Hey guys, Madness King with (yet again) another new story. I deeply apologize that I have not been updating my other stories such as A Time Traveler's Destiny (I am very close to completing the chapter, but I've been a bit lazy and uninspired lately). I can't exactly explain it, but the way I describe it is I shift in interest from one thing to another. For example, for about a week I'll be more focused on my Pokemon stories than my others, but then I'll suddenly change to my Soul Eater story. It gets quite annoying sometimes.
Anyways, I wanted to get this story off my chest for quite some time, and I finished it in a single day (because I had a bit more interest in it). This story is a one-shot about my RWBY OC, Sypher (who is unnamed until halfway through). I originally created him for Walkman355's story, RWBY: The Darkness Within, but he said he had quite a few OCs already. Then I showed the idea to XxWing3dKuribohxX for his story, SYOC RWBY, and he (quote) abso****inglutely (unquote) loved it. However, after the first few chapters of the story I noticed he had been taken off the list of OCs. I don't really have a problem with it, I was just slightly disappointed.
So without any further ado, R&R, PM, and Enjoy (oh, and although the geographical locations of the four kingdoms/continents are unknown, I just guessed)!
The wilderness of Vytal, near the Mistral region, is a wasteland. A desert that covers almost a quarter of the continent, life is scarce; there was the occasional tree or cactus, but other than that it was almost completely deserted.
Almost, because of a pack of two Grimm species; Beowolves and Ursi. Under normal circumstances, the two groups would tear at each other's throats and gnaw on the bones protruding from their hide. But the eighteen year old boy watching them from a distance had led them here. He waited until they got close to his hiding spot, a scattered group of mesas all about ten feet high, five feet across, and more than 12 feet apart, and grasped his weapons. Slowly he brought out the first katana, the steel blade shining in the harsh sunlight. He grasped the second and pulled it out with much more speed. The Grimm were approaching fast, already entering the dotted landscape and crashing through the thick stone pillars like sandcastles. Without hesitation, he jumped from his perch and slashed at the closest Beowolf.
The earliest memory he had of the Grimm was the most scarring moment of his life. The place where he grew up-a peaceful, residential village where his family was well known as a Hunter/Huntress family-was in flames. The seven year old boy could only watch helplessly as his family were killed and slaughtered in front of him. He didn't know the names of the beasts back then, but he eventually learned what had killed them: the Grimm.
Beasts without a soul, they had killed them; King Taijitu, Death Stalkers, Beowolves, Ursi. The size of the horde was too great, and his family soon became outnumbered. The one thing that he remembered the most, the one memory that was burned in his skull forever, was of his father. His father found him, along with his mother and baby sister, and told them to run.
The boy followed his mother and turned to see one last glimpse of his father. He fought bravely, but his life ended from the stinger of a Death Stalker. He could only cry out in agony as his father's limp body was thrown from the stinger into their now burning house.
The boy joined the hilts of his katanas and twisted, turning his two swords into one. Twirling them at a fast pace, the blades scraped along the sandstone ground, and soon ignited in flames. He slashed through the remaining Beowolves and Ursa, their bodies burning away into black smoke, and began to examine his surroundings.
Just as he thought, two Death Stalkers were approaching in the distance. He took a moment to get his bearings, then placed two fingers on the hilt of his weapon. He raised the weapon and pulled his fingers back, a white shaft with a glowing red tip materializing between his fingers and the hilt.
The boy was travelling, on the hunt for Grimm. His hunt had brought him to a hamlet* southwest of the nearest kingdom. The place had obviously been attacked by Grimm, houses broken like matchwood or burning to the ground. He looked at all the destruction around him, remembering his own troubled past. There were entire families living on the streets, and it didn't look like they had been there long.
He saw one sight that really tugged at his heart; a young boy, no older than five, was crying. He was holding on to a middle aged man, presumably his father. He looked closer and saw the man had fresh blood on him, but it was too late. He was gone. He looked away, not wanting the past to overwhelm him.
He asked an elderly man about the attack, and he answered by pointing out towards the desert. In the distance a horde of Grimm, Beowolves and Ursi, were heading away from the village and deeper into the desert. Thanking him the boy ran in the same direction as the Grimm, eager for the hunt.
As the Death Stalkers neared, the boy continued to fire the arrow-like projectiles at them, hoping to weaken them. They reached him in minutes, and barely a scratch was visible on their bone-like exoskeleton. The two creatures snapped their powerful pincers at him, but he quickly dodged them and ran along the back of one of them. Twisting the hilts again, he separated his weapon into two, and slashed at the orange stinger, slicing it off. The stinger pierced the armor, but the Death Stalker removed it using its pincers. The boy saw the opening that the stinger had created and charged once again. The Death Stalker swung its pincers at him, but he barely managed to jump over them. Using part of the Dust reserves that he had left and a bit of his aura, he managed to drive one of his katanas through the opening and twisted the blade. The Death Stalker fumbled for a minute before it collapsed, dead. The boy removed his katana and repeated the process with the second Death Stalker; slicing off its stinger and then repeatedly stabbing the opening until it gave out.
Removing his katana, he looked in the distance and saw more and more Grimm approaching. The black mass made it hard to distinguish how many there were, but he could definitely make out what was in it. More Beowolves and Ursi-both Major and Minor-Death Stalkers, at least one King Taijitu, and two Nevermores.
He checked the hilts of his swords, which were hollow, and saw that each had only a small quantity of Dust left. He had only used a small portion of aura during his fight with the two Death Stalkers, but it still took a toll on his body. He felt it might be hopeless now, the terrain around him flattened by the Grimm.
Then he remembered something; it was a memory from more than ten years ago, long before he began travelling. He remembered his mother was in the hospital room, still recovering from the Grimm attack. Their family had plenty of money, so they didn't have to worry about losing her life support. He was with his mom, and she whispered something to him.
"My son...remember, you have Hunter blood in you. And...Hunters never give up...no matter the odds. Remember that...and grow strong for me...Sypher." Sypher promised her that he would grow strong, and eventually left on his travels.
Sypher blinked a few times, and prepared for the approaching Grimm. The moment the first of the Grimm came close to Sypher, the entire horde split and began to encircle him. There were many Beowolves and Ursi, about five of them larger than the others of their species, two black King Taijitu, and the two Nevermore that circled in the sky above them all.
The Beowolves were the first to attack, entire groups lunging all at once. Sypher reacted quickly, jumping to their height and slashing through the beasts. More Beowolves and Ursi gathered below him, trying to claw at their airborne target. Using the last of the dust in his sword hilts, he lit his swords on fire again and began to swing them as he fell. The blades sliced through their hands and claws easily, forcing them to move back and allowing Sypher some room.
They charged again and Sypher swung his katanas, lopping off limbs or cutting them in half. The charge stopped for a moment and Sypher quickly saw the Beowolves and Ursi backing up so the Death Stalkers could move forward. Concentrating on one at a time, he broke through their thick shells by pouring a bit of his aura into his blows. He had taken down at most half a dozen Death Stalkers before his aura was halfway drained. Piles of bodies littered around him, but several more still surrounded him. What remained of the Grimm horde went straight for Sypher in an all-out attack; the Beowolves leaped into the air with claws and teeth bared, the Ursi rushed ahead, the King Taijitus lunged forward, and the two Nevermores flung spear-like feathers.
Sypher had no other options except for one, an all-or-nothing attack. The risk was it would consume a large amount of his aura; he could die from it. Feeling that it was better than dying at the hands of the Grimm, he began to manipulate his aura around him. The Grimm rebounded off of the barrier, the King Taijitus lucky enough to pull back before their attacks connected. The feathers dropped harmlessly around him, barely coming close to him. Sypher kept it up for a few seconds before concentrating it into a thin ring around him.
The Grimm once again attacked, this time all racing towards him in runs, lunges, and dive bombs. Sypher saw his chance and forced his aura outward. The Grimm stopped for a fraction of a second, and in another fraction their backs exploded as if they had been shot. They dropped to the ground, dead with a single hole in either their chest or the back of their head.
Sypher fell to his hands and knees after the Grimm did, his aura almost completely used up. He coughed up a large amount of blood, the liquid having a coppery taste to it. After he was finished coughing up precious blood, he stood up slowly. He felt slightly dizzy, like he had been spinning in circles for hours. He gripped his left hand side in pain, a small amount of blood visible on his shirt. Despite this, he began to walk away from the carnage that he created and set his sights on the next town.
*a hamlet is a place where people live that has a very small population, sometimes only going as high as the thousands
It was a bit shaky, I will admit, but like I said to Walkman it went better in my head (then again what doesn't). I might make another story that has a plot, or continue with this and add a plot, but I'd like to finish some of the chapters I have already, if not entire stories (i.e. New Arrival). R&R, PM, and thank you!