I couldn't get this idea out of my head, so here we go!
Chapter 1
Whilst tournament fighting might have been called barbaric or uncouth in parts of the world, looking around at the roaring crowds surrounding him, the spilled beer, and thrum of excitement, Artos couldn't help but feel a strong sense of patriotism.
When he had asked his father earlier why they were attending the tournament, he had received a hearty snort, a slap on the shoulder, and a claim that "fighting was in our blood, boy," and looking around he couldn't deny that notion. His blood thrummed with excitement as each battle rose to its climax.
From where they were seated, amongst the roughly constructed standings, he could peer directly down into the arena below. It was hastily built, no doubt due to the harsh weather.
The harsh weather and increased Grimm presence had meant the preparation for the regional tournament was shoddy at best, yet from what he had heard from his father, rather than move the regional tournaments to a different city, they had simply moved it 'out of range' of the Grimm, which Artos didn't quite understand considering Grimm could move.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, for the final bout of the evening, the one you have all been waiting for! Please welcome to the stage your first finalist, Alexander Nikos!" The crowd exploded into an uproar. Aulus, his father, pounded to his feet in excitement, beer spilling into Artos's face. The taste was bitter yet tangy. How do people drink that stuff? Even his sister was clapping happily for Alexander.
"Celia, you're drooling." Watching her eyes bulge from amusement, to confusion, then to anger would never cease to amuse Artos. "I am not, butt-head." Stifling a snort, he brought his attention back to the main event of the evening.
The mountain of mass that was called Alexander pounded into the stadium, waving his tree trunk-sized arms around wildly, much to the pleasure of the roaring crowd. He was adorned in the finest armor money could buy, a deep crimson ran through its shiny carbon-plated exterior. It screamed arrogance.
"And now welcome to the stage your second finalist, Axel Clay!" Boos filled the arena ground as the notably tanned man entered the arena, except for a few odd claps here and there. That was to be expected though. Nikos was the local, born and bred in Argus, a household name, while Axel was the quiet immigrant from Vacuo. Looking around, he spotted Axel's boy, seated on the side of the arena, a slight tremble could be seen working its way through his body.
Many didn't notice it, not fully, either too caught up in the moment or their drinks, but Axel didn't look nervous. No, the tanned man looked calm, while Alexander thundered his way around the arena, waving his arms erratically, drawing eyes. Axel just observed his opponent silently, and to Artos's confusion, he simply bent his knees, shifted his right leg to be in the lead, and hefted his spear-like weapon onto his shoulder.
When the bell rang for the commencement of the fight, Alexander rushed in, no doubt to use his size to blow through the smaller man, to show him up.
As he barreled into striking distance, Axel threw what seemed like sand into his eyes, brought the butt end of his spear into his face, pivoted, and swept with his back foot to remove Alexander's footing, turning his momentum against him. As he landed heavily on his back, Axel struck down sharply, as one might do when spear fishing, leaving his spear resting against Alexander's neck.
Silence. Silence permeated the surrounding arena.
Until two short horns blew, signaling the end of the fight.
Looking up to his father he saw his stunned expression plastered upon his face, a face many shared amongst the previously roaring crowd. Axel had reached down offering a hand to Alexander, yet he just slapped his hand away and stood up angrily. That anger was mirrored within the crowd, their silence turning into grumbling, which soon turned into loud yelling and slurs. Reaching over, he grabbed Celia's hand, more a show of support than anything else.
Looking back on it, someone should have realized what was happening, but that's not what happened.
As the now rioting crowd reached its crescendo in noise, a pristine hand-sized red crystal flew into the center of the arena, almost in slow motion. Some saw it and reached for their loved ones, most didn't however, yet it mattered little. There wasn't any time for a reaction anyway.
An explosion like none Artos had ever seen sprouted from where the crystal had landed. He saw red, a sea of fire, rising desperately high into the sky, then a concussive force hit him and then darkness.
Within that darkness, Artos found himself knee-deep within a pool of viscous oily tar. Aimlessly viewing his surroundings, all that was visible was darkness, an infinite space of black.
Fear trickled into the back of his mind, leaving him cold, and as it seeped deeper into his core, he felt it splinter and fester into his soul, freezing him.
Grinding his teeth, he shuddered as he convulsed, bringing his head down to his chest he squished his eyes shut, in a vain attempt to conserve heat.
Heat. Fire. Warmth. The image of a blazing inferno speared its way into his disjointed mind, spreading a soothing warmth, fighting to consume the frost that had invaded his very soul.
Opening his eyes, he saw spectral hues of orange, starring down, he noted the vibrant glow pushed out from his hands. No, that wasn't it. His hands were on fire, yet the fire didn't hurt, no, rather it comforted him. Bringing his blazing hands up to his face, where the flames should have burnt him to a crisp, instead it incited a feeling of safety, a feeling he clung to.
Suddenly, the very pool he was residing in shuddered as oily dark tendrils erupted from the liquid all around him, rushing towards him. A scream was all he could utter before it devoured him, drowning him, squeezing him. As oceans of liquid filled his throat, crushed his lungs, a wet voice slithered through his mind.
I see you now. The words seared into his mind, with excruciating pain.
Images rushed into his view, causing his mind to explode in pain. Yet at the end of it all, stood a single sickly malicious yellow eye.
Gasping for air, Artos tried valiantly to sit up, only for a weight to be set above him, trapping him. His heart was in his throat, blood thundering through his ears, when his eyes finally came into focus, he saw what must've been a dream.
Up where the previously clear sky used to hang, now rested multiple twisting streams of sulphur-infused cloud. On top of his chest sat wooden rubble, his legs and arms were free to move, yet if the rubble wasn't lifted off his chest he would be trapped in whatever hell this was.
Placing his palms against the rubble, he also positioned his feet so that his soles were against the torn-up ground. He pushed, and strained with everything he had, he watched as the rubble strained to stay in place.
If any time was the time to unlock a semblance this would be it.
He managed to push the rubble a few inches off his chest, but he couldn't hold it, he either had to try and roll out of the way, or let it crush him on the way down. Luckily he didn't have to make a choice.
The rubble was yanked away, revealing the disheveled, soot-covered visage of his father, his pupils were dilated, and his face oddly pale, almost clammy looking. "Artos! Oh please, be alright" his voice came out scratchy. Coughing slightly "help me up, I'm alright dad" his throat was dry, and voice weak.
As he was yanked to his feet, his eyes feasted on the view before him. Where only moments before had been a stadium full with a roaring crowd, thick with the aroma of spilled drinks, and food was now a graveyard. The stands they had been seated at had been blown apart, burning rubble filled his view, the noise of distant screaming engulfed him.
"Celia! Dad where's Celia" his eyes scanned the area with a rapid frenzy, the bodies of attendees scattered the remnants of the stands, some no more than burnt remains, others still twitched, their lifeblood pooling around them, their lips moving erratically in the throes of death. The acidic taste of bile began to arise in the back of his throat.
A strong calloused hand grabbed his shoulder "She's here, just behind me" as if on cue, Celia appeared and time seemed to slow down, tremors assaulted her shoulders, her eyes were damp, and her lips were slightly blooded, yet when she saw him, she managed a slight smile. Attempting to move forward, Artos found himself rooted in place, held by his father's iron grasp, in the background he could hear him talking, yet he couldn't make out any words. The noise of his rapidly beating heart, the woes and cries of those injured or clinging to life all came together, like a tidal wave against his mind.
"Artos!" startled he looked up to his father's bearded face, the veins on his neck bulged, his eyes enlarged, his cheeks were bright red which made sense considering Artos could smell the beer upon his breath. "We have to go now. Grimm are starting to arrive, and the growing panic is only going to make that worse" As if on cue a nevermore flew overhead, its shadow blocking out the sun momentarily as it flew by. The shaking of his shoulder brought his attention back to his father, his eyes looked dark, haunted "Now you listen to me Artos, you take care of your sister, and follow me" Not knowing what else to do in the situation, Artos just nodded up to his father.
Stumbling forward towards Celia, the remains of the floorboard groaned uneasily, threatening to concave inwards. Looking up into his sister's damp enlarged bulbous eyes, he could tell she was terrified. Taking a deep shuddering breath, Artos set himself for what he needed to do. He might have felt lost at the moment, scared himself, but he needed to put on a brave face, not for himself, not to look manly, but to convince her that they were going to be alright. So that's what he did.
Reaching forward he grabbed her hand, and directed her towards their moving father, "Come on, follow me"
"Artos, people died, and the Grimm... how are we going to get out of this, what if w-"
"Were getting out of here, and we have dad remember, he can handle a few Grimm"
"I'll help too" a small smile started to bloom across her face, as she uttered the declaration.
"We both will"
Maneuvering out of the arena was the easy part, getting to the nearest exit a blood-curdling scream echoed its way through his bones. He knew he couldn't afford to panic, he knew that Grimm were attracted to emotions, but just knowing that information didn't help him not feel anything, if anything the added stress of the knowledge made it worse.
Exiting out of the Arena, a volley of gunfire garnered his attention. Across from them, a few militants were facing off with Beowolves, he heard Celia startle. "Artos" Aulus had brought a finger up to his lips, shushing them, and motioned for them to crouch down, then with a wave of his hand ushered them to follow him. On the outside of the arena, thousands of tents, and other forums of housing had been hastily constructed, for the sole purpose of the regional tournament.
Crouching through the soot-covered grass, fire was everywhere, it consumed all in its path hungrily. Streaks of smoke pooled into the sky, painting it in a kaleidoscope of grays, and black.
As they passed by the massive forum of a Ursa devouring upon a corpse, Artos thought that maybe the concussive force of the blow from earlier had knocked him into a coma, maybe this was all a dream.
In the back of his mind he knew better, but it didn't hurt to hope.
"Promise me Aulus. Promise me you'll keep them safe." Those words echoed relentlessly through his mind. The scene playing on repeat. Him holding her rapidly weakening hands, listening as the beating of the EKG slowed to a crawl, as doctors rushed around them.
Looking behind him, at the brave but bloodied faces of their children, he couldn't help but feel he had failed.
Turning the corner, they came upon a pair of downed militants. Ushering over Artos and Celia, he surveyed the scene. One had a crushed-in chest, while another was clearly decapitated, yet they might still be armed. Crouching to examine the remains of the bodies, he found a dark plated combat knife, two pistols, and a couple of mags of ammo.
"Dad, look" Looking up, he saw what Artos had pointed out to him. Stumbling towards them was a small tanned boy, no more than 13 years old. His clothes were tarnished, his sandy-colored hair looked to be tinged, yet it was his silver eyes that disturbed Aulus. His eyes were vacant, lost. Gripped tightly within his hands was the weapon, Axel Clay was just seen using.
"Hey, you Axel's boy?" The question hung in the air, as the boy registered their presences, he simply nodded his head. That explains the weapon then. The poor boy's wondering around a battlefield, clutching onto the remains of his father.
"Can I – Can I come with you?" his voice was devoid of fear, but full of desperation. Looking back to his kids' faces, Celia and Artos nodded vehemently at him.
"He can help us" The sweet voice of Celia convinced him.
"Fuck." Composing himself for a moment, he looked back at the wide-eyed child before him, "Yeah alright, come here then" and watched as his shoulders sagged slightly and his eyes lit up, not in joy but in relief. "You got a name?"
"Inigo, Inigo Clay"
Turning to face Artos and Celia, he handed the knife to Artos. "Just in case," and then the pistols he had just taken from both of them. Artos took it with determination, a fire burning in his eye, but Celia was more hesitant.
Up ahead, he spotted an opening into the wilderness, away from the smoke and fire, from the screaming, gunfire, and grimm, but unfortunately in the wrong direction of civilization.
"I saw a girl earlier." Looking pointedly over to Inigo, he continued, "She looked like she might need help, but if you don't want to, that's fine as well." Aulus had done many things, one wouldn't consider savory in his life. But abandoning a kid that could be close by wouldn't be one of them. "Is she close by?"
"Yeah, she was just over that wall." The wall in question was in the same direction of the outcropping they had to get to. "She wasn't listening to me, but she looked a little hurt."
"Alright, let's go. Artos, keep your eyes open. Alert me if you see anything."
On the side of the moss-covered brick wall was a man-sized hole. Walking carefully into it, Aulus saw her. The first thing he noticed was her crimson-colored hair and startled emerald eyes. Then he saw the vestiges of blood adorning her clothing. A tense silence clung to the air. When a swirling black vortex engulfed an intricately designed javelin, causing it to rise in the air, he said, "Whoa, whoa, wait. I come in peace. I'm with a group. We're leaving now, but one of them said you were here and looked like you needed help."
"I'm not injured." The conviction in her eyes was startling for someone so young.
His wife had always been the people person in their relationship, and never had that weakness not been more apparent than now. For the life of him, Aulus couldn't think of what to say.
"Dad! We have to go. Grimm are coming this way."
Fuck. Her eyes seemed to relax at the sound of Artos' voice. Perhaps because the voice of another kid proved he wasn't an unsavory person. Or would that make it worse? "Do you want to come with us, I cant promise you safety, but it will be a hell of a lot better with us then by yourself" His tone came out flat, hoarse from the earlier events of the day.
The nod of her head was the only answer he got. "Alright, this way."
Emerging from the mossy brick encroaching, what he saw terrified him. In the distance was a herd of grimm, stampeding in their direction. Their crimson eyes glowed with unnatural hunger, pools of black vapor pouring off of them. Maybe if he had four actual trained adults with him, there wouldn't be a problem. But instead, he had four kids.
"This way, now!" Leading the group, he sprinted in the direction of the opening he spotted earlier. When he froze in horror, he realized that where there was an open pathway leading away from devastation, it was now being patrolled by a pack of beowolves. Crouching down beside some old, decrepit stones, Aulus was bombarded by thoughts. Promise you'll keep them safe. Like a church bell, the line rang throughout his mind. Looking to Celia and Artos, he made up his mind.
Removing Requiem, his trusty M4 carbine, from his back, he looked into Artos' deep amber eyes and shoved the weapon into his arms. "Dad?"
Ignoring the question, Aulus pointed in the direction of the outcropping. "You see that outcropping over there, the one leading into the woods?" Seeing a nod, he continued, "I'm going to distract them. When I do, all of you have to run there."
He heard the complaints, saw the reactions from his kids, but he knew there wasn't any time. The growing smell of sulfur, rising plumes of darkness into the sky, and the thundering paws of the coming herd were evident of that. "When you get into the woods, run in the direction that the sun sets." Pivoting to look Artos in the eye, he said the last thing he would have the chance to, "You take care of her, Artos, for me." And with that, he unholstered his pistol and flung himself over the wall and into the sight of the grimm occupying the pathway.
As soon as his feet touched the fragile grass, he aimed at the nearest beowolf and pulled the trigger. "Come get me, you bastards!" He channeled all of his pent-up rage into that scream, hoping for his rapid emotions to camouflage those of the kids. Like clockwork, the whole pack converged onto him, akin to flies on shit. To his left, he saw Artos lead the rest of the group towards the pathway.
Please, Aulus, save them. You have to.
I tried.
Blood pounded through his ears as he rushed them through the untamed foliage. His shuddering breath made the snapping of branches sound distant.
He wasn't sure how long they had run; the adrenaline coursing through his veins didn't allow him to have a solid grip on time.
When they had stopped hearing the gunshots, cleared the plumes of sulfur, escaped the screaming, they should have stopped.
But they had kept running, maybe because if they were running then they weren't thinking. But eventually, they would have to stop; the burning of their muscles would take over, and they would be forced to stop. And when that eventually happened, and Artos collapsed to his knees, among his companions, he saw the faces of those he would have to protect, have to work with to keep alive, and as hot tears flowed from his tense, unblinking eyes, he felt something die within him.
The names and ages of the main four
Artos Rothslor is 13
Celia Rothslor is 12
Pyrrha Nikos is 13
Inigo Clay is 13
Next Chapter should be within a week or two.
