The night air swirled past her, dragging her hair back into a wild, tangled mass, wicking away her tears before they could carve a path down her face. There was no refreshment to be found in this wind, no comfort. It was heavy, and uncomfortably warm, filled with the smell of blood, ash, and oil, but chiefly by the unmistakable scent of fear, palpable in every inhaled breath.
She ran without direction, ignoring the pain that flared in her side with each step. She didn't care where she went, as long as it was away from them, from her.
It was hours after the attack. All those who would survive had already left the city, and all those who would perish had already been rooted out by the keen senses of the Grimm. The battle of Beacon was over, leaving behind a mere skeleton of the city that once thrived with life.
Which was why the sight of this Grimm in particular took her by surprise.
It was nothing unusual itself, barely more than a Beowulf that had lived long enough to grow slightly more armor than usual. No, what was strange about it was its actions. The creature stood upon a pile of wreckage, unperturbed by the embers that swirled in the air around it, digging down as if searching for something.
She knew exactly what it was doing. She'd seen it before, many a time. There was only one reason why a Grimm would hunt for something with such ferocity: It had found a human.
Something sparked in her, a sense of hope, or duty, the same sense that had driven her to this place in the very beginning, many months in the past. A feeling that refused to stand by and witness the suffering of another. Propelled by this deep emotion, she crept forward, unsheathed her blade, and struck.
Pain spread like lightning through her the instant her blade made contact, but she bore it with grit teeth, bringing it cleanly through the beast's neck. The now-decapitated Grimm fell lifelessly to the ground without even a whimper of surprise.
Without wasting a single moment, she dropped to the ground and continued what the Grimm had started, pulling up rubble and tossing it aside with feverish strength. Shards of glass cut her hands, and the wound in her side shrieked in protest with each new piece of wreckage discarded, but she persisted singlemindedly until a figure was revealed beneath a particularly large chunk of metal.
Her heart leapt with joy and relief, only to immediately after sink to despair, and subsequently bitter rage.
She knew him. She knew that firey orange hair, that white suit, that mouth which, even closed in an unconscious grimace, seemed to mock her every motion. Worst of all, he was alive, stubbornly drawing in ragged breaths despite the wounds that covered him.
She lingered for a few moments before curling her teeth in disgust. Her blade was retrieved from the ground and sheathed, before she turned her back on the man's unconscious frame and walked away. Grimm howled around her, drawn by the man's black and evil heart, no doubt. Well, she'd leave them to it. He deserved no better.
Blake stepped into the shadows, and disappeared without a trace.