In the stillness of the night, trees take on an eerie and mysterious appearance. Their branches and leaves rustle in the gentle breeze which sounds like whispers from unseen entities.
One could appreciate the moonlight filtering through the canopy. Dense, but it's a patchwork of light between the dark. The ordinary becomes extraordinary, and the familiar can take on a sinister aspect.
The creaking and groaning of branches under their own weight or from the occasional gust of wind sounded like eerie moans.
Only the rustling of leaves and the occasional hoot of an owl break the silence, as the atmosphere becomes thick with tension as if anything could happen in the shadows cast by the trees.
Blood drips in the distance. The crimson trail from a boy whose age shouldn't have entered this dark canopy stumbled with a flinch.
His footsteps were audible to the forest animals, making them fret away from the boy's path. A sharp howl pierced the night, followed by the sound of snapping branches.
They were still after him. The monsters in the stories read to him by his parents are now prowling him through his scent. It was difficult to count how many there were while running. But, he's convinced it was a pack of the same species. Like wolves, Beowolf is a type of quadrupedal Grimm that devoured their prey with their sharp teeth, pointed enough to graze his skin.
Jaune Arc clutches his bleeding arm. He had been separated from his parents and sister when they were attacked by the creatures. He didn't know if they were alive or dead, but all he knew was that he had to keep running.
Else, he would end up as Grimm food. He felt tears streaming down his face, mixing with the sweat and blood. He was terrified, exhausted, and in pain.
He had no idea where he was going. If there was a safe place to hide. Alone and terrified, he wished he had never left his home. Just for what? A foolish way to prove himself a huntsman by entering the deep forest.
He had always dreamed of becoming a hero who fought against the Grimm and protected the people. But now he realized how unreasonable he was. He was no hero but he was a coward. He couldn't even face his first Grimm without shaking. It was this that caused the entire trouble.
The growls and roars became closer and closer behind him.
Jaune felt tears stream down his face again. He wanted to cry out, but he held back. Tears would only make things worse. Crying won't make them stop. And neither will running from his problems, he reminded himself firmly.
He needed help. He looked around frantically, hoping to find a place to hide or a way out. Nothing but dark leaves and trunks are in his view. He ran blindly.
He didn't see a root and tripped over and fell to the ground. He tried to get up, but his legs were too weak.
His head pounded, as did his shoulder and wrist. His vision blurred, and he tried to force his eyes to open. Large footsteps were rapidly approaching and fear took over him again.
He pushed himself up only to collapse into another heap. His eyes were getting blurry and the blood trickled down his arm. How could he be so pathetic? Why did he abandon his home? He's useless. What good was a future huntsman if he just left his house behind to fight Grimm armless? All he's doing is wasting his life.
Maybe he should just lie down and die already. Maybe the kids who battled his dream were right. Maybe he wasn't worth it anymore. Maybe he was never worth it. There was nothing else to do but wait for death, right? He thought as he lay his head back onto the leafless soil.
Jaune Arc was tired of running. His lungs ached, and it hurt to move his limbs. His whole body burned from his sprint. He felt cold from the night sky. It wouldn't be long before winter came. At that point, he would freeze to death.
But at least he'd get to rest before then. He couldn't run forever. He didn't want to sleep. Not now that he realized it might be his last chance to see his family again. Especially, his sisters.
His head hurt badly, but he couldn't bring himself to care right now. The pain would be nothing compared to the fear tearing at his soul.
'Just one last breath, Jaune,' His mother's voice echoed in his mind. 'You'll feel better once you breathe in the fresh air. Just take another few breaths. You're almost there.'
She didn't wait for a reply from her son. She just continued repeating her mantra. As long as she said that, everything would work out. Even if his life depended on it, she wasn't about to let something bad happen to her son.
'One… two… three… four… five… six… seven… eight… nine,' The woman counted silently.
Jaune closed his eyes, focusing on taking his next breaths. He took several short ones before feeling like his lungs would collapse from exhaustion. He opened his eyes and found he was surrounded. They were surrounding him, sniffing and looking straight at him. Every single one of them was staring at him. Some more intensely than others. Their eyes shone like red coals in the darkness, sending shivers down his spine. They bared their teeth and hissed menacingly.
It was too late. All they saw was a scared little kid. He didn't stand a chance against these predators. There must have been dozens of them. They all looked bigger than any Grimm he had ever read about.
He heard a snarling and something lunged at him, too fast for him to see.
The sound of squelching echoed through the night. It was quite visceral and unsettling to hear even for Jaune.
Something dripped, and it wasn't the blood from his gashed arm. Rather, it was a large incision on his stomach, connected to a bony claw. Wet, liquid, fresh blood flowed out like a waterfall.
The sensation of raw flesh being torn apart surfaces in the boy's mind.
The sight sent shivers down his spine. It was horrifying to see your very life flowing freely out from inside you. He knew he'd be sick if he kept seeing that.
He gagged at the smell of it. He started hyperventilating in horror.
In an instant, his thoughts turned inward, analyzing the scene. His brain began to shut down as his muscles locked themselves in beyond panic mode. His breathing grew heavy, his heart beat loudly in his chest. He tried to swallow, but a huge mouthful of blood kept gurgling from his throat. With no way for oxygen to reach his brain, his thoughts went fuzzy, and his body became stiff.
Each step they took made his heart jump, but his leg muscles refused to respond as he attempted to run off. One foot slid out underneath him, and soon he was facedown on the ground.
As he lay on his back he saw another Beowolf closest to him turn, growling. Before he could react the thing had its claws buried deep inside his abdomen, ripping it out with an angry, inhuman howl. Blood spurted everywhere, soaking his shirt and pants. The creature threw its head back and screamed, its mouth open wide like the jaws of some hungry creature. Its fangs pierced his skin, drawing blood from his throat and ears.
Jaune struggled, thrashing about in a vain attempt to push the thing away. The beast seemed intent on swallowing him whole until one final swipe of its huge paw knocked its head slightly. This enraged the larger monster, causing the Grimm to leap on the small human and tear his neck open with its jaws.
Jaune wants to scream, but he only coughs out blood. He felt a sharp pain in his entire body as the Beowolf's claws and teeth pierced through his flesh. He gasped and coughed up more blood, feeling his life slipping away. He closed his eyes and waited for the end.
It didn't take long for death to claim his life.
The Grimm kept on eating the boy's corpse.
The sound of flesh crunching and the wet, slurping sounds tell that they're enjoying themselves greatly. One felt its mouth close around something and pulled. All could hear the sound of bones breaking and then an upset grunt from the other creatures.
The Beowolf released its prey. It stood up on its hind legs, holding the broken limb with its forelimbs. It spat out pieces of bone, which were stained red with gore, along with still-warm meat.
A second later, two more Beowolves joined the pile.
The creature that had just savaged its own kill approached the corpse. It licked his body. The smell of rotting flesh wafted through the air, not stinging their nostrils. It smelled vile. Worse than those ghouls in the sewers. Worse than the rotting corpses in the forests and swamps.
When it was done it could taste the blood that filled its mouth. It lapped the corpse up hungrily as it chewed on the remains of its prey.
During the middle of its feed, its head perked up from a sound nearby. The Beowolf gazes at the origin, a muted sound coming from the darkness through the trees. It was an eerie, low, vibration reverberating past the leaves and on the ground that can barely be heard. The grass slowly swayed from the sudden chilling air that accompanied it.
The Grimm waited, seeing nothing more than darkness, and when it really was nothing, it went back to feed with its brethren. The child's corpse is disfigured and twisted at this point. The mangled and butcher body of the boy can be defined as mutilated, limbs torn apart, bones separated, and raw flesh spread across everywhere. It was a sight that not even hardened adults should see.
Away from the Grimm, with a slow movement and slim blood in its trail, a pile of meat with tiny bones sticking out slid not dissimilar to a snail. The small flesh protrudes a carcass akin to an appendage and uses it to crawl and advance forward.
Its nonexistent eyes regard the Grimm with an indiscernible facade. The Beowolves do not know it, but their feeding actions are unknowingly mocking the flesh audaciously.
Although with no nose, it smells the Grimm as abominations with the scent of death and decay. They are not worthy of life.
It moved through the forest like an invisible spider, making sure to avoid stepping on twigs or the smallest plants to avoid noise.
Its slow, gradual, and sluggish crawling creeps it toward the busy Grimm until it reaches underneath them unnoticed. It stilled itself rooted on the root when the jaw of a Beowolf chowed down on its food centimeters away without being aware of it. The pile of meat and bone stays motionless for moments before proceeding.
It crawled closer to a thrown musculoskeletal body chunk of the lifeless form, sniffing it with great greed. Inhaling its scent of blood, and rotting meat, it bumped into it and began feasting on it, pushing forward. It gnawed on the soft parts and ate it clean, all the while melding with it.
It continued until it had eaten all of it, now slightly bigger. Then it makes its way over to a larger heap of meat. An arm.
It pressed on until it reached it. The Beowolves continued to devour unaware until the moving meat finally got to a large piece. With a silent movement and a small leap, it sunk its whole body into the arm and fused with it, integrating, mixing.
Its body shifted slightly as if it were a living creature. The bone of its front face cracked and separated, revealing a mouth and dark grey teeth. It opened its maw and took a deep breath before opening it again to suck out a lung full of air. It was getting close.
It started to crawl forward once more, searching for another meat in the vicinity. An organ. Consuming it and merging, it was not yet satisfied and its form increased to the size of a dog. The bones and flesh had grown and shaped differently as well.
The Grimm had already left a few moments ago, seemingly disinterested now that they killed their prey and wandered the forest again. The pile of flesh and bones moved again, this time faster, to another body part.
Another bite. Another sucking. Another merging. More tearing. More melding.
Muscles. Skeleton bones. Pancreas. A lung. Tendons. Intestines. Veins.
After another mixing and drinking a small pool of blood, the now hound-size flesh moves towards the remaining main body. It sat there, waiting patiently. It watched as the blood fell from its torn stomach. It was an impenetrable silence until it shifted to the body and resumed amalgamating through the abdomen.
From there, the flesh entered the body and filled the hollowed, bloodied space inside of the corpse. Veins and nerves extended and penetrated the inner flesh from the inside. Bones became elongated and paired with the spine and the broken bones.
In the exterior, wounds, both minor and major, started to close while blood boiled in the inside, accumulating. The bend-hanging attached limbs restore themselves. The corpse was regenerating, slowly but surely. But it will take time. Time that it doesn't have.
So with no choice, the meat that integrated into the corpse restarted the body and awoke the brain. The heartbeat for the first time since returning from death. The blood pumped from the heart set to work across the whole body, and immediately, senses infiltrated it.
With the body restarted, and the mind fragile, the sapient anatomy set its next objective. With no soul and sentience, the body of the human was just a living husk, an undead. This way, it will take the body's original consciousness' place with its own to shape it and modify the body suitable for the purpose of acquiring its original form.
The body squirmed and convulsed. The blood circulated. The bundle of nerve fibers transmits impulses of sensation to the brain along with the new consciousness. It travels past the spinal cord and reaches the cerebrum.
The moment it entered the mind, memories of the boy's life came rushing in an instant. Knowledge of the world it landed on, the Grimm, the Kingdoms. From childbirth to his early death.
It silently sneered at the foolish and naive dream he had. His demise was inevitable.
The new consciousness took control of the body, feeling every little sensation, including the immense pain from the still-healing parts. It couldn't move and open its eyes, but it could feel, smell, taste, and hear now.
It can feel, but cannot move its body. Irritated, it pushes the body from the mind, overloading the cerebellar with stimuli.
It grew more annoyed as the body did not respond even the slightest, and when it was angered enough to push even harder, it was met with a blinding light that flashed from both the inside and outside.
It flinched back deep to the back of the mind, growling in haze. The strange light had a sheen so bright that it somewhat expected to be burned from the mind.
What just transpired was not understood. It reminded it of that light from a distant foe.
It tried again.
It remained unmoving, ignoring the light.
Then it felt the light again, growing brighter. It felt anger surge within it. It needed only the physical manifestation of rage, and it made quick work of the mind, pushing against every resistance the mind could throw at it.
As it pushed it further and further, a burst of light unleashed on the intruder. A wail of screech groaned. It was nothing compared to the torture it endured, but the light struck its very existence, almost like the light was made to be its antithesis.
This was inexplicable. This body was naturally a human. A mere disgusting humanoid being. There was nothing a fragile and half-dead body could do against a mind-taking monster.
It felt warmth not unlike the cursed child in yellow, a calmness and a strange power coursing in the veins. A faint, pale yellowish light enveloped the body like a cloak.
Moreover...
It froze. A heartbeat that's not its own resonating across the mental scape. It was faint, but it was there. Another consciousness wavered like a flickering light, drifting through the void beside the memories. It was a soul.
A soul that belonged to the body it now inhabited.
It was implausible. The soul was alive! The light is flaring, acting as a shield to resist its influence, like a vast ocean that blocks the sky's lightning bolts.
What was this? Where did it come from? What was it doing here? Why wasn't this soul gone as it was supposed to?! It couldn't let go. Its grip tightened, and it would never let go of this body. Not ever. Not until it acquires its original body again.
It wanted to kill the soul and the light. It wanted to destroy them. The light kept coming from it. So bright, and so blinding, too bright that it hurts. It feels the heat. It feels something different, something that's familiar, but different from anything else in the world. Something that shouldn't be there at all.
It tries hard, fighting against it, trying to find what exactly is going on here. Why would such a very weak body possess something like this? Is it possible? Impossible. It knows how powerful such a thing must be. Its very existence means that it is beyond belief. That means that there is simply nothing that can be done about it. And that's why it keeps trying.
It tries again. It attempts to force its way into that unknown entity, trying to reach into the mind. To touch its essence. And it succeeds. For a brief moment, the light is extinguished and it finds itself plunged into utter darkness. But it sees it.
And then, the lights begin to return, a faint glow that glows softly against the darkness.
Then the light protecting the other consciousness shined like it spoke up and stopped whatever the sentience was trying to accomplish, encasing it as a prison.
"In your state, do you think you are strong? Do you think you are stronger than others in this world? Do you think you can overwhelm that WHICH IS SOUL ITSELF? You do not understand what we are. The LIGHT of the LIGHT BROTHER. Should you desire to live, cease trespassing this body or welcome your purging, oh Unholy Child of the Red of All Red."
It was powerful, beyond words. And it was so infuriating that it didn't know how to counter, but instead just continued to snarl at the light.
As if it could communicate with it. It didn't care what it was. It will fight for this body!
The light began to glow again and the light grew brighter in the darkness, almost like it was mocking him, taunting him that the intruder wouldn't succeed. That it isn't a match for the light at all. That it cannot defeat that which is the stronger, the most terrifying.
The light flared up in a display of blinding fury. There was no answer to those arrogant claims.
It tried once more, with no success. Heading straight for the core of the soul, it found the strongest force of light it had ever encountered. It was a semi-physical manifestation that formed as an imitation of the soul. And a powerful one at that. It didn't stand a chance.
Snarling, it thrashed from the mind, resisting against the light in vain. And then, Jaune Arc woke up.