At the moment of death, the Soul starts to crumble and the Shadow of the individual enters the realm below the Underworld. The Soul Sea experiences quakes and the Soul Core fractures, falling apart. Eventually, even the Shadow of the Dead is broken down into pure Essence, circulating evermore throughout the universe.
When Gehrman died, his Shadow disappeared, but it did not enter the dreaded realm of the end. Instead, it simply reappeared…in his Soul Sea.
At this point, all of his personas had combined perfectly into a singular identity. When Gehrman died, all thoughts from that identity were suspended. But there was one other thing residing in his soul.
That which deformed his Soul into such a nightmare: The Manifestation of the Moon, Death, Rebirth, and Beasts.
This was Paleblood.
The Moon Presence.
Her existence was such that it broke all known laws set by the Gods of this world despite being more feeble than them. She possessed a uniqueness that manipulated the fabric of dreams and reality. And she was the final entity that made up Gehrman's being.
Of course, the state of this being was an eternal slumber. Her avatar had been slain in its own realm by one of her own. One who was branded with the Hunters Mark. This was a dire circumstance, even for a Great One. Its consciousness existed on multiple planes of thought, thus transcending space-time. Though that avatar's death was debilitating to the overall being, it was not fully dead.
And so despite having his physical and dream self destroyed, Gehrman was not fully dead either. For he still existed as Paleblood in his own Soul Sea.
Beneath the ocean of blood that acted as the singular floor of the eerie realm, a harrowing monstrosity was trapped in illusory and sparkling chains made of pure Essence. It was costly, but the Spell had to do this to retain the stability of this reality's existence.
Surrounding Paleblood was a complex weave of imaginary numbers, strings, and nodes. Several mobius strips intertwined creating a magnetic field that transcended all dreams and trapped her deep within the Soul of the human form she had assembled.
The Spell, however, was not all-powerful. It could summon horrors of unimaginable strength and create dreams that replicated the Gods, but killing Paleblood directly was not within its capabilities. Or, looking at it from a different perspective, it was not in the Nightmare Spells programming. Its design was perfectly crafted to keep the creatures of the Void out, but it was not able to spare resources to form a contingency against a single parasite invading.
The Moon Presence was perhaps the only entity with the capability to do such a thing. She had sacrificed many of her vessels in other dreams in order to fool and surpass the security of this world. Meddling in other dreams was her specialty. Even in the dream that comprised the "Waking World" that Old Gehrman and Johann inhabited, she could manipulate individual dream consciousness and create a singular anomaly that would infinitely revive. The being who dreamt of that world was more harrowing than Paleblood, but she could consistently break it, causing things like the Blood Moon and the Beast Plague to spread.
…but the Spell was an entirely different beast.
Caryll Runes (as they were called in that dream) could not easily find a hold within this world of Memories, Echoes, and Aspects. Thus the contract the Moon Presence offered with the Hunters Mark could not be used. However, a clever replica could be created.
It would be costly, taking much of The Moon Pressence's strength to pull off while also requiring a catalyst from the human part of her as well. Unlike the infinite cycle she had created in Yharnam, this could only be done a few times.
Gehrman could meet a final end.
But he would not today.
Paleblood's malformed ribs glowed a deeper red. Its oval, dark stone, featureless face subtly shifted from solid, to liquid and gas. The numerous tentacles on its back writhed. Its emancipated arms reached out, becoming real and unreal. The cage of the Spell flickered wildly as imaginary concepts broke and were rewritten. A single stretched, bloodied finger pierced the layers of the cage for only a moment before being thrust back into the cage.
But that was enough.
The specialty of the entity, the process of rebirth, had already been started and its completion was assured with that single opportunity.
Above, the shadow of Gehrman started to vibrate, and the entire landscape of the Soul Sea shuddered. A white fog flickered in and out of existence before finally forming completely in a wide circle. The hundreds of corpses that piled up in Gehrman's Soul Sea disintegrated as soon as the fog touched them. They took on the form of a crimson gas before being rewoven into new matter.
Cobbled stone paths formed around and on top of a growing hill. A small building of stone and wood grew gruesomely out of the top of the hill. Its insides were completely barren. Indeed, the whole foggy area was barren, the paths weaved around patches of nothingness. No trees or flowers decorated this fake place.
There was only a singular gravestone. A faint light was emitted from it.
The shadow that this area had grown around started to turn red. Drops of blood spread across it, like paint being dropped from above. Small, fleshy tendrils grew from the shadow, growing taller, thinner than a needle, and shorter than blades of grass. Red fragments continued to pour into the shadow.
At the same time, something eerie occurred in the Dream Realm.
Unbeknownst to anyone, in the cave that was Gehrman's Workshop, something was growing next to the empty bed. It too started small, impossible to notice.
Then, in a minuscule dream that was separate from Gehrman's Soul Sea, the faint outline of a certain figure appeared. This dream was truly shallow, only a single line making it up. Even an ant could create a more vivid one.
But that did not matter. The figure flickered between multiple human existences. The features of Old Gehrman, Johann, and Dorian melded together in this ghostly apparition that settled above the writhing pool of blood that grew from the shadow. This figure was Gehrman, but it was his existence trapped in another dream. The dream of a single line would not be remembered and it was entirely insignificant. As the Blood Fragments slowly outlined the figure, the memories of his existence would return and overwrite this feeble dream copy.
This was how Paleblood created rebirth. Through implanting a dream self from another reality onto the remnants of the current dead one, a revival took place.
In the past, the process was near instantaneous, but it would take time here. Though this ability was a part of Gehrman's [Contracted] Attribute, it was still rejected by the Spell. The process made a mockery of its laws.
Manipulating the imaginary reality of the Soul Sea and making it "real" was a feat that surpassed anything even the most horrid of monstrosities of the Dream Realm could accomplish.
It required an unfathomable level of comprehension and insight to pull off. Indeed it was not something that any Great One could match. The Moon Presence was thus a singular existence whose instincts were enough to help her master the trick over several centuries and compensate for the lack of knowledge and computing that every other being had to rely on.
This was the Will of Paleblood.
It was beastly and it was unstoppable.
Gehrman opened his eyes.
Madness unlike any other overtook him. This Madness came from the experience of death and rebirth, and it stemmed from the knowledge that his True Name did not refer to himself. This entire time he had unconsciously ignored it, but now it was thrust into his face. The being that caused the Blood Moon, The Beast Plague, and the Madness and destruction of Yharnam was inside his soul.
…No, it was worse than that. He was that being. He was Paleblood. That was how the Spell recognized him, and it was his true nature.
How else could a Nightmare Seed take root inside a Soul Sea? Gates required great energy to open, but if the Spell could siphon the energy of the entity hidden in his Soul, it could create gates of any and all levels within his Soul.
Paleblood was his foundation.
The beginning and end of who he was.
He screamed, his eyes turned to the sky whose color mimicked a body drained of blood.
A Paleblood sky.
Tears started to fall from Gehrman's eyes.
The newly unveiled memories had shown him the true horror of Yharnam. The Eldritch Truth, or rather, The Arcane that had been hiding behind the beasts.
He recalled entering Byrgenwerth, seeing Master Willem, diving into a small dream, and killing the Vacuous Spider, Rom. He uncovered the secret behind the Mensis ritual, the evil scheme brought about by Micolash and his School of Mensis. He recalled facing and slaying the monstrosity they had created in attempting to create an Artificial Great One, The One Reborn.
He recalled the numerous Lesser Amygdala staring down at him. One had grabbed him and taken him to a Nightmare Frontier where he had slain a different Lesser Amygdala in the ruins of that dream.
Worst of all, the memories of Old Gehrman and Laurence using an umbilical cord from an infant Great One to beckon the Moon Presence and enter into a contract with it. The Hunter's Dream that had been the result should have created numerous warriors of great power who could halt the Beast Plague, but no such thing occurred. Laurence had died, leaving Old Gehrman forever trapped in that dream. That nightmare.
The hate he had for Paleblood was overwhelming.
…the hate he had for himself was overwhelming.
A cheap facsimile of the Hunter's Dream surrounded him. No flowers, trees, or gravestones were in sight. There was no doll and no cute little Messengers. The fog gave way to the bloody ocean of his Soul Sea, not the infinite abyss and towering pillars. It felt hollow. But it was enough to make him hyperventilate.
Gehrman tried to claw out his eyes, only to realize that his body was not fully formed. He had no skin and was instead made of viscous blood, held in place by something Arcane. His eyes were not there.
He had no choice but to see.
Time passed…or at least, he thought it did. The unreality that was his Soul Sea messed with what little cognitive faculties he had left. As his body formed and his skin, muscles, and bones grew back he was lying in a fetal position. Crying like a baby.
He tried to kill himself, but biting off his own tongue proved to be a fruitless endeavor. None of his Memories formed when he called and his runes were similarly absent. Apparently, he was not alive enough to meet the requirements.
Hours turned to days turned to weeks.
His sanity returned, but there wasn't much left of it. The revelation of his true existence caused him to spiral. How am I even alive? Either that thing should be dead or both Old Gehrman and Johann should be dead. What happened? What forced it to flee here of all places?
Gehrman was at a complete loss.
He was still missing pieces of the puzzle. For example, the true goal behind the Hunt. The Moon Presence clearly didn't want the Beast Plague to end given that it started the whole thing. So why did it give out the Hunters Mark? The mission he had been given was vague: slay the host of the Nightmare.
Theoretically, it would be the Nightmare he traveled to after touching Micolash's corpse in Yahar'gul. What was in there that The Moon Presence wanted dead so badly?
He got no closer to the truth even with all this pondering. But all he could do was ponder as his body slowly reformed. The unnatural act was long and painful, but it was all distant.
"Should I even live?" The words barely escaped him. The effort he had to put into saying them was herculean. His vocal cords, even as they were reformed, were heavily inflamed and suffered scarring. But he needed to say these words. He needed to vocalize this internal struggle that was tearing him apart.
On one hand, allowing the Moon Presence to continue to exist in any way shape or form was a crime deserving a fate worse than death. Whatever minuscule amount of people he could save was completely dwarfed by the threat that thing posed to both the Dream Realm and the Waking World.
However, the Moon Presence wasn't currently terrorizing these new realms. In fact, it was quite evident that it could not directly interfere with anything. The effort and time it took to revive him was proof of this. The Spell was not accommodating to the otherworldly parasite that had leached onto it. Something that used to be done in a flash now took weeks.
It stood to reason that it was safely contained, for now at least. The more Gehrman rose in power the more likely it could be freed from its shackles. To what extent would he need to grow though?
He was fairly certain that the Moon Presence was much stronger than a creature of even the Great Rank (in other words a Rank 5, surpassing even Corrupted creatures). If he ascended to that level himself, he could help out humanity greatly while also containing the horror of the Moon Presence. No human had reached the fifth Rank after all.
The logic of this plan acted as a place to build up a sane foundation for his eventual return.
By the time the last bit of skin covered his fingers, he felt the impossible shift from death to the living. Somehow, the fingers were the last thing that healed in this process. His hair had grown back to its former length, and it now had more white strands than black. He was quite angry at the observation as he felt the regrowth of his hair was definitely the last thing that should have been done in this resurrection process.
Nevertheless he ended up fully formed.
For the first time since he had regained sentience he summoned clothes in the form of his [Hunter Attire (Sealed)]. The Memory responded for the first time, confirming that he was indeed alive again.
Now, all he had to do was return to the real world (or rather, the Dream Realm).
The solution was simple, and he had figured it out a long time ago.
In the Dream Realm, next to his bed in the Workshop, the growth from the floor finished forming.
A small lamp hung off a shoddy wooden shaft.
Suddenly, it lit with pale, purple light.
At the same time, the familiar light also permeated from the singular grave in the empty recreation of the Hunter's Dream.
There were no small, white Messengers like he was used to, but Gehrman knew what to do. Extending his hand he felt a familiar rush as his body transcended his current dream.
In the Dark City, a subtle force was released.
The singular resident remaining in the Dark City looked up, her hair standing on end. She was no longer alone.
For Gehrman had returned from the dead.