"The blade is ancient. It has been here since before man, and it will be here when we are is gone. It has a world-changing power, and a world-changing cost. You must guard the blade with your life. It has great power.
The fate of man very well may rest on your shoulders. But I have faith, Taylor. You are strong of soul."
The world doesn't take kindly to me.
Go to Vale, Vacuo, or Mistral, and half the shops will refuse service to a Faunus. Go to Atlas, and more still would rather turn you to the curb and watch you starve than have a Faunus dirty their stores. There were villages that refused to let you within the walls even if you were bleeding to death after fighting off a Grimm horde that would have killed everyone in the village. All, I reflected, for the two, dark horns that crowned me, rising out of my dark hair.
Some went against the way of things, but I'd never been much of a protestor. The last I'd heard of groups like the White Fang, they were under new leadership. Good. Maybe they'd actually change something for once.
Some accepted their place. They slaved away for employers that didn't care about them. People like the Schnees used Faunus like another might use a plastic cup. It was useful for a while; but then you were done with it, and you tossed it away like trash.
Some people, like me, got the message. We weren't wanted. People like that had founded the city-state of Menagerie. But if you were poor, like me, then you couldn't afford a ticket to Menagerie. So you took your chances with the Grimm. Because the Grimm didn't spit on you when they beat you. You wandered the wastes, day to day, trying not to die.
There was an un-official name for people like me. It was idiot, because people who took their chances with Grimm always died.
I was broken out of my musings by a long, chilling howl, followed by a second. I turned my head to the right, favouring my intact ear. The moon – or what was left of it – had risen, and it seemed, like any other night, that there were Beowolves on the hunt. The howl pierced the night again. It was a hunting howl, one of a Beowolf that was tracking prey. Signing, I tucked my head down to my chest and put one foot in front of the other, heavy footfalls sinking deep into the soft sand.
The same howl permeated the night several more times. A pack had formed, but I could only keep moving. If I stopped every time I'd heard a Grimm, then I'd never make it back to Vale.
A deeper, longer howl broke the soft silence. It was closer. It wasn't the howl of a Beowolf searching for prey; it was the howl of Beowolf who had found it.
I pulled the naked blade from my shoulder and slammed it into the ground, the soft sand giving way to the wicked edge and immense weight of the ancient sword. Scanning the horizon, I picked out a few dark shapes in the night, moving towards me. Three, about a minute away. This would be easier than I thought. They usually hunted in packs of eight or nine at least.
Many hunters, at this point, would be charging in head first, weapons at the ready. But I wasn't a normal hunter. I didn't want to fight them if I could avoid it. I had a sword to protect. And most strikingly, I didn't hold any weapons. Not that I would be needing one. I was a hunter of the old ways.
The Beowolves had slowed down, now. They had begun to spread out, circling me. They snapped and snarled, blood red eyes glowing with ravenous hunger looking at what they thought would be an easy meal. I dropped into a fighting stance, steadied my breath, and waited.
The largest of the three; not quite an alpha, but close, lunged at me, fangs beared. My fist flew outwards and slammed into the bone-like mask of the Grimm. I felt a crack, and I knew it wasn't my hand breaking.
A second Beowolf lunged as the first recoiled, but my Aura absorbed the hit entirely. I spun, and lashed out with a kick, my foot sinking into the soft surface of the Grimm. It was like punching syrup; they weren't quite physical, but more like a shadow made manifest. I concentrated on the point of impact, focusing on my soul, and channelled all of the power I had into Grimm. To explain how this is done is impossible; it cannot be taught, only learnt.
It let out a shriek as the force of a human soul seared it, and I rendered its essence from its form. I paused for a second, waiting for the next attack.
"So it can fight." The voice that rang out was feminine, soft yet sharp, melodic yet imposing. "Such a shame to see such talent go to waste."
I turned to see what I though was a woman at first, then a Grimm. They had skin that was as pale as the moon, but their face was streaked with lines as dark as the night. The same blood red eyes stared at me, but they had an intelligence to them. They were not one of the horde. They were something in between a human or Faunus and Grimm. They were an abomination that shouldn't exist and a fusing of two things fundamentally different.
The two beowolves stood aside, one slowly smoking from its cracked mask. The…abomination moved forwards slightly, before it lashed out, slashing at me with a rapier. I pushed the blade to the side and threw a hook towards her face, but she ducked under it. She slashed again, and it cut straight through my aura, carving across my chest. It hurt, more than it should. I took a second to steady myself. The creature stood back, holding immaculate posture while I was hunched over, one hand clamped over the wound. It was wiping the blood from the blade with its hand.
"It is so pitiful to see a somewhat talented opponent die so undignified. A shame, really." I let out a roar, and leapt forwards. I lashed out with a savage kick, striking her in the head and infusing my soul into the strike. It staggered backwards, and I pushed the advantage, striking out with a clenched fist at its nose. My fist slammed into its face and again I used my soul to empower the blow. She staggered backwards with a grunt. I dropped lower and tackled her, driving my horns into her stomach. She cried out in pain, audibly this time, before pulling herself off the horns and throwing me backwards. I felt a thick, dark, blood-like substance slowly drip down my horns.
"Insolent child." She said. "You trifle with powers you do not understand!" I laughed.
"It seems I don't need to understand to beat you." I spat in the sand. It fell next to the drops of blood dripping from the wound in my chest. Her face curled into a snarl, and she lunged at me again, the blade outstretched. I tried to push it aside, as before, but it moved to fast. The blade plunged all the way down to the hilt into my chest.
I gasped, struggling to breathe. She moved closer to me, so close I could feel her essence.
"You are nothing," she said. I could feel something different about her essence. Grimm didn't have souls, but she did. She had a dark, twisted, corrupted soul, but a soul none the less.
I struck her hand holding the blade, breaking her grip. I grabbed the blade in my chest and ripped it out to free up my movement. Then I took a breath, numbed the pain, and focused, before I struck with an open palm, into the centre of her chest, focusing my soul not on her Grimm essence, but her weakened, fragile, human soul.
She was thrown backwards as I used my soul to almost destroy hers. She tumbled through the sands, rolling to a stop. Slowly, she dragged herself to her feet.
"Enough!" She cried. "I will not allow you to interfere any longer, insect!" She pointed her arm at me, fingers spread out open, palm facing me, and a torrent of darkness consumed me. At first, it was painful, but then I grew cold, and I felt almost nothing. I turned, and started to stagger back to where the sword was, but I could barely move in the cold. I caught a few glimpses in the swirling darkness of the abomination moving towards the sword. I could die here, but I could not let that thing have the sword. I reached into my jacket, and my hand closed around a warm gemstone. I took a deep breath, calmed my soul and crushed the shard of dust.
In an instant the cold was gone, replaced by a burning heat. I breathed the flames in, barely controlling the inferno that spread for almost a hundred metres in every direction. I walked through the blaze, using all my willpower to prevent myself from being incinerated. I headed towards the blade, and I found it glowing a bright orange, still in the sand. When the fires faded, both of the Beowolves had been incinerated. I told myself that the abomination would have been annihilated as well. That no creature, Grimm or human, could have survived the onslaught.
But there was a part of my soul that knew it wouldn't be dead. There was a part of my soul that knew that thing had survived. Something about it made me think it wouldn't die so easily.
I pulled the cooling blade from the sand. More Beowolves had begun to howl. They had seen the blaze. They were coming for me. I sighed, and continued on my trek.
Now, more than ever, I needed to keep the blade safe.
First Fanfic, play nice. Characters have been reduced in power and Grimm have been made tougher to make the combat more interesting, so remember this if characters don't plough through thousands of Beowolves in three minutes when they might in the show. I'm not from the US so there might be spelling "mistakes" or distances in metres instead of feet or yards. Harsh reviews are welcome if they are justified. Uploads will be whenever I can get a chapter written.
