Chapter 4: Sins of the Father

Fenrir grinned down at Ash as the group of bandits foraged, it always brought a smile on his face to see the claw-like burns he inflicted on his bully. Ash, in return, simply sneered no doubt irritated by his choice in company. The group of bandits had been ordered by Tyr to scout around the nearby by area of Sgudal, just in case any survivors took any weapons with them. Of course, if the weapons were found it was unlikely the owners were still alive, though they were ordered to be on guard just in case.

Fenrir, for his part, didn't question his orders. No doubt he been sent as extra-muscle. Again. Or perhaps after last night's drama, Odin and Tyr simply didn't want to see him around the encampment. He could believe that much.

Or was it something else? Fenrir couldn't shake the feeling of a tenseness in the air, the bandits seem intent of allowing him to lead the hunting party, but he wasn't blind to their mumbling. Maybe they're cursing him for the embarrassment of last night. Or was it something else? He shrugged of the feeling, too much thinking could lead to one's mind stagnating. Fenrir was a creature of constant movement, the thought of left with nothing to achieve was abhorrent to him.

The bandits cut through a clearing and came to a river, Fenrir looked up and down seeing if there was any easy way passed it. This was proving a fruitless hunt, surely there got all the weapons from Sgudal.

"No point in carrying this on any longer," Fenrir grumbled. "It's gonna be storm soon if those clouds are any indication, and I'm not walking in the mud."

"I agree," Ash said.

Fenrir turned as he heard the sound of weapons drawn. Before he could even swing Hati, he felt a spear pierce his leg taking him by surprise. He roared as he collapsed to his knees, that was cut off by a swing of hammer. Fenrir raised Hati in a vain attempt to fight back, but a blast from Ash's pistol sent Hati spinning from his grip. Still, Fenrir has no intention of submitting quietly and swung his fists about him. He managed to catch one bandit by the chin and sent flying but there was already five more in his place.

He felt more weapons piece his giant frame, he swung his arms about him trying to dislodge them. It was horrendous sense of irony, as Fenrir now understood how that Alpha felt. Of course they'd never face me up front, Fenrir thought bitterly as darkness took him, Only in the back. Even as the dark began to sweep in and take Fenrir's vision, his semblance still roared. The last thing he felt before the sweet relief of darkness was it's howling.

Ash stared down at Fenrir, watching the Faunus take short, harsh breathes. Even now he didn't have the decency to die. Then again, he did always lack manners.

"Should we finish him off?" one bandit asked, fear in he voice at the fact Fenrir still survived their assault.

Fenrir body slumped into the mud, top half of his head was already covered by the river, Ash looked up at the sky and grinned. Soon the clouds would break, and the rain would help the river rise. Drowning him like the vermin he is.

"Nah, Grimm are sure to come a-sniffing," he said. "Besides like the mutt said, it's gonna rain, let the river deal with him."

The bandits sniggered and grinned, turning to make the simply walk back to camp. No doubt Tyr would be please in how they dispatched his embarrassment. Ash felt his chest swell with pride. No doubt this would come with a sweet reward.

The Beowolf came to the river in order to slake it's thirst. Imagine it's surprise when it found prey instead. The prey irradiated hatred and anger, it would make a fine feast indeed. The Grimm prowled slowly towards it, careful not to slip in the mud.

The sheer negativity that the prey had, it was overwhelming. The rage and hatred and despair. It would keep the Grimm well-fed for many a moon. Just as the Beowolf was about to sink it's fangs into the prey's neck. The prey sank it's fangs into it. In a flash the prey bellowed, roaring as if lost in a dream. It grabbed the Beowolf by the neck, the Grimm unable to do anything against the prey's terrible strength.

Then the prey began to twist. The Grimm roared in agony, as slowly but surely the prey began to breaks neck. It was not a quick death, as the prey took pleasure in it's throttling. The Beowolf could only whine in the face of it's oblivion, the prey cocked it's head at the sound. Before bellowing with rage, and began to squeeze.

The Beowolf try to let out another whine but before it could it's skull was crushed returning it to the abyss it was spawned from.

Fenrir took heavy breaths, his hands twitched irritably. He felt the muscles in his face spasm and flinch, as he tried his best to control his semblance. He looked down as his wounds, sneer in disgust at being taken so blatantly by surprise. In truth, he'd been a fool to think that the Branwens would take his mockery lightly and again he pondered his reasoning as he allowed his semblance to heal him, grunting in pain at the sensation.

Perhaps he finally wanted to give them an excuse to try and kill him, just so he could retaliate in turn. Fenrir shook his head, too much thinking on maybes and mights, now was the time for action. And most certainly violence. Now was the time for revenge. Fenrir turned to seen Hati laying in the mud, he grabbed the weapon and looked down on it. He did promise it a feast of Branwens, now was the time to deliver.

As Fenrir marched towards back to the camp, he let his rage and hatred flow. He wouldn't indulge his semblance though, not yet. He wanted a clear head. To remember this day, when he broke the Branwen tribe across his knee. Around him Grimm started to follow no doubt drawn by his rage and hatred, but despite the odd one lashing out at him, they didn't seem intent on killing Fenrir. It was though they recognise a fellow predator. Or maybe they knew Fenrir would lead them back to an even larger feast. After all, the Grimm and Branwens had clashed before simply due to the fact that the Branwens must've smelled delicious to the Grimm.

It was night by the time Fenrir got back to the encampment, the rain falling free about the terrain. Of course his plan was to put down the Branwen tribe with tact. It would require subtlety to break into the camp. A nuance of a conductor over an orchestra. Fenrir revved Hati letting roaring into the night, it's intent to rend echoing Fenrir's own.

"My dearest family!" he yelled out, a mad joy thick in his voice. "All of you are going to die this night!"

That was all the warning the tribe got as the spurned by Fenrir's rage and manic bloodlust the Grimm bounded into the camp, many died before they even got to the walls. But that was the advantage of the Grimm, whenever there was one at least ten more would follow in its wake. Soon the pack was tearing the camp, eager for a feast of Branwens. Fenrir threw himself into the midst of the confused and panic bandits. Hati cleaved off limbs and heads, a sneer came about his lips. He semblance wanted to be a part of this slaughter, but not yet. Not just yet. There was still a task to be done. Now where was his dearest father?

Tyr ran trying to formulate a plan amidst the chaos. The Grimm were here, led by his monstrous son. They were taken by surprise, Fenrir was suppose to be dead. Drowned like the mad dog he always was. But instead he came back from the dead with Grimm horde at his back. It was impossible. Tyr stumbled, into the mud, as around bandits died. The Grimm were frantic in their need, not doubt sensing the negativity that the bandits exuded.

The weapons from Sgudal, if they got to the weapons in time. They might be able to pull through this madness. Fate must have heard him, as just as he began to make his way to the tent, it exploded. Some trigger-happy fool must have tried to use one of the more volatile weapons. That or maybe a Grimm simply set them off in a suicidal frenzy.

He had to get to his tent then. To get what little riches he hide away and flee. To the Kingdoms, to anywhere that was away from here. As Tyr ran he turn to glance behind to see Fenrir in the centre of the conflict. Grimm and bandit alike shared the same fate, cloven by his axe. He was monstrous, less of a creature of flesh and blood, more an elemental thing. And he was going to kill Tyr if he couldn't get away.

Tyr glanced from the from the far side of the camp to see his brother leading a charge. Somehow Odin organised some form of militia with what little bandits were left. Good. They'd make a fine distraction. Tyr Branwen kept running as he heard the sound of his brother and son clashing.

Fenrir stared down at the broken body of his uncle. The old fool was at least a fighter. He came out to meet Fenrir blade to blade in the centre of the campsite. He was terrified as the Grimm torn down his legacy, but he still fought. Perhaps Fenrir was wrong about him in the end, there was some bravery to him. At least in the end when it mattered most.

He came at Fenrir half-garbed in leather damning him as some half-breed whelp of darkness. Fenrir shattered Gungnir and planted both ends in his chest. A warrior's end for the one who didn't run. Though he still spat on the body, after all Odin did deserved it for the sins that he committed. Now the Branwens were running. And the camp was aflame. It was all that he wanted in his life. To see them all burn.

"Lupercal!" he roared, wanting them to remember the sins of the past.

Fenrir clutched his skull, as like the camp it was burning. The killing lust thundered in his brain. The darkness of it threatened to take him completely. It burned his veins, as the madness fought to take control. Why? Surely it should let him rest, in this Fenrir's moment of triumph. Then out the corner of his eye, Fenrir saw him running. And a realisation came to him. He knew what must be done it was time to end this once and for all. Fenrir began to walk to Tyr's tent, to the truth and to destiny.

Tyr stuffed whateven lien he could from his draw into his pockets. He had to be fast, as he couldn't hear Odin's bellows to rally the bandits anymore. Well he did always say the weak died, and confronting a losing battle was very foolish indeed. Tyr had no intention of ending like his brother, as food for the scavengers.

Whatever plans Tyr was formulating ended when he heard to sound of the tent opening. Tyr turned to see his son, striding in like an avenging demon. Tyr couldn't even left out a gasp, instead he merely back in attempt to keep the space between him and his son as wide as possible. He noted Fenrir's body language, the spasms and twitches that seemed rampant. He was aware of what effects Fenrir's semblance had on him and this worried Tyr very much indeed.

"Father," he slurred, his breathing was predator slow, predator heavy.

He encompassed the whole tent, a monstrous giant. He was an uncanny creature; too much of Isabelline in him, too much of Qrow as well, a reminder of the failings of the past. And Tyr was terrified, as he was fully aware that whatever fate his son planned: it would be a messy one. Father and son stared at one and other. Marking how ten years ago, how different things were.

How power was in the hands of the father, now it belonged to the son. Tyr broke the silence with a yell of garbled panic, pulling a pistol out his pocket. Hati licked out and took both hand and weapon, Tyr screamed clutching the stump. Fenrir watch on in silence. Somehow Tyr knew what he wanted, perhaps if he gave he what he sought he would spare him. It was slim chance but he needed to live.

"Your mother," rasped Tyr. "You want the truth about her, don't you."

Fenrir took off his mask, letting it thunk to the floor. The sound was damning, and Fenrir's golden eyes look at his father with a righteous fury. The fury of one who had been denied his dues for far too long.

"Why did you kill her?"

There was no point in hiding the truth, not now. A mad laugh left Tyr's throat as the slowly the knowledge that he wouldn't leave this camp alive sunk in.

"The W-White Fang," he slurred. "Isabelline somehow got in contact with them and planned to escape, she c-couldn't leave not with you, she mocked and defied me too many times, our reputation would've been in ruins."

"So you'd kill an innocent woman and let her son drown in this filth, for the sake of reputation!" Fenrir thundered, his face warping and spasming with rage.

"Fenrir, my son-"

It was those three words that sealed Tyr's fate. The audacity to use the word 'son' after ignoring him his whole life, it sent Fenrir into a dark madness. Fenrir threw himself at his father roaring and planted Hati into his chest. Tyr stumbled at the foot of the bed and fell onto his back. The smell of excrement started to pervade the air. And the pathetic maggot wet his lips.

"You're going to die father," snarled Fenrir, his voice a funeral toll.

"Why?" he croaked back. "All I did was to make you strong, to keep the Branwen strength pure in you, why? "

"Because a little boy swore to himself that he would extract the truth from your lips, then he would make you pay. Time to fulfil that oath."

Blood blossomed on Tyr's shirt, and stretched out his hands in a pathetic form of entreaty. Tears of hot passion stung Fenrir's eyes, and he felt the surge of hatred through him. His pushed down harder with Hati, a manic grin coming to his face. Tyr let out a moan as Fenrir forced his terrible weight and strength down on his father. The bed was unable to burden such wrath and it shattered. As the bed broke so did Tyr expire, once again blood stained it's silken sheets; only this time in a horrendous twist of irony, it was Tyr's own.

Fenrir stared down at the corpse of his father, he wiped the tears from his eyes. It hadn't gone. The ache, his semblance, it still roared in his skull. The hunger that had been hounding him the day his father wronged him. Why hasn't it gone, the reason for its existence was dead. Fenrir bellowed in anger as the realisation it would never leave sunk in.

Fenrir clutched his skull roaring in rage and despair as the full meaning of his father's words settled in. He could of been free of this place years ago, if the petty monsters hadn't killed his mother. They could be living amongst the fellow Faunus, no longer suffering the abuse of these hypocrites. But it was robbed of him, by them. Least now the filith burned, least now the 'mighty' Branwens would mean nothing at all.

Fenrir turned and noticed a mirror on Tyr's desk, he regarded his reflection as he thought. He had nothing left, he had no victory. The Branwen's would never recover true, but he still lost everything. Any chance of a normal life robbed of him. And even now he semblance still burned his skull, even now in something that was to be his victory, it robbed him of that through it's urging of bloodshed. If any Gods were looking down on him, there were laughing. His entire existence had become a cosmic joke.

Fenrir roared his despair to the heavens, bellowing out his grievances with the mindless scream of rage. He devoted everything for this moment and yet tasted like ash, there nothing left for him now. He might as well let his semblance run free. But Fenrir would not go quietly into the night, nor would he go cowering. He would rage as his light died, the way it should be.

Fenrir picked up both his mask and tore Hati from the corpse of his father. And approach the entrance of his father tent. He was greeted by the sight of a veritable horde of Grimm. Good. Fenrir revved up Hati and let his semblance take full control. He felt the pleasure and pain burn through him as his aura took a fire-like appearance. He felt his thinking dim and the world turn into a formless thing. No more thought just action.

With a roar that was to be the death of heroes Fenrir challenged the Grimm. As his world turn red Fenrir smiled. No more thinking, just the pleasure of the coming slaughter. And in the end wasn't that was what anyone could truly ask for. In the dimming fires of the ruined Branwens camp, Fenrir planted both feet to the earth and prepare to take the brunt of the Grimm stampede.

Author's Note: To devote yourself to such a task and to see it complete, only to feel an emptiness. Poor Fenrir, as for those somewhat confused by the fact that the Branwens do indeed survive as they appear in Vol5. What can I say, they're like cockroaches. Anyhow hope you enjoyed watching Fenrir get revenge on his slime of a father, remember to review and enjoy the rest of your day!