Dark shadows pour from the rooftops, falling upon the screaming crowd one after the other. The monochrome of the scene is broken only by the yellow of fire, and the red of blood. Oh and the creatures eyes too, apparently monsters eyes glow. I thought they just made that crap up in the horror stories to make it more exiting or something. Nearby shouts that I can't make out reach my ears as a woman's hand grabs my wrist and drags my field of vision away from the scene. I stumble after them taking in new information. A man runs in front of us carrying a crying baby in his arms. Is this supposed to be my father? Then that would make the child my baby brother… and the woman frantically pulling me along my mother.
Then it feels as if time skips forward. I'm staring at my mother's corpse, her head crushed by a fallen beam from a nearby house that's been completely levelled. My father's upper half is all that's visible from under the Grimm perched on top of him. The baby lies crying between us. I could probably still reach him before the creature is finished with my father, but instead I turn around and run without hesitation. Only one thought is going through my mind. "I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die."
Another time skip, and I'm standing in the middle of the town square, completely cut off on all sides by beowolves. That is what they call them, right? I swing around rapidly looking for even the slightest opening that I might be able to escape through. That same singular thought running through my mind "I don't want to die". Seeing no escape I sink to my knees, and as the creatures descend upon me I bury my face in my hands. "I DON'T WANT TO DIE!"
… Silence…
I open my eyes taking in the scene before me. The monsters are all stopped in place twitching as the life leaves them (if you could even call whatever force animates a Grimm "life") pierced all over by dozens of thin red spears.
…coming from me…
The "spears" rapidly retract into my body with a wet, organic sliding sound, and I feel like I've just run a mile. But the screams of the dying are still ringing out in the distance, and at the moment I don't have time to be exhausted, or to even think about what I just did. I make a beeline for the edge of town, and don't stop running until I pass out. "I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want…."
…
"…will be stopping at the Vale….. please stay clear of the entrance ramp, and…. Will be the final stop before Beacon. All long distance travellers please make sure to pack your belongings before arrival. Thank you."
Ah. The PA system on the airship. I must have slept through the wake-up announcement. That dream… you'd think watching your family die would provoke a more dramatic wake up, like with a "GYAAHHHH!" while clutching at the air above me, followed by curling up into a literal ball of angst and crying myself awake, but I'm a long way past that now. I'm basically a walking talking example of how time heals all wounds.
"…That was the day I discovered my semblance" I mutter to myself. Honestly, that's the part of the dream that stuck with me the most. They say your semblance is like a window into your soul. I have the ability to alter my own biological structure at will. I can change any cell in my body into whatever is needed at the time, and move them around to suit my needs. You might be wondering how that has anything to do with my soul, or whatever. See, because I have full control over my own body, my semblance has a handy dandy little side-effect.
I don't age.
And if my little flashback from earlier hasn't clued you in yet, 'not wanting to die' is kind of a big deal to me. I tried researching it once, apparently aging happens because of 'telomeres' in your DNA or something. I assume that they are repaired whenever my cells revert to their normal state, but your guess is as good as mine. Anyway I tend to have that dream a lot whenever I try to re-enter society. I think it's supposed to be a reminder of the inherent dangers of being around other people. A thousand years and I'm still paranoid…
I wander half-heartedly into the bathroom and perform a little ritual that stuck with me over the centuries. I look myself up and down in the mirror and I try to alter my appearance. It's not that I'm UNattractive, but a little self-consciousness is par for the course for any girl, even one that's lived for over a millennia.
I'm a little short for girls my (apparent) age, with straight black hair down past my shoulders, and dark green eyes. My figure is… modest. Honestly, all these years and I still get self-conscious about my chest. At least my butt game is on point…
I start trying to add mass to my chest but the results are… grotesque… as usual. My natural state is the only form I can take that looks remotely human. Apparently the human form is impossible for me to mimic. (trust me, I've tried. A LOT. If it were possible, I'd have figured it out by now.) Doesn't stop me from trying my luck every morning though.
I start getting ready for the day. I inspect my weapon "Rogues Arsenal". For the longest time I didn't have a weapon, but one too many close calls with human opponents has taught me that blades made of bone break when you hit them with metal.
Rogues Arsenal is a metal frame designed to fit in the upper half of my torso. It's a weapon rack that holds dozens of curved blades of various sizes, a pouch full of metal darts, and a modest selection of small armour plates. The design is entirely practical. There are no mechanical parts at all, or even any grips for the blades. After all, I don't need a grip. Just a tang with two holes in it. The metal I chose is a slightly darker grey, and extremely hard. It's very heavy, and cost me a fortune, but it was well worth it.
I open up a cavity in my chest and absorb the weapon into my torso. I twist around for a minute allowing my mass to redistribute and settle and re-familiarize myself with its weight. I pick up my only other worldly possession, a plain white dress, and contemplate whether or not to wear it today… since I'll be arriving at beacon, and I don't know if there will be combat right off the bat, I decide against it, folding it up and inserting it into a compartment in Rogues Arsenal.
Normally during day-to-day activities I wear the dress over utilitarian sportswear I fashion from my own body. It's a sports bra and short shorts made from a tendon-like substance I developed just for that purpose. They look like normal sportswear… from a distance… During combat real clothes are a liability. With my semblance, I tend to drop my aura more than would be safe for most huntsmen. My body can take the hit, my clothes cannot.
Today I'm going for something a little more practical. I materialize a dark grey trench coat made from a dense leather-like substance. Armor plates from Rogues Arsenal adorn various strategic points over my chest and shoulders. I'm lowkey proud of this particular skill. I can't make human body parts to save my life (aside for my natural state) but I CAN make semi-passable clothing. Provided they're made of leather… or tendons…
I call this "Armor Form". It sacrifices offense for defense. Since the leather is very demanding of biomass, I don't have as much available to create weaponry.
Well, since that's all of my possessions, I'm all "packed". I take one more quick look at myself in the mirror before I open the door and step out to face the day.
Phew. Jesus Christ you can get paranoid about proofreading when you know something is going to get seen by other people. This is first attempt at writing something intended for other peoples eyes. (outside of school I guess) Hopefully the cringe is minimal. Please don't pull punches with the criticism, I need all I can get. For anyone who cares, this characters semblance is heavily inspired by 'prototype', and 'armor form' is based on Hit from 'Dragon Ball Super.