It was the year 4766, I think.
I don't remember much of it
There were 4 of us, or 6
Again, my mind fails me
There was Quimarrus, Ghazarrah, Scydwevre and me.
I had a name
But I don't remember.
There was about 4 million of them.
Too many for me to recall
We slaughtered them like cattle
It was easy
Too easy
We had never lost, not from lack of trying mind you.
It was impossible for us to die
It made us overconfident
It made us weak
It made me who I am
Who I was.
The battle was long and grueling
A literal sea of corpses, floating on their shared blood
I think I enjoyed myself
Does that make me evil, to enjoy death?
I don't think so, I think that makes me rational
Death meets us all some day
Even those who couldn't die
One way or another.
I think Ghazarrah fell first
Too many blurs to be sure
Do you know what witnessing the impossible feels like?
I guess impossible is the wrong word
More like something that never happened before
It doesn't matter
Quimarrus, Ghazarrah, Scydwevre
They're dead
And I'm not
Instead, I'm here
Somewhere far away from home
Home?
I don't think I ever had a home
Only death and killing
Maybe this is my chance at redemption?
Or reclamation?
To reclaim my memory
Through death and killing
I don't think that this is neither redemption or reclamation.
Maybe its remembrance
Who I am
What I am
I know I'm not human
Humans don't harbor others within themselves
I think
I'm not sure
The people look at me strange
Not with fear or terror
Not like I'm used to
But with suspicion and intrigue
Like a living puzzle
But I'm missing the pieces to this puzzle
Like who I am
What I am
Where I am
And why I'm here
And who these things inside me are
What they want from me.
I've heard things
Things of value to something like me
Something I was
Something a killer would want.
It's a school
For killers
To train and refine skills
They call it something like "light"
Or "Hope"
It doesn't matter
Names are useless to me
I don't even remember my own
Perhaps I should name myself
This new world, so different from mine
My name shall follow suit
From now on
Call me
Psrris
It means outside
Why do I remember that?
Of everything I forgot
This I remember
That's stupid
I need a drink
The teleport to this world has left me parched
And I'm hungry
How long has it been since I ate?
Days?
Months?
Who knows
Tomorrow I find my path at this school of killers
But tonight, I feed myself on the first taste of this world
Probably meat and water.
Oh well
My life here on Remnant shall be a hard and brutal one
The remnant of what?
Or who?
Who cares, these things aren't important.
Wherever this knowledge of this world is coming from, I won't complain.
As the leather notebook was closed, its owner looked up to the fractured moon with more questions, for now, he decided to look for the food he just wrote about, after all, he was starving.
Heading to the local village he was near he began to feel eyes on him. This wasn't the first time this had happened when he arrived on Remanet, he felt thousands of eyes upon his form.
This world wasn't all it seemed, and at first glance he saw something large and black maneuverer around his blind spots, looking for an opening.
Little to the creature's knowledge, its prey was not just another traveler, this was a seasoned killer of man and monster. As the creature pounced from behind a fallen tree, fangs and claws exposed to the elements, its last thought was of the color of his eyes, bright blue like an ocean with a hint of something otherworldly. as he soared through the air poised for an easy kill, he was greeted with a swift and heavy blade to the skull, spreading his mind like paper. His prey had somehow produced a blade and turned to strike all while he was in the air, a feat the beast had not predicted, or even thought possible.
As the beast head touched the brittle grass, cleft in twain, its assailant has not moved an inch from where he made the fatal incision to the head. Still like a statue for mere minutes before the blade had been sheathed away from view, and in an instance, he turned on his heels and continued along the path towards the warmth of the village.
They say beasts like the Grimm feel nothing but hunger and hate but in the forest south of Vale.
There was one man who made the Beowolves feel fear and horror.
And so, a legend was born.
He who Grimm fear, and tremble before
Psrris, the Outsider.