Pain.
The sounds of collapsing metal, the smell of melting rubber, and the pain from violent shards of glass underneath him slowly pulled him from the world of the dreamless as he blinked to dispel the blood swimming in his eyes - he cared not for its story of an arduous journey across his scalp from some wound in his head. The world swayed around him and his only thought was that something was wrong. His eyes couldn't focus, his mouth felt dry, and his thoughts were sparse and disconnected. Flaming wreckage surrounded him, though he seemed fortunate enough to not be dead.
A shaky hand slowly reached for his bandolier. The wet and sticky liquid coating his underside told him quite conclusively that all the vials of blood had smashed in… whatever happened, causing dark ichor to stain his undershirt and white ribbon along with the ground beneath both. The slowly spreading pool of dark blood around him likely made it look as though he were well and truly dead to anyone who looked.
"What? Are you kidding me?" An unfamiliar voice, strong but slightly nasally. While twisting his head just enough to catch a glimpse of the stranger out of the corner of his eye his blurry vision focused enough to function.
Stood about a dozen feet away were two strange men dressed in simple black and white combat gear and wearing masks strongly resembling Grimm. A twitch in the fear center of his brain told G.H. they were far too close for comfort and he suddenly felt great gratitude to the pool of blood he laid in. The larger one berated his apparent subordinate while two large tusks protruding from underneath his mask wobbled wildly.
"The wrong airbus? We blew the wrong airbus out of the sky?"
Oh. That's what happened. Eyes blinked slowly and slightly out of sync as his mind worked to catch up to his current horror show.
Not too long ago…
G.H. peered out the window and down at the swiftly passing earth far below. It was delightful and wonderful to be able to see the world from the skull of a gigantic flying machine. Through the wonder, questions burst forth - such as "How was this even possible?!" Giddy with excitement he had been pestering Qrow, Tau, and (when they told him to shove off) the pilot with questions galore.
How did it work? How fast could it go? How high could it fly? How low? All these questions and many, many more burst from him in a rapid-fire barrage, almost as though he were trying to bat away the absolute terror that came with being so high.
The pilot, Liom, had quite admirably done his best to keep up and answer the many strangely worded questions. It was a hard-fought battle.
"Beaut, isn't she?" Liom belched out in pride. "A B-Class model 86V, Lylnsfield made." His pride tinged heavily with an air of smugness. "This baby is top of the line in commercial and security airbuses, you'll only get better in Atlas' military."
G.H. had no idea what many of those words meant but his eyes still shined with fascination, a trait Liom took note of. A smirk graced his hard features. "This baby could take on a Goliath in a wrestling match and come out on top." He lovingly patted the board of controls to show his appreciation for the machine.
During G.H.'s intense curiosity, he had found himself peering a little closer at the robust man - an apparent sign to his madness that he desired its presence.
"I'm somewhere in my 40s and have been doing this job my entire life, so much to the point that calluses have formed on my hands from gripping a steering stick. My passion for flying is so great it distracts me even from my recent divorce, though it weighs heavily on me still." G.H.'s features softened before they morphed into confusion at Liom's next statement. "I'm also feeling quite guilty and more than a little terrified, though I'm doing my best to suppress it. The activity weighing on my consciousness is related to Dust - and I'm afraid my passengers will discover it."
A thought entered G.H. 's mind - he had no idea still if his madness spoke any truth. At times, especially in battle, the voices populating his mind had helped by providing insight and deductions his waking self ignored or missed. Said tips and hints were hardly infallible but had managed to maintain a decent credit score. Now was an opportunity to test the more delicate side of his inner madnesses' perceptions - its perceptions of others. He cleared his throat.
"Pardon me, sir, I can't help but notice - you look a little stressed. Is it to do with the Dust?" The airship jerked to the side as Liom started in surprise. Wide eyes peered past old laugh lines at the boy.
"W-what?!" He stammered, sweat forming at a shocking rate. "I don' know anything what you're talking about." He clammed up fast, seemingly deciding the best course of action was to deny, deny, deny. G.H. shook his head.
"Worry not friend. I am not one of the huntsmen on board. I have no desire nor authority to report, much less punish you for anything. I am but curious, as it seems to weigh heavily on your mind. Speak to me - alleviate your anguish. I shall say nothing to any other." He watched for a reaction before waiting a moment. "You appear to me as a good man yet I understand that good men must make poor choices at times. If I were to reveal your secrets I would have done so already - there is no need to reveal to you my knowledge."
The silence born after was a long one, stagnating in the air as both parties digested and considered their situations. It was finally broken by a hefty yet exhausted sigh.
"It's none of your business, but…" Liom stared intently into the sky ahead of him to look anywhere but towards his interrogator. "Well, I ended up falling in the wrong crowd. Y'know how it is. Debt. Depression. Desperation." He chuckled. "I call 'em the 'Three D's of Death.' Morbid, I know." He glanced down at his empty ring finger. "Maybe I'll add another D. Anyway the point is, this group offers 'jobs' too. I couldn't refuse, for a few reasons." He glanced back at the ship he was so proud of now reduced to smuggling volatile Dust. "Just… please. Don't tell no one. I know firsthand some huntsmen or huntresses can be pretty uptight about this kinda stuff, not that they aren't right too. " A sincere plea and direct yet helpless eye contact somewhat convinced the young hunter. "I got thems agreeing with me this'll be my last job anyway - after this I'm back to workin' with the good guys exclusively."
When he told G.H. that his "bad crowd" was the White Fang after much insistence he was shocked at the lack of a look of horror or even recognition. G.H., after a moment's pause, sifted through his memory as the name was vaguely familiar. Who had mentioned it before?
"Hey, hate to interrupt the bonding session," Qrow sauntered in (as he tended to do). In his hands rested his scroll displaying some kind of map. "But I need you back here, kid."
G.H. nodded to Liom before leaving the incredibly comfortable copilot chair in exchange for the spacious back. The airship they were traveling by was primarily a transport vehicle for both materials and people and the area G.H. entered now was undeniably good at what it did. He stepped into a medium-sized room that was fitted with several rows of seats facing each other, each with space above and below said seat dedicated for personal storage.
The door on the other side of the seats led to the cargo bay and primary "Dust Engine," whatever that was. Qrow hoisted himself over the closest row of seats, plopping down into their bowls. He took up about three with his outstretched legs. He glanced at the lagging G.H. and wagged his scroll through the air to invite him.
In the row across from Qrow already sat Tau who was now nodding encouragingly at the young hunter. G.H. deigned to use the clearings in between the seats as they were intended and found his way to a comfortable spot near the two. Qrow gestured for him to take and inspect the marvel of technology.
On screen digital landmasses arched and crested, bursting into various forms that lit up his imagination like a firecracker. Many small islands flitted in between the major continents like symbiotic parasites around their hosts, excited to take any straggling peoples of this world into themselves. Qrow reached past G.H.'s marvel and tapped at the map.
"This is Remnant, the world in its entirety - or at least the important bits. It's a bit rough, but it's all we have." His tapping caused the screen to zoom into a single continent. "This is Sanus, where the kingdoms Vacuo and Vale are." G.H. marveled at the two simple icons, remarking to himself the wonder that they could be representing major kingdoms. "And this…" Qrow zoomed in even further to a large area between the two kingdoms but closer to Vale. Roads branched to connect towns and villages like some sort of vast arterial system forming a living and breathing organism of trade and travel. Dark forests and bodies of water claimed the land far more than civilization and it had even been marked where some old pieces of humanity had been overtaken by said wilderness. "…Is the greater area around Red Springs." He enhanced the digital map one last time. "This section here is where you've been running around like a crazy person for the last two weeks." He roughly ruffled G.H.'s hair partly in burgeoning endearment and partly in real annoyance.
This minuscule area was the vast land he had protected and patrolled for the last two weeks straight? He had scoured these forests and traveled far in an exhaustive and exhausting desire to cull the beasts but in that whole time, this was it? Wow. The breadth of the world began to dawn on him.
"Do you see anything familiar?" Tau spoke up. "Rather, anything that would be familiar from before two weeks ago?" An intent peer ensued in earnest hopes of answering.
"Sorry, but no." The young hunter replied while shaking his head in emphasis. "Nothing. Not even the slightest of sparks have lit my mind. I am well and truly without past."
Qrow nodded as if he understood something G.H. hadn't yet spoken.
"And you're fine with that. You're thinking, 'Hey, maybe I shouldn't know my history. Maybe it's better to make something new rather than focus on the old, right?" The words weren't at all accusatory and rather resounded with understanding.
G.H. nodded. Precisely.
Tau clearly not understanding couldn't help but softly scoff at their apparent apathy. "You didn't just start existing half a month ago G.H., and if you'll let him I'm sure Professor Ozpin can uncover who you are."
"I suppose." There was a long moment while Qrow took back his scroll and began flicking through what looked like communications. "What's the White Fang?"
Both Qrow and Tau froze. Both looked at each other before giving their undivided attention to the curious young hunter. "Er," Qrow began.
"Uh," Tau added thoughtfully.
"Well…" Another well-reasoned thought from the clear alcoholic.
"The White Fang is a terrorist group."
"The White Fang is an extremist civil rights movement."
The two looked at each other before, again, speaking at once.
"They're a lost cause/misguided group." Oh dear. "They've killed/instilled both fear and a form of respect in hundreds." G.H. was quickly coming to regret his question, but Qrow and Tau glanced at each other more in uncomfortable semi-disagreement rather than hostility. It seemed this topic went even deeper than he realized.
Qrow sighed. "The White Fang used to do good - and in all honesty faunus have been treated pretty poorly in the past… and still are. They only recently became…" he gestured wildly and at nothing, an apt message.
"The White Fang are a bunch of murderers and thieves. They are setting back faunus rights decades." Tau cooly declared.
The huntsman smoothed his hair back in a fruitless movement as it fell back into his face immediately.
"Look, the gist of it is that faunus have been and continue to be treated pretty shittly by a decent chunk of the world. The White Fang was a group that originally advocated for peaceful protest - recently though they've been practicing increasingly radical methods.
Tau nodded, seemingly agreeing the simple explanation was the best for now. Clearly, it was a more nuanced issue than they felt comfortable sharing, at least right now. Strong opinions radiated from both, and while they weren't necessarily contradictory… G.H. knew to drop it.
"Here." Tau held out a picture of some White Fang grunts "These are typical attire, in case you run into any. Be careful if you do." She collected her thoughts. "Oh, and one last thing; Ozpin and I thought it good to explain -" The three caught themselves from falling as the ship violently shook from an explosion blasting against the hull.
"The hell was that?!" Qrow leaped to his feet and drew Harbinger in preparation for battle, but the threats were far outside their metal coffin. In his haste, he tossed his scroll to his seat instead of returning it to its proper place.
Tau and Qrow quickly made their way towards the back of the airbus as G.H. threw open the door to the front. He had only but a moment to marvel in quiet terror at the crimson explosion of energy barreling towards them from the ground.
The airbus had been hit with a fucking laser beam? Where had it even come from? How was it so powerful to cause such destruction? He blinked as the tendency for his mind to wander crept in even now. Thoughts swirled in his mind, such as questions as to whether that was truly his first f-bomb - it had felt so unnatural and foreign on his tongue. Qrow had already begun to influence him.
Oh no. Qrow and Tau. There was little hope for Liom to be alive given the level of injury G.H. had sustained both further back and more protected from the blast but the subsequent chain reaction of explosions caused by the smuggled Dust had certainly dealt terrible damage to the two huntsmen as well. They were tough enough they might've survived but he doubted they were in good shape.
As he peered from the corner of his eye he finally saw his opportunity. The blood from his smashed vials was far too diluted and absorbed into the earth to help at all but fortunately, he still had two unbroken vials left. He gripped one tightly as he lifted it above his throbbing and foggy head. Breaking apart the bottle with his fingers caused a mixture of dagger-like glass and revitalizing ichor to rain down upon him; the glass lacerated skin and bore open wounds while the blood seeped into them and worked to repair his insides.
The potency of the blood was still dulled - it was working slowly and ineffectively to repair his wounds. Still, some healing was better than none, and his mind slowly began to clear.
The White Fang soldier accused of choosing their airbus to be blown out of the sky was still being chewed out some yards away but the two had begun to make their way towards him, seemingly searching for survivors and valuables while arguing.
"How was I supposed to know that another airbus of practically the same make and model was passing nearby at the same time?"
"It is LITERALLY your job to know, dumbass." The older and larger soldier smacked his friend upside the head. "Azael will be too spent to take down another bird for some time now. You've almost ruined this opportunity."
"Almost?"
The older soldier nodded resolutely. "A rat managed to sneak aboard small explosives - if we're lucky it'll do enough damage to bring it down around here." They were going to do this to another? His deep wounds and bloodied limbs screamed in compassion. "If it does, at best we get a hostage and at worst the Schnee heiress will be painted across the ground like that poor fucker over there."
"Why the hell were we even here then?"
An exhausted and exasperated call erupted from the tusk-bearing faunus. It roughly translates to 'Shut up you blithering idiot.' "I don't have time to explain all this again. I know! Why don't you get Adam to explain it to you." The recommendation sounded more like a threat. "In the meantime, you go and check up on Azael. I'm gonna try and figure out why the hell that ship blew so big."
As the two separated G.H. waited for his moment. The tusked faunus finally got within range for him to throw out his cane against the soldier's knees, buckling them in. As the faunus went down too surprised to shout, G.H. swiftly rose and plunged his blade into his throat in a deadly motion that seemed tailor-made against humanoid figures and one that came shockingly naturally to him. The soldier's aura tried desperately to stop the attack but a sudden burst of strength coupled with the man's surprise and defenseless position allowed G.H. to pierce the invisible cushion and the man's most vital area.
The blade had already pierced and ravaged the soldier's airways when he tried to get a shout off so the cry for help was instead replaced by the gurgling of blood and a horrific rattle.
That small maneuver had exhausted G.H. and served as proof to him that his body was not in any condition to fight; if it could barely get a sneak attack off he dared not test his chances against even a pack of lowly beowolves (a name given to the wolf-like Grimm by Qrow). While huffing and puffing in pain G.H. made to limp past fires and towards the edge of safety in an attempt to get out of the crash sight and simultaneously search for his companions.
He nearly fell to his knees as he tried to still his swimming mind and focus his blurry vision. The violent knock he had taken to his skull was still affecting him in many ways - and as the fires around him began to chant and dance, he was forced to recognize just how bad a state he was in.
"Return, return!" The blazes crackled in a song-like chorus. "Stomp their life out! Pull their teeth out! Let not one flee this hellscape, let not a single rout!" Struggling to his feet he made to push on and ignore his madness. The countless calls for blood around him made it difficult.
The corpse of a squirrel both burnt to a crisp and bent in unnatural and broken shapes peered at him while twisting its broken body in horrific ways. "Mount thine heads up on your wall! The beast blood calls to you, you foolish thrall!" Stomping past the squirrel he chose to not even acknowledge it."No! You must imbibe in something new! Something slew! Something vibrraaannnnttttt…" The world around him shifted and he realized he was staggering back into the crash sight, towards the White Fang.
"Shit," he murmured aloud and once again turned back towards safety. In his movement, his feet, the traitors that they are, continued their swivel and he ended up making a full 360 movement. He faced now again the path towards death and felt his heart skip a beat in terror.
"YES!" The corpse squirrel latched to his arm as it screamed out its jubilation. "We, your madness, have given so much but now we ourselves must take." G.H., despite his best efforts, couldn't stop his feet from trudging forward. Blood leaked from the death grip around the Threaded Cane and he couldn't help but consider that it was unfortunate he knew not where his other weapons lay in the wreckage for the saw-tooth cleaver would have inflicted far more gruesome and agonizing wounds upon his prey. Then again, the cane was meant for lashing and bleeding a beast slowly - perhaps it was the best for his intentions after all.
A desperate gasp for air and sanity escaped him as a fist flew at the corpse-squirrel still hanging from his body. The futile attack crunched against already mangled bone and muscle that felt so convincing - but of course, it did nothing to the beast, as the beast did not exist. He staggered still and stumbled over a chunk of ship metal he hadn't noticed as a new threat encroached upon him.
From the flames burst a new creature of madness - Qrow in undeath, looking more like the ghouls from beneath the earth than the man he once knew. It lumbered towards him, blood and brain staining his once feathery hair.
"Oh ho ho! Is someone feeling that old urge once again?" The vague almost-words bubbling from ghoul-Qrows lips were accompanied by black blood. "To deny it for so long…" The ghoul wearing the skin of his friend tutted as it staggered forward and gripped hard on G.H.'s shoulders, forcing his arm down against his sides. "The hunt calls, kid. Yharnam calls. The scourge is here - can you feel it? Ever present, even so in the blood of that man you so callously slew."
G.H. paused. Ghoul-Qrow spoke some truth there. It was undeniable that the small amount of blood he had ingested from the soldier had something else in it - something more than man or beast. It was instead something ancient and sanguine.
"Yea, that's right… follow the scent of Old Blood, it shall bear the fruit you desire." Ghoul-Qrow roughly shoved him backward, towards the woods. He stumbled but managed to catch himself as the apparition looked back towards the epicenter of the crash. A large group of White Fang had begun to gather, just barely visible from where they were. "There…" a rotting finger arched through the air towards them. "They have the horror-smell stained in their beings. You need to feast upon more to truly know where it came from…"
G.H. threw his entire body at the ghoul and shoved it to the ground while the violent clash of his mind against his desire roared from his throat. The Ghoul-Qrow stumbled to the ground as G.H. raised his Threaded Cane to pierce its skull. "I will not! No more need die tonight!" The Ghoul-Qrow cackled maniacally.
"Then do it! Pop my head right off kiddo, ignore the call of one blood to imbibe in another." It turned somewhat serious. "You must follow the echoes in blood, boy. The memories that stain the clothes you wear are the key."
G.H. felt a scream for it to be silent build in his throat but before he could unleash it he instead felt something invisible crash into the side of his face. Knuckles, white-hot with anger and power, crumpling flesh beneath them and inviting pain to quickly follow in its absence. G.H. flew backward from the powerful strike and crumpled against a flaming piece of scrap metal. Raising his Threaded Cane in the direction of the Ghoul-Qrow he expected a fight.
Instead, he only saw Qrow-Qrow, breathing heavily, a slightly bloody knuckle hanging in the 'I just decked the shit out of someone' position. He lay exactly where the Ghoul-Qrow had been laying… oh dear.
"Qrow! I'm sorry, I didn't realize…" Qrow roughly grabbed his coat and dragged the weak boy to his feet. Anger flashed in his faded red eyes as he pulled the boy from the flaming wreckage.
"Yea, I could tell." Was the only response G.H. received. The knowledge he had almost given into his sudden madness and bloodlust made him despondent and inspired a desire to crumple to the ground but he knew this was neither the time nor place. Survival came before dramatics, a sentiment the angry Qrow seemed to silently agree with.
"Where's Tau?" The hesitant question stirred up yet more anger and disappointment in Qrow's form visible even from his bristling back.
"No idea. Was too busy snapping you out of your crazy shit to look for her." Exhaustion and pain were evident in his pained voice.
"Oh." Blood coated the old Qrow's clothes and hair, matting it down and staining older stains gotten from his fights in the labyrinth. The two dragged themselves from the blazing wreckage into the nearby tree line. G.H. stumbled into the cool safety of nature as Qrow leaned against a tree, panting and holding his bloodied side. A large piece of metal protruded from him, a fact missed by G.H. before as Qrow's strength and tenacity had distracted him. The man was strong but he was losing quite a bit of blood.
As if on cue to those very thoughts the huntsman's strength failed him and he dropped to the ground, grunting in pain.
"I need to call Ozpin…" he clumsily groped around his pockets before realizing where it must be. There were no other possibilities besides it currently existing in a million pieces scattered around the wreckage. The old huntsman had tossed it down and away before the ship had even managed to explode, and now…
Qrow sighed and his head flopped back against the tree trunk behind him. Pained and strained breaths were already barely managing to escape him and they were slowing. The light was beginning to fade.
"The blood, the blood…" the trees moaned out around him.
"Kid…" His rolling head turned to face G.H. Gray clouds seemed to swirl in his once-red eyes and both figures knew death had begun to rear its ugly head. "Find Ozpin… tell him…" Blood erupted from him and stained his shirt even more as he coughed. "Tell him the witch's pets have made their way to the zoo, and they're fucking ferocious." He paused. "And find Ruby. Tell her she's doin' good. That I'm proud of her. And tell her to not do anything stupid…" his voice petered off as he fell into his final sleep.
"Wait… wait!" G.H. cried out as the situation finally and fully dawned on him. The fog of confusion and denial cleared in an instant as his heart screamed in horror and anger at his helplessness. "'Qrow? Is there nothing…?" His question faded into the dark and the sad as dusty old Qrow did the same.
"The blood…" The madness swirled around him as his Qrow finally gave into oblivion.
"NO!" G.H. screamed out as he stumbled forward. "I refuse!" His madness whispered to him still but now he was listening.
"The blood, the blood…" Understanding finally dawned upon his blood-soaked mind. His madness had not been whispering about Qrow's blood - it was commanding him to spill his own. The last vial of ichor was ripped from his bandolier and unstoppered as his Threaded Cane tore open his left arm and ripped apart vital veins and arteries.
G.H. held his now mangled arm above the corpse-like body of the huntsman while a cascading river of his blood poured down and into Qrow's open wounds. At the same time the hand at the end of the leaking flesh held and poured the vial of black ichor down upon his still form. The Threaded Cane fell softly to the dirt as he pressed his open palm to his pounding head - a pain, great and deep, callously forced its way in from behind his tightly closed eyes. Teeth grinded against teeth as a symbol began to emerge from the fog in his mind - a gift, given to him in a dream he had long forgotten.
The Rune of Sanguine Palliation. It burned hot as blinding sears of light streaked through his mind only to be closely followed by everlasting and infinite darkness.
Collapsing to his knees next to the older man he ripped quite callously the shard of metal from his still body. Waning strength mixed with a desire to ensure the process's completion caused his torn arm to collide quite messily against Qrow's wounds - the blood of both mixing and swirling.
As his blood began to slow despite his refusal to stem the flow he began to feel faint. The engine of his body, his heart, began to slow to a crawl. Hope beyond hope flooding his foggy mind began to flicker and wane upon seeing no improvement despite watching intently his crimson life force splattered messily across the dying man.
"Please…" his head bowed low in desperate prayer for some higher force to guide the blood and seal the wounds. Non came, though an old prayer came to mind instead.
Well, he might as well.
"Remain wary of the frailty of men. Their wills are weak, minds young."
"Were it not for fear, death would go unlamented."
"Seek the old blood."
"Let us pray, let us wish... to partake in communion."
"Let us partake in communion... and feast upon the old blood."
"Our thirst for blood satiates us, soothes our fears."
"Seek the old blood."
His shut eyes could not see his blood begin to pour up the old Qrow's body instead of down it, seemingly deciding the laws of gravity were entirely optional.
"But beware the frailty of men. Their wills are weak, minds young."
"The foul beasts will dangle nectar and lure the meek into the depths."
"Remain wary of the frailty of men..."
The black ichor poured from his stopper followed his blood and merged with it, guided to the fatal wounds.
"Once a man, wary the beast, now must partake upon his feast."
"The desperate grasp to that which made you man."
"Release your grip and give your soul.
"It shall travel the darkest abyss."
"Beware the old blood."
A desperate and rattling gasp burst from Qrow as he partook in that bittersweet air. G.H. collapsed from where he kneeled and fell backward, nursing his arm and mind, thanking whatever beings might be out there as the old Qrow staggered to unsteady feet.
"Did it," A weak noise of happiness, pride, and relief managed to escape past his tired lips. But there was no response. The huntsman's eyes were wild and confused, animalistic and afraid. There were no human thoughts behind them. They swiveled down to G.H. and saw not savior but prey. Qrow's teeth bared in a vicious snarl as he let out a haunting scream of hatred and hunger before moving to dive at G.H.'s neck.
"There! I heard something!" Both he and G.H. turned in surprise at the far-too-close cacophony of voices and shouting. The White Fang had heard. "This way!"
Qrow peered back past the tree line at the many approaching soldiers and blazing fires and let loose a snarl of both anger and fear. One last look connected the two men before the huntsman took off into the night in a staggering fashion, his arms flailing as his legs struggled to keep up. G.H. watched in confused horror as a moment later a bird flew past the canopy and into the night, seemingly born from Qrow's disappearance.
Did G.H. just accidentally turn Qrow into a bird? Was that better or worse than just dying? Ozpin was going to be very upset with him.
There was no time now to lament or consider if saving the huntsman had been a mistake. The soldiers were coming, and, as they approached, he could see it. An enormous, disfigured faunus - bulging with muscle and machinery, a strange fusion of man and machine. Gorged into its back perched an enormous, cannon-like apparatus presumably fueled by the many tanks of dust crammed into its body at various points. Its skull was adorned with multiple deer antlers; where there might've been at most two in its more human past, there now formed a grotesque and malformed crown of ivory. A large metal mask obscured its face, not letting anyone see its likely agonized expression underneath.
This was the creature that attacked the Airbus and blew it out of the sky.
His body was weak - he had no chance to run, so he must hide. Frantic eyes searched the forest floor around him until - there. An old stump, rotted and forgotten, sheltered beneath itself what looked to be an abandoned animal den. He dragged himself towards it, his one good arm struggling to pull along his weight against the forest floor. He hooked Qrow's now abandoned Harbinger with his Threaded Cane's head and pulled it along - before he came to the edge of a short drop. He threw himself forward and down the root-filled patch of unearthed dirt, tumbling down in a mess of limbs and weapons. Finally, at the bottom, he pulled himself into the small den and dragged some broken, discarded branches and leaves in front of the opening. It was just barely big enough to fit him and the weapons, though not at all comfortably. Squeezed into a tiny ball he listened, enraptured, by the thundering footsteps quickly approaching. His breath hitched as he heard them running and leaping past his hiding place.
"Go! Spread out! Find them! There were at least two - they must be nearby!" G.H. pulled off his cloak and hung it up against a splintered notch hanging above the entrance, an effort to disguise the den with dark fabric that would hopefully go unnoticed beneath the collection of leaves and branches he had barricaded it with.
Only now, in pitch darkness and with enemies all around, could G.H. take the time to inspect his wounds. The most grievous amongst them was the self-inflicted gash running the length of his left arm. Some of the black ichor and Qrow's blood had seeped into it so it was no longer an immediate concern to his life - but it ached and throbbed in perpetual pain. He wondered and hoped if the blood imbibed by him would slow or prevent infection. To survive all this just to die to a mere contamination would be both hilarious and pathetic and he knew it would not be the end of his story.
The air was still and damp and the sounds of searching death from outside were vague and quiet. Despite his very best efforts, he could feel the lull of sleep pulling him down and away from his thoughts and fears.