A/N: Until the site notifications are fixed, I'm going a little crazy with these updates.
Its that, or lose my shit and quit, but I'd rather keep folks entertained until the site fixes itself.
Not sure if anyone can see this, what with notifications breaking -App works- but here goes nothing.
I'll be going away for a week or so come the end of October. Might get back early, might not. I need some time to clear my head.
I've been trying to shake my uncle's death off, but I just can't. I want to get over it, I do, I want to stop feeling sad, but I just can't. Don't even get me started on the what-ifs, the helplessness, the rage...
In other news...depression's starting to hit reeeeaaaal hard these days.
Sometimes I wonder why I do anything at all. I can't claim to understand what's going wrong with my head. I don't even know why! One moment I'm fine, then my mood craters for a few hours, then I'm back again for a bit, and the cycle repeats. Its rather annoying; as though I've become a prisoner in my own mind sometimes. Sure, what's one more mental problem on the pile. Not like I don't have enough, what with already being this old. Feels like every day is a battle sometimes. But when I go to the docs, they say oh no, you're fine, you're just tired. HA!
Writing helps fend it off the worst of it times, but when I come back to myself, its still there. Waiting for me.
*siiiigh*
Don't mind the rambling of this geezer...I'm still here, still trying to beat this thing. I've been writing here for fifteen years after all.
With my fifteen year anniversary on this site finally here, I find myself reflecting on the little things in life. What was once a lazy pastime meant for me and a few friends really grew and evolved over time. There are days when I look back on the last fifteen years here and I wonder if anyone will remember me; if I made an impact, despite never making a single cent on any of these stories. Some days were happier than others, and some stories I enjoyed writing WAY too much; to the point where I'd stay up all night working on them.
And of course, there are times when I look to the future and wonder what will become of things when I'm gone.
Of course, I try not to dwell on the latter overmuch; I'm still alive and still writing. In an ideal world, I'd like to keep doing so for as long as I can. But old age is catching up to me and these days, the world is filled with so much madness and death. Feels like everyone's lost their minds sometimes. Even before that, so many friends and fellow writers I once knew are gone, now. Will I still be here in twenty years? Ten? Five? Its a chilling thought. But for now, I'm still here, still writing.
So here we go. The fate of this story depends on you, the reader. Your feedback determines the fate of this tale, and many others.
I'm just a humble author trying to make his way in this wild world, one word at a time.
As ever I own no references, quotes, themes or memes. They're merely tributes.
Time and feedback will determine if this remains a story. Simple as that.
In other words...its up to YOU, the reader. Do let me know~!
Prize for ya if you figure out the quote, modified though it is...
"Life… is brilliant. Have you ever stopped to think about the sapience of thought giving substance to a simple maxim? Cogito Ergo Sum, I think, therefore I am, and what I am is one who beholds the majesty of life. Beautiful. It enchants us to the point of obsession. It is a brilliant flame that, once noticed, cannot be unnoticed and remains a part of the lives we lead.
We, all of us, each and every one of us, want to live our lives with purpose. I suppose some are true to their purpose, their minds galvanised through duty and faith. Others chase the charms of love, however elusive. Still more seek power, striving to stand head and shoulders above those who might otherwise drag them down. I even knew someone who's soul leapt from body to body, wearing them like a hunter wears a new cloak.
Still, it begs the question of what happens when you live for too long, when all that you care for bleeds away to nothing but monotony and tragedy, and you begin to wonder what is keeping you going.
What is it that drives you? Stories? I could tell you so many stories. So many stories. Tales to make you smile. Horrors to curdle your blood. Tragedies that would have you weep. Stories have played out on history's grand stage since time immemorial.
Humanity is but a walking prop on the stage of life, and a story, no matter how tender, how exquisite, how kind… is a lie, and a lie it shall remain.
Knowing this, young one, do you still desire peace? If so, what will you sacrifice for it?
At the end of the day, it is a matter of belief."
~?
When You Believe
The eyes stared from the heart of the darkness, twin red orbs that smouldered like embers brought low in the fire, throwing out just enough light to pick out the ash white mask that clung tightly to the Beowulf's canine maw. They did not blink nor emit an ounce of pity as they surveilled their quivering prey, dozens more peeking from the dark as legion that had stalked a pair far too young to be out at night.
Yang was going to die. The thought rang out in her mind like the muffled clang of a funeral bell, carrying with it a deathly certainty that she knew her morose thought to be true.
She knew it. Why? Simple. She had blundered.
Three hours ago, if someone had asked her what her plan was, she might have offered up a cheeky grin and told them that she was picking a well-travelled path that she knew like the back of her hand and the chances of Grimm this time of year was negligible at best. She had marched off along the path with her familial cargo stored safely in her red wagon, unknowing of the hell she was walking into. The first howl had come the instant the sun had dipped beneath the western horizon, heralding the start of the hunt. They must have had her scent from the very beginning but waited until she had walked them deep into their den without a care in the world.
After all, she had a purpose driving her little body, a flame in her chest that kept one foot in front of the other even as the evening chill had bit into her scant clothing.
She'd tried to find Raven, her errant mother that had long since fled and no one seemed willing to find her. It was a wrong that needed to be explained if it could not be corrected, and Yang had been so focused on the trail of the elusive avian that she was oblivious to the danger.
She had heard them first, outriders scenting their prey creeping through the underbrush at the edges of her senses; Yang had foolishly maintained her pace with the thought that it was just some benign deer. It continued until Yang spotted the first Beowulf, her lilac eyes picking out the taught, bristling black muscle and bone white plates winding their way around the grey trunks of long-dead trees. It was as if a sickness had fallen upon the land, shadows lengthened and darkened while the forest of her childhood grew more sinister than she ever remembered.
She had bolted the moment she saw the first pair of hungry red eyes, dragging the little red cart with all the strength her body could muster, caring not for her own safety. She had to get them out of there.
The shattered moon had slowly but surely risen in the sky as they had made their flight, Ruby waking from her slumber and blearily aware of her surroundings, the confusion in those innocent silver eyes had all but evaporated when she saw the pained rictus of exertion and desperation in Yang's face.
One Beowulf had become two, then five, then ten, twenty; before she knew it, the pack was thirty strong and pursuing the sisters slowly. No, not pursuing, Yang had realized, hunting. Limited as the cognizance of these young Grimm may have been, they were old enough to understand a decidedly disgusting human paradigm.
When hunting for sport, taking your time made things fun.
Yang and Ruby's flight had been brought to a screeching halt with a sudden and disheartening metallic ping, the uneven ground, craggy footing, and endless brambles had proven too much for Ruby's trusty red wagon, a small rubber wheel sheering clean from its mounting to bounce off into the undergrowth from which endless hungry red eyes watched in legion.
Yang looked around, bloodshot veins of exertion cracking through her young eyes as she took in her surroundings. The duo were at the end of a small clearing surrounded by copses of sickly grey poplar that seemed to glow in the light of the shattered moon. Beowulfs surrounded them on all sides, a tide of smoky black death that was base and hungry; half a dozen took their time to advance into the clearing towards the sisters, odure dripping lethargically from their sharpened canines. The multitude more remained at the boundary of streaky moonlight, ever watching and slowly encroaching.
Yang took up a defensive position above Ruby, using her larger form to shield the little girl from the inevitable end that marched towards them, a feeble effort that Yang knew would fail if they attacked, yet still, she tried.
Why? Why was she out this late at night? She didn't know the answer, but she was determined to find out. One day she'd found a clue to the mystery that invaded her waking mind. The plan had been simple: put Ruby in a wagon and head out. Yet here they stood, cut and bruised, totally exhausted and facing certain death. She could barely move. Scarcely stand.
Too exhausted to run, unable to even cry for help, Yang made a decision. She would not let Ruby die alone, she would not bow in acceptance to the cold embrace of death, the little girl would not run away like her mother had done and leave someone who depended on her to be alone when needed. She would go kicking and screaming with as much strength as her exhausted little being had left.
The lead Beowulf, its mask marked by a gnarled scar across the bone plate, advanced another step, its claws sparking against the stone floor of the clearing. A low growl crept from its throat in threat, echoing in chorus by its score of brothers. Yang was terrified, her knees knocked together and she shook like a leaf in the wind, but her brave face never faltered. She squeezed Ruby's hand in reassurance, a promise that she would never turn away when she was needed.
But in her heart, she knew this was likely her end.
"Yang, I'm scared." Ruby uttered, peeking out from behind her sister to look at the approaching beast, her silver eyes glinting in the dull moonlight.
Yang gave Ruby a strained smile, "Don't worry, Ruby, I'll get us out of here in no time," she lied, she didn't want her whole world feeling afraid.
Ruby nodded, not completely convinced of her sister's words but trusting to take shelter behind her, her eyes peeked out from the darkness of Yang's shadow and the older girl took strength from her trust.
The Beowulf let out a bestial roar and bounded forwards on all fours, it lept forwards towards the children with an inhuman swipe, rending flesh the only thing on its limited mind.
Life flashing before her eyes, Yang couldn't stop herself from closing her eyes but not once did she let go of Ruby, hoping to the host of heaven to the legions of hell that the scant moments of her acting as a meat shield would be enough for their uncle Qrow to find and save Ruby. That was all that mattered.
There was a soundless whoosh of wind and silver light bloomed through Yang's closed eyes. She braced herself for the pain and was immensely confused when it never came.
A low sigh whispered across the clearing like air escaping from a broken tea kettle, conveying an almost inhuman level of exasperation.
Yang pried her eyes open slowly and saw something that defied sense, a visage that flew in the face of all she knew to be right and sane. Where once there had been a Beowulf chomping at the bit to have her and Ruby for dinner was now a broken beast, its maw nailed to the floor by a thick black pole that dug deeply into the stone ground below. Its once hungry eyes were paradoxically brighter yet more docile and servile, perplexing given the pieces of bloody broken mask scattered around it, the dark red blood emitting a noxious black miasma as it boiled away before Yang and Ruby's eyes.
Oddly, that was not the thing that drew Yang's incredulous eyes. That honour went to the one holding the staff in old weather-beaten gloved hands.
The figure was that of a hooded man leaning against a thick staff, gnarled and old; the head of the staff twirled and pinned into an odd basket configuration containing a large red crystal, turning on its axis supported by nothing. The man was about five feet away from the two young girls but was notable to Yang by just how… shabby he looked. He wore a dark tattered hooded cloak that might have at one point been red, but ages of dirt and use had whittled the rich colour down to an off-black. It covered his entire body from head to toe, his hunched posture, save for the arm that held the staff, was hidden by the shadows it cast.
"Honestly." he tutted softly. "Kids these days. Isn't it past your bedtime?" He exhaled in tiredness and weariness. His voice held a peculiar cadence, the kind of rasp that spoke of one that hadn't spoken aloud in quite some time.
"What're you doing, old man!" Yang shouted at the old man, who looked like an easy target against the Grimm. Her bleating voice cut through the silence of the clearing like a brick through a plate glass window. The old man looked like he could be felled by a stiff breeze, let alone a mob of snarling Grimm…wait a minute?
Silence?
Yang looked past the old man to the hoard of Beowulfs that were now silent as the grave, sitting on their haunches and making nary a sound. Each one bore the same docile look in their eyes as the one the old man had pinned to the floor.
The old man deftly ripped the tip of his staff from the mouth of the Beowulf, drawing a pained whine from it, and tapped his staff on the ground, producing a hollow clang.
"Come."
Incredibly the Beowolves...obeyed. As one mind, one body, the pack filled the clearing in front of them. They were arrayed before them in rows of ten, their backs sloped and heads low in submission.
Yang couldn't believe her eyes or what she was witnessing. The old man somehow conducted the Grimm as if they were trained pets.
"Turn around."
They complied instantly in hypnotic uniformity.
"Now, then."
The air around him became intense as Yang couldn't help but feel a chill. It was like the cold wind that heralded the onset of a winter storm. He waved a dismissive hand and said the following.
"Kill yourselves."
There was no hesitation. The wolves set upon one another. Yang watched in equal parts horror, and morbid fascination as the stuff of nightmares ripped into one another with reckless abandon. Razor sharp teeth set into strong jaws bit into fel flesh, tearing long strips of fur-covered muscle free from one another. Geysers of vaporous blood splashed to the ground like so much spilt wine, painting the grey stone of the clearing a haunting shade of maroon while claws rent arteries and veins to pate in a matter of moments. While what they were doing was visceral, turning her stomach and threatening to reacquaint her with her lunch, it was the way they did it that chilled Yang to the core.
They were… exultant. They were obviously in excruciating pain as they ripped each other apart, yet there was a glee to their bloody self-mutilation as if there was no greater joy in their dismal lives than doing what the hooded old man told them to. It was honestly horrifying.
The jubilant howls and bestial choir began to peter off until only a few heavily wounded Beowulf's remained at the top of their slain brethren, they offered the hooded man a base nod before kneeling over, dead.
An eerie silence fell over the clearing, the monstrous cacophony of spilt blood yielding to the calm whispering of the lonely wind. The old man watched them quietly, his face hidden in the shadows of his hood, but Yang got the feeling there was some interest in the way he regarded them. Then with no particular impetus, he addressed them in a level tone.
"It's been a long time since I interacted with kids, so you mind telling me what brings you two out here in the middle of the night?" Said the hooded old man, leaning against his staff, ignoring the mountain of disintegrating corpses behind him.
Yang couldn't respond for about half a minute, her mind trying and failing to comprehend the awesome and terrible show of power she had just born witness to. When she eventually did open her mouth, no words came out, her tongue parched and throat struck dumb. All the time, he watched her from within his hood, a faceless spectre that patiently waited for an answer to his question.
"My- my mother, she ran out on us, an-and," she stuttered, swallowing thickly ", I was trying to find her." Yang's voice quavered, but she still tried to put up a strong front for Ruby, who looked up at the hooded old man.
The man scoffed. "Any mother who would abandon her child is no mother at all." He sneered under his breath. He turned to look out over the mountain of decaying carcases, the motes of umbral miasma they radiated flowing towards him, and into the shadow of his cloak, Yang saw the light of the moon catch on something deep in the hood, the bottom of a face.
"Now that we're safe and sound." He turned around and faced the little children with a smile. "I'd like for us to introduce ourselves." The old man softly said to the two children.
Yang debated scooping Ruby up and running off into the forest, but the old man's presence froze her in place, unable to reply. As serendipity would have it, her bundle of energy sister answered the question for her.
"I'm Ruby!" The little girl exclaimed in an excited voice.
"Ruby!" Yang hissed. Every base primaeval instinct and belief in her body was screaming at her that this was not someone to play around with, that it would be awful for him to know their names.
The old man snorted in jaded amusement, as if he was so unused to such honest happiness in his presence, "You've got nothing to fear from me, goldilocks, I got no reason to hurt anyone that doesn't deserve it and after an introduction so upbeat you certainly don't deserve it."
Yang looked between the stooped figure surrounded by death and her sister looking up at him with innocent inquisitiveness, biting her lip, she finally spoke. "I'm Yang."
"Ruby and Yang, hmm?" The old man thumbed his chin. "I regret to say I have no name with which to introduce myself." He reached back and tugged away from his hood. "Not anymore. I used to have one, I think. Pretty sure it started with the letter N…."
Yang baulked. This "old man" wasn't old at all, but he was inhuman all the same!
His whiskered face was pale as bone, lined with ghastly red veins pulsing near his eyes...and oh gods, his eyes. They were red as blood and slit like those of a cat. Even the very whites of his sclera stood stained with shadow, his hair ashen in white, a spiky mess with twin bangs hanging down on either side of his face. Now that his cloak was open, she could see what he wore underneath, a black jacket and pants tucked into soft-soled riding boots, all covered in swirling red patterns that reminded the blonde of a bygone noble from some dusty storybook.
One storybook in particular and the tale is told.
Her blood ran cold.
"I'm sorry." he looked away, scratching a veined cheek when she whimpered. "I know, I must look frightening, but it's been so long since I had anyone to talk to. There are some who call me Naruto. I think that used to be my name?" he scratched his chin, gazing toward the shattered sky. He didn't sound all that sure of his own identity. He didn't seem to parse the steadily growing horror dawning in the lilac eyes of the little blonde.
Yang knew the stories. Daddy had warned them enough. This...this was some kind of human Grimm. He'd killed the others to feast on them himself! Unbidden, her Daddy's words roused from deep in her memories.
"Hail, traveller, and take heed, of what lies in wait beyond the leaves. A monster in the shape of man, to which all who see have long since ran. The folly of the brother gods, is the bane of any hunter squad. If he should ever cross your path, pray it be a dream and laugh. For the white-haired red-eyed king of Grimm, is always found when the night turns dim."
Had to run. Had to protect Ruby.
In a moment of pure bravery-induced stupidity, Yang snatched up a sharp-looking rock and mustered her strength to lunge at him, aiming for the centre of his red orbs that he lazily raised a hand in defence.
Her crude weapon slammed into his hand, piercing it clean through. Black blood spurted forth like toxic ichor, splattering the floor in rivulets of patterning sound. She had hoped the wound would draw some kind of pained response, but all Naruto did was look between the haggard young girl and his hand in utter bewilderment. Like he couldn't believe she would have the balls to do something so stupid.
Before her very eyes, the wound closed, leaving the rock trapped in his hand...until the rock began to dissolve underneath the paper-white skin.
"Not bad." he laughed a little. "You went straight for my eyes!"
"You're going to eat us, aren't you?!"
Naruto rolled his eyes in exasperated amusement, "Why do people always assume I eat people, I swear you bite out one god's throat, then all of a sudden you're a cannibal. Do I look like I want to catch pre-teen-induced Kuru? Nope. You got it wrong." that pale face dimpled in a smile. "I saved you because you asked for my help."
Yang bridled. "I didn't!"
"You're right. You didn't." A gloved finger pointed past her. "But she did."
Ruby blinked back at him, silver eyes flashing.
The man grimaced, shielding himself with an arm.
"I give you props for recognizing a monster, though, Yang. More importantly, people should be protected from them, not attacked for the sake of attacking." he winked at her. "Learn from this." In a blur of movement, he was before her tapping her forehead with the staff, then reached over her and did the same to the surprised Ruby.
Something sparked in Yang's chest. Her eyes burned.
"...what...what did you just do?"
"Consider it a parting gift." The monster wearing the shape of a man merely smiled. "And some advice: Don't make the same mistakes I did. Protect your family. Gain strength, but don't lose yourself in it." his voice darkened into a low growl. He turned then, his cloak billowing behind him as he pulled the hood of his cloak up and strode towards the tree line, the shadows rising to become a darkened maw opening to admit him. As he vanished from their sight, he called over his shoulder, "And someday, when you're stronger and understand my words, find me. And remember, it's our little secret." He finished with a titter of amusement.
The black maw snapped shut with barely a sound, leaving the two girls alone in the clearing, collapsing to their knees as the reality of what had just occurred set in.
Luckily they wouldn't have to wait long for their next visitor to find them.
"Yang?! Ruby?!"
This one decidedly more familiar and welcome.
"Uncle Qrow!" Yang gasped before gesturing to the edge of the tree line, "He's right-
When she turned, the man was gone. Nary a footprint was left in his wake.
All that remained was belief.
A/N: An apathetic Naruto, lord ruler of the Grimm...with no Salem or Ozma to be seen in this chapter.
They're around, mind, but we've not seen them...yet.
Poor boy's been corrupted for so long that he's even forgotten his name.
Clearly something went very, VERY wrong with this Naruto...and Remnant. But what and when, exactly? Which begs the question in turn...where are Salem and Ozma? Are they around? Are they dead? Alive?
All will be revealed.
As ever, the Embers rule persists.
If folks don't like this...well, I won't continue it. Reviews are the fire that keeps me writing. Without them, I cannot put pen to paper. Simple as that. I work two jobs these days, which means I'm lucky to have four hours to even write. Every bit of feedback matters, large or small~! Your voice matters! Speak up! I repeat, every bit of feedback matters...even if people think it doesn't.
So...in the Immortal Words of Atlas...
...Review...Would You Kindly?
Have some previews!
(Previews!)
"Sometimes you live too long, then all you learn to crave is amusement and an end."
He returned to the tower that evening.
She was waiting for him, of course. She always was. "Did you have a pleasant journey, sir?"
"In a sense, Glynda." He shrugged and settled into the throne. He raised a snow white eyebrow, casting a glance at her ensemble, "I appreciate the effort in the wardrobe department, but the new corset is a little much."
"Ensuring your view is pleasant is one of my sworn duties, sir," she replied in a clipt voice, her parade rest accentuating the aesthetic of her new outfit.
"And how's the hunt going? Did we find one yet?"
The silence was telling.
"You've got a little something on your face."
"Hmm?" she scowled and furtively dabbed the blood from her cheek. "My apologies. I must have missed a spot…"