Something wicked comes this way, its grace a horrid sight.
Something evil stalks the hay, its deeds of darkest blight.
Something ancient wakes this day, its strength of forgotten night.
Elyla doesn't know why, she cannot remember when, but the old nursery rhyme taunts her now, whispering through her mind from the depths of her travelers past.
It is a message that comes to her; the caress of cold wind in the midst of a burning city is what triggers its resurrection. For a moment, she doesn't seem to breathe as the world stands still, recoiling in revulsion from an unknowable occurrence. Elyla snaps out of the trance, her feet touch down on the rooftop and she turns and burns, flames spiraling out of her hands from Lyric. The dust-powered flamethrowers send her jetting backwards, out of the grips of the Grimm beasts that thought to chase her. They are instead incinerated.
There is something indecipherable in the way the wind stirs, in the way that the dread ash of corpse fires twisted in the air in some sort of macabre dance. There is the laughing of distant souls, lost departed, cackling at a tribute to a dread idol to see the world they left behind burn in dread revenge. She can feel the invisible agony turned loose upon the world with a hellish breath of screaming.
It is a madness that drives the snare drum that is her heart into a fit of panic. There is an urgency surging within her that Elyla has nowhere to place. The town still burns, the monsters still rage, and she still fights with all of her power- nothing has changed, yet it seems that everything has. She flits about on the roofs of burning homes, blasting through packs of mutated Beowolves with all the Huntress borne instinct given to her. As she moves, she thinks to herself that she is swimming. The air is no less heavy, but something tugs at her soul, it ripples within her, loose, unchained, unburdened by her mortal coil. It feels like if she were to let it, it would slip away from her and be lost in the ether of the afterlife.
She skips, she dances, she spins in the air, the wind rushes through her bangs, and she ignites the world behind her. Burning fur, smoldering flesh, it is turned to ash and falls to the streets below. The next roof hammers a shock up her legs, burning into the long, angry cut on her left leg. She had lost focus for a second, she had forgotten of her surroundings, one slipped in too close before she could call up her aura. It was costing her dearly now with every jump and every landing blistering through her mind with pain. She wasn't like the other hunters who could just seemingly shut themselves away from the agony and fight on- for her, every splinter was a driving nail digging into her skull.
The pack behind her never seems to shrink no matter how many times she turns on it and unleashes the elemental fury of Lyric. Its numbers only seems to grow, the swarm of red eyes and glint of wet fangs staring back at her with feral hunger, loping strides carrying them closer and closer. She wonders how much longer Lyric will last, after that, she was certainly doomed; Acura had been giving her lessons in close-in hand to hand, she was a natural teacher, but then-
The memory corrupted her movements, Elyla almost slipped on another loose shingle but this time she righted herself, her tail acting like a counterbalance and she leaps over the street to the other side, rolling up a slanted rooftop and vaulting off of the chimney. She can already hear the braying of the hounds behind her, she can hear the scrabble of claws. Elyla buys herself time, she tightens the spread of Lyrics flame and aims down, the fire eats through the rooftop she stands on like heated stone melts the ice of a frozen lake. The first Beowolf to leap across the gap lands on weakened beams that crumble under its weight, and by the time the second and third make the jump Elyla is vaulting over to the next rooftop and then the next. She loses the horde for now- but it is never far behind.
She drops into an alley, her leg aches but she silences herself with thoughts of Videl. She recalls the sight of her back torn open, the thought of the agony she must've been in but stifled and managed to smile through. She tells herself to be strong like her, to shove aside the fire in her calf and soldier on. Still, she cannot help but look down and wince at the sight of her torn up leg- the glistening of bone peering up at her through severed tendons and rent muscle.
She underestimates how quickly the horde finds her.
Her ears twitch, she spins on the balls of her feet and Lyric is up- pilot light already ignited and ready to let loose a torrent of chemical fire. It is all too slow as the two-hundred and eighty odd pounds of muscle, fur, bone, and hate pile into her smashing her to the ground.
She screams, she cant help it; it slips through her lips, shrill and fearful. Her Aura roars into activation, the glimmering field absorbs the first blow- sharpened talons rake across her frame to no effect, and so does the second and third, but the forth is different.
Claws cut into her cheek- digging in a painful inch, then Lyric ignites. Her weapon is still set to a condensed expulsion, and it cuts through the Grimm straddling her like an arc torch.
It slumps over to the side, its upper torso severed in half. It lurches once, and then it is still, Elyla stares at it, panting, hyperventilating, back against the wall of some shop she staggers to her feet. She is about to scream again when a shingle hits her shoulder.
She looks up. She sees them and her breath catches in her throat as dozens of pairs of eyes, red and wrathful; stare down at her from vantage points.
There is a voice in the back of her head, laughing at her, smug and cruel.
It tells her.
Did she ever really think that she could have lost them that easily?
…
Swing and dodge, cut and dance, Duke answers the evil before him with parries and thrusts with his knife, for that is all that he has left. In better times, he would have used it for fish he reeled in from a stream, or to skin rabbits. Now, he uses it to fight, for there is no reason not to.
They are half there starting number, but the enemy, the enemy of all life, creation, and hope, has payed dearly for each one of there numbers. Beasts littered the ground alongside human, corpses one and the same. They served to mark the bloody vengeful battle that transpired here.
Backed into the corner, ringing the inner plaza shoulder to shoulder, cuts, gouges and mortal wounds all, teeth grit and snarling fiercely, a wall of hate was beset against them. Their numbers seemed endless, pitiless, they were unrepentant things cared not of what they had become. Blood soaked the roots; that is what mattered.
Duke cut one across the nose, it snarled and he managed a back slash before its strength bowled him over, filling his vision with snarling, slathering maws before Beryal next to him smashed it back with a broken board. He scrambled to his feet in time to see Ethel torn out of place and ripped to shreds. Their numbers were dwindling so very fast now, but that was all right, so long as they died fighting. They were about ready; it was almost time, time for the final stand, when the eruption of noise silenced all combat.
Like a guttural steam whistle, high, and shrill. It was violent in its cackled birthing pains, flowing out through the city like an invisible flood of orgiastic malcontent. It left the aftertaste of blood in the mouth, running down the back of ones throat and settling in the lungs. Every breath heavy with added material weight. Duke and his flock were not given the time to ponder as to what had transpired, nor given any credence to what had been born into this desecrated world. There was only the immediate moment the blood in their hands and the foe before them. So they swung, and they chopped and they hacked and they died. Shrill screaming in the night, a commoner's plight.
A house collapses several blocks away, Duke ignores it as he backs off, a Corrupted hellion thing snarling at him, torn fleshy lips red with saliva. He catches it across the face again, this time managing to work his shank into its eye socket and root the blade into its fevered brain until it finally falls still. He coughs, trying to work air back into his asthmatic lungs. He counts just seven of them left, and an entire horde still on its way. The screeching cry erupts into the air again, and with this exultation, everything seems to stop as if by some grandiose movement by an omnipotent conductor.
The grimm stop, they relent, they back away with fidgeting steps unused to the concept of discretion, yet still they obey. Duke walks his haggard eyes back and forth across the plaza, finally able to take in the savagery wrought here. Bodies cover the flagstones and not all are still. Some twitch, some writhe, some moan in breaking voices. They had fought hard.
It wasn't over.
Then again, the war never is.
The Grimm creep back to the edges of the forgotten plaza, hunched forms under the overhangs of long abandoned buildings. Red eyes glaring out at them. They scuttled to loom over them from atop stacked crates, barricades and sat like villainous gargoyles from rooftops. The world felt like it was breathing in and staring- waiting, breath held, judging.
Duke steadied his hands; the hilt of his knife dug deep into his callused palm and the trip hammer of fear that was his constant companion seemed to redouble its efforts in drowning out reality. He looked across the ruin of corpses, a dark, dismal alley seemed to glow with red blighted heat. At its end there it stood silhouetted.
It made its entrance known with the scraping of metal.
The Corrupted hounds backed away, fear or respect, they were one in the same; they drew from its steps, parting like the red sea that they are. You could almost hear the drums, thundering in the distance with fearsome wrath. The blood began to boil, the heart began to race, Duke looked upon this new entity and-
"Oh," He sighed, his knife lowered slightly, his face softened in pain. "You poor, poor lil' girl." He spoke with remorse.
…
Elyla is still. Frozen by her own weakness as the largest among the leering beasts muscles its way to the front of the pack to look down at her from the roof above. Its fangs curl outwards, more tusks than anything else. Their breathing is a heavy, rhythmic pant that when combined almost sounds like laughing. She finds it fitting- that laughter. She would laugh at herself too if she were them. Why would anyone ever bother on wasting their time training an ingrate like her?
She doesn't even bother resisting. She doesn't call up her Aura or raise her weapons. She shudders and sighs, her eyes closed and tears streaming down her cheeks. The thought of Videl waiting alone in some building sends her heart aflutter but even that is not enough to motivate her in the end. She is drained- and some evil voice whispers to her the most terrible of truths.
A moment passes
And then a second.
Elyla wonders why she is still breathing, why her spine is not ripped out, why her blood still runs in her veins and her heart still beats. She chances open her eyes and she sees the Alpha- for that was what it must be- raise its head, its pack follows suite, staring off in the distance. It comes swiftly now. Elyla feels reality begin to bend that- much- more-
A shrieking banshee's call like metal on glass. Elyla covers her ears and screams, the beowolfs wail and roar. They bound away, hurtling over rooftops in a singular direction. Like black clouds they vault over the alley. Elyla feels something take root in her chest. A sense of dread mixed with emotions she cannot truly make out. Whatever it is- it pulls her to her feet as the cries begin to recede.
She finds herself moving, leaping over rooftops- that same transfixed stupor that took hold of her the night before falling over her vision as she chases after the mass of black bodies. It is what allows her to ignore the streets washed red with blood, the piles of corpses and piles of skull, the flensed remains of skin draped over statues and smothering fountains. She listens to the whispers that draw near.
She wakes up.
The entrance of that dread familiar alley lies before her; she blinks trying to recall how she got here but failing. She cannot bring herself to fully question it, the circumstances of tonight are unknowable. She finds herself with a choice familiar to her.
Stay, and march forth.
Leave, and run away.
It wouldn't be the first time.
There is a hate spewing from the passage, it curls like a slow drifting mist along the ground. It is invisible but it is colored red, a hazy rose' of freshly peeled skulls. There is menace to its nature, there is also remorse. Regret and trauma make up its existence. Elyla, is afraid, her hands and knees tremble and quake. She hates herself for it. She hates this weakness that surrounds her, every waking second of her life is nothing but a second-guessed regret and it is this mental anguish that pushes her forwards. One foot in front of the other, she steps over the bodies of homeless and Grimm alike- her eyes are drawn downwards, and she finds the horror of her surroundings oddly muted.
She enters the abattoir proper.
A body is thrown, and it lands next to her.
She doesn't pay attention to it, her focus is solely locked upon the only thing that still stands.
As she remembered her, Videl was always tall, but was never to be considered scrawny. She trained- hard. Her body was solid, and always battered. Her skin was lightly tanned from days spent out on patrol, and she had a light dusting of freckles over her shoulders and cheeks that Elyla always poked fun at. Her eyes were a husky blue-grey with flecks of gold and silver, always calm and affectionate. Her hair was worn loose and flowed; she kept it cut short so her brown locks didn't impede her work.
What was standing before her was so abhorrently wrong in how right it looked.
It was what Videl looked like to Elyla on the day they first met. Soaked in blood and so terribly, incomprehensibly strong.
Muscled like a bull ox, and a full two feet taller she struts around the plaza with a cool arrogance. She is naked; she wears nothing- her body is riddled with scars that Elyla cannot remember. They are unfamiliar to her, concentric, woven into her skin to make lines and circles and shapes that defy the mind. Every step crushes another body, every stride a pulping flesh and marrow. One hand is curled into a fist around the haft of what may have once been comet but is instead now a bronze cudgel of flanged edges and snarling faces. Her other hand is not a hand at all- but is instead a beastlike appendage. Razor talons tip each finger, its skin a bloodied red. It is wrapped around a bundle of skulls tied together with strips of flesh and sinew. Her eyes are a burning orange menace, black pupils like slivers of obsidian. Her mouth seems too big for her face. Spiraling horns sweep back over her head; her mess of black hair is loose and wild. This is Videl, but it is not her Videl.
Videl turns, and gives Elyla the sunniest smile she has ever seen.
"Oh! Hey there, Elyla!" Her teeth are jagged, black fangs. A forked tongue cleans blood from their ebony surface. "It's about time you showed up, I was beginning to worry!"
Somewhere in the distance, an oil-drum erupts.
"What's the matter Ely?" Videl grins even wider. "Somethin' bugging you?" A moment passes only with the sound of burning buildings; the night is awash in flame. Videl clicks her wicked forked tongue, "C'mon Ely, speak up, what is it?" She chuckles, all the while she crushes a neck with her foot, bone turning to dust.
A Grimm skirts out of the shadows at the corners of the plaza, its fanged mouth snatches up the severed head and it returns to the mire.
"Vi…del…?"
There we go," Videl grins even wider "that's the voice I remember, that's the one I never stopped hearing- even when I sleep,"
"Videl, Videl you-"
Her smile dropped abruptly. "-Do you know how fucking annoying it is." She hefted Comet over one massive shoulder. "How irritating your endless fucking whining is?" She growls now. "How you never seem to shut the hell up and actually do something?" One step forwards.
"I- Videl…"
"It's like a gnat that doesn't know when to fucking quit just constantly buzzing in your ear, driving you insane and you can't do jack shit about it, can't hit it can't touch it, can't wave it away."
"I- Wait, Videl please stop, just,"
"There it is again!" Her roar is like thunder; it sends fear shooting through Elyla. "That fucking whimpering! I haven't even touched you yet and your acting like a full fucking bitch!"
"Videl- Stop it!"
"Or else what? You'll cry some more? You fucking joke, you embarrassment! Just die already you useless whore!"
The blow came faster than she could see. And she found herself flying. Something inside her was definitively broken. It wasn't just her heart. She hit the ground, her Aura flashed, but she didn't move, she didn't get up.
"Shit, just one hit and you go down?" Videl sneers, "C'mon, use your fucking muscles, for something other than just grinding your pussy across my fingers whenever you got the damn chance you skank!"
Elula pushes herself up, forcing herself to stand on shaky legs. She looks up at Videl, desperately trying to understand- trying to pick apart this cruel joke.
"Don't give me that fucking pathetic look!" Videl snarls, she swings Comet, it arcs through the air, and red contrails seem to follow after it. "You're fuckin' worse than a kid. At least they stop after you smack 'em around a few times." Videl advances on Elyla, her footsteps shake the ground and pulp through bodies with each step. Elyla matches her step for step, scurrying backwards until her back felt the cold and uncaring metal of that dread black statue. .
"You've always been a real fuckin joke, you know? Team Cave wasn't even Cave it was team c-a-v after you showed up. Never fucking did anything useful. Just got people killed looking out for you." She's before her now, staring down like a malevolent schoolyard bully- violence for the sake of violence. "A real shitty partner, couldn't ever get me off, always had to fingerblast myself after I spent all that time eating your shallow fucking cunt out." Even if Elyla had the words they were quickly silenced, her monstrous clawed hand closes around her throat- its touch is hot and burns like acid. " Weak piece of shit, was fucking better off without you, everyone was. Never wanted you in the first place on the team but that little bitch Acura insisted we give you a chance. Fucking glad that's over, got a new partner now- one that can pull his own fucking weight unlike a freak like you." She let go, but only after tossing her, flinging her back across the plaza to land against the opposite wall, crumbling to the ground.
She doesn't move despite the pain. She hasn't bothered bringing up her Aura, part of her agrees with the hateful poison spilling out of Videls mouth, past her black fangs and forked tongue. She was speaking truths she's always known to fester in the back of her mind, in the pit of her heart. Now that they were being voiced only led credence to such vitriol, every syllable was another knife driven deeper into her heart working its way in until it reached her soul. She didn't know what had happened to Videl, something had changed her in body and soul.
But it was still Videl. And hearing her say these things hurt in ways that were entirely new for Elyla. She had always thought that she was accustomed to pain, that she had hurt in every way that was possible to imagine. She was clearly wrong. And now she knew.
She remembered the day it all began.
It was on the proving grounds of Signet, the barren courtyard of marble flagstones where thousands of Hunter teams have been assembled and dispersed out into Remnant. She had her hands wrapped in bandages after her latest accident with Lyric, and her cheeks were flushed red. It was the day that she was set to meet with a team she had just been assigned to after graduating from the 'special enrollment class' and she had wanted to make a good impression. She had thought that the best way to do that was to tweak her weapon to be more 'formidable.'
It had only resulted in burning herself upon ignition. The three Hunters couldn't stop staring at her bandage swathed hands, even as her Special Enrollment instructor went on about this being a chance for a 'new beginning' and 'a great legacy' and all that usual uplifting trite they spew at Hunter academies. The hunters just keep sizing her up. She can understand why, she's going to be a constant reminder of their fallen comrade. She's a replacement, a newcomer, and an outsider. She's not even any good, she hasn't even joined them or been out on a formal patrol and she's hurt herself. She hasn't even seen real combat, she was a SEC student, a forced statistic, a political coin to be traded and shown off. That was what the Special Enrollment Class was at its base level: Politics. Hunter academies needed to put on a show of being all-inclusive, and as a Faunus she was given special treatment in this regard. Nobles and students with wealthy backgrounds were fast tracked into special classes that made it impossible for them to fail no matter how bad they were in actuality. Elyla would have failed out of Signet if not for this. In a way, it would have been more honorable to just give up and drop out on her own, but she never did. She didn't know what was more shameful- walking away, or getting handed a certificate that she didn't earn.
They didn't say anything to her in the beginning, she was just there as they went back to their bunks, their temporary housing before they went out on assignment. She went to her bunk- the bed of their old teammate- and curled up under the covers. She pulled the curtains shut and turned off the lights. She remembers sitting there for what feels like hours, her tail in her hands, letters and postcards laid out on the mattress before her. She reads them over again and again. Their words of praise and excitement, encouragement and promises to visit. Family, friends, even letters from people she never really knew. Elyla was the first from the caravan to go to a Hunter Academy. The first one to break out of the cycle and try and become something. She was their idol. They were the reason why she let herself take the certificate she never deserved in the first place and continue living the lie. She didn't write back to any of them. Still, they just keep on coming.
It was Videl that first spoke to her. She supposes this was when she first took a liking to Videl. Still under the covers when she walked in, she tried to hide her postcards and letters; they instead spilled out all over the floor. There was a brief struggle to explain, to say something. Videl was confused as to what was the problem. They talked for a while after that. Just going over the basics of names and places. Videl knew how Elyla was feeling. She knew pretty well. Videl wasn't from a SEC class, her skill and talent was her own natural gift. What she knew was how it felt to be a replacement, how to fill the shoes of someone else and know that you can never fully fit them. It wasn't something that was easy or comfortable, but it was a struggle that had to be dealt with, and only time could fully mend it.
Videl took her by the hand, and led her down to dinner with the Team. There was a round of introductions, and as it turned out only Calvin was an original member. Acura was also a 'Replacement'. Elyla wasn't alone in that regard. Calvin told her the stories of before Videl and Acura, and how it led to this. In a way, Elyla felt that she was being shared something sacred, and it made her smile.
She remembers her first mission, her first real mission in Vale, and how scared and excited she is. The conflicting emotions churn inside her, and she's shaking as they ride out of the city and into the countryside. The truck bounces almost as much as she does, and Acura can't stop laughing at the way she seemingly vibrates, a pensive look creasing her brows. She tries to relax to little avail, eventually she gets used to the feeling- she works around it instead of fighting it. It keeps her alert. They call it adrenalin. She calls it Nerves.
They fly through the forest, Grimm race beneath them, Herded into clumps by explosive concussions from Calvin's weapon, and raze wire traps set by Acura. Videl swoops down and grinds them into pulp. Elyla keeps the perimeter secure. Or so she tries. She can't land any hits. She gets close to the Grimm, she goes in for a razor swipe of her gauntleted claws, and she freezes up. She remembers that day when she looked down from the wall, down onto the shantytown overrun by grimm. The torn up carcass of that Faunus boy in the jaws of an Ursa Majoris. She replaces the boy with herself, and she freezes up. She jumps away before she is hit, but she fitfully watches the Grimm try and attack Acura from behind. She shouts and curses. Elyla cannot even bear to raise her head when they try and talk to her at the end of the mission; she hasn't even managed to kill one Grimm.
They are not even angry with her. She can't understand why, especially Acura, who has a shallow scar running down her back now because of her. It isn't deep; she brought up her Aura at the very last second. Elyla felt like she wanted to die. Acura had been counting on her, and she had let her down. Some of the Grimm even managed to get away and their employer had penalized them for it.
Elyla doesn't know why they don't shout at her, she doesn't know why they are instead sympathetic. She doesn't understand why Calvin stood up for her when another team insulted them for when they saw that she was a SEC graduate. It was surreal- watching Calvin raise his voice in her defense, it wasn't how Calvin's normally cheerful demeanor seemed to shift so abruptly, but the fact that someone was actually coming to her defense. Such a thing just didn't ever happen. She was not only a Faunus but also a talentless outsider who rode on the success of others and the favor of the system. She wasn't worthy of pity, sympathy, or protection.
Even when she came back to her room one morning, only to find her belongings ransacked through, she didn't expect pity. Her letters and postcards were intact, and to her, they were all that mattered. While the abduction of her grandmother's ring was painful, she did not cry. In a way she saw it as a sort of Tax she had to pay for even being able to be around people like Calvin, Videl and Acura. Videl stayed with her when she found out. It was the kindness that hurt her the most. When Acura and Calvin came back early the next morning, their faces cut up and bruised, bloodied, clothes ruined and eyes tired, but great grins on their faces and Calvin holding up a familiar gleaming bronze ring, Elyla actually did start crying- bawling even, great heaving sobs that didn't abate for an hour. .
She wasn't sure if she was happy or sad or angry- happy that someone cared, sad that someone would think her worth her the time, angry that they put themselves in harms way for a rodent like her... She settled on all three at once.
Elyla remembers falling in love, or at least, having someone fall in love with her and reciprocating those feelings. She was Bisexual, with a greater tendency towards to female body and its delicious curves. Men held an interest for her, but she preferred them to not be so rugged. Even so she didn't really realize it herself. She was always so afraid; every emotion second-guessed if it had anything to do with happiness or any other greater state of being. Joy was a foreign concept to her nature, and only since joining team Cave did she have any experience with it, did she have any inkling of climbing out of her obsidian shell. It was Videl that brought her out.
It was surprising that Videl was even more awkward about it than Elyla herself. Even on her first day, it had been Videl that invited her to dinner, they had talked much, and paired together on missions- missions that Elyla was starting to improve in. She could actually fight thanks to tutelage from Acura and Calvin and it was Videl that made it click with her practical knowledge and unyielding optimism. Something had changed though; Videl had always been cool and calm. But every time they were alone together, out at a park or resting in the dormitory, she would seem to fidget; she would appear almost uncomfortable, like bugs were crawling up her legs. And for reasons that Elyla couldn't explain she would find her own tail twitching, her cheeks turning red. There was a strange desire to just get closer to her.
It didn't go on without notice. Calvin was the first to pick up on it, the stray signals in the air that Elyla was all but oblivious to. His candied teasing was relentless, and Elyla for the life of herself couldn't understand what it was that he was insinuating, No amount of demands for silence or cessation from Videl seemed to do anything. Acura was clearly enjoying the spectacles. It took about a week before Elyla finally understood Videls intentions with the propositions for time alone together, the small gifts, the soppy one liners, and even then it was only because of a not to gentle nudge from Calvin. Videl confessed, and Elyla could see the fear in her eyes when she hesitated. It was not out of concern, but from shock and disbelief. Again, she was used to being alone and hated. But to find herself together and loved was territory she could not navigate. She took a risk, and she kissed Videl.
Her first time was frightening and awkward, but also magical. There was pain, and there was pleasure. The feeling of someone else's skin against her own, the soft panting of another's breath on her cheek, the twin beating of hearts and the gleam of stars in a lovers eyes. It was embarrassing when Videl found out that the base of her tail was her weak spot, as well as the inside of her ears. Her reactions were loud enough that Calvin walked in on them, thinking someone in pain. Calvin congratulated them before leaving, and that was their first night together. Acura insisted on celebrating their relationship by buying the team breakfast next morning. It was one of the happiest moments- if not the happiest moment- of her life.
It was, of course, only two days later that Calvin died.
It was an honest mistake. No one could have foreseen it, it was just bad luck. Weapons are tools; tools can fail, even when they are maintained almost religiously. A part fails, a wire crosses, a gear catches.
A bullet can be a dud.
Elyla can see it as clear as the day it happened. Calvin hangs in the air, the Griffon swoops down, talons extended. Calvin twists and brings up his weapon; he has a perfect shot- there is no way he can miss. He aims at its head and pulls the trigger. Even from halfway across an open field swarming with grimm- she can hear the firing pin hit the bullet- and nothing happens. The round was a dud, it doesn't go off, before he can eject the round the Talon is already on him, driving him to the ground, His aura flares- it protects him, but in the next two seconds he is trampled by an Ursa pack. He has time to scream. That is what Elyla remembers the most clearly. He could have screamed, but he didn't. He vanishes from sight in a blitz of black and white. There was barley anything left to recover by the time Videl got to him. Elyla found it strange how she didn't feel like crying. She didn't feel anything at all in fact, it felt normal. Everything in her world had been turned upside down, any other person would be in an emotional roller-coaster, but for Elyla she was simply back in reality0- like this death had plucked her out of her happy little dreamscape and returned her to the cold harsh truth of living. Videl was trying to stay strong, she had lived through this before, but Acura had taken it hard.
She was almost inconsolable, and Elyla recognized it- she had obviously had feelings for Calvin, but didn't have the courage that Videl did to act on them. Now she had only regrets left to sour any sweet memories.
Acura died three days later, and that was the end of everything. It was a simple enough mission, help local forces evacuate a ritzy neighborhood east of Vale City from a Grimm incursion. Acura had been quiet all morning despite Videl and Elyla's attempts to liven her mood. There was a pit of dread pulling Elyla downwards, but she didn't say anything about it. That dread only continued to worsen as the day went on, and more and more Grimm started pouring in over the walls and into the city. The mission was almost over, the last few Grimm were attacking, and they were the largest by far. They were berengals, and they had smashed through a solid wall of Police officers, and were making for the panicking citizens. Acura diverted and intercepted. She cut her way through and didn't stop even when the Citizens had cleared the area. Videl told her to pull back and she didn't listen. She cut through the last berengal, and immediately leaped into another pack of Ursa, and after that, a flock of Nevermores, and after that- she went for the Alpha. Videl wasn't fast enough, and Elyla was too far away.
She could still see it happen though.
The Alpha, an ancient thing covered with bones, it swatted her out of the air- she didn't even try and defend herself. It slammed her to the ground, pounded her until her Aura broke, and then began to pull. Her Guts were red against the black pavement, both ends twitched and spasmed before dying. And the Alpha dragged her away.
Just like the Ursa in the Shanty Town.
That was when the dam broke, and Elyla let everything go.
She vaulted through the air, she landed on the Alpha, and she ignited.
Her career as a hunter, and the body of Acura, they went up in a storm of fire.
Half the city burned to the ground before a fire brigade could bring it under control. The Grimm fled because of the flames but the damage was almost worse than what any simple Grimm incursion could do, and everyone had a finger to point at the source- it wasn't an ambiguous black and white beast that did this but a teenage girl with an unstable semblance. Elyla wasn't going to defend herself, she didn't want to- she didn't care. Videl leapt at the chance, and it cost her.
She nearly lost her license, Videl, she rolled with the punches however and put on a false smile and frown. She managed to work the charges against Elyla down to a suspension pending review. Even then, it was a light suspension discounting solo missions. Elyla never took those anyway.
The real struggle came from having no one wanting to affiliate with them. They were a two Hunter team with a terrible renown. No clients would offer them jobs, and the council was unwilling to give them any. Worse than that, they were effectively Abandoned. No new Recruits. No replacements. In a way, that was all right.
It was just Elyla and Videl now. Elyla found it very silly. Very amusing. She also found it sad. She entered Videls world and tried to live, but instead she ended up dragging Videl into hers.
She managed to crack a grin, even now, with half her teeth missing and her arm broken.
This sick game called living.
Her memories lasted only for so long before she's ripped back into the present. A massive hand wraps around her tiny body and slams her into the ground. Something in her chest breaks but she honestly can't be bothered to care. Her head lolls uselessly as tears stream down her cheeks and up her face as she's tossed around.
Videl is talking again, her snarling rage laces her words with a bitter hint of hemlock that forces its ways into Elyla's ears, "Shoulda' whored you out and used that to get the Team better kit, turn you into a fucking cumdumpster or carpet cleaner you worthless bitch." Videl stands over her, a looming malevolent deity haloed by the red light of the smoke stained sky.
She reaches down and brings her close, face to face, one last time. "Your mother should have swallowed, you know that? This world doesn't need weaklings like you." She's airborne again. Flying, falling, she can feel the heat of the burning city below; she drifts through the air, all too soon embraced by gravity. She cracks her head against the ground, the last bit of her Aura activated on instinct, even still, she lands hard, she feels her femur snap like a twig, and she opens her eyes to see the face of a dead man staring back at her.
An ocean of corpses, limbs interlocking with legs, twisted all around in various piles of carnage. She completes the puzzle, landing in the only empty space it would seem. She can hear Videl laughing off behind her.
Elyla stares at the face before her. It's familiar. Old and worn, weathered like tarnished leather. There is a humble earnestness to it.
Duke.
His name- he called himself Duke.
He isn't dead quite just yet.
Bloodshot red and rimmed with pain. He stares back; there is a long second of silence between them.
Something needs to be said, and so he speaks.
"D'nt yeh remember?" His voice is like a sandpaper whisper. It won't be long now. His face pales as he speaks. "Didn't yeh understand?"
Her memory is hazy, swirling emotions like dead weight shift and mull in her head. His words seem to ring and latch to something, but she can't place it.
"Yeh saw it. Yeh felt it. Yeh know what it meant, what it needed. Yeh heard what it wanted from us."
There was a word.
"Yeh knows what it wants,"
She did know, she could remember- it was that something, that something else.
"Yeh need to do it."
"I can't." She said back, her breath was catching again.
"Yeh can."
"It hurts."
"D'nt it always? Ain't that jus' life?"
He wasn't wrong. "Sometimes, it hurts more than others." He swallowed. "D'sn't matter if yeh can't win. If yeh fight, then yeh can't lose. D'nt yeh understand that?"
Defeat is only real to those that admit defeat.
"Yeh gotta fight, kid." He said, "Yeh gotta fight."
His death was a quiet one.
She was going to die. She knew that now. It didn't register before, even when Videl was breaking her but now it did. She was going to die.
And that was alright. That was okay.
She might as well die in a way that was true. In the way that this stranger wanted. In a way that felt right.
She tried standing. She felt her leg break even more. But the pain was secondary to the thumping chorus in the back of her head. She began to cry again. It felt natural.
She stands, and the beast turns to face her with the mask of a lover. "Still got a little in you?" It cackles. She cackles. Videl cackles.
-Fight.
Tears scarred down her cheeks.
-Fight.
She hacked in air, blood rushing up her throat with every painful exhale.
-Fight.
Behind her the Black statue stood. Cold, idle, mocking.
-Fight.
She looked at it, and in her daze she swore that in the depths of that shattered helmet, two pinpricks of red stared out at her. They were not kind. They mocked her, whispered voices in her head.
-Fight.
The words snaked into her ears, causing her no end of pain, but they persisted.
-Fight.
Like a dread chant egging her on in the depths of her delusion and sorrow- Videls' face is there, twisted, sneering and evil. Elyla gags, she claws at the ground, she curls her hands into fists, her claws puncturing her palms as Lyric coated her knuckles once again in fire. A ball of anger in her chest as she surged back into action, sapping what little strength she had left.
-Fight.
Adrenalin and angst blew through her veins like red and white heat, fueling muscles that now ran on hope and despair. One of the beasts comes, blood hungry and vicious, no longer content with waiting, it lunged, she clocked it across the mask with a right hook, and its skull came away in a pile of ashes that burst into the air on contact with her flame wreathed first.
"Now you understand."
She understood now what Duke meant.
It meant to struggle. It meant to fight beyond reason. It meant to keep swinging even when there was nothing left. It didn't matter if the battle was lost- true defeat came only when you chose to acknowledge it. So long as you could still breathe- then you could struggle, and if you could struggle-
You could hope.
Even when in the darkest night, in the stygian pits of Hell itself, surrounded by the enemy, sundered by grief, laden with exhaustion, if one could still have hope- if one could ignite that torch within their soul and refuse to break-
Then there could be no such thing as defeat.
Her eyes are red and raw with tears- her body is broken in so many places. She stares at what was once her friend and lover. She screams, she throws her fist forwards, every memory of love, every moment of passion- she puts it all into one last punch-