the other hand, were filled with deep unexplainable fear and dread. Those kinds of eyes were that of a dead man.

"Boss, are you sure you're alright?" Standing behind him, a burly man asked. "You haven't been able to have a decent sleep for days now."

"It's fine," However, contrary to the man's worry, Marcel merely waved his hand in passing. His tired face, on the other hand, betrayed his words. "On a more... important matter... Tell the men to secure our funds for the next Sinthe business..."

"How about you, boss?"

"I'll..." As Marcel spoke, his eyes slowly drifted over to his office's door. For a moment, it felt as if something was creeping inside that office he knew so well. Seeing this, Marcel swallowed his dry saliva and continued speaking, "I'll do some paperwork..."

"...right, boss."

Saying this, the burly man nodded his head before turning around and leaving the hallway, leaving Marcel to his own company.

Marcel, on the other hand, watched his bodyguard walk away from him in silence. He opened his mouth and wanted to say something, but he stopped midway.

'Help me...'

He wanted to scream those words, but whenever he even thought of such an act, a deep indescribable dread looked over him and it felt as if death itself was sitting on his shoulders, holding him hostage.

Such dread was mentally exhausting.

In the end, Marcel could only follow his innate human instincts and didn't attempt to execute his thoughts.

After watching his guard leave the vicinity completely, Marcel turned around and walked to the door of his office.

That normal-looking door that he was so familiar with was now looking like the jaws of a beast, waiting to devour him.

Shaking, Marcel placed his hand on the doorknob and opened it.

"..."

What he met was his office, the one he always knew. Nothing was out of place and everything was left as intended.

After making sure nothing was wrong, Marcel entered the room and closed the door behind him.

Click*

He locked the door for safety purposes.

Marcel then approached his desk and sat down on the chair behind it. Upon seating, he sighed heavily. With an exhausted face, he uttered, "Just what is happening to me..."

"I haven't been acting the same since last week..." He clenched his hands and spoke with frustration and tiredness in his voice. "What in the world is happening...?!"

"Perhaps... Retribution?"

Suddenly, amidst the darkness of the night that surrounded him, a voice answered his questions.

The voice had a heavy tone, but a somewhat serene aspect inlaced with them, evoking a sense of rest. It was as if the owner of the voice was well-versed in a requiem.

Hearing this, Marcel panicked and wanted to stand up, however, he found it difficult to stand up. When he looked down, he saw his legs trembling violently— preventing him from doing anything.

"Wh-what...!"

"What a comical sight..." The voice, who answered Marcel earlier, scoffed as if amused. "You know, with the way you act..."

It was then that Marcel saw the source of the voice.

Emerging from the shadows, a man draped in black appeared. The darkness around him distorted as if the shadows themselves made way for him.

The man wore a white long-sleeved shirt coupled with a black vest along with a black two-buttoned frock coat on top.

Additionally, he was also wearing black trousers and a pair of shoes that glistened in the night.

And, to finish it off, he had a mask that covered half of his lower face and golden spectacles over his eyes.

"Y-You!" Seeing the man suddenly appear, panic spread more on Marcel's face as he reached for his revolver in his drawer. "Who are you!"

"Gehrman." The man answered directly. His dark gloomy eyes then looked directly at Marcel's eyes. He then continued,

"The First Hunter."

"Th-the what?" Hearing the man's name and what he calls himself, Marcel was momentarily taken aback. However, he soon retorted, "What do you want from me?"

"Nothing." The man answered. "I just want to leave an impression."

"An... Impression?"

"Yeah."

In the next second, before Marcel could even take out the revolver he was holding, the man had already appeared In front of him with a revolver directed right to his face.

It all happened in an instant.

The man barely even moved.

"Huh?" Seeing the barrel of the gun, Marcel was momentarily unable to do anything as he stared with fright.

"Now I will show you mercy." The man spoke again, resting his finger on the trigger. "You will die, forget the dream, and awake under the morning sun. You will be freed from this terrible Hunter's Dream."

"Fear the Blood."

With all things said, the man finally pulled the trigger without hesitation.

Bang!

Before Marcel could even retaliate, the man pulled the trigger and the brass bullet shot out from the barrel, launching directly towards Marcel's forehead.

Marcel felt the metallic feeling of the bullet plunging deep into his flesh, penetrating his cranium and sinking deeper into his head.

Throughout this seemingly slow motion of time, Marcel felt this pain in real-time.

The last thing Marcel saw was the man named Gehrman's indifferent eyes looking at him like a pitiful person.

With that, his vision blacked out.

"—AH!"

Marcel shouted in fright as he stood up. His whole body was covered in sweat and his heart was thumping violently inside his chest.

His breath was short and he felt like he would pass out at any moment.

Waking up from a Nightmare, Marcel looked at his body for a few seconds with a frightened expression before looking at his surroundings.

He wanted to stand up and call his guard, but before he could do so, he stopped midway.

His face was now riddled with fear and confusion.

"What... Was I doing again?"

---

Meanwhile, in the streets of the Court of Fontaine, within the darkness of the city, a man emerged from the shadows.

Isaac, who was wearing his Gehrman identity, looked at the crescent moon that was currently present in the sky.

His eyes couldn't help but focus on it for a few moments as he fell into deep contemplation.

He had just collected money from Marcel. And seeing that he had the time, he decided to play with him for a bit.

'I wonder, would this be enough?' He thought to himself as he dusted off his clothes. 'I know the future and know the countless atrocities Marcel would commit... However...'

Isaac's eyes then glistened under the moonlight. '...Even without me, the fate of his victims was already set in stone.'

Isaac was no upholder of justice— and he acknowledges this sinister trait of his. But even so, he never actively engaged in malicious acts.

As such, faced with someone like Marcel, Isaac felt like he had the choice to save many lives.

Despite such thoughts, he ultimately sided with how things were originally met.

Staring blankly up in the night sky, a heavy sigh escaped Isaac's mouth. He then muttered with a soft voice full of resentment.

"A selfish hypocrite..."

He detested how he allowed himself to allow Marcel to live, but feared his death would overly complicate what he already knew— his main trump card.

For his own selfish interests, more women would die in Marcel's experiments.

'Perhaps this is the other side of Serenity.' Closing his eyes, Isaac's face showed regret before turning around and entering the shadows once more, disappearing in the night.

'Death that follows Silence.'

On this night, only one person in the entirety of Fontaine was unable to have a proper sleep due to a prior nightmare.

And it would prove to continue to eat away at his health.

At the very least, this is what Isaac could give to the victims to ease his guilt— by slowly torturing the man who killed them for his selfish desires.

From one Lunatic to Another.

* * *