A great amount of thanks to Eretein again. Like always, she was of great help.
"Salem!"
The woman huffed. She was just starting to put a dent in her new novel.
Two years. Two years she'd waited for the book to finally reach her.
Of all the magical powers the people in the world held, you'd think one could conjure up a way to distribute books more efficiently.
"Yes, dear?"
Salem specifically requested her husband not to bother her until supper, unless it was a dire emergency—which she doubted it was.
"Do you mind coming to the study for a second? I require your help."
Oh, so that's it. She rolled her eyes, smirking.
Ozma was a proud honorable man. He simply wasn't the type who sought assistance of any kind, let alone from a woman carrying his child. He was usually the one people sought when they needed help.
Salem closed her book and placed it on the table to her right. She memorized the page and line passage she left off. Her sharp memory was one of her traits she took great pride in. She could still recall how cold her room—prison—was during her sixth birthday and the hollowness she felt after being forced to spend it alone—again.
She pressed her hands against the armrests, grunting as she stood up. Her lower back ached with a dull throbbing.
One of the things they didn't warn her about being pregnant—the back pains. Or the headaches. Or the groin pain. Or even the sleepless nights.
But, it'd be all worth it once she saw the face of her child.
Salem cradled her baby bump, gazing at it with a smile—a habit she picked up when she started showing. It put her nerves at ease having her hands on her stomach as she moved about.
It was their first child—almost giving up hope after trying for so long. She didn't want anything to happen to their future son. At least that was what she thought the baby was. The constant kicking and shifting inside just screamed the rascal nature of a boy.
Salem climbed up the flight of stairs to the second floor, taking her time with each step she took. Ozma waited for her at the top with a smile and a twinkle in his hazel eyes.
She recognized the shine in them. It was always a clear give away whenever he had a surprise planned for her.
"So what kind of help do you need, my dear Ozma?" she asked with a grin.
He coughed into his fist, clearing his throat. "You already know I have a surprise, don't you?"
She gasped, placing a hand on her chest. "You have a surprise for me? I would have never guessed that."
Ozma shook his head, chuckling. "I was sure I had you this time."
He coughed, sounding rough and a bit scratchy at the end.
Salem's grin sank into a frown.
"Are you okay, Ozma?"
"Yes, I'm—" He coughed again—more subdued and contained this time around. "Fine. You know how I get during this time of year."
Salem stared at him. "If you say so…"
Since they discovered she was with child, Salem had taken the road of caution for the sake of her health. Though the doctor and her friends told her a simple cold wouldn't harm the child, she didn't want to take the risk.
Ozma catching a cold was rare—his immune system was as strong as he was—but it was still a possibility.
"I'm sorry Ozma, but could you wear a mask? I don't want to risk getting sick when I'm this close being due."
"I understand, dear." He coughed into his arm. "Your surprise is in the study. I'll be right back."
Ozma left to search for a mask. She was lucky to have met someone as patient and understanding as he was. He listened to all her worries and woes without casting any judgement.
Ozma was truly a great husband, and soon-to-be terrific father.
Salem opened the door to the study. Her eyes widened at the contents of the room. The walls had a fresh coat of turquoise-green—her favorite color. Two large bookshelves filled to the brim with books of various sizes, placed side by side on the left side of the room. At the far back, practically touching the wall, sat an exquisite desk, light shining down from the window above.
Salem stepped inside, soaking in all the changes to the room. The study had been practically bare before. They never made any changes to it since they bought the house. All it had before were the essentials for it to be labelled as a study, and a single second-hand chair with a knee-high bookshelf. Not even the walls were painted—only coated with an uninspiring eggshell white.
Overall, the atmosphere of the room yesterday was dull and flat.
The room today though, had not only personality, but life as well.
"When did you have time to do this?" she asked.
She strolled to the bookshelves first, curious about their contents. It was mostly encyclopedias and dictionaries. The rest were informative pieces—knowledge about the vast amount of plant lives in the world or the rise and fall of various kingdoms. She couldn't help but wonder how her husband attained such an impressive collection.
Salem turned her attention to the sole desk in the study, noticing a wrapped rectangular package with a note on top. Her heart thumped. Ignoring the urge to tear open the present, she picked up the note and unfolded it.
I know how you want to be a writer but are afraid to take that plunge. I hope this will motivate you to take the dive.
Love, Ozma
She smiled, picturing Ozma grinning at her, hiding the blush on his cheeks. Her husband had always been romantic. She placed the note down and picked up the package, opening it.
"By the God of Light," she said.
It was a book—her book. She had written it years ago but had always been afraid to publish it. She ran her fingers over the hardcover, feeling the coarseness, eyes watery as she read the golden text.
The Girl in the Tower
By Salem Ambroise
Salem placed the book back and hurried out the room. Of all the kindest gestures her husband could have thought of, it had to be one involving her dream. She didn't know where to even begin to show her gratitude and love for him.
Salem arrived at her bedroom, swinging the door wide open. Ozma wasn't there. She didn't waste any time and left the room to shower her husband with her affection. She reached the bathroom, thinking he might have been making a makeshift mask from towels, but again he wasn't there.
It wasn't until she saw the empty guest room that worry started settling in.
"Ozma?" she called out. "Where are you?"
Salem rushed down the flight of stairs, hand on the railing as she took two steps at a time. She searched the entire bottom floor—no evidence of Ozma.
"Ozma!" Her hands trembled. "This isn't funny. Come out."
No response—only her heart roaring in her ears.
Salem felt her chest constricting on itself, her breathing quick shallow gasps. Her frame stiffened.
Seconds turned to minutes and Ozma had yet to reveal himself.
"Ozma…"
Salem couldn't hear anymore—muted to even her breaths and the thumping of her heart.
Ozma was gone.
"Ozma!"
Salem rushed to the exit, hoping her neighbors had spotted her husband leaving. The doorknob turned but didn't budge when she pulled.
"No."
She tugged, beat, and yelled for the stubborn door to open, but it held fast, withstanding all the abuse she hurled at it.
"Ahhhhhh!"
Her breath hitched, completely stilled from the sudden scream. Another blood-curdling scream pierced her ears, coming from outside. She ran to the window, almost tripping over her own feet.
All color left her face.
Salem's village—her home—burned. Her neighbors and friends ran amok, screaming as they dissolved into dust.
A man slammed his face against her window, cracking the glass. She leaped back, gasping. Magic burst to life in her hands, swirling with pale blue and yellow light. She raised her hands to launch an attack but stopped once she recognized who the man was.
"E—ephraim?"
She could barely recognize him. The majority of his skin was charred like wood in a fire. His distinct purple eyes were the only reason she was able to identify her neighbor.
Ephraim slammed a fist against the glass. Crunch.
Salem flinched.
"You did this Salem!" he yelled, his eyes bulging out their sockets. "You damned us all!"
He hit the window again. Blood smeared the glass.
Salem shook her head, backing away.
"I didn't do anything, Ephraim!" Her voice cracked. "Please just stop!"
She didn't know what was going on in her village, or why her neighbor blamed her for the carnage. All she knew was that she was innocent. She'd stayed at home with her husband.
All she ever wanted was peace.
Ephraim finally broke through the window. He reached out to grab her, but exploded into a puff of ash with an ear-piercing scream, swept away by the wind.
Salem shrieked, dropping to her knees. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she cradled her abdomen.
What the hell is happening now?!
"Salem…"
She perked up, recognizing the voice who called her name.
Ozma had returned!
He would protect her from any harm that came their way. He promised he would when he had freed her from the clutches of her father.
Salem turned around, smiling at his timely arrival. "Ozm—"
The words caught in her throat. Her smile died.
Ozma loomed over her, blood dripping from his mouth and nose. He coughed. Specks of scarlet splattered on her face.
She couldn't move.
She couldn't breath.
"Why couldn't you just let me go?" He dropped to one knee, and she couldn't look away from his glazed over eyes. "Why did you try to change fate?"
Fate?
A sharp pain pulsed through her abdomen. She clenched her teeth, grunting. Blades tore at her insides.
"Ugh!" She closed her eyes, falling like a pin.
Her unborn child thrashed, like they were fighting an alpha Ursa for survival.
She cracked an eye open. Ozma was no longer in front of her. Instead, the Brother Gods—celestial beings that ruled over the planet—stood in his place, gazing at her.
The God of Darkness chuckled. "You thought there was no greater punishment we could bestow upon you?"
As the words left the god's lips, the pain ceased.
She didn't feel her baby anymore—neither the lively movement of an active child nor the hardy heartbeat drumming alongside hers.
She felt nothing.
"We will learn from this failure," the God of Light said. "I hope you will learn from yours."
Multiple hands—large and monstrous—burst through the wooden floors, grabbing hold of Salem. Their claws dug into her flesh. Black blood seeped through her wounds. A cry escaped her lips as they dragged her through the floor.
Salem lurched up from the grassy mound with a shrill cry, magic flaring to life in her hands.
She whipped her head side-to-side, her ashen hair swaying wildly. Four Beowolves—using their large and lumbering forms—created a barrier around her, sharp claws glinting in the moonlight. They snarled at the darkness surrounding them.
Salem blinked, her eyes adjusting to the darkness.
She saw grassy plains as far as the moonlight allowed her to see, the beowolves growling. Instincts honed for millenia sent no signals to fight or run.
Her shoulders loosened, heaving a long sigh as she snuffed out her magic.
A nightmare. She wiped the sweat from her brows. Just a terrible nightmare.
"Heel, girls."
The four Grimm backed down, turning back into the affectionate daughters Salem loved. They huddled around her, nuzzling her sides.
Salem chuckled. Oh how girls loved their snuggle parties.
Fall—the baby of the family—whimpered as she licked Salem's cheek. She wiggled her head under her arm.
"I'm sorry I worry you, Fall." Salem scratched the back of the right ear of her child, her armor-clad tail wagging. "Just a bad dream is all."
When was the last time she suffered from a nightmare?
The fifth century? The tenth? Or was it the eighth?
Despite her excellent memory, time was a bit finicky at this stage of her never-ending life.
After not experiencing dreams, nightmares, and everything in-between for well over the sixteenth millennium, she thought her body could no longer produce such hallucinations.
Honestly, she wanted to keep it that way. Dreams made her recall the people and things she had lost. Nightmares reminded her why they were taken in the first place.
At least she had her daughters to keep her grounded. She didn't want to imagine what dark place she would have entered if she didn't have them by her side.
Salem planted a chaste kiss on Spring's head.
Winter howled, pushing her older sister away and plopping down in front of their mother.
Salem rolled her eyes. She granted her daughter the same courtesy. The girl barked for another. Giggling, she gave the girl another kiss and a scratch under the chin for good measure.
Winter barked again.
"Nuh-uh. We're not doing this all night."
Why couldn't she be more like her sister—Summer? The girl was resting on Salem's legs without a peep, seemingly content to be in her mother's presence.
Salem clapped. "Alright girls, that's enough."
They all whined—Fall being the loudest.
"Don't be like that. You know my body still needs sleep."
They whined again.
"Okay, okay. Look, I promise at first light, we can play before we continue charting the changed landscapes."
Her daughters rushed away and took their designated spots a few inches from her, staring at the sky.
Salem shook her head with a smile. Only her daughters would take playtime so seriously.
Well, she should get as much rest as possible. It looked like she was going to need it.
She lied down, resting her head on the soft grass. "Night, girls."
They replied with a happy bark. She closed her eyes and let sleep swallow her.
Dewdrops glimmered under the sun, sparkling over black earth like rough gemstones. Beautiful, despite the destruction the colossal volcano caused to create it. She had taken a liking to nature since the adoption of her hobby. Cartography—exploring the ever-changing lands, memorizing every breathtaking sight she saw.
Though she wished her children found nature as interesting as she did.
Spring pounced, growling as she tackled Winter into the ground. They tumbled over the rocky surface—a ball of black and white dragging the molten rock under their feet. They wrestled, their lumbering forms clashing with blows that would have killed lesser Grimm.
Their bone-like armor was strong and dense, cultivated from growth and sturdy from battle. Salem remembered the close calls her children had against the old reign of Grimm—those that refused to submit to her control and still followed the will of the God of Darkness. Her girls were stubborn, much like their mother. They always got back up, rejecting the very idea of losing—a trait they no doubt inherited from her.
Salem peered down at her map, then glanced at the compass in her hand. They were still heading in the right direction.
Not much had changed since the last time she roamed this part of the world a few thousands years ago. A few mountain ranges gained a couple of inches of height. Ravines got narrower. A lake or two gathered here and there. Just enough alteration to justify creating a revised map.
I can't wait. She grinned.
The duo released each other and raced toward her. She arched an eyebrow. Both girls sat in front of her, mute-colored tongues hanging from their mouths as their tail wagged.
She knew what they wanted. Subtlety wasn't their strong point, especially Winter.
"Oh, alright. But only one throw and then we have to go back on our way, okay?"
They barked.
Salem glanced at the two girls flanking her side—Summer and Fall. "I know you two want to join in as well, so join your sisters."
The two oh-so happily left her side.
Salem rolled her eyes. Honestly, she spoiled them too much. She put her map and compass away in her rack-sack.
"Alright, ready?"
They all went on their fours, low against the ground.
"Okay."
Salem waved her right hand in a circle, hovering over the black rocks that made the landscape. Chunks—small and large—broke through the dirt, baring the specks of green below. The pieces clumped together, forming a large spherical mass. Slowly, the dense matter of rock condensed into a hand-sized ball as her hand clenched into a fist.
She lifted her hand up, ball hovering on the tip of her fingers. "Ready." She turned to the left. "Set." She aimed at the wide hill in the distance. "Go!"
With a simple flick of the wrist, she launched the ball. The children raced after it, paws skidding over the ground.
Salem shook her head, chuckling. No matter how much they had grown, they were still kids on the inside.
Her girls stopped, not even close to where she'd thrown the ball. Two of them rose on their hind legs while the others stuck their faces against the ground. They looked like they were searching for something.
Did they catch a scent of Grimm born of the younger Brother God? She thought her genocide against the creatures was finished, having not encountered one for millenia.
She rushed over to her children, scanning the skies for threats. "Is it the Brothers' Grimm?"
They ignored her, taking off in the direction of the hill and leaving a stunned Salem behind.
"Heel!" Salem said.
Her children continued on their path.
What the?
"I said, heel!"
Her girls kept running away from her.
Salem growled, hurrying after them.
It was completely unlike them. Her daughters always listened to her commands, even during the trying times of the eradication of the Brothers' Grimm.
"I said stop, damn it!"
Another order ignored.
As she climbed up the hill, her nose caught a strange odor. Her senses had been heightened since her bath in the Liquid Grimm, able to pick up the faintest of scents and the softest of sounds.
The aroma was different from anything she'd ever smelled. And it was even harder to describe. It just made her skin itch and her stomach empty, craving for food she no longer needed to sustain life.
Was it the cause of her daughters' act of defiance?
Salem reached the top of the hill, her girls huddling around something. They snarled like feral beasts, blocking her view of the enigma. It was as if they were creatures of darkness and not her precious daughters.
The plant, animal, or whatever it was causing her girls to act in such a frenzy needed to be eliminated. If her words no longer control them—then what harm could they do to themselves? She couldn't have something like it in the world. She couldn't lose her family.
She flexed her hand. A wispy ball of black and red sizzled in it.
"Ni don't mirdir nah bazor vacosehn!"
Magic frizzled out of existence. Salem stood frozen in place. Her lips parted, not believing her ears.
It...did not sound like an animal. In fact, it sounded like a…
No. She shook her head.
Her ears must've been deceiving her. Humanity was gone. Her old life was gone. Everything she had loved was gone.
The Massacre was executed with extreme prejudice and precision. No feasible way could her species have survived.
But, what if?
Salem bit her lip. Hope. How annoying.
Fine.
She'd prove hope wrong yet again.
"Move!" she yelled.
Salem stomped towards her daughters, shoving Fall to the side. It would reveal the hard truth to the voice called hope.
Her breath caught in her throat.
"It...cannot be..."
Red eyes met greens and blues.
"You're...alive."
Humans. Living humans stood right before her.
But how? She searched every nook and cranny of the wretched planet for signs of life.
One of them—a male—raised a crude spear with a sharp rock for its tip at her direction. "Gar copaanir haa'taylir!"
She quickly raised her hands in surrender. "Easy. I'm not going—"
Her nose twitched, picking up the scent from earlier—more intense and potent than before.
She licked her lips. Goosebumps crawled over her skin. Her stomach growled—for the first time since she became part-Grimm.
The sizable family huddled closer, their bodies trembling. The children shut their eyes as they held onto the adults for dear life.
Afraid.
Salem snorted, her body quivering.
She could smell their fear. And it was irresistible.
Her lips curled back into a wide smile. Drool dripped from her mouth. A child cried out. It just made her even more excited—more hungry.
...Destroy… Must destroy...
She stepped forward, hands cackling with magic.
Yes, my child. Kill them. Kill them and feast on their souls.
Yes…
Then scour the lands for the next and devour their essence as well.
Yes...
The male human screamed and charged at her. She let the weapon pierce her. He stared at her, completely gobsmacked. Another wave graced her nose.
Must...consume...soul.
She lashed out, grabbing him by the throat. Her black nails dug into his flesh. He squirmed, and it made her even hungrier. She watched the color leave his face as she pulled the spear out of her body.
Salem didn't smell fear anymore. She smelled despair.
Devour...
She broke his neck with a simple twist. His body went limp in her hand. It was not enough. His death didn't satisfy her in the slightest. Her body still craved more.
Salem tossed the corpse to the side. The Beowolves by her side howled.
I need more…
Don't stop until the world is rid of our younger kin—until the God of Darkness looks upon us in favor once more.
The God of Darkness…
That name sounded familiar.
The God of Darkness…
It made her feel less hungry, and more angry. Furious. Livid.
The God of—
"Still demanding things from your creators?"
Salem blinked, shaking her head. Her teeth clenched as she frowned. How could she forget about the beings that damned her to wander the world alone? How weak could she be to let a simple voice lull her into a trance without so much as a fight?
She looked at the humans. They all had their eyes closed. Her attention shifted to the corpse, her blood boiling.
Even now, those wretched gods play their sick games with me.
Her species survived somehow. Either by the gods missing a few pockets of humanity, or simply by a stroke of luck. Regardless of the how, what mattered was what it represented.
A second chance for humanity—a chance she wouldn't waste.
Salem turned around, her arms spread wide, acting as a boundary between her daughters and her chance at redemption.
"Fall, Summer, Spring, Winter," Salem said, stressing each name. "Heel. Now."
They weren't listening to her, probably too entranced by the voice that held her mind seconds ago. The voice was seductive and the smell of despair was intoxicating—even now her body was shivering in delight at the aroma. Her children never experienced the negative emotions of humanity. The scent must've completely overwhelmed their senses—like it did her—and made them into slaves to their carnal desires.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Spring and Winter rearing to pounce. The claws of Summer and Fall were ready to rip the last bastion of humanity apart.
"Please," Salem said. "Don't make me choose. Don't make me choose between humanity and you."
They were her family—her crutch for the last bit of sanity she had left. If they died, she would...
"H—how about we travel to the Land of Darkness, huh? I doubt any humans would live there."
They took a step forward and she took a step back.
"A—a—and I could call upon the rest of the world's Grimm as well so you can have playmates. D—d—doesn't that sound grand, huh?"
Her eyes watered.
"Please. I can't lose you too."
Spring and Winter howled as they leaped into the air, poised to sink their claws and fangs into the supple flesh of their prey.
Salem flexed her left hand. Magic flashed to life, unleashing an orange and black stream at her two daughters. They yelped as they tumbled down the hill.
Sorry.
She snapped her eyes forward, ready to stop Fall and Summer from advancing. They couldn't harm her. Spring proved it when she was born, but that didn't make them any less dangerous. They were the first of the new Grimm she birthed and the ones who spearheaded the death of the Brother's Grimm. More importantly, they were her children. They knew her weakness as much as she did theirs.
Fall dug her claws into the ground then ripped them out, hurling chunks of rock at her.
Salem closed her eyes as she raised her hands.
The earth rumbled, a boulder crashing into her side.
Summer roared as Salem skidded across the ground like a pebble skipping over a lake.
Salem felt the familiar sting of broken ribs and the dull throb of her ruptured organs. She coughed, dyeing the black stones crimson.
Summer shouldn't have been able to shove her like she did. It was against the law she discovered when she accepted her powers. Her daughter should've hesitated like Spring did when she was a pup.
Wait. Pup!
Grimm gained intelligence as long as they drew breath. Scholars of her time discovered this. The oldest recorded Grimm was a few centuries old and it learned the patterns of humans, causing the downfall of the capital of the Coruscanti Empire.
If a Grimm only centuries-old could do that, then what could a millennium-old do?
Salem gritted her teeth, cradling her broken arm as she sat up. All she saw were fuzzy bubbles. She felt the telltale signs of her body shutting down.
Her children saw her die a few times during their journey together. They cried every time she did. But she came back though, as was her curse. They saw first-hand how her immortality worked. If she could fall from staggering heights, leaving not even a wound, then what were some severed limbs or broken bones to them?
Spring and Winter returned to the top. Her attack didn't even scratch them. The two snarled at her, moving towards their sisters. They all looked ready to attack again.
Were all the Grimm she left roaming the lands as smart as her children? Have they discovered pockets of humanity, already feasting upon their flesh and gnawing on their bones?
I must eliminate them.
Salem couldn't take the chance. It was humanity's chance for a new life—a better one without the gods pulling the strings. For humanity to survive, the Grimm must die, starting with her daughters.
"I'm sorry," she muttered.
Fire flared from her eyes, surrounding them in a midnight-black. The wind swirled, forcing everyone to hunker down. Clouds crackled with lightning, blackening the skies.
Salem levitated, hovering above the humans and her children. Electricity rushed through her dead veins.
They cowered before her. She grimaced, another pang of pain tearing in her. Her body couldn't sustain the full strength of her magic for long. It was shortening her already-failing system.
Salem raised a shaky hand and snapped her fingers. A red sigil appeared under each of her daughters. Disfigured black hands flew out of the symbol, wrapped around her children, binding them in place.
"Go," Salem said. "Go and live."
The humans scurried away, leaving the corpse of their friend behind.
Salem coughed, red staining her blouse. She dropped and crashed into the middle of her restrained children. Her daughters thrashed against their chains.
"I'm sorry."
Salem raised an open hand. The elements—storm, earth, and fire—condensed into four spikes aimed at her children's necks.
"I'm sorry."
She clenched her hand into a fist, launching the weapons.
Salem flinched, hearing their last yelp.
She gazed upon them, one last time. Their beady, red eyes glared at her. Spring croaked. A single tear ran down her cheek.
Their bodies crumbled and turned to dust. The hands sank down the sigils as the symbols faded away.
Salem's fingers dragged over the black stone, leaving a trace of blood. Her body trembled as she sobbed. Her teeth clenched, blood trailing out of her mouth.
She screamed—just as the day the gods took everything from her.
Death had taken its hold over Salem, snatching away the lives of her lovely children —and returned her to a world where she was alone once more.
Author's Notes: One thing I feel like the series could explore more, was the joy or guilt she must've felt when she saw humanity again after being told that she was the last of her kind. Honestly, I would love a novel about Salem's journey from the Massacre to the Ozpin confrontation. I guess that's why I'm writing this fic.
Anyways, I feel this fic has two, maybe three more chapters left. I have a idea for the next chapter, but having issues getting it on paper. No real schedule as this fic is more of a spur of a moment kind of deal.
Till Next Time