Nothing in the Forbidden Woods had so much as given us pause. It was with bloodied frenzy and disturbing madness that Or'do carved us a path to the Shadows of Yharnam. They stood before us now, their slim forms all but lost in dark cloaks that fluttered and shook in the winds of my comrade's slashing claws. They evaded deftly, scimitars flashing down like bolts of lightning crashing from heavenly vault, yet none bit his flesh, none sated their thirst upon his blood

Or'do was the furious tempest, weaving through a hailstorm of blades and pelting rain of fire, ducking low and passing between their ranks, his claws rending cloth, cracking bone, driving him deeper into the embrace of madness. He tilted back his head and roared, a guttural cry that had no place within such a slender, human frame. Their blades crashed and rang, showering sparks upon the earth, igniting the land as he slashed, striking as if with a thousand hands. One stumbled back, then fell to the ground as Or'do's heel caved his throat, ending its life. Again he screamed, wailing that harrowing cry of madness, then ducking beneath a gleaming sword, plunged his left hand into the all too ambitious wielder's soft stomach, spraying his life in a geyser of red, painting Or'do's face with streaks of crimson.

The last fell back, slashing wildly, yet Or'do was far the wilder; his seemingly random strikes battered the weapon, smashing it far too the side, hopelessly beyond recovery. The monster's eyes widened in horror, then Or'do's clawed hand was passing through its face. Darkness stole its sight, and silent took its mind.