tfw when you havn't sucked dick for five straight minutes and your startin' to ge tthe shakesies.
...
The Grimm are a cruel and varied species. There are many of them, and many different kinds. New species of Grimm are not uncommon, as there seems to be no unified originating species that all Grimm are descendent from.
They are all dangerous and violent animals as a rule, there are no exceptions. They exist only to cause strife to the people of Remnant; that is their only purpose in life. This is a truth that everyone knows: Grimm Kill People.
Even with such a defining genetic trait is ingrained into a species' biology, Adam believed that this new creature was taking it bit too far.
Six seconds.
All it needed was six seconds, and the battle was decided.
He is the last one left alive. His lieutenants are dead. Blush is a heap of twisted metal. His mask is cracked. His clothing is in ribbons and his left arm was starting to go numb. He holds Wilt in his right hand- nicks and cuts line the blades length.
It was playing with him. Mocking him. It circled him like a shark observing its next meal. Hellish yellow eyes stared down at him as the rippling exoskeleton form of the Broodlord shook the ground with each lumbering step- its lurching gait hid an agility and spryness not readily apparent, but Adam knew all too well just how fast this thing could move if it wanted to.
He honestly did not know how he was still alive right now.
It came again- it attacked, stepping out of its malignant circle- it was eerie how silent it was- it did not roar, it did not shriek and squeal unless it wanted to, it just acted with its devilish lethality. Adam threw up Wilt and jumped back, his feet left the ground at the same time one of its hands crashed into his sword- he flew twelve feet before he hit the ground. He didn't even get the chance to activate his Aura.
It could have ran him down and torn him to pieces, hacked him up while blood leaked down his face and obscured his vision. It didn't, it was watching him struggle- he tried to sit up, clambering to his feet- something was loose in his side, jabbing into his lung. He couldn't take another hit like that, but he wasn't sure that if he had a choice in the matter.
He took a step back; his foot collided against something.
…
A Broodlord did not have a memory. A memory is a flawed thing that can degrade and forget. Broodlords did not forget. They did not yield to the degradation of time that the other lesser and disunited species suffered from.
Genetic Legacy. A gift from the great Hive-Mind that molded every Tyranid life form in the Norn-Queens birthing chambers. What a Lictor learned from spying on Eldar scouts, a termagaunt sectors away knew as well. The Broodlord knew every living being encountered by the Tyranids in this galaxy: countless trillions upon trillions upon trillions of flora and fauna, both sentient and non-sentient.
Human beings were among the most common and were as infernally stubborn as they were varied. They fought and they fought and they died in droves but they never stopped fighting even when the sky itself was stolen away from them and their atmosphere siphoned they still fought until the air was sucked from their lungs. The Tyranids knew Human genealogy with a bitter intimacy, the Tyranids knew what Humans were physically capable of, perhaps even better than the humans knew themselves- and the Broodlord knew how best they die- how best to kill them.
The creature before it was not human- not fully human. It was an aberration, one of the outcast things that sulk in the bowls of worlds infested by human-prey. Unlike that prey this creature did not die so easily.
Three times. The Broodlord had hit this creature three times. Each strike was powerful enough to tear a human in half, but all it did to this creature was knock it around- it kept getting back up. It was different- subtly so, the Broodlord could tell- from the other aberrations that followed it. This creature held power.
The red flicker over its body, the strange energies that intercepted each of the Broodlords strikes; did this creature possess one of the machine things that Human-prey used to protect themselves with? The Broodlord did not see such a device and in the end it did not care- it mattered little.
It was far more concerned with the thrill it was glutting itself upon.
Killing had been such an empty thing. The Numbing sense of the Hive Mind, its omnipotent control that sapped away thought until at that remained was instruction and obedience. Now that the stifling blanket that was that presence was gone the Broodlord at first knew fear and uncertainty.
Now it knew freedom.
It was an even more frightening concept- but it was so very intoxicating.
The Creature before it- the Broodlord did not know why it had not killed it yet, the Broodlord could have done so many different times but it had refrained. The first blow against its feeble frame had failed to destroy it- now it interested the Broodlord.
It was a thing that didn't break when handled roughly- it could be bashed around, thrown about and it would still get back up. It would try to run away and the Broodlord would chase it down. The Broodlord knew vaguely of the concept of 'Futility,' it was what the creature attempted to overcome every time it swung its sword at the Broodlord.
Fun. Playing. These were things it did not know about.
Yet.
The Creature was standing up again. This time, it was going to try to run. This time the Broodlord would kill it. It would break its spine and see how far it could bend and twist before coming apart.
Curiosity.
Its great-clawed feet splintered the ground. The Creature took something from the ground- the pile of broken bodies.
The Creature aimed and fired the Grenade Launcher.
…
The things it took to break a person were not as grandiose as some would like to believe. In all honesty it was rather petty, the ways people crumbled to pressure and threats. They only ever thought about themselves, and the more benevolent only ever thought about themselves and the people close to them. The bigger picture was out of their focus, out of their sight, out of their mind.
The lives of thousands and the safety of an entire kingdom suddenly and miraculously didn't matter to a person who saw a gun held to his crying daughters' head.
Seras Kyuli stared at the Warden, she had honestly hoped that the Warden wouldn't break; that he'd keep his mouth shut and do the right thing. That he wouldn't throw away everything and everyone he had fought- and he had fought hard- to protect. His daughter had to go and cry after she put a bullet through his knee- tears streaming down her face, snot in her nose, those awful hiccupping cries- the kind that kids make when they're seeing something so awful that they can't even comprehend it. They broke the man, tore him to shreds and he told them everything- he spilled every last little detail about the cities communications network, every code to every armory, he even told her things she hadn't asked for.
White Fang members cracked open city armories and stole military grade weaponry. White Fang scrolls were updated with guard communications and movements- they ambushed Watchmen from angles that were previously safe. What was at first a deadlock now became a slaughter. He could have kept his mouth shut, not told them a damn thing. She would have shot his kid, she wasn't bluffing, but he would have denied them the information the White Fang needed in order to break this city. His men would have pushed them back into the sea, and the heart of Vacuo would beat again- the kingdom would live.
More importantly, Adam Taurus would have lost face.
That wasn't going to happen now. That freak Salem would probably applaud Adam on his initiative; he'd likely go up in rank even. He'd have even more sway over the White Fang and how it operates. She could see the train of destruction he'd lead across Remnant all for the sake of his perverted sense of Justice.
She looked at the bodies of the Warden and his daughter, unceremoniously shoved in the corner of the control room- two bullets, one through each of them. She looked down at the pistol in her hand, three rounds lighter. She wondered if she was any better than him, and she immediately shook her head. That wasn't even a question; she knew exactly what she was.
"Set the charges. We're done here." She told one of her soldiers, hooking her thumb to the array of monitors that flickered through various security cameras lined about Sodomah, all of them had a clear display of the carnage throughout the port city.
It was like every other building she walked out of while wearing the mask: holes in the wall, torn plaster and blood smears from hands trying to find purchase. Bullet casings clicking with every step and more than once she had to step over a body- some were still breathing- she rectified that.
Seras shoved the weapon through her waistband and instead drew a cigarette- it was funny, she always though that they were clichéd' in the movies, attempts to make some character look more hard-bitten or something, she knew better now. Sometimes you needed something to take the edge off, and it was either this or habits she wouldn't be caught dead with.
She'd been to Vacuo a couple times before. It was a hellhole that she didn't want to go back to, the days were hot and the nights freezing. Sand was always in the wind and the water tasted like iron. The people stank to high hell- they didn't wash their clothes or bathe- again, water was a commodity that couldn't be wasted.
When she was put on the roster for this mission she honestly thought that it would be a mercy to put the people of Vacuo down once and for all. Put them out of their misery for having to live in the sandy hellhole that was the desert. People didn't deserve to live that kind of existence- were every day is a struggle, as a Faunus she knew that lesson better than most did.
Reconnoitering Sodomah had been a real eye opener.
It was an entirely different place. The people weren't grim-faced husks, they were happy, industrious- they had lives and they smelt of sweat because they worked hard- not because they couldn't wash their clothes. More importantly she saw Faunus and Humans working together. She saw prosperity- she saw the vision she wanted to see come true right in front of her eyes.
She saw her dream, and she knew that Adam was about to tear it apart with his bloody red sword.
She saw all of this, and then when the orders came, she put on her mask and held down the trigger.
She could still hear gunfire in the streets not too far off, sporadic resistance, the people of Sodomah were fighters; putting them down was a bitch and a half. It didn't help that half of the Watchmen were Faunus- working alongside their human counterparts. Filling them with rounds was like trampling over her dream twice over. She half wished that she could just pause and switch teams like in a video game.
She took a long last drag of her cig' and snuffed it out on the barrel of her gun before letting it fall to the pavement, she pulled her mask back down. She was really starting to hate the mask, she really, really was. She pulled the old mag her gun, fed a new one into it and headed up the street; her next assignment was the rail-station, she hefted the satchel bags slung over her shoulder.
She saw her people when she got to the station. They had already set to work without her, fitting charges to the cargo trams and warming up the engines. When the charges were set, Sylys and her men would wait for Adam and his lackeys to finish up with the water plant and join them. They'd get on the trams and ride them to the midway stations and dismount. After that, they'd send the trains to the end of the line up north and set the charges off remotely. Then all that was left was to wait for the boats to pick them up along the shore. With the infrastructure of Sodomah crippled, anything or anyone they overlooked during the smash-and-grab would die in due time. This place would soon be just another ghost town.
How many people did she kill today? How many people was she about to kill? How many more did she need to put in a shallow grave?
Too many, and not enough.
"Almost done here, boss." She nodded as she strolled into the station, her soldiers stepping aside to let her through. They were loyal to a fault, perhaps too loyal. It was her fault that they were a product of her success- willingly going into hell with her, thinking that she would bring them victory. She hadn't failed to deliver yet.
She hooked her satchel onto one of the railcars fuel containers. "The charges set on this side?" She asked.
"Almost done, we've got a few more to place. Also, Boss?"
She nodded but didn't stop from clambering onto one of the rail cars.
"Word from our comrades up north, they say that the Watchmen are standing down."
"Let Adam know. He's the commander." She already knew what his response would be.
"We've been trying to relay the message to him but we can't get through. You're second in command."
That gave her pause. She thought for a moment, her fingers tapping against the rail. More graves to dig. "Put them all down, make it quick." She waited for her second to respond. When they said nothing in return, Seras glanced back to her soldiers as she climbed onto one of the trams. "Something the matter?"
She saw what it was right away. Curled horns, orange hair; blade like ruby, he'd be more intimidating if he didn't look like shit.
"Sir," She snapped, her soldiers backed away. Nothing good came from dealing with the Devil.
He must've run into hunters. He was beat up, smashed to pieces, clothes all torn, mask cracked, he lost his sheath and his sword was broken in places. Seras was still unable to feel pity for this man, she didn't know if it was possible. "We're almost done here, sir." She said placidly enough.
"Get the trains moving to the extraction point." She's heard him speak before. Controlled, calm, a voice that was ready to flip into an unmuted anger at a moments notice. She's never heard him like this before. Exhausted. Uncertain.
Afraid.
"Sir, there's a situation up north."
"That doesn't matter, get the trains moving. We're scrapping this operation." He pushed past one of her men, the soldier made no effort to stop him. Seras did.
"What?" she snapped,
He rounded on her; his blade was shaking- like he was trying to keep it from rising up. His left arm was limp- blood, lots of it. "It's the Grimm- we're leaving."
"What?" She snapped. "How'd they get in?" For a moment she pondered if the Watch had opened the gates, tried to deny the White Fang the city as a last resort.
"Plans change- the Grimm can take care of the rest, we're done here."
"Where are the others? What about the munitions, the supplies, is the treatment plant destroyed?" She was drawing a fine line stepping in front of Adam, blocking him from reaching the engine. He stiffened, seemed ready to draw on her.
"That's not important right now." He bit out the words; blood flecked her mask as he spoke. "A Grimm creature made a mess of our comrades and probably killed them all. The battle is over."
"Just one?"
"Does it matter if it's one or one hundred?" He was close to shouting- he glanced over his shoulder back the way he came. "We have to leave now."
"There are still people up in the north- Watchmen and militia, they haven't been able to subdue them- we're about to go up and support them." Something was forming in her mind. A plan. "We can't just leave them up there."
"We can, and we will." Adam pushed past her- or tried to. He must've used what was left of his strength just to get here.
What was it that he'd been running from?
"Move or die."
She's been waiting for a chance like this. She's been waiting for a damn long time.
"Nah,"
The bullet bit through his leg, punching through the thigh, her kick knocked him off the tram and onto the platform. She didn't play to chance- she put another round into his other leg- this one just above the knee.
She could feel the tension in her troops. It was like a string she could break with a single touch. She wasn't surprised. She did just put two rounds into Adam Taurus. It felt pure. It felt right.
"Stop gawking and get moving. Everyone mount up." Her voice got them moving again; they were her soldiers after all, she brought them this far, they were stuck with her. She hadn't done wrong by them until now. She just needed their trust in her to last a little longer.
She holstered her pistol, she even spun it like a gunslinger before slotting it home; it never felt so light in her hands- never had felt so right for it to be there. She stared down at the Crimson Devil, she must've hit his femoral, he was bleeding badly, a red fountain between his fingers. He was staring up at her through that mask she hated so much. She pulled hers off, tossed it to the floor. "Sorry to do this to you sir." She wasn't really, the last of her men climbed onto the trams. "Plans change."
"You will not get away with this." That eerie calm came back to his voice. "You don't leave the White Fang and get to live."
She glanced out past the station. Something moved, something with many limbs and yellow eyes. "I never said I was leaving." She backed away from the rails. "Get this thing moving, and get rid of those fucking bombs. We've got work to do up north."
She had found a new answer to one of her questions. 'How many more people do I need to kill?'
Just one more.
...
Did you know that Absaraviolo Vect frequents several imperial strip clubs in segmentum tempestus under the guise of a sister of battle? He knows how to move dem hips on that polio pole lemme tell you what.