Do you like fairytales?
Let me tell you one. One you've never heard before.
See, once upon a time, there was a boy. He was a cute little ten year old with fluffy indigo hair and pure pink eyes. He liked to play Huntsman and on day dreamed of being a great hunter, to battle Grimm and to live up to the fairytales he'd heard as a baby. His father loved to tell him then, just before bed, and watch his eyes light up with wonder and awe. The feeling that his son would one day strive to become a great righter of wrongs, it... Well, it made his heart swell with joy. But, one day, daddy didn't come back. There was no story, no wonder and awe, no joy in big old daddy's heart. The boy asked his mother why and his mother always told him the same thing.
"You're father moved to teach at Beacon academy. We live many, many miles from there, so he sadly can't come visit us inbetween his important job teaching others to fight just like you wish to!". The boy accepted this, for they lived in the wilderness of Vacuo. It made sense their father wouldn't be able to return easily. LIES! He was ripped apart, shredded and CRUSHED, by Ursai! He went out to hunt for food and all he found was DEATH! THE LYING BITCH! She WANTED him to believe that BULLSHIT!One day, the boy would leave his humble village. One day, he'd go to Beacon and see his father again. He'd become a great Huntsman and prove it!
But the child had noticed, as time passed, that his village faded. Homes were left to decay and his neighbors left one by one. "They simply can't handle the wilderness, sweetie.", his mother would say. "They've all moved away and all we can do is wish them good fortune." She never stopped LYING! They died! THEY ALL DIED! She never stopped feeding her son BULLSHIT! She was SCARED of what he'd THINK! Oh, but he found out in the end! AND IT WAS FAR WORSE FOR HIM! The boy simply smiled to his mother and prayed that their lives had improved for the better now that they had moved out of the harsh climate they lived in.
Then the seasons changed and their food soon grew scarce. The mother began to disappear every week now, but returned with their much needed supplies. The mother left one day, "To get us food" she'd told him, but had returned bruised AND CUT AND CRYING!, which terrified the small boy. "Mummy!", he'd cried to her, "Mummy, what happened!". His mother shook her head, saying "I tripped, sweetheart, on my way home, and landed badly. It's okay, Mummy just needs to rest." And the boy, as terrified as he was, accepted this. And his mother? She said nothing! Tripped? TRIPPED!? Who trips on a KNIFE!? Who trips and ends up BEATEN WITH THREE BROKEN RIBS!? Who trips and CRIES AND NIGHT!? WHO THE FUCK DOES THAT!
One day, however, the boy's life changed. He was playing, running around and enjoying his pretend fights against the evil Grimm, when his mother ran into the house while trying to tend to what little crops survived over the years. "Amina! Amina, hide, quickly!" The boy could say nothing as his mother quickly stuffed him under his bed. Just as she had, the door was blown open by unknown men. Men with guns. Fucking MOBSTER SCUM! She'd been stupid enough to get money from MOBSTERS! And they'd come to collect LIKE THEY ALWAYS WOULD! "Where's the boy?" One of them asked, a snear on his face. The mother shook her head, begging them, pleading with them, to do anything but take all she had left. He was just one boy, one innocent child! How could they wish such a thing? But they just laughed. One man charged up to the woman, his a sickening CRACK heard before she slumped to the floor in tears And who wouldn't cry after some ASSHOLE busts your nose with a RIFLE? . Within seconds, the bed was flipped over and the boy was dragged out by the scruff of his neck. He kicked and screamed, AND GOT TOSSED AGAINST THE FUCKING WALL COS OF IT! but it was no use. The boy was simply carried by, like a rabid pet, as his mother scream hysterically. A GUNSHOT echoed out of the house, but the boy had already PASSED OUT. He was never aware his mother had DIED BANG! DEAD! LIKE A FUCKING RAT! until he was much older. No, these mobsters... They didn't want to kill him. And what use was a child as a slave?
No, they just made him SUFFER instead.
HAVE YOU EVER had DUST FORCED INTO your veins? You ever CRIED and BEGGED THEM to STOP!? OVER AND OVER, TILL YOUR EYES BLEED, THEY KEEP FORCING IT IN AND IN AND IN! For the next twelve years, the boys life was pure agony. They didn't know how he could survive it. He didn't. He wished he hadn't. And it only got worse. First, CAME THE NEEDLES (Take you MEDICINE, YOU LITTLE SHIT, AND SHUT UP CRYING!), but every child grows up in the end. Then he was older... Then it wasn't just needles. They'd DRUG him and BEAT HIM till he couldn't stand, then they'd R# E &%M LIKE $& #£*G ANIMALS, B&H THE M # AND W#%EN till he couldn't stand the pain that ever breath would bring him.
The boy wanted to die. He prayed, day and night, that someone would kill him. That the dust would kill him. But it never came.
But then...
HE AWOKE.
It had been another day, more pain and agony and dust, when there was a noise. A noise unlike any other. A horrible, spine chilling, echoing SCREECH coming from outside. The mobsters inside got their guns, some rushed to the window to look for the cause of the noise, but all was for nought. Within moments, the roof was blown apart by the powerful claws of a NeverMore. The mobsters went crazy, firing at random and just hoping they hit something. But, for all the hoping and praying, they were DEAD ALREADY. And they DESERVED SO MUCH MORE PAIN. The hole in the ceiling was just the start. Beowolves poured in from any opening they found, the sick criminals shredded in moments no matter how many bullets they poured into the creatures, with all they STICKY, SHINY insides spread ALL OVER like they WERE NOTHING! The entire hideout was destroyed, the Grimm wiping out every soul present and proving the wilderness was no place for mankind. Though, clearly, those who died lost their humanity long ago...
AS for the BOY? Well... Every SOUL was destroyed. His had SHATTERED long ago. The Grimm FREED him, TENDED to him like one of THEIR OWN, and he felt something he'd once thought lost. KINSHIP. He RESONANTED with them, his own HEART NOW BLACK as theirs. His AURA was corrupted, his veins GREY and his skin PALE as he walked among his new FAMILY. His fluffy hair now long and black and his beautiful eyes now HOLLOW and LIFELESS. He'd be mistaken for a blind man, but he can see... Oh, he can see EVERYTHING. He is ONE with the Grimm. The semblance he carries? Short and sweet in nature. His semblance IS the Grimm. He IS one, LIVES as one, FIGHTS as one. He even took one of those SCUMBAG mobster's skulls to wear as a pretty, pretty mask.
He doesn't need eyes or family or friends or anything at all. He's got all he needs right out here...
Strolling softly across the land, wandering toward Beacon and crossing the border into Vale, a young pale man travels alone. Blind by still wandering, never to be stopped. He wears tattered ashen cloths, their color long since lost, and has all but the jaw of a skull firmly clamped onto his own head to pin down his waist length hair. His hands twitch, looking for trouble, his nails far from human. Claws take place of where they used to be, even his teeth are jagged and primal, and his body is far more powerful than it looks. But even so, even with all this power in hand, he's thinks nothing of it.
"I'm coming to you... Father... I'll show all of Beacon how powerful your son is..."
His head snaps to the side before he howls with manic laughter, his footprints bloody and fresh. Only a few steps away lie the mangled remains of Vale soldiers, now nothing but tinned food for his fellow Ursai. He waves a hand back to them as he drifts on. "Enjoy your meal, BOYS! I've got places to be!" His hands dart infront of him, wafting the cool air into his face as he takes in a long breath. "Mmmm..." He licked his lips... "The HATE, the ANGER, the SUFFERING! Yes... Hate eachother. You're just making yourself far SWEETER TO DEVOUR!". The innocent boy? He was called Amina Mundi. But what he became? Those few who survived an encounter with him can't even tell you. Some say he called himself Jacob. Others say Wilhelm. But all agree on one thing. Everytime, without fault, he always referred to himself by one name.
Grimm.