The thick claw drove directly into my right eye with a sickening squelch, followed by the cacophonous crack that I presume came from my orbital bone shattered from the thrust. The pain was excruciating, a sickening burn coated my face as I recoiled from the attack.

The rifle had fallen from my grasp as I pawed at my face, trying to stop the bleeding if possible. It was most certainly not possible, the wound wasn't some dainty little jab that had cut into my face, this was much greater in scale. Whatever Grimm this was, it had managed to rend half of my face off in one little swipe. While my jaw and forehead seemed to be intact, I had lost my right eye again, and well beyond that.

Everything from the corner of my mouth to just above my eyebrow was flayed like pulled pork, and it was likely just as fragile as well. I could feel a veritable cascade of blood flooding down my face and onto my mask, onto my clothes.

This definitely didn't make for a great walk in the woods.

I managed to collect myself a tad, and only then did I realise that I was wailing, screaming as if I'd been gravely wounded, which I had. I looked back to the direction I'd been swiped at, haphazardly swatting at my remaining eye to get the blood to clear off of it in a vain attempt to see clearer through the tears.

It was big, that was clear, bigger than most Grimm around these parts, I'd seen the usual Ursa and Beowolves before, however this creature did not meet the description of either. The long, slender body was covered in an armour in egg white, and below the true body along with the limbs, that familiar black as pitch hue that all Grimm have.

The real give away for the creature's identity was in what hung poised above the creature's oversized and overly armoured head.

A pincer, shining a golden hue.

A Death Stalker, and a fucking big one at that.

I'd seen a small pack of juvenile Death Stalkers before, and they were practically just dog-sized scorpions. This was a whole other level of being. It was as big as a fucking house. I looked to my right, towards the closer of the two pincers.

A large blood stain, fresh and still dripping coated the tip of the pincer. That was my culprit, the damned thing had poked my eye.

Whilst a bit insulting to what little ego I did possess, it did hint at something. Whilst Death Stalker elders are known to be recluses that stick to their nesting grounds until disturbed or hunting, however sometimes they will re-locate to a new nest if they feel the area is too crowded for their survival to be likely. Given the war effort, it wouldn't be too far-fetched of an assumption to suggest that this beast was merely moving from the conflict for its own survival.

During these dire times, the elder Death Stalkers are known to avoid conflict to the point of complete aversion, and while they tended to vary in their tactics during combat at times like these they almost never killed when expositing this behaviour. Sometimes they'd be completely docile and wait in the brush for the foe to pass, other times they'd just sprint right by in the hopes they'd leave it be, and sometimes it'd make a disabling move and then make a mad dash in the direction they wish to go.

Assuming I'm correct, this beast attacked me to disable me, and the 10 orange pin pricks staring right back at me suggested that it was checking to see if I'd keep fighting, or if it could run.

Time for the gamble of a life time.

I forced myself to fall backwards in a borderline overly exaggerated manner, making a show of my collapse as I continued to paw at my eye, now silently. Slowly, I made sure to make my movements slow the more time passed, and finally, I let myself fall limp as I exhaled, and held what little breathe I could in the hopes that the creature would buy this farce.

I was feigning my death, to a creature that could read my emotions at all times within this range in the hopes it'd deem me not enough of a threat to care.

Normally, this cowardice would bother me, but not in this case. Surviving as a coward can be more fruitful than dying for nothing.

Just as the demand for oxygen became noticeable, I heard a loud shift as the creature scuttled over me and into the bramble on the other side of where I was, with all the stealth of a steam train cascading over a rickety bridge.

It was only when I felt the rumble cease entirely that I allowed myself to breathe again, sucking in air and heaving repeatedly like I had just been resuscitated from drowning.

Speaking of which, blood was still oozing from my face at an alarming rate, though notably less than it was before. The wound may have already begun to seal up with that same wood substance that filled my wounds before, although these were noticeably deeper and much more unpleasant.

I briefly wondered how bad I looked at the moment, but I forced that thought out of my mind as soon as it entered. I didn't need any more reason to panic than I already had, given that I now had no idea where I was going at this point. In the panic of an elderly Death Stalker deciding to pay a nice visit to my frontal lobe, I'd lost my sense of direction entirely. I quickly heaved myself up, making sure that the backpack had stayed attached properly, which it had.

This Hazel guy knew how to make a bag that stays secure, there were 8 different straps keeping the damned thing secured to my person, each one stronger than the last.

I easily wrenched my rifle from the ground with a notable clunk as it came to rest on my shoulder.

I needed to think on this.

The Death Stalker had jabbed me with a pincer, meaning it had to be facing me at the time, and it didn't make enough noise to suggest it had moved between the jab and my feigned death. Therefore, the creature was on my right when it attacked me as it struck the right eye first, and ran off to the left of my path.

The real question was, which of the two remaining directions did I come from?

I looked to my left.

There was a clear split in the bramble, a crevasse of broken bramble and thick, unkempt grass that had been squashed down under footfalls.

I looked to my right.

The path was equally dense bramble and thicket, however this was veritably untouched.

To the right I go.

I let out a huff from my one remaining nostril, which was an odd feeling as the other nostril just blew blood and mucus from a hole somewhere on my gouged face. There were likely some bone fragments in there too, no way to tell, nor did I really care.

Hopefully it'll grow back.

I thought I should check the backpack for medical supplies, which my father had mentioned were kept in this bag alongside all of Hazel's other necessities, at least before I took up its use.

However, I was given pause on this venture.

I noticed things looked dimmer than before.

I looked up to the tree cover, and sure enough, a bright orange glow was shining overhead.

Dusk.

I needed to get to shelter, or a village, fast.

—-

I'd been running as hard as I could for as long as the light had maintained itself, but I was rapidly running out of time.

It felt like I'd been moving as fast as I could for days at this point, it was more likely to be far less, but the mental toll was all the same, and beyond acceptable to being trapped out here when nightfall comes.

Grimm became far more active during the night on all continents except Menagerie. It is presumed this is because of the humans lacking the vision capabilities in the dark to put up much of a fight. Faunus being the notable exception, which is why we presume the Grimm on Menagerie hunt at all times of day.

I didn't know where I really was, I knew where my goal destination was, and while I was almost certain I was on the right track that didn't necessarily mean I couldn't have taken a wrong turn in my desperate scramble for safety from the unending darkness that was rapidly encroaching like a disease infecting a corpse.

And to top all that off, it was starting to rain, it started as a gentle wet mist that was oddly refreshing compared to the warmth of my own blood and sinew, however that had slowly but surely cascaded into something torrential.

The soil beneath my feet, once dry and stable, was rapidly turning to a dark brown sludge that was thick as tar and stuck to you like glue at times.

I had to find shelter, and now.

I couldn't afford to get caught in something in the dark.

Not in the dark. Not in the dark. Not in the dark.

—-

It was dark now. So dark.

I'd found a cave, it was the only option I had other than the treetops. There were things in the treetops in the nightmares. The fear was keeping me awake.

I had to find something to pass the time.

I'd placed myself relatively shallow into the maw of the cave, I figured if there was a Grimm in these caves I'd hopefully not wake it up so long as I stayed near the entrance at the surface. It allowed for quicker getaways, gave me more time to escape if something was coming to the cave, or out of the cave, and I still got my shelter.

Win-win for everyone this way.

I slowly unbuckled my backpack, strap by strap until the final gave way, and I slid the bag off of one of my shoulders and in front of me, to rest next to my rifle which was lazily dropped onto the ground on my right. I'd considered standing it up on the stock, but the wind was so bad there was a genuine risk of the thing falling onto my already damaged head and concussing me.

I most certainly did not require a concussion at this time, especially at this time.

I opened the backpacks top flap, and lifted a collection of magazines out, one by one. Each magazine had a 3 round capacity, not great but certainly workable. Each magazine was loaded with the same rounds, which read 'BT-API' on the rear, each round had a tip that was red at the peak and black at the ends.

I'd heard of many different kinds of bullet projectiles before, hollow point, full metal jacket, armour piercing, to name a few of many. I hadn't the slightest clue what this was though.

Placing all of the magazines to the side, I counted as I went along. By my count there were 15 magazines, presumably these magazines had the possibility of failure given the rather extreme amount but given the 3 round maximal capacity, that was arguably not the worst idea.

Deeper within the bag was a metal hard case, with a simple double hatch lock. It was white in colour, although notably dinged up and the colour was fading. The only colour besides white was a large red cross, still bright by comparison. Bingo.

While it may have been out of date given it had not been maintained or used in at least a couple years, I imagined it wouldn't matter too much, all I needed was antiseptics, or something to cleanse the wound and hopefully promote faster healing.

I took the medical hardcase in my hand, and placed it next to the magazines with a small clack. I peered back into the bag, curious as to what remained. Inside the bag was a large green box, with white lettering printed on the top.

'100 CRTG, 20x200mm'

'Boat Tail - Armour Piercing Incendiary.'

'Hunter Use Only - Civilian Prohibited.'

'Manufactured By Beacon Academic Forging.'

This was the box of ammo my father described, however that mention of Beacon was rather curious. Beacon was the school that Hazel's sister attended before her death, but had he attended as well? Father only mentioned Hazel asking for training from him and him alone, that isn't the kind of wordplay mistake he'd make.

Was his sister ordering the rounds for him? Did he have a deal with one of the forge workers? Was he allowed to use academic resources through some sort of arrangement with the faculty? Or perhaps the headmaster himself?

So much to ponder, and yet the wound that made up half of my face still made itself too much of a hindrance to continue ignoring.

I opened the medical case and slowly pawed through the items inside.

Scalpels, tweezers, suture, painkillers, numbing agents, the whole damned surgeons office crammed into a box the size of a picture frame.

Finally, a bottle labelled 'Alcibi' revealed itself to me at the bottom of the case. It was a small, 100ml bottle of high intensity antiseptic agent.

'Use just enough to cover all of the wound, apply with a rag or cotton ball if available.'

Unfortunately for me, I wasn't willing to waste potentially good bandages on this. The antiseptic taken raw to the face would have to do.

I cracked open the bottle's protective seal, and opened the bottle with a twist.

I raised the bottle above my face, and began to lightly pour…

Indescribable agony. That was the immediate sensation.

I bit down as hard as I could, desperate to avoid making any additional noise and drawing any attention to myself.

I felt my hands twitching as I barely managed to keep my grip steady on the plastic bottle currently hovering over my face containing the liquid causing the exact pain that is currently making me feel like death.

I winced as I swung the bottle back down to where it sat before, resting at around stomach level as I wrenched the bottle shut once more, threw it in the medical case, slammed it shut with an audible click and flopped back onto the cave wall with a sigh of great relief.

The wound was less likely to infect now, hopefully.

I wasn't exactly medically trained, and under normal circumstances I'd provide a metric shit load of additional treatment. However, given that I didn't seem to need those at the moment where others likely would, I decided to save them for a potential other person in dire need.

As if I'd ever be capable of saving anyone. I can barely even save myself.

I let out another tired sigh, and slowly filled the backpack to its original full capacity. I dragged the bag to my right, resting it next to my rifle.

The wind was howling even more, I should sleep now, before it gets too loud to sleep at all.

—-

Waking up to find myself bathed in complete darkness was not how I expected to awaken in the morning, I better not have gotten woken up from the wind or something.

I raised my right arm to attempt to wipe at my eyes and check if the missing eye had healed at all, but I found I couldn't move my arm at all.

Strange.

I attempted to use my other arm. No dice. I attempted to move my legs. Not an inch of movement. I attempted to roll over using my torso. Nothing.

All the stranger.

It was then I realised that I could feel some kind of liquid around me, it was a few inches deep, and it was oddly viscous, taking water out of the picture. Overwhelming darkness, strange pool of viscous liquid, and the loud gurgling coming from all around me as if I was in a container of some kind. That, alongside being unable to move?

I'm in something's stomach, aren't I?

The panic set in.

I began to thrash, as harshly as I possibly can. Hoping to god something would eventually give and let me free enough to move in some manner. Nothing seemed to move, to budge, to give, to free itself in any manner.

I felt my right arm crack, accompanied by a sickening tear as what I presumed to be either my nerves or my tendons, if not both, tore like an overly tense rope. The pain was agonising, sure, but in my panic the adrenaline was numbing it enough that I could at least move the thing, albeit without any accuracy. My fingers no longer worked, so I didn't have much in the way of precise movement.

I felt a shift in my damaged arm, it had shifted an inch or so to the right.

I focused in on my right arm as much as I possibly could, thrashing as wildly as I possibly could, putting every single fibre of my being into it.

There was a series of horrid tears, so many following in a sequence that I wasn't sure there was anything left to pop out of socket or tear. There was only so many nerves and muscle fibres, tendons and joints to break before it became useless flesh.

But I could still move.

I started shuffling my arm up and down, as the sideways movements weren't getting me anywhere now.

It seemed to be working, far better than expected.

I began to saw my arm up and down manically, throwing myself into it with reckless abandon. I could feel something giving way, something on the surface below me. I noticed that the liquid on the ground had coated my arm, and it was beginning to sting. Relatively minor in comparison to the fact my arm was nearly unusable, but it still hurt. At this point I was used to pain anyway, working through minor burns such as this wouldn't stop me.

I would not let it break me.

I felt the ground under me give way, an audible his and pained gurgles as whatever creature I was currently inside howled on the outside. I jammed my arm through the hole I'd punctured into the surface below, likely the creature's stomach, and pulled. I pulled as hard as I fucking could.

I managed to cram my head through the hole, and it was only then that I realised I hadn't been able to breathe the whole time I'd been awake. Sucking in a breathe was incredibly pleasant after so much oxygen deprivation. The coughing that followed was not pleasant in the slightest, especially as a follow up to ecstasy.

Pulling my torso out, alongside my other arm, I finally found myself free enough that I fell from the beast, and managed to kick my legs enough to scramble to my feet.

I could see some light, but other than that I could see something worse. A large body, it must have been dozens of metres long at least. Skin black as ink. White markings along the body. Two large fangs, shining in the dark.

A King Taijutu. Yet another one.

What the fuck was my luck today?

It roared at me, the cave around me, or at least what I hoped to Oum was still my cave, quivered around me as the sound rattled the stalagmites overhead.

I ran towards the light, weaving my body in and around the creature that still sat in a standstill bleeding its own digestive system out. I found myself forced to squeeze through two sections of its torso that intersected directly. I jammed my head straight through, still panicking as thoroughly as any literal child would be at this point in time. I pushed my left arm through and grabbed at the torso lower to the ground, pulling myself through.

In my panic, I had forgotten a crucial teaching from the books my Father had gifted me long ago, books I studied frequently for years at this point.

King Taijutu entrap their prey using their torso, wrapping it around them and squeezing hard enough to break bones, before using their fangs to kill the prey and then swallow, and digest.

The crushing sensation on my torso gave it away to me.

I sat there, entrapped in agony as my entire rib cage shattered inward all at once like an implosion. My spine, however, remained. I still had movement of some parts of my body. Including my arms.

I jammed my other arm, the one that was damaged, broken, whatever I could call it, into the small space still available between the two sections of body.

It was then I got my first sight of my mangled arm.

It was mangled, horribly so. But in a way that made somehow more, and less sense all at the same time, a complete oxymoron of anatomy.

My arm had fashioned itself into a longer form, my hand was completely gone, replaced by fleshy mass. No wonder I couldn't feel my fingers or move my hand. It was formed into a blade. A blade of flesh, it looked worryingly sharp to the touch, sharper than a chef's knife.

The raw horror didn't even have time to set in, the sound of my spine cracking as my whole body suddenly lost sensation and went limp was enough to distract from the fact my arm no longer resembled a human arm in any facet.

I sat there, completely still, in terror as the heavy, pained breathing reverberating from the beast's maw inched closer and closer.

I felt something boiling hot and gooey drip onto the back of my head.

The saliva of the beast.

I heard a subtle stretch, the breathing got louder.

A sickening crunch played out, as the fang of the King Taijutu bit down on my face, piercing the back of my head and rapidly clearing straight through.

I was dead…

…

…

…

Or was I?

I felt my spine rapidly rearrange with crackles and pops within an instant, restoring feeling and movement throughout my body. I jammed both of my arms into the Grimm mouth, and pushed as hard as I could. The pressure on my head began to lessen slowly but surely, as the jaw once again widened.

I even heard the beast snort in what I hoped was confusion, a short and sudden huff of air.

My right hand, the one that was mangled into a blade, suddenly slipped out of position and collided into one of the fangs within the mouth. Specifically, the fang that was currently still embedded within my skull, the one that should have killed me at this point.

I felt the pressure on my head release completely, not just on my head but also my torso, I could breathe again, albeit with the caveat of my lungs being filled with bone fragments, blood sputtering out of my mouth with every breath.

I looked up towards the creature's mouth.

It was fleeing, running, or rather slithering away from the cave.

Once I was sure it had disappeared into the treeline, I collapsed.

The adrenaline was wearing off, the pain was amplifying. I was screaming, but it didn't matter. I had to get up. I had to force myself back from the brink of a horrid end.

My first goal was getting this fang out of my head.

I shakily raised my arm that was still normal, and swung it over my head and pulled as effectively as the position would allow me.

The fang came loose easily, clattering onto the ground as it slipped from my grasp.

The next step, getting myself to my bag and getting this wound disinfected.

I slowly, with great shakiness and difficulty, forced myself onto my hands and knees and crawled my way with short, jittery movements towards my equipment, pawing around at the backpack for the top zipper.

With all the force of a snail on muscle relaxants, the zipper went down and the flap came loose. I could have hiked myself up over the backpack to identify the gleaming ivory hue of the medical kit, however that was more effort than I was willing or capable of delivering. I lazily craned my left arm into the backpack and pawed around for the hardcase. It took a couple seconds longer than I would have preferred (that preferred amount of seconds being zero), but the hardcase met my grasp, and was lifted from the backpack with as much vigour as I could muster.

The hard case was opened clumsily, and acquisition of the disinfectant and bandages was equally clumsy, with various items I couldn't be fucked to fix for the moment scattered free from their confines.

I really needed a better medkit.

The disinfectant burned as it did once before, but this time with a far stranger sensation following soon after. Something was dripping onto the back of my neck, something warm that was agitating the skin on my upper back.

Suddenly the thought clicked. The dripping was the disinfectant, leaking down from the gaping hole in my head.

I grabbed the roll of gauze, and tied it around my head as many times as I could until the blood stopped leaking through. It likely looked like shit, it was also likely to be hideously inefficient in terms of medical proficiency but that was a concern for later.

The backpack straps were back upon my shoulders, their considerable weight being heft onto my recently broken spine with just as much ease as it had before.

Don't question it, Jaune.

My rifle, my oversized monstrosity of a firearm that likely could have pincushioned every beast that had caused me such grievous harm over the last day, sat in the exact same place I left it.

I really need to get better at this whole 'surviving' thing.

The rifle was slung over my back as I slowly stood on my feet once again.

I looked to my right arm, which I had been avoiding since I had first seen it.

It was still that twisted mockery of an arm, fashioned into a long blade of sinew and bone. It horrified me, it plagued my mind as if it was a cognito-hazard, something I was unable to comprehend.

I wish I had my normal arm back.

A sudden twitch in my arm drew my attention, which quickly escalated into ripping and tear noises as my arm rapidly deformed and reformed back into its original form, a normal human hand.

This process did not hurt, it did not cause discomfort, as if it was second nature to me, something I was so used to that I could do it without even considering it at all.

Don't question it, Jaune.

I needed to get to the village of Boethia, and get to that blacksmith father was on about.

—-

The walk was oddly peaceful despite the horrors that had occurred just an hour or so prior, the sun still held high and I was still alive, so long as I avoided questioning the events of the cave I'd be fine for a while.

I think my Father referred to that as 'compartmentalisation' of some kind?

Regardless, this walk was oddly peaceful, no horrid curses or extreme body horror injuries and no wailing banshee of a mother tailing my trail. All in all, this is still a marked improvement over the past.

A sudden warm drip on my neck took me from my thoughts, the gauze was failing already. Clearly I underestimated my performance in self administered first aid.

I stopped by one of what may as well be tens of thousands of trees and lazily draped my rifle to rest at the ready for use, and dropped my backpack to the ground, lazily tossing the top flap open and grabbing the the medkit, several paraphernalia and other items of importance now absent after my fumbling in the cave. The gauze, however, remained.

I removed the gauze, layer by layer, getting annoyed at the sticky, peeling sensation that it had on my skin.

My eye still didn't work, and the prodding on my face proved that I still had a gaping hole in my face.

I caught a glimpse of a nearby large puddle, likely a result of the rainstorm last night.

I had to ensure that I didn't look at myself in the reflection, it would likely horrify me and I'd prefer not to experience that again.

Not again.

I can't look.

I can't look.

I had to look.

I ran over to the puddle, and looked down at the reflection of myself.

It was even worse than my mind could have imagined.

Not only was there a hole in my head, the entire right side of my face was just loose muscles and bone fragments. I didn't even look human.

I looked like a monster.

I pawed at my neck, scrambling my hand looking for… something.

My fingertips struck wood.

My mask. Now bloodstained and considerably more disturbing.

I placed it over my face, curious of how well it would hide the severe facial deformities that made up the majority of my being at this point. The mask hid it better than expected, maybe add a cowl of sorts to hide the back of my head and I'd look less like a beast and more like some shifty conspicuous bandit. What an improvement!

I lowered my hands to reach for my waist and grabbed at an ivory pillar hidden behind my belt.

The fang that had pierced my head just over an hour ago.

It was strangely proportioned, long and thick, yet also narrow. It was almost proportioned like a curved dagger, of sorts.

With the mental image of this fang fashioned into a proper blade safely locked away in the back of my mind, I looked back at the reflection, curious of how I'd look with this grimm-based blade in my hands.

It was then that a thought appeared in my mind.

Why had my mask not fallen from my face? Why had it stayed on my face despite letting it go?

I looked back to my reflection, panic setting in rapidly.

The mask was now fused to my skin, as if it was always meant to be there. The skin had wrapped over the edges with a noticeable bump to it, as if the flesh was inflamed or bruised.

The panic got worse.

I couldn't be seen like this, I couldn't let anyone see me like this, they'd see me as a monster, they'd kill me, or worse imprison me and experiment on me, I cannot be imprisoned again, I refuse, I refuse to let that happen again.

I turned around, ran to my equipment, grabbed it hastily and bolted in a random direction, running as hard and fast as I could in whatever direction I had decided to run in.

Boethia was a crapshoot, every village was a crapshoot until this fucking mask was off and the hole in my head was patched up, whatever fresh hell that entails.

—-

My footsteps thundered through the woods, I had been running for… I don't even know how long, the panic had passed long ago and now I just felt an inane compulsion to run, and to keep running until I hit something that I was looking for. What this 'thing' was, I wasn't sure of, however it was something to justify this insane path of actions.

My mask still adorned my face, forcibly fastened there and not removable by my hands. Believe me, I have tried many times.

I couldn't remember how much time had passed since I had left the cave, since I had first seen this wretched mask latched to my face like a wooden leech and my small time of peace had been shattered. I vaguely recalled time passing to extreme degrees, day and night, dawn and dusk. I couldn't even remember if I had slept or rested, or if I had even stopped running in the slightest at all.

What has happened to me? What caused me to become this wretched imitation of a man?

All questions, no answers.

And to top that all off, each subsequent question seemed an even grander puzzle than the last. I could live with most of these questions remaining unanswered. Sure, I'd be labelled a freak for the rest of my life if I can't find a way to… control this ailment, I'd likely wind up living in solitude on the fringes of society and scavenging what little I could from travellers and decayed old warzones, were I to fail to find a solution.

Perhaps the solution is just death, plain and simple. Perhaps there is no cure, no treatment, no learning of skills or techniques to minimise or control this strange curse I had.

On top of that, was this an infection? A curse? And if this is in fact a curse of sorts, is it familial or purely my bad happenstance? After all, my father did seem eerily calm about the subject of me being abnormally strong and capable of healing, in a manner that should be unfamiliar to him and everyone else on Remnant.

All questions of great import and relevance, yet the answers would likely never become clearer to me, nor any other mortal being.

I set my focus away from waxing philosophical questions, and instead to my surroundings. It was night, that much was obvious. Damned near pitch black in this forest, It was raining quite heavily, to the point it was almost deafening when compared to the ambience of the forest, which seemed abnormally quiet even when accounting for the overbearing presence of the rain. This rain had likely been thundering to the ground for a long time, the once tough soil had degraded into a thick sludge that seemed worryingly familiar.

I elected to ignore that glaring red flag for the moment.

I noticed something else, the trees were different to the ones around the family house, the one's I last remember wading through. Oak trees had turned to some sort of… strange conifer trees.

The wood was a deep gray, and the leaves followed suit. It was as if the very colour had been drained from them, or the life within them was gone, stolen away by something else. Every tree I'd passed as I maintained my quadricep-searing sprint looked the same as this, perhaps it was just the lack of light making them look odd to my perception, but that seemed far fetched.

These were the conifers mother warned me of before she locked me away. They had to be. Which meant Grimm. But I hadn't seen one, or heard one, or found any other evidence of their existence since I'd began focusing on where I was. This area is supposed to be absolutely swarming 24/7 due to the complex cavern system that the Grimm use as nests in this area, the tunnels are meant to span miles according to predictions. There are thousands of Grimm that are supposed to be currently on top of my location, and yet not a peep.

Something was up round these parts, and I got the sinking feeling I'd be finding out either way.

Suddenly, a feeling of great pain surged through my lungs as if the fatigue of running for what may have been days hit me all at once with all the might of an Ozmund-class artillery cannon shell. My sprint slowed to a halt, as I fell to my knees, one hand sunk deep into the mud as I fell forward whilst the other limply clutched at my chest. The pain wasn't the major issue, breathing was. It hurt to breathe, like someone was squeezing my lungs like a stress ball.

It took a worryingly long amount of time for my breathing to return to a semblance of normalcy, and the pain to cease enough to stand.

I should not have bothered.

Looking up to view my surroundings, I found that the dark was incredibly deep, so deep that I couldn't make out much of anything beyond one thing.

A stone wall dead ahead of me, with a gaping hole, black as pitch in the centre of the wall. The Grimm caverns. I knew that entering was a bad idea, perhaps the Grimm were taking shelter from the weather and every single one of the great scourge was within the cavern complex.

A sudden snap in the bramble. To my right. I turned to meet the sound.

A mistake, to be sure.

There was a tree, a singular tree. Larger than the ones I had past by earlier. The colour seemed even more drab and grey, and the branches seemed to splay out wider.

The tree was not the issue. The issue was what lay behind it.

A familiar face. A bone coloured mask covered sinewy flesh black as tar, with two abyssal pits for eyes gleaming in what little pale moonlight broke through the calamitous dark.

It was here, the beast from the dream.

It was real.

It was fucking real.

The gnarled and elongated arm raised up towards its face, and its twisted finger curled like a monkey's paw.

It was beckoning me towards it, like a parent would a child who'd gotten lost.

I certainly felt lost.

Something in the back of my mind was… itching. Not the scalp, but below the scalp. My brain was itching, a nagging, gnarling scritch that was driving me mad. The itch compelled me to move towards the beckoning, towards the call of a creature so ghastly it had haunted my recent memory in a manner I did not consider possible.

I slowly placed my weight on my feet, and raised myself to stand, facing the beast.

Our eyes locked.

The itch in my head grew into a heavy pressure within my head, as if about to burst like a grape, or more accurately fragment apart like a fragmentation grenade.

The pressure was drowning my mind in a static-like haze that made it damn near impossible to think clearly, to focus on anything in my surroundings at all.

My eyes remained locked onto the other, despite the agony. Something compelled me to keep looking, watching, interpreting and understanding.

I began to hear little whispers within the static, voices upon voices calling out something, although it all sounded gibberish to me. Whether that was because the language wasn't my own, or because the auditory interference was so great, I was unsure.

The whispers rose in noise, and rose and rose and rose again, until deafening.

Then the whispers, thousands of voices rolled into one, spoke clearly.

"Welcome, chosen child."