WARNING: The first part of this chapter is written in the mind of a young child, about 3 to 5 years old. This entire part will cover dark themes, including death, murder, bloodshed, torture, and the darker side of the human mind. Reader discretion is advised.
All for One, One for All
Part 1: What We've Become
Chapter 1: We Carry On
The past few minutes were a blur to him. One moment he was playing inside, and the next thing he knew some people started taking some strange things and breaking down the front door. His father ran to the box he was told never to open and grabbed two large silver knife-things with long thin cans running down the dull parts.
"Rouge," his father addressed his mother. "Take Solis and run. I'll hold them off as long as I can."
His mother did just that, scooping him up in her arms and darting out the back door. The young boy was terrified, for sure, but that terror was undermined by confusion. He was far too young to understand what was going on.
Seconds later, the sounds of wood splintering and loud thunder-like explosions caught his ears, and he suddenly had the feeling that he wouldn't be seeing his father again any time soon. His mother kept running, but neither of the two surviving family members knew of her fatal mistake: she left the back door wide open and ran in a straight line. One more explosion sound and his mother screamed in agony. Her grip on the young child loosened dramatically, and he tumbled to the green grassy ground in a painful manner. Both of his parents had been killed by these strange people, and now they were undoubtedly after him. He knew he should be running as fast as he could, but he was just too dazed and in shock from his parents' deaths to move.
Footsteps came closer and closer to him as he lay there in shock. They weren't like those of Grimm, thankfully, but whatever they belonged to couldn't have been friendly. A pistol rammed another round home, and a boot clamped down on his back; no force could save him now.
A gunshot rang throughout the green field, echoing into the forest beyond. No one heard the killing blow for miles, as the house was out near the dangerous, Grimm-infested wilderness. No one but the Grimm, and the killer doubted any Grimm would attack them.
A lone Beowolf was nearby, sniffing for something to hunt, when it heard the gunshots ring out. Unlike most Grimm, this creature had yellow eyes, dark red fur, and coal black bones. Its veins glowed bright yellow like its eyes. Perhaps most unusual of all was the fact that despite being near the small home and its massive proportions, it never once attacked anyone. No blood stained its pearly white teeth. Dark red vapors seemed to emanate from its red fur.
Its head snapped in the direction of the gunshots, and worry shone in its eyes as it charged in that general direction. Once near the edge of the forest, looking out to the green prairie and large country house, its forehead seemed to wrinkle up in anger. With a loud roar and a burst of red flames around the creature's body, it charged the attackers: a group of Dark Huntsmen, guardians who let the darkness within them take control of their bodies.
Things turned weird right off the bat as the Dark Huntsmen fired at the red Grimm – it seemed to vaporize in a cloud of similarly-colored smoke and came out as a man with yellow eyes, well-tanned skin, black spikes protruding from the knuckles on his hands, and a strange attire matching the fur he just abandoned. Flying at the Dark Huntsman who killed the child, he spun around in mid-air, dodging the bullets with ease before his knuckles tore through metal, leather, and soft flesh. His victim cried out in agony as the attacker pulled his bladed joints out of his body and hurled him at his fellow Dark Huntsmen. While the Dark Huntsmen had the Grimm-man outnumbered 6 to one, said man clearly outmatched these young, inexperienced Dark Huntsmen. He knew he'd gotten lucky, but he made a vow to defend this family.
Sure enough, the terrified murderers bolted away, and more young men and women appeared out of the forest.
"Are they gone," asked one of the young men, this one in a ghostly blue. The older man in red, the one who charged the Dark Huntsmen, nodded. "You really got lucky there, Ryce. You know how dangerous those guys are."
"We got lucky, that's all," responded Ryce, "Those were just rookies; had they been more mature, they wouldn't have gone down so easily. Then again, I did catch them off-guard: they expected no Grimm, but they got a Grimlock."
"Learn from your elders, Lunaes," chuckled one of the less mature auburn-clad men, causing the moon-white man to glare at him.
"I think the more important question is why," pondered Flumen, a blue-turquoise wearing woman. "Not only did they pull such a risky move on Ryce's patrol, but they even went after the boy. Speaking of whom."
"He's gone," muttered Lunaes. "Gunshot through the chest, tore through the heart. Damage is irrepairable. Even if we could somehow, he's lost too much blood. Poor kid, can't have been more than three years old."
"Have some more faith, Lunaes," Flumen scolded him. "There's always a way, even after death."
"B-but, but—."
Lunaes had no time to respond before Ryce pushed him out of the way and knelt before the dead child. He placed a hand on the boy's body and chuckled.
"You truly do have no faith, young man," the elderly Ryce spoke cryptically. "Of course he has no Aura, the darker part in him has grown too strong. Fear does do that to you right before death." With that, he formed a white ball of light the size of a golf ball in the palm of his hand and laid the orb to rest on the dead body. The ball sunk into the flesh without destroying his body; in fact, the orb seemed to heal the wounds from the pistol shot. A cough and a sputter later, and the boy was back to life, leaving Lunaes in total shock.
"I don't believe it," said the apalled young man. Ryce smiled as he picked up the sleeping child, having sent him to sleep with his Semblance.
"Told you so," came the response. "Besides, I had to try. This is my grandson we're talking about."
"Wait, that's Solis?!"
"Hush. He needs the rest; recovering from a bullet wound is a long process, you know."
Two years after the attack on my life, I was only around 6 or so, and my Grandfather had decided to tell me everything finally. He'd brought me to his house deeper in the forest, way up on a mountain, after the attack. He called me in this one day and told me to sit down.
"Solis," he began. "Do you know the story of this forest?"
"Well," I racked my memory. I came up empty. "I dunno." Grandpa chuckled.
"Do you know about the Grimlock?"
I shook my head.
"Well, it started many years ago, back before I was born. These people learned how to harness both the light and the dark sides of their Auras and manifested them in Grimm-like forms, as well as superhuman abilities and senses they called Instinct. It was a way to call harmony within themselves."
"Why are you telling me this, Grandpa?"
"Well, those legends are true; I'm a Grimlock myself."
At the time, I didn't really believe him. In fact, I imagined his story to be just that: a story. Boy, did he prove me wrong. In a tornado of red smoke, Grandpa went from gray-haired farmer to 10-foot-tall red Beowolf with yellow eyes, black bones, and yellow veins. Red and black smoke seemed to rise from its body before solidifying into long, graying fur. I felt a powerful presence of darkness from within the creature, but my grandfather's soothing presence was still there.
Ventus wasn't the strongest kid on the block. He wasn't the smartest, he wasn't the quickest, and he certainly wasn't the most powerful boy on the block. But he didn't want to be known as any of that. He just wanted to do what he wanted to do.
Knowing his impossible persistence, he was bound to push his limits. Even to him, though, it was a huge surprise: at five years old, he wasn't supposed to find his Semblance yet.
His father was an alcoholic, a heavy drinker. Every day when he came home, he would reek of the pungent odors of whiskey and beer. His hair would be disheveled, as with his clothing, and sometimes he would ramble incoherently. The alcohol did something to him, making him ten times more violent than he used to be; he would snap like a twig at the smallest of things like the bar owners kicking him out for drinking too much. His wife would constantly berate him on how he's gotten too violent because of this 'drinking game' he had going on, but it had no effect. Ventus's father wouldn't stop drinking, he wouldn't stop coming home angry, and he wouldn't stop punishing his son for his own crimes.
Today was the breaking point for the young boy. He'd kept the pain and anger bottled up for far too long. Ventus's father Dan came in like a charging rhinoceros and threw his briefcase at the little boy. Ventus caught the leather box, thrown slightly back by the weight and speed of the case. Dan kicked his son to the side, throwing his small body across the room. Those two were strikes one and two, and all it took was one more incident and Ventus would snap quicker than lightning.
When Ventus reached that breaking point, Dan had thrown a glass bottle filled with strong whiskey at the little boy for so much as walking into the room. The glass shattered, cutting the boy and burning him with the alcohol. The last straw had been pulled, and Ventus wasn't going to let anything torture him again.
A strong wind picked up in the house. Dan became angry at this, thinking someone left a window open; he marched over to his son and tried to kick down the boy for his own amusement. A strong wind pushed him back into the kitchen island, which surprised him beyond all belief. No wind had ever gotten that strong, not even in Vale; of course, this only angered Dan even more, as the alcohol had that effect on him.
Ventus was now glaring at his father, having had enough of the abuse. Dan again went to kick him, which only earned him another gust of wind in his face. Dan had no clue who or what was causing the wind, but he didn't really care. Third time's the charm, he went to kick his son a third time. This time, a strong vortex picked him up, spun him around violently, and hurled him at the cabinetry filled with beer bottles.
Now Dan understood who was causing the powerful winds, and it terrified him to know what was going on. Ventus had unlocked his Semblance in a surge of anger, and was using it to stop the violence. The little boy was now hovering three feet off the ground, papers and other random household objects flying in a vortex beneath and around him. The wind rivaled that of an F2 tornado, depressurizing the air around the house while cooling it off violently simultaneously. The cyclone started to dissipate, then picked up even stronger when Ventus opened his eyes. His single silver eye was glowing a bright white while his blue one shone a violent sky blue. His entire body was glowing a sharp cloud gray, which seemed to produce a light mist and fed it into the spinning winds.
The entire event only lasted 30 seconds, tops. The cyclone died, ending with Ventus collapsing in exhaustion from such an output. All of it pushed Dan to take alcohol rehabilitation classes, starting with a promise to never repeat the incident again.
End
A/N: How did everyone feel about that? I decided to make a story about semi-normal kids instead of super-powerful beings of mass destruction. I mean, sure Jaune may become a little OP, but with good reason instead of the 'dual semblances' thing I had going with another fic I'm still continuing. Maybe Ventus is a little OP right now, but it will all make more sense in a later Part (yes, I'm making numerous parts to this story). Same goes with Solis and the Grimlocks.
Any questions? Comments? Suggestions? Requests? Be sure to leave me a review or PM me. Enjoy reading? Favorite the story so you don't miss out. Texas out.
