This was something someone commissioned me to write, because they wanted to see me tackle the type of character that bore a disfiguration, so here, have Monster!
Thirty minutes after he had left the town and affirmed that his mask was still in place, he ran into trouble. Snarling beasts with black fur and bone masks, their name called 'Grimm', with the classification of Beowolf, his rifle at the ready to deliver judgment to it. The axe at his side was there for when the rifle did not do its job properly, to finish off the enemy.
Three bolts of lightning, emerging from the Lightning Dust crystal embedded within the internal generator, sent the Beowolf and its companions to evaporate, as he fastened the mask again, it having come loose from the wielding of his weapon.
"I can't stay anywhere, it never pays to stay somewhere."
He had been given the name Frank Stone, after he had been found by his teacher in the art of being a Huntsman. Training with his own disabilities was something that wasn't easily attained, the old Huntsman who had taken him under his wing having been maimed due to a Grimm attack as well, but at least there had been no shunning of him by the man, who had taught him all that he needed to know.
A small farmstead he passed by, one on the outer limits of the forested glade that he was entering, on the path towards the next village, but taking the trip slowly so that there would be nothing interrupting the pace he set. Haste made dead Huntsmen, after all, as his father had said.
Frank pulled the mask off, nearly three hours later, to take a bite from the grilled duck that he'd shot for dinner, the regular dustless slug having scored a solid hit on it and made the flesh still edible, without the metal bits.
The marks on his face were a constant reminder of what he had to undergo, and why he wore the mask that he did. A simple, blank facemask, something that had been given to him by his teacher and father, carved from wood and adorned with eyeholes and a strap in order to fasten it to his face.
They called him 'the Masked Huntsman', because he always wore it. His disfigurement was such that it made him unable to show his face to people due to how his face had been born, twisted and mangled. His dark hair hung over the mask at times, but usually he kept it short, due to his teacher's advice ringing true.
'A moment for something… rest, maybe'
He was doing freelance work, for those communities that were in need of a Huntsman and had Lien to pay for his services. A humble price, per extermination. Something that a misshapen and misformed person like him would be able to scrounge up, with the ammunition stores of the villages giving him a discount, as he took only what ammunition he needed.
The Grimm did not stop because it was nighttime, nor did they stop when there was pain and suffering. An endless tide of Grimm, brought on by the world's suffering, with the Kingdoms being the only bastions of safety around.
It was not for him, to work for the Kingdoms. He was not licensed, but none of the people who allowed him a night in their barn would really deny him, as he had taken the work that none would be paying for.
Food was an incidental benefit, when grateful farmers had enough to spare for their saviour, even though he ate his meals in silence, alone.
His disfigurement would not allow him to mingle with the people without their judgement. Something that could not be changed, which he had grown to accept from his time as a youth, as he was now around twenty-seven, or some-such. His adoptive father, a Huntsman who had found him as a child, had said that that day was his birthday, because he'd come across the child swaddled in cloth, left for the Grimm to eat.
'What is duty?'
The man had forged him into someone who would fight for humanity, even if they scorned him. A drink of water, something to cool his throat, made a challenge because he was conscious of how he looked, his body misshapen and twisted.
His adoptive father, Percey Shells, had been unwilling to judge, as he had lost a child of his own together with his wife, and it had been him that he had found nearly a day afterward. The cottage that they had considered their own had been something that Percey had bequeathed to him, after the missions had ran out. It was a hard task to care for a child, or so Frank had learned.
His weapon 'lightning blitz' was forged by his own hands under the supervision of his adoptive father, a forge rented for a day in order to ensure that it would be perfect. Forging the plates and the barrel in one piece was something magical, as he socketed in the first Dust round in the power core, the gem starting to quiver and whine softly, before he pulled the trigger.
A flash of lightning, hitting the tree outside, and his father's joyous cheer at it, and he had made his second weapon, for the melee. His father had impressed upon him that ranged combat alone meant nothing if one did not have a melee backup in case of an ambush. Grimm did that sometimes, and he had forged the axe himself, after a regular logging axe.
The grip had been worked with cow leather, the metal infused with several different alloys, allowing for a greataxe configuration with the newly produced miniaturisation technology. A lumbering man like him always had the need for something to wield against the Grimm that crept in the dark, so it could switch to a larger axe with a flick of a switch.
The fire crackled and popped, and he could hear something in the distance, his attention shooting to the far-off bushes. The mask was on again, as he caught sight of something that moved, a pale-faced child coming from the bushes.
"Mister, mister! Are you a Huntsman?"
He was a Huntsman, but not one who had been officially sworn in as one. His father's license was what he used, though he was sure that there was no place for him as a Huntsman, as he got up, his weapon ready. Already, he was alert to the Grimm that would come. A child was emotion, a child was raw and untamed and untempered emotion, a buffet for the Grimm.
"Yes."
He growled the word, as he swallowed some phlegm, his mouth twisted a little, as his tongue pushed against one of his crooked teeth.
"Come, come with me! The Grimm are attacking, nan told me that I should find a Huntsman!"
He hefted his axe, lightning blitz shouldered. A child needed him and he would not deny the child the right of life. He had been an orphaned child himself as well, as he looked for the Grimm that were coming, his axe flashing as an Ursa was cleaved in two with his strike, the large blade emerging from the side, as he whirled, a Beowolf and half of a tree cleaved apart, as he moved.
"Kid? Lead me to your parents' house."
He followed after the kid, already going over the strategies that his adoptive father had imparted into him. A house was relative safety, except for the Grimm that could crawl through the holes in the walls, the mice-like Grimm that had a habit of eating their victims partially, before the bigger Grimm burst in, drawn by the agony of the civilians that had nearly gotten eaten.
Those Grimm were easy to deal with, Frank had found. They were easily disturbed, but their silent mannerisms always led people to underestimate their presence.
He followed the child towards a farmhouse that stood around several acres of cleared space, clearly one of the farms that had been settled out from the town limits, where the walls would not allow them to grow the food they needed. Grimm did not consume the food, but it still had to be grown.
A blast of lightning crackled through the air, as he replaced the lightning dust crystal, the generator sputtering a few times.
'A few shots…'
He was aware that he would need to sparingly use the ammunition, until it was time for the melee. His adoptive father had awakened his Aura, but the fight against multiple Grimm was still a dangerous affair.
An ursa lumbered into view, looking at the child and trying to strike at it, but he moved, his axe cutting into the mask of the Grimm, which didn't stop the Ursa from trying to score another hit, as Frank roared something of a war-cry and pushed the switch, the unfolding axe-blade cutting through the Ursa like a knife did through tough bread. He moved swiftly, another Beowolf in his view that leapt at him, and his axe blocked the slavering jaw, the trigger on lightning blitz pulled, a blast of close-contact lightning shot into the Grimm, which released the large axe's blade as it was blasted back.
"Mister!"
The child was calling out to him and Frank moved, as he began to clear the area. The Grimm were attracted to him for the light of his soul, and he moved methodically. Two Beowolves approached, and two blasts of lightning came from his rifle, extinguishing their presence, before he turned around, his weapon thrown in the air, crackling with the lightning dust's release, for his axe to bifurcate a Beowolf which had tried to slash at him with its claws, Frank catching his weapon, changing the Dust crystal for another. He took careful notice of how many crystals he had remaining, remembering that he should always keep two spare for emergencies. Four shots that would be able to save his day, like his adoptive father had always said.
"Always keep a round in the chamber, Frank. You're my son, and I'd hate for you to have no way out when you're cornered and without the hope for escape. Always remember… You'll be hated and loathed for what you are. You're my son, but people can't see that bright soul within you."
His father had been wise, as Frank approached the house, a Beowolf leaping from the ruins of the door at him, Frank methodically chopping through it, the claws barely scratching his Aura. It was a reward for his patience, as he could see another Grimm already push itself out of the kitchen, half of the stairs demolished.
'One left, probably.'
It was the feeling that he got when he had dealt with these situations before. Grimm preferred to stay at ground level, or below-ground, since they had problems with twisting their bodies through the small gaps for the stairwell, since most Beowolves tended to grow large before they'd try to harm a farmstead.
A sound of a Dust rifle shooting came from upstairs, and the child called out to his nan, who was likely the owner of this farmstead.
"Nan! I found a Huntsman!"
Frank moved, his boots making a thunking sound on the wooden floorboards, as he glanced at himself in the mirror. A leather coat, obtained by a leatherworker's hard work after he had saved the village, and his hair matted to his scalp, the mask of a blank face there, his own blue eyes looking at his reflection, as he knew that he should move again, after the people here had been left alive and safe.
"Quiet."
A scraping, grinding sound that came from the other room, and Frank raised his weapon, spotting what he'd expected. A Slasher, a Grimm which was lanky in stature with large claws on its hand-like appendages, dragging them over the ground.
'A Krueger… Just my luck.'
One of those was known to never stop hunting a family if it'd caught sight of something that they'd enjoyed, often luring other Grimm to the family in question, in order to ensure that they perished. For a soulless creature, it took great joy in causing families endless suffering, knowing their personal routines from hours or weeks of stalking. They struck when they thought the family was the least guarded, and then lured the Grimm.
The Krueger hissed, clearly not happy with his sudden intrusion. It must have been preparing for a battle of sorts, because Frank could tell that it had sharpened its claws. With how human-like these Grimm were, it was no small change, as those razor-sharp claws looked ready to tear through a solid wooden door.
Frank aimed his gun and then flipped the catch, slamming a lightning dust crystal into the slot and then held the trigger for the firing mechanism, the Krueger catching fire with the lightning searing through its body immediately, as Frank stood there, holding the weapon up, before he went to finish it off.
A slash at his face from the flailing creature, and the sound of it hitting something, as Frank blocked the strike, as he watched how its claws mowed through a particularly ordinary rocking chair, the wood splintering, as he moved in.
The axe hewed through its neck and then slashed the talons off from the writhing creature of shadow, blood pumping in Frank's body, as he shuddered. He looked at his reflection in one of the reflective plates, touching the mask, or what had been left of it.
He found that a long gash had been carved into the mask, half of it chopped off by one of the Krueger's sharp claws.
'I'll have to replace it. I can't be seen like this. I know how to carve a mask, father taught me how to.'
It would be unpolished and crude, until he could get the tools ready for working wood again. It was cheaper than porcelain, with the trees being a near-unending supply. He could use deer guts for strings to fasten it, if it were necessary.
Gutting a deer was harsh work, but it was not something that he was unused to, with his hideous appearance.
"Nan?! The Huntsman defeated the Grimm! Are you okay?"
Frank turned to the child, his body still flowing with adrenaline, moving for close-combat, since he would need to replace the generator on his rifle when he had a moment.
'I carry the tools with me, luckily. I know where my camp is, so I can return to it after a moment of assuring these people that they are safe and that I have done my duty to Humanity.'
It was what a Huntsman should do, according to his adoptive father and teacher. Frank walked with the child, aware that this house was likely going to need repairs, and he felt the burden on his mind increase when he caught sight of a man, probably around twenty years of age, cut down by the Kreuger's attacks.
"That's my brother, my brother… Jeustiss"
It wasn't a colour name, Frank knew, but in rural communities, that rule wasn't often upheld, due to the traditions. Frank moved upstairs, a Beowolf's body disintegrating a little slower than usually was the case, likely due to the Dust ammunition being unprimed. It was still remarkable that a civilian had managed to do that, but it was no surprise to Frank, as an old woman with grey hair held up a blunderbuss, with a round jammed into it by a young woman with dark brown hair.
"I have made sure that you are safe."
He wanted to leave. The mask wasn't pristine, and he knew that they would react like how everyone else reacts.
"Thank you, mister Huntsman! Please, stay for a night, until we can assess the damages? It would be our honour to host you."
It was an offer that he could accept, and the women looked like they required someone to protect him. Like the tale of the gallant Huntsman, he knew that it would not be anything like what they would wish for. He was misshapen, tainted and vile, according to traditions he barely knew of. Monster, that was what they had once called him when he had opted not to wear the mask, but the marks on his face terrified those who came into contact with him or beheld his face.
"I will need to retrieve my gear. I left without taking it. I will be back in half an hour."
He should have brought a spare mask. He should have brought more than one, since they could see his misshapen face. The eyes that were human, but the face that barely looked human.
"I'll- Neph, come here! My name is Hilly. Thank you, mister."
A girl that was barely older than eighteen, if he guessed right. It was enough for him to know that he had saved someone who had been in danger, as he left, the body of the young man stepped over, and the wedding ring glinting on his finger. Frank recalled the ring on the young woman's finger as well and he wondered whether they had been married.
It was not for him to decide. He walked to his campsite and then pulled his pack up, finding the bag with internal gear components there, as he pulled the mask off, looking at his reflection, at the misshapen features that showed clearly that he was the spawn of wickedness, a monster that had been allowed to live.
His pale skin was enough for him for now, as he returned to the house, the body covered with a sheet, the young woman waiting for him.
"I'll… I'll bring you to a room, where you can rest. We don't have money, and…"
Money was tight, for a lot of people. He did not spend much of his money on luxuries. He hunted, scavenged and worked with what he got for the saving of villages, his eyes always on the lookout for a mission that required extra hands.
Blood was spilled for the good of settlements and villages, and Huntsmen who fought could be rewarded richly if they performed well. It was not something that he engaged in often, but the payout would make sure that he'd have food and lodgings for a week or two.
'Money doesn't hurt, everyone needs it.'
"A room is fine."
He would need to carve a new mask, something to hide his ugly features from the world once more, and he had already gathered the wood to make a new mask, with this current one allowing him some obscurity during the night-time hours, a dust-powered lamp on the bedside flicked on, as he got himself settled in for the night, getting a wood chisel out, starting work on the wood, making sure that he would have the base prepared, enough for his face to be covered.
"I… I have brought some food, Mister."
The girl came once more, and Frank held up the mask, placing it against his face, his nose a little squashed behind it, but it covered his face well enough. A huntsman had no need for luxuries, he knew, but the food was acceptable for him.
"We don't have much money, but… but we'll feed ya."
The honest appeal in the young woman's voice was something that lit Frank's heart up, and he joined them downstairs, his mask on his face, to hide his features, enough to allow for them to understand that he valued his privacy. It was the weight of being a Huntsman, someone who protected the people who could not protect themselves.
He helped with some of the rebuilding, wordlessly assisting with creating a new door from wooden planks that had to be cut to size, fastened with nails. His weapon never left his vicinity, the boy that was named Neph paying attention, the girl never too far away.
A week passed, and then another. He went back to the town to procure more supplies, more Dust crystals for his weapon and spare parts. There was nothing that he could really do for them, as the old woman provided the meals, but he ate it quietly in his room. Never around them. Edom had questioned him whether it was something that he'd have to hide because he was ugly, only to receive a quiet 'I don't have a face people like' in return.
They would judge him for his misshapen features, wrought with that harsh bite of life's unkindness. Even his father had found it hard to look at him, but Frank was made out of stone, or so his father had said.
Two months later, he had settled into the routine of waking up and checking the fence, having some time with the cows and the chickens before he'd enter the kitchen. It was a change that he had noticed, an easing of the routine that had come before. It was hope that he felt, hope for something normal, though they knew not his face.
"Frank, let me take that."
The girl called Hilly (it was something a bit more formal, according to her) grabbed a hold of the bucket of water that he'd drawn from the well, his body taller than her own, and her gentle touch was surprising to him in its simplicity, as he felt the warmth of her fingers against his own.
"Thank you for staying… I really appreciate that."
They didn't impede him much. The regular patrols around the farmstead, the warm meals that he got as well as the company were things that he just fit into the routine, the six masks that he'd made to replace the one that'd gotten chipped all stored for easy use. He carried one with him in a pocket, for easy replacement.
"We're doing well with the harvest this year. Would you like to come help with the haybales?"
He was aware that she was a slight girl, a girl whose brown hair was like the wood that grew, a dark lustrous mass that made him gaze at it. His own hair was sallow and often stuck together, and his face was pale, the last time he'd looked into a mirror. Shaving in the morning was often done with the knife that he'd always kept as sharp as he could.
"Sure."
Haybales weren't heavy in the weight department, Frank knew, so he'd help out a little, to lift them up for storage. His height was taller than most, so when he was lifting a bale, she could easily drag it up. It was a sweet little moment where he caught her looking, as he'd pulled off his coat, showing his body. It was late in the afternoon when they were done, and he joined her in the hayloft, the smell of the hay in the air, her skin sticky, clothes soaked.
"We're done. That was… woh."
He could continue. A huntsman had stamina beyond a civilian's own, and he stared at the ground floor for a moment, as he grabbed a hold of her and then leapt down, landing with an ease as he'd always done, her weight barely enough. He held on to her, and he could feel her hands on the mask.
"A kiss, for the good Huntsman, and-"
His heartbeat spiked as he felt her pull the mask, and he let go of her, a squeak from her lips as she pulled on the mask, it coming off.
He recoiled, holding his face. He had to get the mask back, before she'd see his ugliness.
"Show me your face, Frank. I'm… It's not that bad, is it? If you've got a scar, I'm sure that it's-"
He didn't trust her. He didn't trust her with his ugliness.
"It's okay, I can't- I want to see what's behind that mask."
He knew that his face was hideous to see, and he covered his face.
"Give me my mask back."
He tried to threaten, but he knew that he would need to pull his arm away, and he could hear her getting up, moving out of his sight, and he acted on instinct.
The arm was gone, and he could see her backing away, a smile on her face, as he advanced on her, the excitement turning to horror, as she saw his disfigurement.
Black pulsating veins, raw and red skin that showed the burning of the skin around those veins, with the engorged flesh looking raw and thick, a change to his face that barely hid the inhumanity of what laid beneath.
"Geist-possession… or the Grimm Curse, Frank. I can barely stomach to look at you, and tales tell of people like you wandering the land, causing death and famine, sickness and corruption."
He had been taught how to fight, however. His father had taken the time to teach him how to fight, to be the one who would make a difference, even masked.
"Monster!"
The same word that had always been shouted at him whenever he'd gone somewhere, whenever they'd seen his face, with the misshapen, misformed growths. They did not hurt at all, but their appearance was hideous, a sign that he'd been afflicted by the Grimm.
A tingling across his cheeks came, as he saw the heated emotions from them flare up, as he felt the Grimm in the vicinity react.
"Go away! Leave us alone, you- you monster!"
The rifle was aimed at him again, this time by Hilly. Frank understood, after what she'd seen, his horrid countenance having disturbed her. He could feel the faint tingling increase, knowing that their heightened emotions were enough to call the Grimm to them, but he had been told to go.
'Again… another time.'
They did not like to see the scars of the Grimm Curse, as it was called, on people. A blight upon their home, from a mother that had given birth whilst possessed, or so it was claimed. A horrible disfigurement, as Frank made his way out from the farmstead, and he could hear a boom and felt his Aura flicker, before he ran. He ran without stopping as he knew that they feared him, for his cursed appearance.
He was a monster.
It was only the next morning that he realized that he'd forgotten the toolkit at their farmstead, so he returned to the farmstead. It was quiet, but he could see the ravage that had been caused in his absence. Hilly had been torn apart by a Grimm, Frank's mind immediately going to Beowolf, based on the claw marks.
He walked into the room that he'd used, over the body of the boy. There had been no time for trust, like always was the case. It was a balance, as he saw the old woman laid against a wall, gored by Ursa, if half of her body had been crushed like that.
"May the Brother Gods hold you in their embrace."
He walked to the pantry and stocked his bag with some of the food that was kept there. It served no purpose for the people, and death was the only certainty in this world.
As he left the farmstead behind, he could see the remnants of civilisation. Three more Dust crystals, loaded for the blunderbuss weapon, had been looted from the storage, for use for him later.
He was a monster, but he fought to do right for the world.
His father had taught him to help, even if he was not received well.
He would continue on, to his original destination.
'It never pays to stay to help…'
He was a monster, after all.
I hope everyone enjoyed this work, writing a character that's an OC and making the whole world around them fit the Remnant setting whilst having nods to horror fiction and the like was fun.