The brutal breaking of branches as they chased after him. He was a simple looking man, His brow thick and tightly pulled across his face. His eyes were a deep grey, speckled with blue, they had a welcoming feel that has been twisted with time. His face was panicked now, shifting from side to side as he pulled himself through the brush. Past trees, ducking under branches, limbs snapping as he pushed passed them. Stumbling passed overgrown roots, hidden by the first signs of fall. The roots bending and twisting amongst each other. His feet carrying him as quickly as they could. Over his shoulder was the straps of a duffle bag and a small backpack. The duffle bag was pulled under his arm and held against his chest, his free hand buried into its contents.

Working his way into a small clearing, he stooped low for a moment, shrugging the backpack off and quickly emptying its contents into the duffle bag. Leaving the backpack there. Crossing the clearing, hiding behind the trunk of a tree. Its branches loomed over the opening. The leaves were falling. The quiet pluck as the branches let go of the leaves. He pressed his back against the tree for a moment, reaching into the duffle. Pulling out gingerly, balancing three crudely large stones, in the palm of his hands. The two smaller stones looked as if they use to be one, the jagged edge where they broke from each other shone a whitish blue, the blue that you would find at the first icing of a lake. The man cursed at himself quietly before allowing his hand to roll the third stone. It was a dim yellow that seemed to grow in intensity as you were to look at it. Pulling his eyes away as he heard something louder than a tree shedding its leaves. and leaning around the tree.

The leaves in the trees were peculiar. The aging of fall in this area worked in from the edges or any cuts or holes made from caterpillars and other insects. The greens, yellows, and reds seemed to come and go in waves.

His mind pulled away as a shadow crept closer to a tree. The dark tan uniform of a police officer did not serve all that well to hide him.

'Well he isn't the one hiding' the man thought chuckling slightly.

The officer turned and yelled, calling more towards him. Cursing to himself again, but silently this time he watched as the officer drew his pistol, leaning into the clearing as he began to scan, left to right, right to left. Stepping closer and closer to the bag. He was skinny, sweat worked from under the bangs of his hair. He wiped them away before pulling his hair back and to the side. His hand was shaking, he was nervous, the tan uniform seemed to darker around his collar, wet with sweat, as well where his armpits and down the side of his shirt. His stretched out, his foot touching the bag before he dug his toe into the fabric of the bag rolling it over, rolling it over. A branch broke, he snapped back up, his heavy breathing catching in his throat, the cold sweat on his skin crawling further.

"Son'ova-" the police officer trailed off "You scared the hell out of me Chief-Yeah here-" He bent over and picked up the bag, as he stood back up. The large officer stepped into the opening, His uniform was wrinkled and creased from movement. The Tan faded from years of use, along his belt hung a hatchet, what was exposed of the head was intricately etched before slipping into a red leather sheath, hiding the bit and cheek of the ax head. A small loop of leather extended around the shoulder of the hatchet. His left hand resting on it. On the breast of his uniform, a black stitched patch read 'Klay'.

Stepping to the side, Her uniform was crisp and new, her hair in a high ponytail. A few hairs were pinned back. An orange ribbon was pinned to her collar, she was on edge. Her pistol was already in her hand. Making their way towards the nervous officer, his pistol slide into his holster with a quiet click as the gun found the groves that caught it.

'Now' he thought. Stepping out from behind the tree. Pulling his hand up holding the stones. A beat passed, turning to see him. The young officer pulling her gun to the square.

The thunder rolled from one end of the sky, the earth rumbling around them, the trees seemed to become frightened as the wind began to build, The dirt began to grow cold, tightening and bracing against it. The only sound was of the wind, pressing against the branches, creaking and cracking from the strain. The shadows around the clearing began to stretch out towards them.

The small shacks scattered around the opening made from small sheets of perforated metal, covered with branches, corners, and seams were thickly caked with a cooked mud and grass mixture. Between more sturdy buildings there were crude canvases, stitched from a mixture of materials, stretched tight. The larger shacks were built with sheet metal, leaned against poles positioned inside of the structures, smothered smoke could be seen making its way out of the angled roofs.

"Towards the Center!" An authoritative voice called out. Cutting through the air. It was urgent but practiced to be strong and reliable. He looked out over the trees, fog, thick fog was beginning to form at the far end of their clearing. The sky which a moment before was blue and stripped with thin clouds was now blotted with a deep gray. It continued to grow and stretch out claiming the openness as its own.

"Where is Soro?" There was urgency in this familiar phrase. The fog began to envelop them and the surrounding camp. The straining of tree branches became louder, smaller branches began to snap and from the sound, never hit the ground as they were swept away by the wind. Creaks of metal and the straining of walls against the wind began to grow louder. He yelled the name again as his eyes began to scan across the group accumulating around him. The wind picked up violently for a moment, forcing the large man to turn his back to the wind. There were hollow yells as a few of the weaker structures began to tremble from the wind. A piece of sheet metal being used as a roof, began to be lifted off the small house, a lantern that had been fitted to the bottom, dangling. A creak and it was ripped away from the house, the lantern crashing into the next shack, a smaller more naturally made shack. The bundled leaves and twigs igniting with the crash. A moment passed before the flames began to creep up towards the metal roof.

"Go!" was all he needed to say, as he turned to look back at a few of those who had gathered near him, Arsen and his younger brother Thilo. They were reverent brothers, loyal and easy to work with. They quickly got up, tightening the straps of small bags as they ran to the house. Arsen wrapping a small rag around his hand as they ran. Grabbing at the metal and pulling. The father, new to the caravan, pushed against the metal, wedging it open enough to push his daughter through. Collapsing into the dirt, quickly getting to her feet, dirt, grass, and hair matted against her cheek as tears began to come. Her father yelling and motioning towards the group, before using both hands to push on the metal, pulling his hands away before pushing his shoulder against it, rotating to his back. The metal bent before it was pulled away. The father climbing past it with the help of Arsen and Thilo. His shirt pocketed with burns and singes. Quickly working their way back to the group, the father picking up his daughter who didn't move more than ten feet from the spot she fell, clumps of mud and blood falling to the ground as the father brushes it away.

The fog shifted, the eye of the storm formed quickly and was moving towards them. The dense fog around them began to fade into a perfect clearing like it was before.

They began to group up, no one had more than an armful. A few patchwork bags, and sacks carrying belongings. There were weapons, but only a few, half a dozen swords, a bow here and there for those tasked to hunt for meat, and a rare rifle and pistol in the hands of others. How they came to possess them was always good gossip amongst the group.

"Soro!" He yelled out again, this time having seen him emerging from a tent as he was fighting to keep it on the ground, after a moment the wind began to die down again, he reached in for a shirt quickly getting it on before reaching in again. Pulling out a rifle scabbard, a semi cone-shaped piece of tanned leather, there were two buckled straps along it, the butt of a rifle exposed at the end. He pulled this over his head, the scabbard hanging across his back. Stepping to take a look at his surroundings, his arm reaching, pulling out the rifle, the barrel was shorter than the average, a small tube extending the length of the barrel until reaching the lever action. The wind picked up catching Soro off balance, forcing him to take a few side steps. Leaning into the wind he actions the lever of his rifle, glancing back towards the tent he left to see it begin to fight against the wind again. Working his way towards the group, the black clouds twisting around them.

"Tell me, Huntsman." There was vile in his mouth, no respect behind his word. "Have you seen something like this in your travels before?" Calmness was forced on his words, all around him there was hysteria. The loudest came from three small children. Ara, Paden and Luke, the trio always caused trouble, but all cried as soon as they had been caught.

'Calm, I have to stay calm, panic would break them' He thought to look around. 'It would break who was left.'

"No, Jaxon, I haven't."

"Do you think this is the raiders doing-Did they double back?"

Soro looked at the wall of clouds around them, taking a step from the crowd he twists and actions his rifle again, leaving the action open, an unspent bullet ejects into the air and is caught by the same hand that actioned the lever. He reaches behind him, muscle memory, the spot right at your back dips towards your spine. His hand grabs nothing as he looks back towards the tent he left, it was gone. "Shit-" He mumbled as he started walking back towards it.

"Here!" Lina called out, a quieter girl that never seemed to be found in her own tent. She held out a belt, long ways across the belt were bullets weaved into the leather each one having a slight color to them. Soro went to put on the belt, the wind picking up again stopped him as he slung it over his shoulder. Glancing at it he pulled a bullet from one of the sleeves, it had a white sheen to it as he placed it in the open action and closed the action.

Shouldering the rifle he lazily looked down the sights.

'No chance to miss.'

His finger squeezed, the rifle kicked, his shoulder rocking. A faint white tracer burned after the bullet, the glow quickly disappearing into the fog. The wind around them seemed to get pulled towards the end of his rifle and following the path of the bullet, the wind punctured the wall of fog, a clean tunnel forming for a moment, as the fog quickly began to fill the hole as Soro focused following the path of his shot. Lightning seemed to crackle all around them. "No-" Soro Muttered as he looked at Jaxson.

It no longer mattered what a piece of trash Soro had been before this moment. Offering his 'protection', abusing the title of huntsman, muscling William the trapper out of some of his furs, Not caring about the woman he would take to his tent or what relationship she had. He was strong though, and a crack shot. He could hit a target on a whim and with any rifle he touched, and that's what they needed right now more than anything.

"Together!" Jaxson yelled, waving a few stragglers over to them, some had cuts, others burns. 'Those things must have stalked after the bandits.'

He worked the lever again. His rifle trained on the wall as he looked around, the fog seemed to be moving. If it wasn't grim related, they probably aren't far off. They seemed to hang close to traveling groups like themselves, like any predator, waiting for a weakling to trail too far from the group, the grim was a different threat altogether. They were the staple of death, draped in a deep black, dotted with thick white plates of armor and accented with blood red. Auraless, soulless beasts, they were killers, and nothing more.

Lightning struck again, the clouds around them illuminated, shadows from trees danced around them. The strong wind beginning to build again, the remaining shacks began to disappear with a loud clatter. A distant clang as the metal gets thrown against a tree or rock. The tents followed soon after the majority of them taking their bent stakes with them. The shadows danced again from another lightning strike, the wall of fog and clouds was moving around them.

The crack of a rifle caused the inattentive to scare. They watched Soro action the lever again the casing landing in the downtrodden grass, smoking from the heat. They looked to where he shot. There was a thud and black ash began to spiral into the clouded walls. A panicked shot rang out, a revolver, two, three shots as William the Trapper walked with his arm out backing the Ashford family towards the center. They quickly dispersed amongst the crowd. They were a closed mouth family, always found helping those around them, but never someone else with their name.

A roaring of pain could be heard past the smokey walls. Soro turns to fire through the crowd, People ducked down, holding their ears, a bit too late as the ring from the rifle still held strong. Soro moved towards the middle, hot casings shooting out of the action, landing on people causing small hisses of pain as the casings burned them, yelps of pain rang out from grim as they fell around them, some falling into the opening before they began to turn to ash in the air.

A shadow swings into the opening, its large paw catching William in the side, throwing him across the ground and out of the opening, the shadow moving between him and the group, two arrows hit the Grim's back as William yelled, three shots rang out from his pistol, the bullets whizzing past the crowd. His yells were quickly silenced as the Grim swung down at him. A scream rang out as Lina rolled onto her side. Holding at her chest as blood began to seep from under her hand. A bullet wound.

The Grim's growls grew more aggressive, as the screams and cries became more desperate. They seemed to feed off the death and misery, causing them to grow bolder as more and more pushed past the fog. The breaking of metal as the Beowulf caught swords in their jaws, the kicking and screaming, before growing silent out of view, men, women, and children were dragged out of circle without discrimination. The Ashford family was gone, Lina laying alone, motionless. Ara, Paden, and Luke close enough to one another that it was apparent they the three bodies were once friends.

Soro, Arsen, Aerori, a smaller girl who had stuck close to Jaxson, her hands trembling, her eyes no longer letting tears flow, and Jaxson, holding a scrap of crude metal, his chest seeping blood. The wind picked up again, violently cold this time, the wind became visible as Ice began to mix into the wind. The ice cut at their skin. It began to build upon the grim, quickly bringing their movement to a halt. Soro actions his rifle, leaving the chamber open as he pulled a bullet from his belt loops, a second green tinted shell. Placing it in the chamber, his finger remaining inside to hold down the next bullet as he began to slightly action the rifle, then completely closing it. The air grew stagnant, seeming to stop on a whim. The grim that was trapped, swaying before falling, shattering. The clouds began to dissipate. The grim were gone, the ice melting, the aftermath, the evidence that there was a grim attack, obvious.

He wasn't tall. Everything about him was heavy, his walk, his presence. "The grim was just a bonus. What I was curious about was the storm, so elegant, destructive, a near masterpiece of mother nature's wrath." Soro trailed his rifle on him, flicking to the side as Police officers broke into the opening trailing their rifles and handguns on the man. Some officers were covered in blood, some beaten and bruised. The man got louder his hand burying itself into the bag deeper now. "How often do we get to see what Dust can do in its raw form?!" He looks at Soro, a simple smirk lead his features. "Never." He spat. "Man has forgotten its strength." His hand slowly pulled from the bag another large gem, a glint of blue and white gripped in his fist. "The reason we weren't simply destroyed by the grim, we perverted it, used it to build weapons, power vehicles, we funneled its power." There was nothing sinister about the man, but he screamed determination and desperation. He looked to Soro and then to the officers. "You've all grown too dependent of your weapon-" His fist clenched down onto the dust, his body seemed to shimmer for a moment, the reaction was instant.

There was a hollow thud as Arsen was thrown against a tree, held for a moment by the wind before falling motionless. Being thrown across the ground Jaxson face down in the dirt as he began to slowly push himself up after the wind died down, His leg giving out under him as he noticed the large piece of ice protruding from the back of his thigh. Soro was the first to his feet, his scabbard crooked across his back, his belt, gone. His rifle, gone. Glancing back, he positions himself between the man, Jaxson, and Aerori.

Soro's rifle was no longer in his hand.

Looking down at his feet there was a simple rifle, the hoop for the lever action large, used with gloves. The butt of the rifle had small burns all along it, forming an intricate and well planned out design.

Soro reached for his belt, glancing around to see a few of the officers motionless against tree trunks. Some of them beginning to stir again. pulling one of the white traced bullets from its sheath. Bringing it up to his mouth and letting his teeth rest around it. 'Just buy them time.' he thought before biting down on the dust. Another burst of wind shot out as it was activated, uncontrolled as the two currents of wind seemed to collapse on themselves, violently throwing debris around, bodies were dragged a few feet following the flow of wind. Rori closed her eyes, gripping onto the shirt of Jaxson, holding steady as she felt them get dragged before she couldn't hold on any longer, rolling limply until she came to a stop.

Rori looked up from the dirt, Jaxson was in front of her but laying on his stomach. Something was wrong with him. She stayed low for a moment her hands adjusting to push her up off the ground, her hand brushing against hot metal. Soro's rifle. She looked for Soro. He was in the middle. Twisted.

The man was laughing. Laughing like he was right all along. Like he had won an argument that took a lifetime to prove. A large but younger looking officer made his way into the clearing, setting down a wounded woman, her dark brown hair, glinted with green rested against a tree.

"Klay, don't you see, he tried to use it, without a vice, without the restraints of man, and look. He couldn't save anyone-"

"This is it James-" Klay said holding his hands out to his sides, he didn't have a pistol at his holster, but what looked like a hand ax. "You've run, deceived and swindled all of those people out of their money and dust, all with some made up beliefs."

James could be seen getting mad and his hand reached into his bag again, in the same motion Klay's hand gripped around his hand ax.

Shouldering the rifle, her finger pressed the trigger. Her body starting to flinch before the rifle goes off, it kicking back against her shoulder sending her back down into a sitting position, the rifle falling into the dirt next to her. Her ears rung, her shoulder ached as she worked back to her feet. After hesitating, she picked up the rifle again, gripping the lever with her whole hand she actioned it, flinching back slightly as the casing was ejected. Closing the action and looking up in Soro's direction again.

The officer was on him, Klay. His hands effortlessly rolled the man onto his stomach, his hand working to the back of his belt, a pair of handcuffs. He fumbled for a moment before realizing what had happened to the stout man. Pulling his right arm back he took a moment to position himself, bending his leg up and letting the cuff clasp around the ankle and the other around his hand.

"Trauma Kit!"

He rolled the man onto his side. His right sleeve soaked red.