A part of G.H. had hoped that when he opened his eyes someone had found him. That Garlin or the innkeeper had tracked him down and were now to haul him back to the town. He'd likely be punished and tried and sent away to that Ozpin, but honestly, it might've been better than last night. He sighed while sitting up against the wall. He still had gripped in his hand the semi-white ribbon though all he got from it were brief flashes of emotion. Looking down at his place in the church he saw bones, clothes, and the remains of people. Of lives. Of families. Of children. Stolen and torn away. All by that creature. He stared down its remains, warped and twisted gray and sticky bones.
It was an abomination. A creature of filth. One hand gripped the white ribbon, the other gripped his newfound cane. He had hunted this creature. Shown it the mercy of death. Shown those it had harvested the mercy of vengeance. And it tasted good. But it wasn't the only one. There were more out there. Many more, if the two in two days meant anything. He stood while propping himself up on his cane. Staggering over to his backpack he gingerly found a good spot for the white ribbon, where it could rest while traveling with him. As for a home, the church would do. Once he had buried the bones and clothes of the people and burned the remains of the Grimm he would make it his own. He could find his own food and survive his own nights. One day he would return to town - but not until he had cleared out these forests and the lands beyond of these wretched beasts.
He was not a huntsman, not like those men and women he had met in Red Springs. He was a Hunter, and he would hunt.
And so he set to work.
Some time later in a very different place Ozpin sipped his favorite coffee from his favorite mug while looking out his second favorite window. By all means Ozpin should've been quite relaxed right now, so why wasn't he…?
"Ahem." The guest he was forced to entertain cleared their throat in an attempt to catch his attention. Ah, yes. That's why. Ozpin smiled to himself as his guest spoke up. "Dear headmaster, even my patience has its limits. I can appreciate a classic 'power play,' as it were, but the Healing Church has better things to do than sit here for half an hour more."
Ozpin's gaze, for now, refused to stop gazing out at the kingdom. It was a beautiful thing even through its conflict and strife. "And what exactly would those things be?"
"Healing, dear headmaster. Protecting and ensuring the sanctity of life." Ozpin gave no response so the guest continued. "There are detractors, yes, but I would hope a man of your renown wouldn't fall for such idle gossip. It is the duty of those with power to ensure a world in which idle gossip can be made."
"It is the duty of those who can," Ozpin corrected. "Power has nothing to do with it."
"Of course."
"As brazen as it is I must concede that in my long life, gossip, as perilous as it might be, has at times had roots in truth." Ozpin finally turned to properly face his guest, his fingers drumming his staff.
"Where there is smoke there must be fire, yes?" The woman in front of him almost sneered. Her beautiful clergy-like garments almost seemed to meld with her pale and porcelain skin and the blindfold barricading her eyes to the world gave the illusion at glance that her face held no features. The illusion was broken when she gave into motion, a somewhat rare event. In the few meetings he'd had with this member of their 'Choir' she reminded him more of a doll than a woman in her movements. "And what of the smoke rising from Beacon? Injuries, deaths, suicides, all by no more than children?" Ozpin hardened to steel.
"That was a tragic event but it was hardly the norm." His voice was ice. "We have done and we continue to do everything that we can. Her team had been relieved of duty and most of them never returned." A deep, intense frown set upon his features. "A truly tragic time. We at Beacon swore to never let another Adderslight happen again and I, along with every other teacher and hunter here, intend to uphold that promise."
"But should it happen again there will be casualties. There will be scars - both physical and mental." The Choir member stood as if to emphasize her point. "The Healing Church can erase those wounds and if need be soothe those scars."
"With some mysterious form of healing that your organization refuses to elaborate on or share with the rest of the world."
"It is knowledge that could be misused in the wrong hands. I am sure you, of all people, understand that." Well, that was true, at least. Ozpin turned towards his second favorite window once more in dark contemplation.
Was his fear truly misplaced? Had his old age finally caught up to him, instilling baseless fear at new technologies and glorious advancements?
What then of this terrible stirring in his soul at the mere thought? This dark swirling abyss of horror?
"I deny your request to operate within Beacon," he began while intently studying her expression in the reflection of the window. She gave nothing away. "But that denial is not so firm as to not be shaken in the future. Do good. Prove yourselves. I may yet still come around." He sipped his tea. "Would you like a cookie on your way out?"
After a long moment, the Choir member gave Ozpin a stone-hard stare before finally standing and leaving wordlessly. A quick glance at the semi-forgotten plate of baked goods confirmed she did not take him up on his offer. He sighed. Things were getting more difficult by the day. He closed his eyes and let himself breathe deeply to try and calm his stormy mind. The consistent ever-present tick-tick-ticking of the clock that was his office calmed him, as it always did. No matter his choices, no matter his failures, time marched onward. He knew that he must follow its example and do the same. The end of his quiet reprieve was signaled by one of his office doors sliding open with a soft ding. Glynda Goodwitch clicked and clacked into the room, her steps ever so full of purpose. "Ah, Professor Goodwitch."
"Sir." Glynda, always professional. "I sincerely hope that you didn't acquiesce to their absolutely ridiculous demands-" Almost always.
"No, Glynda, I did not. I hope that you're visiting me with good news?" A clear statement of 'drop it.'
"Well… in a way." She paused to collect her thoughts and her scroll, a miraculous piece of technology that could send and receive information along with a myriad of other purposes. A few beeps later she held up the scroll for Ozpin to observe. Across the screen scrolled the remains of anomalous Grimm, their bones and blood, soaked into dirt. Most had been burned but it seemed fully disposing of these remains proved difficult. "More and more remains are popping up faster and faster. Whoever is doing this is getting better." She paused. "The real concern is not how many have been killed; it's how many there were. We had no idea this level of infestation had been present and all of this is from one area around Red Springs. In the last two weeks alone there have been confirmed remains of at least seven anomalies in that region." Glynda spoke clearly and without emotion but her eyes betrayed her deep concern. "Not only that, but the investigations into the ruins have proved less than fruitful. It's frustrating, to say the least."
"Indeed." Ozpin sat at his desk with hands intertwined. "We can presume much but can prove little in regards to these labyrinthine hallways." He wrote something down with a brilliant flourish. "These creatures… with their intelligence and power they have left many a huntsman in critical condition or worse."
Glynda placed down another stack of papers - from where Ozpin couldn't know. "Professor Port claims this is mainly due to their apparent abilities to somewhat bypass aura - or at the very least to drain it with their mere presence. He claims to have new scars as evidence though I refused to see them."
Ozpin wrung his hands subconsciously. "These variants seem almost antithetical to our souls, to life itself. To know now that so many were out there hiding and biding their time is…"
Glynda nodded; he need not finish. "My proposal to form a specialized task force and train particular huntsmen and huntresses to focus on these anomalies is still on your desk Ozpin. I have compiled a list of exemplary students both already in Beacon and starting their new year."
"Your suggestion is well considered Glynda, but I believe you yourself are well aware there would be scant few able to train such…" his voice trailed off as he looked at the scroll in hand. "Is that him?" The scroll showed a young lad no older than Ozpin's own students tearing through a large Ursai Grimm. He had heard that the strange boy was found near Red Springs about two weeks ago. He had also heard that the boy had, for whatever reason, fled the same night. He couldn't help but wonder if the sometimes ill-mannered Qrow might've played some part in it.
He had also heard the local ex-huntsman-in-training's concerns and took them to heart. The boy was clearly an unknown factor, and as he watched him tear through the Ursai onscreen it was also clear he was incredibly skilled yet only self-taught. He hummed a thought to himself that caught Goodwitch's attention. It was her first time seeing this particular recording as well.
Once the battle had concluded the boy turned to the camera and to the young huntsman that he had helped, the one secretly recording. He spoke with energy and excitement, clearly happy to be speaking to another human being. Ozpin knew quite well that it could get lonely out there in the wilderness. His gray eyes flashed with eagerness. Gray, not silver, Ozpin couldn't help but note with a tinge of disappointment. He watched as the boy opened a stopper of black liquid and poured it over the wounds sustained from battle. The wounds closed before his very eyes, failing to leave even a scar. Interesting.
"Do you have something to tell me, Ozpin?" Glynda wore a small smirk and for once he was stumped, completely unaware of what she was implying. "Really? Gray, shaggy hair, a cane weapon, tired eyes? Are you sure he's not yours?" Ozpin sighed in annoyance acknowledging the similarities while also acknowledging their end.
"That seems to be all we share, Glynda. Not even the same cheekbones grace both our features." He teased while suppressing the desire to massage his temples. "That being said, this boy clearly knows how to take care of himself and, it seems, take care of these anomalies."
Glynda's eyes widened. "You can't seriously be considering -"
"No Glynda, I am done considering. The decision is made. Beacon's year starts soon and I wish to have him here. We can teach him as much as he can likely teach us." He began typing away at his own scroll. "You wanted a student specializing in slaying these beasts? We shall have him." As the huntsman in the video turned to topics like Ozpin and Beacon the boy's expression soured and he had left. "And send Qrow. He should still be around the area anyway, yes?"
He looked down at his personal scroll. Pyrrha Nikos, Ruby Rose, and now this young lad G.H. Was he the last of particularly interesting students this year?
He sincerely doubted it.
G.H. nodded to himself while staring down into the darkness previously held back by the ancient stone door. "Today," he had been repeating this out loud for some time now in order to get himself ready. "Today is the day I finally make my way through this…" he vaguely gestured at the looming entrance. "I hope you're as ready as I am because I am very ready. Could not be readier, honestly." He spoke now to the white ribbon fastened to his chest. Almost two weeks of near-uninterrupted isolation had made him quite amiable with alternative forms of companionship. Less than two weeks might seem like an awfully short time to devolve into confidently speaking with inanimate objects, but…
Thinking back on it, it had taken him less than an hour to engage in conversation with his own reflection when he first awoke in this new life, so he supposed it wasn't too out of the ordinary for him. Strangely enough, he took more comfort in speaking to the white ribbon for the primary reason that it had never responded, quite unlike most of his other property. Reminiscing on the past two weeks as if they were a lifetime ago was a strange thought and even more so a sad thought, so G.H. pushed all of that nonsense from his mind. Instead, he allowed his current task to fill his now empty head; exploring the underground.
He had found in his time hunting the existence of many overground ruins dotting the land. The dating of these ruins varied immensely - some were abandoned homes and the beginnings of hamlets while others must've dated back centuries upon centuries. The crumbling piles of stone and forgotten symbols lost to dozens of hundreds of lifetimes past had, as it would anybody, piqued his interest. Some of these ancient ruins were protected by different, less ancient ancient ruins. Protective stone shells wrapped around relics of history, eroding and dissolving while trying desperately to prevent the very same thing happening to their wards. It was almost sweet in a strange way.
The most interesting aspect of these ruins, at least from the perspective of a non-scholar, was the seemingly gargantuanly vast underground network that connected them. Some ruins both old and (relatively) new held entrances to a deep and dark labyrinth. Most entrances had collapsed or had disappeared into the elements but occasionally he would get lucky and find either a well-preserved entrance or a natural opening into the dark. He had tried to explore these many entrances but only once had he traveled far enough to emerge from another location. It was a dark and perilous journey - one he had barely managed to escape. He shuddered remembering the experience. It wasn't one he was eager to repeat.
Yet here he was. Preparing to do exactly that. His grip alternated between clutching his cane tightly and fiddling with the old holster he had repurposed to hold it - a practice that had become ingrained to ensure that the various clasps and buckles keeping his primary weapon in place weren't failing him. Tightly strapped to his back were his supplies. A bulging bag filled with provisions, torches, and vials full of dark black ichor he had harvested from various anomalous Grimm. The ordinary ones didn't seem to bleed so he had begun to run low in his haste to exterminate the more powerful ones from the land. His pack only held six now, a number he wasn't too comfortable with. Finally, strapped to the back of the pack was Garlin's axe, though he supposed it was more his axe now. It served him well when he needed something heavier and with a bit more punch to it.
He knew he had wasted enough time now. He couldn't delay any longer. After tightening his pack he started off into the darkness below his church. Down and down he went, his worn shoes softly stepping off of hard stones. A strike of flint against stone lit his semi-makeshift torch and in response eager dancing flames only teasingly penetrated the darkness. Chaotic shadows bounced about the thin, claustrophobic passageway making it hard to focus on any one thing - not that there was much to focus on. He knew from his brief expeditions that the passageway started off plain and unadorned but quickly devolved (evolved) into…
Well, into this. He paused a moment in his trek to admire the strange reliefs carved into the stone. The walls had opened up somewhat, presumably to allow visitors to admire the carvings as he now did. Gothic depictions of angels and scythes, of cathedrals and graveyards. His gloved fingers brushed lightly against a particularly soft depiction of a crying, grieving woman.
The figure turned to stare him in the eyes, stone tears welling up as it desperately searched his emotionless face for any sign of pity or compassion. "It hurts," she moaned. "It hurts. It is not grief I feel but despair. A birth to a foul creature given life in the night of blood." An agonized call, one desperate for comfort and recourse erupted from her cold lips. "Help me," She pleaded to G.H. 's retreating form. "Help me!" She called again from the darkness. G.H. stilled his panging heart. It was not real, simply his madness torturing him once more.
The stairway down opened up even more. There was now enough room to run from one wall to the other and the ceiling now became decorated as well. Peering gargoyles and peering beasts stared down from angular and crooked arches while stone reliefs of suffering and burning added an appropriate level of dread to their appearance. The added space mitigated the claustrophobia but it was not a welcome change. The open space was the cause of his aforementioned terror, as in the darkness things lurked.
His torch swung from side to side, gliding over the walls and cobbled floors. The brilliant fire was his one source of vision and beyond the few meager feet of light waited infinite, void-like darkness.
Speaking of, his torch was beginning to wane. It had been about half an hour, he supposed. He marveled once again at just how deep this labyrinth must be. He let out a sharp noise to draw anything in the dark towards him and gripped his weapon tightly, waiting for a sudden attack. None came. He let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding and, after a good bit of fiddling, pulled a new torch from his pack. Once he had a fresh source of light he looked to his now flickering and waning first one. It had served him well and he supposed it would appreciate serving him once more. With a mighty heft, he tossed the torch into the endless blackness. It bounced against a beast's hide mere feet into the darkness.
The simple decision to toss the torch had likely saved his life. In the instant it brought the beast into view it had already reared back its shaggy body to attack, giving G.H. just enough time to divert a rusted and crumbling sword into his shoulder instead of his head. The certainly diseased-ridden blade pierced fully through to the other side as G.H. was thrown back by the force, taking the sword to the ground with him.
A desperate and terrified roar echoed down the stone passageway as what may have been once a man stomped towards him wielding the barely discernible form of deteriorated axe. The long, gangly, gray, and rotten limbs looked more akin to the skin of a long-deceased rat than a human and were likely only powered by the vile red and black ichor pumping viscously through its veins - a process visible from the outside through its paper-like flesh. Rags that could only be generously thought of as cloth hung from its skeletal form while swaying and swinging chaotically in the madly dancing firelight. Said light bounced eagerly away from glassy and long misused eyes which screamed their own silent pain.
It careened at him, its best form of locomotion clearly throwing its body in a desperate bid. He had no idea how this creature had snuck up on him and realized it was more likely it had just been lying in the pathway, asleep for centuries. G.H. spun on the ground, his leg kicking out at the stumbling and already off-balance beastman. He rolled to the side as the ghoul crashed into stone instead of flesh and couldn't suppress his wince at the sight of gray skin tearing and rupturing from overuse.
With a quick strike, he buried his cane in the creature's back before dragging it up the length of its torso, effectively cutting the creature into two. Ichor burst from the wound that he nearly didn't want to collect or use. In a single experienced movement, he thrust a small vial into the dramatic stream of blood before stoppering and storing it. Seven now. He pulled the rusty sword from his shoulder with a sickening noise and smeared some black blood into the bleeding wound.
Hearing the identifiable shuffling noises of mummified flesh and rotten cloth he turned to face the darkness, letting off a snarl of warning only to be met with the moans of - he quickly counted - at least six similar ghouls. With the snap and clack of the metal that made up his cane unhinging it transitioned into its whip form, something he cracked against the ground in anticipation.
The first two beasts staggered into the light simultaneously and he deemed them worthy to dispose of in a similar way. He dove towards them and underneath their clumsy strikes to stomp against the ground and spring his compressed body up towards them. The strength of his entire body working in tandem transferred to his weapon in brilliant strike while the chain of blades ripped through the air in a harmonious screech. The chains caught against flesh for only a moment before twisting and ripping clean through bone and simultaneously tearing the two creatures in half horizontally. He flicked his wrist with enough force that the blades rippled forward and tore a wound into another creature before collapsing back into its cane form. In the same movement and using the same momentum of the cane returning in full to his hand he twisted its end to face the back-approaching ghoul and to spear straight through it. A rattling deathly curdle bubbled from the gaping hole in its head as he rolled back and away from the remaining three ghouls - two fresh, one quite injured.
He slowly maintained distance from the ghouls while he caught his breath, making sure to keep them just barely within sight yet far enough to easily sidestep when they attacked. He knew to overexert himself was death.
He growled in annoyance when he heard the unmistakable pants and growls of mutts. Two of them letting out the closest thing they could to barks with their mangled and rotten throats. Dark fur matted with darker ichor and slobbering jaws beckoned one of the most annoying creatures he had to fight against down here. The mutts were fast, agile, ruthless, and vicious. Where the ghoulmen had reach and power the mutts had more natural unbridled beasthood and more closely resembled typical Grimm found on the surface.
Therefore, he decided, it wasn't worth fighting a team up between the now five monsters. He pulled a glass vial of his own concoction from his bag - it didn't work nearly as explosively as that red dust he had been given back in Red Springs, but it burned longer and it was something he could make himself. Less immediate destruction for more staying power and crowd control? He almost preferred his own wild brew of alcohol, fumes, a few sprinkles of the red dust, and, of course, the black ichor. It seemed to work almost as a catalyst in his few experiments and would prove -
He dove past the beasts and launched the alchemical bomb, knowing now was the time to act rather than think. It cracked against the skull of one of the mutts and exploded into an inferno when it crashed against the stone ground. Fire lit up dozens of feet around him and burned seemed to crawl feverishly up and across the very dry ghoul. Pitiful screams and howls filled the echoing darkness as G.H. took the opportunity to slash at all of them with his threaded cane, knowing better than to assume their death.
When the fire had died and he knew that it was relatively safe he, as always, made sure to go to each of the bodies and pierce them through their head one final time, just to ensure they didn't get back up.
He dusted himself off, checked his pack for supplies and his body for injuries, and continued into the darkness.
Qrow watched the recording another time. He leaned against a tree with scroll in hand, mulling over the footage. A secret camera had recorded the kid, G.H., descending into the depths of one of the ruins. He had heard rumors floating about of these recently and mysteriously unearthed underground labyrinths found across all four kingdoms - but knowledge about them was sparse at best. Hardly anyone had gone in for any amount of worthwhile time and the ones that had never left. He would've put this down to the stupid move of a curious kid but his look of fear and trepidation, along with his pack of supplies made him reconsider that notion. It looked like the kid knew what he was getting into which made him question his decision even more. He glanced over to his temporary partner - a newly graduated female porcupine faunus. Glynda had assumed the mission would be easy but wanted Qrow to have a bit of backup in case they had a fighter or a runner and would NOT accept no for an answer.
She had made the decision despite Qrow's greatest weapon - incessant whining and whinging. He honestly wanted to take his annoyance at Glynda and his forced partner out on said partner but he was well aware it wasn't her idea, so instead he just kept quiet and only grumbled sometimes.
He was quite serious now though. "You've heard about these places yea kid? Dens of some really nasty Grimm." He looked over to the girl who was doing her best to look good for the veteran huntsman. "Some people who managed to get out of 'em after encountering stuff down there said that the stuff down there wasn't even entirely Grimm too." He paused for dramatic effect and to let the danger sink in for the girl. "Some say there are even crazy people down there, kid. You know what we'd have to-"
"I am not a 'kid' and I would appreciate it if we could do what we came here for." The response was curt and annoyed.
"That's the issue," He growled. "We came here to pick up a misbehaving kid." He emphasized. "Someone who was ignoring everything people who knew better than them was telling them." He emphasized even harder. "Now it's changed - it's a rescue mission in an unknown element characterized entirely by darkness and danger." She turned to face him, a pair of brilliant yellow eyes gleaming through the darkness.
"I don't mind the dark and I'm used to danger." She calmly brought out her weapon. To Qrow it was best described as a bowling ball tied to a bit of string, like a comically over-exaggerated flail with no handle. "I am prepared for this and we have a kid to save."
Qrow's dark expression gained a hint of respect as he shrugged. "Fine then. Lead the way." He gave a dramatic flourish for her to go first. He sighed as she passed. He so desperately wanted a drink.