The young hunter in training stepped into the battle. He activated Zenith his black and purple dual edged scythe/shield. All that mattered was the symphony of battle and he was its greatest composer. But soon he noticed that he was the only composer left. He was surrounded by Beowolves, Ursai, and any other smaller Grimm you could think of. He was now fighting a losing battle against an overwhelming force of Grimm. Eventually he knew he would fall, he became angry, angry at himself for letting his fellows fall, angry at the Grimm for killing his fellows, angry at the world for letting the Grimm come into his home. Anger, no, rage surged through him, he felt nothing but red boiling rage, and the world faded to a dull thumping.