RWBY: Ascendant Spark

"Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars." ― Kahlil Gibran

Chapter 1 — Nightfall

A muffled thump dragged Leon Ferox out of his dreams. He lay on the bed, eyes still groggy and only half open, and listened for the sound to return. Seconds passed, and he was beginning to believe it had just been a figment of his imagination when the sound made itself known again. Thump. The noise then started picking up the pace. Thump. Thump. Thump. Never before had he heard this sound, and as a thirteen-year-old boy who often lay outside under the brilliant light of the shattered moon, he'd believed he had heard every sound nature had to offer.

Suddenly excited at the prospect of seeing a new natural phenomenon, he threw the blankets off the bed and practically flew to the doorway. In his rush, he slammed headlong into the solid wood of the door, having forgotten it was closed. Leon never was one for elegance. Shuffling around in the dark for a few seconds, he finally found the doorknob and hurriedly turned it. He knew it was a frosty night outside and that he was clad only in shorts and an undershirt, but his curious excitement ousted any of those concerns from his mind. If he took the time to change into something warmer, he might miss...whatever it was he was fumbling around a dark house to see. It was as he stomped toward the stairway, his throbbing forehead reminding him that if he didn't slow down he would most certainly trip down the steps again, that he heard the clatter of breaking glass.

Leon paused mid-step, afraid that it had been his trampling around that had caused it. Daring not to make a sound, he crept to the banister and peered over, checking for the lights that would indicate his parents had heard. Nothing yet. Nervous, he began his descent. Halfway down, the lights did flick on, and with them came a very angry and surprised shout from a gruff male voice. His father. Excuses were running through his head when he heard the most horrific screech he had ever heard, a call more primal and bloodthirsty than most people could even imagine.

Without a single thought toward his own safety or terror, Leon charged down the rest of the stairs. As the last step was cleared, a deafening BANG cut through the screech and replaced it with a low, wet gargle. He dashed into the kitchen to see a mass of black and white lying on the floor in a pool of red. Standing tall with his boots in the blood was his father, brandishing One-Liner. It was currently in its revolver form, and the barrel was smoking. The falchion blade was tucked away, forming the bottom half of the boxy barrel.

Leon's father, Arcturus Ferox, had the appearance of a classical swashbuckler about him. He was strong in body, with hardened muscles and a confident stance, but was not large in stature. His movements were always rhythmic and nimble, and whenever he got into a scrap with outlaws or monsters he employed swift strides and precise strikes to outlast and overpower his opponents. He grew his wavy, ebony hair down to his shoulders, and as far as Leon could remember, no force on Remnant had ever tussled it in any way. To compliment his almost exotic countenance, Arcturus shaved his facial hair into an odd but endearing combination of mutton chops and upper mustache. A muttonstache, if you will. His elegant face, normally jovial and content, was now set in a stern line as he gazed analytically upon his fallen foe.

With closer scrutiny, Leon saw that the shape on the floor was vaguely humanoid, but with skin as dark as shadow. The round from One-Liner had torn a hole through its chest and a thin red line was carved into what appeared to be its face. One-Liner's blade must have struck before the bullet. In contrast to its general bodily structure, its head was that of a nightmarish beast. Two broad ears rested on either side, which extended upward into points. A short snout protruded from its face, with an scrunched-up nose and a gaping mouth wide enough to swallow a human skull. Said mouth housed two long rows of vicious-looking teeth, including eight fangs three times as long as the other teeth. The eye that hadn't been gored by the falchion was as red as the blood that was splattered around the scene. And on the top of its head he saw the bony carapace, marked with malicious red runes, that was the trademark of Grimm. Quickly scanning the rest of its body, he noticed many more plates and spikes of bone situated about its body like armor. Plates rested from shoulder to shoulder and around its collarbone, as well as its kneecaps and, he thought he saw, running down the length of its spine. Spikes jutted out from the spinal plates, as well as the elbows, the plates of its head and shoulders, and just underneath the knuckles. Its fingers were slightly longer than a human's and more slender. They ended in frighteningly lethal-looking claws, about half a foot long and marked by jagged edges that made it look serrated. Oddly, he noticed that the thing had four small, bat-like wings sticking out of its upper and lower back. One more trait that was different from the other Grimm was that it had rudimentary clothing. A very shredded cloak hung around its torso and down to its waist.

Leon was very familiar with the soulless creatures of Grimm, his father being a Huntsman and all. Father had an entire trophy room full of taxidermic recreations of his slain quarries. Many times his father had even taken Leon with him on small hunts...but only with the permission of his mother, Lucia. Luckily for them, she had an innate appreciation for battle despite not being much of a fighter herself. She'd met his father after he'd risked his life to save her from a large pack of Ursae who had slaughtered her safari group in the Forever Fall forest. Their hired guard had turned tail and ran at the first sight of the beasts, leaving the group defenseless. Lucia had managed to hold out until Arcturus happened upon them by appropriating the safari jeep and plowing into any ursa that got too close. Needless to say, after the dangerous ordeal was dealt with, they quickly fell in love.

Many years later, Lucia daily sat on their porch and watched happily as her husband trained their son in the combat arts, hoping he might one day follow in his footsteps. Leon had the build for it, as living outside the walls of Vale, even by only a few miles, required quite a lot of physical labor to keep the household running.

Despite the experiences he'd had with Father, this creature was completely alien to him. Never had he heard of a Grimm monster with the shape of a human. He could tell by the somber look on my father's face, however, that he had an idea of what this thing was. He gave a low, heavy sigh and brought up his left hand to stroke his mustache as he often did when contemplating and planning. A few seconds passed before he growled, "Thrice-cursed parasite. Supposed to be extinct, you are. So why did I find you busting my glass door and trying to eat my family? And where's the rest of your damned colony?"

Unsure of what he was saying and worried by his mention of a colony, Leon mumbled, "Parasite? Father, what is that thing?"

He jumped ever so slightly and turned my way. "Leon! God above, boy, don't sneak up on me like that. It would kill me if I accidentally slapped you across the room, you know."

Leon flinched at the exclamation. Father must have been truly spooked by the encounter. Normally the scolding would put Leon down, but the recent excitement had him holding his ground. Instead of asking again, however, he just looked inquisitively at the dead Grimm.

Catching his gaze, Father sighed again. "Son, have you ever heard the old folktales about demons that soar through the air and suck the blood of their prey?"

Now that he mentioned it, the idea did seem faintly familiar. He racked his brain trying to recall it, but it just wasn't coming. Father saw this and decided the situation was too pressing for riddles.

"Sanguinics. Flying, carnivorous filth, thought to have been hunted down and destroyed ages ago. They preyed too much upon the old towns, and became the prime target of Huntsmen and Huntresses everywhere. Entire armies would be called to raze the colonies they found. None have been sighted for centuries. By God, if they're back, this explains the recent string of rural slaughters…"

He trailed off at this, and suddenly a look of horror flashed across his face.

"They never hunted alone. Always with their colony. Always! And never without direction from the archsanguinic…So where are the rest?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, we heard something stomping down the hall. Immediately on edge, Father drew One-Liner and aimed it in the direction of the sound. The shape that turned the corner was no Grimm creature, though. Even in the dim light, Leon immediately recognized his mother. Lucia had a daintily beautiful frame, a princess to match her hero. Well, a princess that was liable to grab anything within arm's reach to use as a bludgeoning tool if she needed to defend her family and home. She was clad in her ivory nightgown, and her flowing, midnight blue hair, which she had given to Leon, was somewhat unkempt. Her hazel eyes were wide in surprise as she took in the carnage that littered their kitchen.

"Arcturus, where the hell did that thing come from? Dammit, I told you we should have bought that shotgun while we were in town!"

The answer came in the form of another thump.

Only this time, it wasn't just one. It was followed by a rhythmic thump-thump-thump. As the sounds got louder, more seemed to join in. Thumpthumpthump-thumpthumpthump. After seeing the dead sanguinic, Leon knew it could only mean bad things. He stared desperately at Father, praying that he knew what to do. But the louder the sounds became, the more color drained from his face. Mother caught this and all her bewilderment was replaced by creeping fear.

"Honey…? Is...is our problem bigger than this one Grimm?"

His solemn response was to reload the expended round. He then stepped over to his wife and pulled her into a deep kiss. After a few seconds, he pulled away, looked her in the eyes and said, "I love you, Lucia. I always have and always will."

He then turned his gaze to his son. "Leon, things are about to get bad. Really bad. You need to get your mother to safety….I just hope I can distract them long enough."

Leon couldn't believe what he was hearing. Distract? Father was an honest-to-God Huntsman, a vanquisher of all evil. He was invincible. So why did he look like he already had one foot in the grave?

"You mean defeat, right, Father? You're going to fight them off while I get Mother to a hiding place?"

He knelt in front of his son and embraced him in a way he never had before. Though it was never said, he could feel the finality of it. It was a goodbye.

"No matter what you hear, you don't turn back, and you don't let them touch either of you. I'll try to make enough noise so they don't notice you. But take the sword off the mantle and cut down any who get in your way."

The cacophony was nearly deafening now. Leon realized with a sense of hopelessness that it was the flapping of wings. Possibly hundreds of wings.

"I'll make them pay for it. I may fall, but I won't do it quietly. I'll leave a mark they won't ever recover from."

He couldn't even fathom what Father was telling him. Arcturus Ferox, the seasoned warrior, a destroyer of hundreds of Grimm, didn't even believe he would make it out of this fight alive?

"Dad…" Leon barely managed to say the one word. His throat was choked and his vision was becoming blurred by tears.

The hideous orchestra of wings was joined by a chorus of screeches.

"Go, Leon! Run!" No more time for sentimentality.

Galvanized into action, Leon grabbed Mother by her wrist and pulled her along into the living room. There he yanked the short-sword off its resting place gave it a few quick twirls to test its weight. Fairly light, made for swift swings and thrusts.

By the time he'd acquired the blade, the screeches had reached the backyard just outside the house. Father waited for them to come to him, though, so he wouldn't get surrounded by the sheer numbers of the horde. Although aware of the dangerous situation, both Leon and his mother paused to watch Father blow away the first trio of sanguinics to burst through the shattered door. He followed up with a fourth blast, as well as a fifth and sixth in rapid succession. Requiring a reload for any more shots, he opted instead to have One-Liner transform into the falchion form. With the flick of a switch, the lower half of the barrel fell out in five segments, then rapidly floated forward and stacked magnetically on top of each other until they formed the three-foot long blade of a falchion. The hilt, previously situated in a diagonal angle, turned upward into a straight hilt and elongated slightly. And with a determined battle cry, he darted forward and started swinging.

They knew that it was past time to escape, so they quickly flung open the door leading to the basement stairway. In their rush, they took the steps two at a time. There was no door in the basement that led outside, but there were a few windows. As they approached the nearest one, however, their exodus was halted by the squealing face of a sanguinic. In its bloodlust, it simply busted out the window with its forehead and began to claw its way in like a beowolf into a rabbit's den. Lucia quickly moved under the stairway, searching for anything she could use as a weapon.

Adrenaline kicking in, Leon leapt forward and shoved the blade of the short-sword up into the monster's head from beneath its chin. It was an instant kill, but the victory was short lived. The limp body began slide slowly through the small window, and Leon realized it was being pushed to make room for another. He also heard the other window break, and snapped his head to look at it. Two sanguinics were clawing at each other to force their way in before the other one.

Backing away from the windows, he ordered Mother to get back onto the stairway and positioned himself into a defensive stance, just as Father had taught him. He then calmed his mind, emptying it of all but the threats in front of him. One sanguinic managed to shove its counterpart back and it threw itself into the basement. Without pause, it stumbled forward in an effort to claw at him. Leon sidestepped and slashed at the left of the torso, carving a red line into its flesh. The creature collapsed to the ground, allowing Leon to turn and drive the sword into its back, skewering the left lung. It squealed, and then went silent.

The third sanguinic crawled in through the same window and, unlike its predecessor, it landed on its feet. This one jumped into the air so as to land on top of Leon. In response, he rolled under it and righted himself facing its back. The monster landed, but only succeeded in slashing the concrete floor. As the sanguinic looked down in confusion, Leon stepped forward and thrust his blade into the side of its neck. As he pulled the blade back out, the monster fell with a small jet of blood spurting onto the ground.

By this time, the dead sanguinic blocking the first window had been successfully pushed through, allowing another to force its way inside. This new arrival, upon seeing its three dissolving brethren, screeched and charged at Leon. It was faster than its allies, and Leon barely had enough time to dive to the side and avoid getting beheaded. As it was, he still sustained a minor cut on his right shoulder. Not an incapacitating wound, but still painful. The sanguinic might have been able to turn and finish the job, but it slipped on the blood that had begun to pool over the floor. The beast's momentum carried it forward and it slammed into the wall. Leon got to his feet and took advantage of his foe's predicament, swinging his sword in an upward diagonal slash that severed both of the creature's right wings. It dropped on its back with a squeal, and Leon brought his blade down into its chest.

Leon stood there for a few seconds, panting heavily. The battle had begun to wear him down, and looking at the windows, he saw that another wave was about to enter behind the first. Leon knew he couldn't hold out for much longer. The basement would soon be overrun.

And just as the thought passed through his mind, he heard a commotion behind him. Turning his head, he saw that another sanguinic had somehow snuck up on him, possibly from the direction he and his mother had come from. The creature was mere feet away, too close for the unprepared Leon to dodge. But just as the sanguinic brought back both arms to slice him into tiny bits, something else moved at it from further behind. Then it was battered aside in a crash of shattering wood, allowing Leon to see that he'd been saved by his mother, who was now holding the broken remains of an old oaken stool. Before the beast could get back up, Lucia stabbed it repeatedly in the face with the splintered ends of the stool legs, screaming, "Don't. Touch. My. Child. You. Little. Bastard!"

Once the sanguinic was dead and dissipating, Lucia dropped her improvised weapon and grabbed Leon in a relieved embrace. Leon hugged her back as she tearfully told him, "Oh, you've got to be more careful, Leon. Your mother won't always be around to watch your back, you know." The two smiled at each other for a brief moment, until another round of screeching brought them back into their grievous situation.

The pair broke apart and ran back to the stairs. Leon had her go up first and then followed her until the halfway point. There he paused, hoping to fend off the monsters that had crawled inside and congregated at the bottom step. He swung his sword rapidly through the air in front of him in an effort to make the sanguinics stay back. One of them must have been too blinded by bloodlust to be intimidated, for it screeched and leapt at him, its left arm flinging forward in an attempt to gut him. Leon swung again, this time severing the arm of his attacker. He followed up with a front kick to its exposed chest. The creature tumbled back down the stairway and bowled over a good portion of its allies. Before the rest of the invaders got their footing, the Leon had bolted up the steps and slammed the door behind him. He then pushed the nearby chair to block that entrance, at least temporarily. He was sweating profusely, and it was starting to run down his face. He soon realized that it wasn't just the fighting, though. The temperature of the house had risen substantially.

Only then did Leon look to where Father had been fighting, and he saw his silhouette and those of the invading sanguinics still clashing atop a huge pile of dead monsters against a roaring fire. Leon had no idea how that might have started, but at least it seemed to be burning some of the colony.

As he was momentarily fixated on the blaze, he didn't notice the pounding on the front door until it was already splintered and folding in the middle. When he finally did notice the problem, Leon realized with a shock that would give way in mere seconds.

And Lucia was standing only a few feet from it.

"Mom! Get away from—!" That was all he had time to scream before a massive hulk of a sanguinic crashed through the door and fell upon Mother.

Leon's very soul felt like it was thrown into the blaze as he witnessed this hideous behemoth drive its claws into Mother's chest and stomach. Small rivers of blood flowed around its fingers and spilled to the floor. When her eyes widened in shock and she gave a gasp of what wasn't pain, but of sudden numbness, the monster sank its teeth into her neck. Instead of sucking her blood out, as many legends claimed sanguinics did, it simply tore out her throat. If Leon had any reason remaining at the time, he would have thanked God she had already passed before feeling that.

As it was, while his heart wept vehemently for his beloved mother, Leon's mind and body made the flames their own. His vision grew as red as their accursed eyes. With a roar of primal rage, he charged headlong at the beast that was bringing his life to ruins. He leapt on the sanguinic and thrust the blade into its chest. As it was still savoring the taste of his mother's blood, it failed to even take notice of Leon until the sword had pierced through the creature's chest and out its back. It gave a furious screech, but it did not fall. Instead it swatted Leon off with the back of its hand, the spike on it giving him a fairly deep cut on his left cheekbone. The sword stuck fast in its chest and it was wrenched out of his hands. He flew almost ten feet before crashing into the wall and collapsing to the floor. Though he was certain a few ribs were broken, his fury and adrenaline allowed him to ignore most of the pain. Leon immediately stood up, intending to charge at it again, but the sanguinic was faster than he thought a seven-foot-tall beast could possibly have been. Before he could even turn his fiery gaze upon the monster, it raked its claws across Leon's back. He felt a great ripping sensation on his skin, and suddenly the flames in his mind overtook his consciousness. This pain would not be ignored. Leon gave a great cry and collapsed again onto the ground.

He landed facing his father, who had heard his pained yell. And as he bore witness to the mutilated body of Mother and Leon's limp, barely conscious form lying upon the blood-soaked floor, he roared much as his son had. One-Liner had been returned at some time to revolver form, and Father brought it to bear on the massive sanguinic. He let loose a blast right into the center of its mass. The monster almost managed to sidestep it, but the round caught it in one of its left wings. Another screech, and it broke into a dead run toward Father.

At this point, Leon's vision began to black out, and he only caught portions of the ensuing duel. By some unspoken command, the other sanguinics did not interfere. What was left of his mind realized that this must be the archsanguinic. One-Liner was back in falchion form now, the bottom half of the blade having flipped up first, and the top half flipping up from around the bottom and compressing inward to form the thin, sharp edge. Leon saw Father duck under a clumsy swipe by the arch. He then stepped forward and slammed his shoulder into its chest, right beside the embedded hilt of the short-sword. Leon's vision faded again, and then came back.

Father spun and swung One-Liner in a downward diagonal arc, trying to cleave the arch in half. The arch brought up its right hand, hoping to parry it with its spike. The blade was stopped, but not without nearly severing the spike. The arch snarled and leapt back. As the blade was separated from the spike, it snapped off. Fading. Vision returns.

The arch swiped low at Father's knee, and succeeded in landing a hit. Father's aura must have been depleted by the colony. In retaliation, he brought the hilt of the falchion down upon the back of the arch's head. The blow carried so much force, the bony carapace cracked slightly. Fading. Return.

Father landed a great blow on the arch's left side, the blade sinking maybe two inches into its skin. But a far worse wound was inflicted by the arch, who leaned forward and sunk its teeth into Father's right shoulder. With a huge cry of pain, Father slammed his left fist into the arch's face, forcing it to disengage its jaws. But the damage was done. One-Liner dropped to the floor and Father's right arm hung . Return.

The archsanguinic gave a triumphant roar and slashed its jagged claws across Father's chest. Father collapsed on his back.

Leon's voice refused to work, so his mind did all the screaming. They'd failed. His father, the invincible Huntsman, now lay on the ground in a pool of not only his blood, but the blood of his loved ones. The sanguinics had just wiped out the Ferox family and would certainly do the same to others. Who would stop them? Would they be stopped? Or would they rise again as a species? The pain had subsided and gave way to a near-complete numbness. Leon could feel the end nearing.

The arch knelt in front of Father and opened his mouth. Even through his static feelings, Leon felt fresh horror at the realization that the sanguinics were going to feast upon their corpses.

But through some act of chance, the arch was halted before the first taste by the collapse of the kitchen ceiling. The fire had spread and was consuming the whole house. Another section of the ceiling collapsed, flattening about a half dozen sanguinic minions. With another cacophony of screeches, the colony began to flee into the night. Reluctantly, the archsanguinic followed.

Before long the entire colony was gone. The Ferox family was alone in their unstable, burning home. Bleeding out. Leon felt his mind finally giving way, and the very last thing he saw was Father struggling to turn his head in order to look at his son, whispering words that Leon couldn't hear over the roar of the flames. But he knew what they were. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, Hartman! Look over that-a-way! Smoke, and lots of it, boss!"

Hartman averted his gaze from their cobbled path to see what the peon was making such a fuss over. Sure enough, a towering pillar of smoke and ash was slithering its way toward the nighttime stars. Following the plume down to its source, he saw that it originated from the hill about a mile away. The flickering orange light indicated the presence of a large fire.

Intrigued, Hartman ordered his entourage to halt and deliberated on whether investigating would be worth the lost time. In the end, he decided that there could possibly be a few valuables left in the wake of this blaze.

"Move out, you dogs!" Hartman barked. "Let's go see what in Grimm is going on. And if there's anything left to…liberate."

The woods between the path and their destination were fairly dense, so progress was slow. Giant roots tripped his men underfoot and low-hanging branches constantly slapped them in the face. The closer they got, the more the smoke had them all coughing and hacking. By the time they reached the foot of the hill, the inferno had begun to die down. Only a low crackle remained of the earlier conflagration.

Hartman turned to address his men. "Ok, boys. Listen up! This fire may or may not have been just the product of some accident, but I haven't lived this long taking chances. I want weapons drawn and ready to shoot up a storm at a second's notice! Got it!?"

All replied with affirmative grunts and nods of their heads. And with that, they began to march up the hill.

Upon reaching the apex, all that was visible were the crumpled ruins of what might have once been a decent abode. Now it was only a large pile of ashes, charred wood and a bit of seared brick. Smoke still rose from the ruins, though no longer in gagging amounts. Most of the hill was covered in lush grass, but around the pile laid only blackened dirt. A fine layer of ash covered the grass that remained.

Hartman observed the destruction, but nothing of interest caught his eye at first. No valuables, no bodies, nothing. Just rubble. Well, if there's anything worth looting in this mess, we'll have to work for it.

By which he meant his subordinates would have to work for it. "Alright, dogs! Be good boys and sniff around this place. Grab anything that looks valuable."

His goons didn't waste any time getting to it, though they did waste breath on the typical grumbling and griping. Likely the same old complaints, the usual insults to everything that couldn't hear them. Hartman was well aware that he was the target of some of the worst of it, but he let it slide as long as he never heard a whisper of it. After all, he'd been in similar shoes during his career in the Atlas military.

And he knew that none of them would dare to say anything his ears could pick up. Not after what happened to the first, and last, smart-mouth who'd shown Hartman disrespect.

"Hey, Hartman! Looks like we got a body here! It's covered in so much soot that I can't even tell if it's a man or a―"

He was cut off by an earsplitting shriek and a humanoid figure bursting out of the rubble. The man who'd been standing right in front of it got a nasty surprise as the thing slashed at him with jagged claws, slapping the shotgun out of his hands and throwing him on his ass with three new claw marks on his chestplate.

The shotgun landed on the ground, and the flashlight strapped under its barrel illuminated the attacker. Hartman almost couldn't believe his eyes. It wasn't covered in soot at all. Dark skin, white bone plates, jagged claws, and four wings. It was a sanguinic.

One that was assaulting his men. "To the left, boys! Open fire!"

The monster didn't wait around for the men to aim their weapons. It took a short running start, leapt into the air and flapped its four wings furiously. The men took potshots at its fading form, but none even managed a glancing hit. Before long it was out of sight, most likely scurrying back to the rest of its colony.

Smart little bloodsucker, it was, thought Hartman.

Now that the shooting was done, the men were jabbering all around about what they'd seen, or what they thought they'd seen. One walked over to the man on the ground and helped him up. He seemed to have escaped injury, which was fortunate. It saved them from using some of their medical supplies.

Now Hartman turned back to address the men. "Well," he yelled at them, "don't just stand there yammering about! We can debrief later. Your job isn't done until you show me something good."

They continued their task for a good half hour with no results. It then occurred to Hartman that if it had been a sanguinic attack, the blasted parasites would most likely have swiped anything shiny before they fled the scene. Still, the information that the sanguinics still lived was worth the hike over here. It could do good for the Burrow to capture a few live ones and transport them back. It would be just the exciting twist they'd been searching for. He then made a note of which way the straggler had fled, for that was the likely direction of their colony.

Hartman was about to call off the fruitless looting session when a peon yelled out, "Hartman, sir! Another body. This one's not a sanguinic, I'm sure of it!"

Having nothing more pressing to attend to, he decided to stride over and check it out. What he saw was another body, too small to be a sanguinic, and no wings or bony plates on its body. Just four extensive slash marks running across its back.

Hartman nudged the body with the toe of his boot and turned it on its side. It turned out to be a young boy, maybe thirteen or fourteen. Ash and blood covered his body. His filth-slathered hair appeared at first to be black, but then a flashlight beam revealed that it was a midnight blue. His skin was as pale as the surrounding ashes.

Hartman knelt beside the body and pressed his hand to the boy's neck. The faintest of pulses came back.

The little son of a gun's still kicking, but just barely. Wounds like those would have killed just about any other kid, and he's obviously been lying there for a good while. Must be tough as nails…

With that thought, an idea came to him. One more twist.

"This kid isn't dead, but that isn't gonna be the case in a short while. Doc! Get your arse over here and patch up his back! We're taking him with us."

The medic didn't dare question Hartman, but the other grunts looked at each other quizzically and mumbled in confusion. The Hartman they knew never was one for charity. Or mercy.

As the medic worked his magic, another peon called out a second human body. A woman this time. A quick investigation revealed she had deep stab wounds and her throat was torn out. Nothing to check there. Hartman noticed she had the same color of hair as the boy. Might've been the mother.

After a couple minutes, one of the grunts guarding the perimeter called out that a squad of police cars was sighted off in the distance. Almost certainly on their way here. The medic announced that the boy was stable enough to move. No reason to stick around and get interrogated, then. Time to go.

"Pack it up, men! Let's bail before the cops show up. Back to the Burrow!"

*Author's Note*

Well, if you've made it this far, then perhaps you're considering reading the rest? If so, I'd like to extend my cheesiest and yet sincerest appreciation to you for taking the time to read my first real literary work of any substantial length.

Whether you loved it, mildly enjoyed it or thought it was an utter train wreck, I'd love to hear your (constructive) opinions in the reviews section. From now until the end of time, you all are the lights in the darkness. Until next time, stay bright.