Bloody Evolution [RWBY]

[Enkida]

Bloody Evolution​

Welcome to a world of new solutions
Welcome to a world of bloody evolution


The First Phase​

The kings of ancient time were dead, and their crowns were found no more. All was desolate emptiness, until that incomprehensible greed of desire, born of weakness of man, summoned and communicated the vestments of awareness. Thus were those desires not yet in perceptible existence counterbalanced and given form…

Under the dim light of the broken moon, shadows pool and form into distorted shapes. Scattered bones of the defeated litter the weed-ridden earth.

Come, a voice whispers. Feed, my children. Feed on this hatred and destruction, on the grudges of the dead, and find new life. It is time.

Black ichor seeps to the surface of the land. Sluggish and viscous, it dots the ground in a twisted parody of morning dew. Slowly the liquid pools together, twisting and slithering as though it has a life of its own. In the wake of the greasy black trails all traces of life vanish, wilting and crumbling into decay. The black mass multiplies quickly. It swallows the blasted white bones, crushing them into something new.

Heaving and undulating, a shape rises from the darkness, ripping itself from the pool of blackness into a bone-studded form, as though it wears its skeleton on its very flesh. Though its entire existence is a perverse mockery of life, it clearly resembles something commonly found in the natural world.

Your nose twitches, and you awaken to consciousness slowly. The smell of wet loam fills the air, underscored by something sharp and sour. A faint, coppery taste runs through your mouth; unconsciously you lick your lips, and your tongue runs over a row of sharp fangs. Blood, you know instinctively; this taste is blood, and you thirst for more of it. You stretch, and then shake your head to clear it, your long ears flopping about your head. Tiny claws scrabble for purchase against the moist ground, and you manage to bring yourself to your feet, still shaky.

As you blink, the dark night air solidifies and clears; the moon overhead is almost too bright to look at, while the shadows beckon to you, offering comfort and protection from the light.

Before real thought can develop, come first your feelings: the basest of all your desires. Many fill and threaten to consume you, competing for dominance, but only one will give shape to your future thoughts and feelings. An impulse fills your mind; this primary urge which will form your limited sense of self. You latch on to it, allowing this single desire to drown out all others and anchor you to your individual existence.

After a brief but heated struggle, you manage to tamp down on the boiling rage welling within you, urging you to succumb to your wrath. As control over your volatile emotions asserts itself, your awareness slowly expands. You realize that at least part of these newfound feelings that threatened to overwhelm you are not coming from within yourself – you're somehow absorbing them from your environment. You can feel the malice contained in all other living creatures; it calls to you to them, delicious and inviting.

There are many other beings surrounding you, though you can't see them. You raise your head to test the air, inhaling the scent of the fragrant night.

The dizzying avalanche of information you acquire assaults your sensitive nose. Most pungent are the various layers of decomposition from the remains of the carnage you were spawned from. This scent of decay is both familiar and comforting, for it is your own. Strangely similar odors waft from the ground below your feet, and you can barely resist the urge to delve down and unearth them. But as your paws move rapidly to displace the soil, a faint scuttling noise makes you hesitate. You cock your ears forward, pausing in your mindlessly driven motions. A swell of soft chittering is rising from below the ground, and it doesn't sound particularly welcoming.

You clack your teeth together and then start in surprise. This sound… it's similar to what you're hearing – and the scents are identical to those that rise from your own fur. What you have discovered below the ground are more of your own ilk. The ones you've noticed are too numerous to be newly formed, to say nothing of what your neophyte senses are missing. The idea that they may share the same hunger as you, and yet vastly outstrip you in experience stokes the beginning of a burning rage within you.

Power. You need power. You will not be seen as weak by your peers. Your fury cools into a simmering determination, coupled with a faint need to sink your teeth into something weaker than yourself and rend it to pieces, if just to sate your malcontent with the limitations of your body.

Ceasing your frenzied attempt to join the colony below, you decide to survey your surroundings instead. The darkened landscape is crystal-clear to your eyes. You're standing in the midst of a dense forest.

Your eyes narrow. Home. This place is your home, for now. Your life has only just begun, but already you burn with the desire to etch your existence into this world, to spite it for having forced you into this weak body that is barely able to contain the scope of your hatred. You quiver violently before bringing yourself under control, channeling that anger into a focus that will help you achieve your goal. You decide to explore your surroundings.

 

[Enkida]

The First Hunt​

The dark shadows of the forest beckon to you – as a cover, but not for a simpering weakling. No, you are the predator tonight. You feel the excitement of anticipation filling you as you hop towards the nearest trees, trying your best to blend silently into the night.

... After a few minutes of experimenting with your unwieldy, hobbling gait, you almost manage to do it.

Annoyed by the difficulty of the whole procedure, you attempt a new strategy: to lower your belly to the ground and inch along the forest floor in the hopes of achieving something closer to stealth. This awkward position puts your fluffy tail high in the air, waving like a banner with each step towards anything that might be hiding in the treetops. You take some comfort in the fact that your fur is, at least, as black as the night sky. Still, despite your best attempts to move silently, you can't quite control your floppy ears. They drag across the ground, building a slowly-growing collection of sticks and leaves in their wake.

Your frustration at this disastrous attempt at stalking for prey is cut short when you realize that you have, impossibly, managed to stumble across a creature weaker than yourself. An enormous sharp-toothed rat is busy feasting upon the remains of some rotting berries scattered underneath a nearby bush.

It pauses as it notices you, rising to its hind legs and baring its unusually sharp teeth in warning. The berry it was holding rolls to the ground, forgotten. Now that it's staring you down, you realize that it's actually pretty big for a rat, and its teeth gleam dangerously in the scattered light shining through the broken canopy.

Too bad your teeth are bigger. With visceral glee, you abandon all attempts at a surprise attack and simply rush towards it, your Grimm blood surging in your veins. Kill, a voice in your head whispers. Kill, maim, destroy everything!

The rat, clearly surprised, barely has time to squeak before you're upon it, fangs bared. Your paw shoots out, claws extended, and slams the rat to the ground. The rat squeals in pain and tries to bite you, but you tamp down on it with your second paw and press with the full force of your weight. Something in the rat's body gives under the immense pressure you exert; it opens its mouth and a spray of blood shoots out.

Your vision turns red, and without ceremony, you dive for the rat's throat, sinking your teeth in. One quick twist of your head is all it takes, and the rat convulses, its lifeblood soaking into the ground as its struggles under your paws weaken. You spit out the remains and inhale the rich, coppery scent of blood with smug satisfaction.

Perhaps this body is not so weak as you thought.

Bolstered by your success, you abandon the mangled corpse of the hapless rat to the darkness and continue your journey deeper into the forest. This time, you're less timid in your approach, refusing to cower in the shadows like some kind of prey. You may look like a harmless rabbit, but you are a Grimm, and you'll prove it to the world.

Before you can completely leave the scene of your first victory, you hear something rustling behind the bush where the rat was foraging.

You scan the forest for a good place to lie in wait for whatever is emerging from the bushes. Unfortunately, however, your recent success in battling a rat seems to have wiped just exactly how bad you are at this whole "stealth" business from your short-term memory.

A lean, lithe figure parts the leaves, its glowing yellow eyes focused on the corpse of the rat. It leans down and begins to lap at the spilled blood surrounding the body. You quiver as you realize how much bigger this creature is than the rat was. Or, perhaps, because you find the sight of the large cat feasting on the remains of your kill strangely compelling.

The ocelot looks up from its meal, noticing your presence. Its tawny fur, streaked with irregular black markings, immediately rises into hackles and it lets out a low hiss. From the way it matches your gaze, you realize that it, too, is a predator, just like you. And, since it's lowering itself into a crouch in preparation to pounce, it seems to think nothing of feasting on Grimm rabbits.

You spur yourself into motion, trying to rush the ocelot in the same way you did the rat. This cat, however, is a much more experienced hunter, and easily avoids your clumsy rush. In fact, it takes the opportunity to take a swipe at you as you hurtle past it, unable to stop yourself. It didn't even need to work that hard to open a large gash along the side of your body; your own reckless charge took care of that.

Stars spot your vision, followed by a sudden blossoming of pain where your skin was split by its razor-sharp claws. You shake your head quickly, ears flopping, and your vision clears just in time to see the ocelot pouncing towards you. This time, you push against the ground and run in a zig-zag, as fast as your stubby legs can take you in a desperate attempt to avoid being hit.

It works; the ocelot lands where you were moments before, yowling angrily.

You skid to a stop and face it, feeling a burning rising within you to match the fire from the wound in your side. You feed it, the world tinting red as you let the rage consume you, and rush the ocelot again. It seems surprised that you still have so much spirit left after being injured -- and you actually manage to connect. You ram the ocelot's body with so much force that it goes flying across the grove, stopped only by the tree trunk in its flight path. You hop towards the ocelot's crumpled body as quickly as you can, hoping to finish it off, but unfortunately your burning rage hasn't managed to grow your legs any longer. The ocelot still manages rise to its feet before you can reach it, and deftly leaps out of the way of your charge.

You snarl, your fury boiling over. This quick bastard won't manage to evade you twice! Twisting, you lunge and snap at it, managing to catch the end of its hind leg before it can clear your body completely. You clamp down with every ounce of your strength and twist your entire body, changing the course of the ocelot's leap in mid-air and slamming it into the ground with brute force.

A spray of dirt and leaves rises from the impact where the ocelot lands. It looks furious, but it's finally in worse shape than you are. And you notice something else – it's emitting waves of hatred and fear more intoxicating and immediate than anything else you've ever felt before. There's nothing like a cornered animal fighting for its life, and you relish the experience with glee. You stare down the ocelot with a cold satisfaction because yes, it will definitely die here if you have anything to say about it.

You're so busy absorbing the cat's panicked desperation that you nearly miss when it makes a feint and then leaps towards you, fangs bared and claws extended. This time, however, you're ready when it tries to strike you, and you turn the bony, armored side of your back to face the blow. Only a single paw manages to graze you, and it does little more than snap off one of your tiny bone spurs.

You failed to factor in the ocelot's speed, though, and really are caught off-guard when it manages to twist in mid-air and catch one of your ears in its mouth. It tries to pull your head to the ground so it can reach your throat. You easily resist the ocelot's puny attempt to overpower you, though, and simply jerk backwards, ripping your ear free of its jaws.

Pain dampens your anger, your tattered ear throbbing as you spring out of range of its swiping claws. That it brought you to this state is infuriating; the rat was easy by comparison, but you're not going to let this thing that managed to mangle your body get away without paying for it.

Your burning rage cools into a crystal-clear cold focus; the ocelot is limping where you crushed its hind leg, and from the way it's listing you think you may have knocked the sense out of it when it hit the tree. Curling your powerful hind legs underneath your body, you poise yourself, tracking the ocelot's weaving motions. You see the moment it miscalculates, trying to put weight on its injured leg, and send yourself flying forward with a powerful leap. You hit it full-on, and with such a ludicrous amount of power that you literally smash its body into two pieces. You land and shake yourself off, wounded but victorious, and savor your victory as a true Grimm.

The forest grove where you first ambushed the rat is truly a mangled mess of blood and bones now; if your birth was anything to go by, you wouldn't be surprised if a new Grimm were to form out of the remains you've strewn about the place. You could care less about that, however; you're still riding high on the euphoria of shedding blood and something in you craves for more.

Limping away from the massacre, you trudge deeper into the forest, fueled by blind determination to continue to murder whatever is foolish enough to cross your path. All too soon, though, your wounds take it upon themselves to remind you of their existence, and you're forced to stop, exhausted.

Tall trees still surround you; after a brief inspection, you manage to flop into the hollow nestled between the gnarled roots of a large tree to catch your breath. You calm down slowly, and your wounds gradually stop smarting. It's relaxing, almost, to let yourself spread bonelessly in your temporary haven, and a hazy lethargy overcomes you.

As you sleepily bask in the soothing sensation of your body restoring itself, you hear a high-pitched sound in the distance. Extending your senses, you realize you can also feel whatever is coming your way. It's a mix of trepidation, worry, and a healthy dose of fear.

"Freckles! C'mon girl, where are you?" a reedy voice cries out, pitched high.

"Mom's gonna kill you," an impossibly higher-pitched voice answers.

"I'm not the one who left the cage open," the first voice spits in a noticeably lower octave. You lift your head in interest, sensing the annoyance and ire behind those words.

"I'm not the one wandering around in the middle of the night looking for the stupid cat," the high-pitched voice answers. "What if you run into a Grimm out here, huh?"

"That's why you're here, isn't it?" the first voice answers sullenly. You can hear their footsteps now, they're almost upon you.

 

[Enkida]

The Twins​

You decide to remain where you are, lying in wait for the owners of the two voices to arrive. For a brief moment you consider hiding yourself, but you manage to remember that it would be almost a complete waste of your time before you spend any making the attempt.

Two human children stumble into the clearing, each wearing a headlamp that blazes bright white light into the dark forest. One is a rather large boy with dark skin, sporting an undercut beneath a bright pink ponytail. The other is a similarly dusky-skinned girl, though her hair is jet black and cut into a short bob. Judging from the appearance of their nearly identical dark-blue eyes, they're most likely related – probably twins, since they seem to be around the same age.

"Well, yes, but you know you can't always rely on me to save your butt, Nadir," the girl complains, flipping her hair. "You really need to start thinking about training yourself if you want to keep sneaking into the woods in the middle of the night just because you had a stupid-" She trails off abruptly as she spots you, stiffening.

"Seki?" the boy asks, stopping and looking around uncertainly. The tangible wave of fear when he spots you brings you to your feet in anticipation.

Prey, you think, feeling your hunger return.

"Get behind me," the girl says earnestly, in sharp contrast to the squeaky high pitch of her voice. She pulls something out from her waistband – a metal stick branching into two prongs with an elastic band stretched between them.

"I-i-is that a Caerbannog?" the boy stutters, taking a few steps back.

"It looks young. Nothing I can't take care of," she says confidently, reaching into a pouch at her waist and pulling out a small stone.

"You just started at Sanctum!" the boy cries, looking even more alarmed. "I thought the teachers wouldn't even let you fight a real Grimm yet!"

The girl only smirks in response. "Why do you think I always come out here with you at night, doofus? Necessity is the mother of all the best excuses!" She lifts the stick and takes aim at you, and somehow, you realize that the thing she's holding is a weapon of some kind.

You take off just as the first stone whistles past you, slamming into the trunk of the tree where you were resting. Wood splinters and chips of bark shower your head and back. Some part of you wonders if it was perhaps the wisest decision to lay in wait for the humans to arrive, but that annoying voice of reason is quickly drowned out by the indignation you feel at seeing your bed destroyed by the girl's careless aim.

The boy is still radiating panic and fear, and you use that as a homing beacon to latch onto his presence. He sees you approaching and squeals in fear, tripping over a root and falling onto his butt. He scrabbles backwards, trying to escape you, but the boy is simply too clumsy – even with your slow speed, you manage to hook a paw onto the leg of his pants and sink your claws in, and then pull yourself forward to take a bite out of his calf. Warm blood floods your mouth, and the boy's shrill scream of fear turns into one of pain.

"Get off of my brother, you creep!" the girl yells, charging at you. It seems she's not confident enough to fire those tiny stones when her brother is this close by, so she simply swings the metal stick at your head. It's laughably easy to dodge it, though you reluctantly have to release the boy's leg to do so. Still, you manage to take another swipe at him with your paw and remove more of his skin in the process.

"It hurts! It huuurrrrrts!" the boy howls, rolling across the forest floor in pain and clutching at his bleeding leg.

Only now, you begin to taste the girl's fury – your presence wasn't enough to excite her, but now that you've hurt her brother, the fire stoking her anger runs deeper than the boy's fear. She takes aim at you with her stick, all hesitation gone from her posture, and fires.

Your triumphant disdain quickly fades into shock as the pellet hits you straight between the eyes, rattling your skull and sending you crashing to the ground. Thankfully, your bone mask absorbed most of the impact, though you're certain you can feel a few cracks forming on it. Without the additional armor on your head, you probably would have died from that shot.

The girl's unexpectedly powerful attack, however, isn't enough to defeat you – on the contrary, it stokes your simmering anger into a burning inferno. Forgetting about the weakling boy, you turn on the girl and focus on her as your primary target.

Destroy her! Tear her throat out, and gnaw off the fingers that hold that damned stick!

You leap towards her, fangs bared. She tries to parry your lunge with her weapon, but your abnormal strength takes her by surprise, and you easily bat away her defense. Your claws leave deep welts across both of her collarbones, and your fangs miss her throat by mere inches, instead taking off a small chunk of flesh from her lower jaw.

You both separate, panting.

"You little shit," the girl snarls, glaring at you. "That's gonna leave a scar on my face!"

"S-S-Seki!" the boy yells, sounding ill. "Your aura!"

"Shut up! I don't need it!" she screams, taking aim at you once again and letting another stone fly. You attempt to dodge the attack but are only partially successful; the pellet impacts against your body and you slide off-balance, pain radiating from your side. Still, it's too late to turn away now; even though she foiled your charge, you still manage to graze her with your fangs, leaving a bloody new tattoo against her outer thigh.

You land, darkly pleased at the fresh taste of blood filling your mouth.

"It's over," the girl says, sounding satisfied, and you look up only to realize too late that it was a trap; she let herself get hit in order to corner you. She pulls back on her sling, a vicious smile on her face, and when the pellet impacts against your skull, everything goes black.

.x.x.x.​

You wake up an indeterminate time later with a raging headache and a vague sense of surprise that you're not actually dead. Though you're lying still, your body is being jostled roughly. You raise your head and survey your darkened surroundings, taking in everything you can with your senses. Cold metal presses against your fur, and a quick glance around confirms that you've been trapped in a small cage over which a thick drop cloth has been thrown. You can hear snippets of a loud, angry conversation between two familiar voices outside.

"Keeping a pet Grimm is the stupidest idea ever, Seki!"

A snort. "As if I needed a pet. You know me, Nadir. I can't even keep a plant alive."

"Well then why'd you bring it home? We should've just killed it in the forest!" The boy sounds as whiny as ever, but you attempt to follow the conversation, interested in the answer.

"I want to bring it to school. I've heard stories that they use real live Grimm to train in some of the classes. Think of it like extra credit."

"They do that at Haven! You're so gonna get in trouble with your teacher if you bring that thing in. Besides, you must be dreaming if you think they'd take in a Caerbannog."

"Will not. And what's wrong with a Caerbannog, stupid? I caught it fair and square!" You twitch at the girl's proud boast, silently promising yourself some bloody revenge in the future. She really doesn't need those blue eyes. Or that nose. Or her entire head, for that matter.

"Everyone knows Grimm rabbits are only strong when they attack in numbers. You're such a loser, training to be a Huntress and you don't even know that much about Grimm!"

"Hey, some people are good at nerding, and some people are good at doing. Watch, learn, and stay in your lane."

"Hmph. You just want to walk into school looking cool with a Grimm under your arm, don'tcha."

"So what if I do?" The girl sounds smug now, but you hear both of the children jump as a door slams loudly.

"Sekimen and Nadir Shiko! Explain yourselves this instant!" A woman's furious voice overrides the two children's argument, bearing the full weight of a mother's authority as judge, jury, and executioner. "How dare the two of you sneak out in the middle of the night! Don't you know how dangerous that is? You could have died! You nearly did! And you brought back that abomination, of all things!"

"But we beat it…" the girl mutters sullenly.

There's a lengthy silence, then a long sigh. "Did you two at least find the cat?"

"No," the boy says miserably.

The girl hums in agreement. "I mean I know he's an ocelot, so he can take care of himself. But what if he ran into a real Grimm? Not like that stupid bunny we caught, but something that actually has teeth."

"That thing had teeth! Look at my leg!"

"Stop whining," the girl retorts. "If you'd just unlock your aura, that'd be healed already."

"You wannabe Huntsmen are all insane!" the boy huffs.

"And you BOTH are grounded for the rest of the month," the woman interjects in a tone that brokers no argument. "Sekimen, you're taking that… thing… to school with you first thing tomorrow morning and letting your teachers deal with it."

"That was the plan…"

"Don't get smart with me, young lady! Now get cleaned up this instant. Your father wants to have a word with you both."

There's a series of bumps, rustles, and groans, and then you hear a door latching shut. An exasperated sigh follows. "Those kids... Unbelievable! What the devil am I supposed to do with this thing in the meanwhile?"

You feel your cage being lifted, and in a spurt of anger at being entrapped, you throw yourself against the bars. You hear a shrill scream of surprise and your cage lurches, but the woman manages to retain her hold on it.

The door bursts open, and a deep male voice all but roars "What happened?!"

"Calm down, dear, it's just the Caerbannog. Here, you take this thing. I don't even want to touch it, ugh!"

Your cage jolts again, and then you feel yourself being carried somewhere. The sharp smell of manure fills your nostrils, and you realize you're being held in some kind of farmhouse. Your cage lands on a thick wooden table with a hard rattle.

"Don't even think about trying to escape, you little bastard," the deep voice growls, and instinctively you slam against the cage in response, rising to his emotional challenge. You manage to move it a few inches, and the man clucks his tongue in surprise.

"Strong little bugger, aren'tcha. Well, I got just the thing for that." A chuckle, and then something heavy lands on top of your cage. "Try getting out of that one, ya little bastard." There's the sound of a rattling door slamming shut, and then you're left alone in the darkness, stewing in your own frustration.

After slamming yourself fruitlessly against the bars of your cage a few more times, you give up – whatever the farmer weighed your prison down with is stronger even than you. You flop to the floor of your cage, tired and unwilling to spend any more energy beating senselessly against the bars. Instead, you let yourself drift off to an uneasy sleep, feeling your body slowly healing the massive damage the little witch managed to inflict on you.

.x.x.x.​

By the time you wake up, your body has completely recovered from the almost-deadly attack in the forest. That's the good news. The bad news is that the jostling that roused you from your sleep indicates that you've finally arrived at your new destination.

"And what do we have here, Miss Shiko?"

"It's a Grimm my brother and I caught in the forest near our house, Professor Reseda! A Caerbannog."

"Odd, to find one alone like that," the adult replies. "You're lucky you didn't incite the ire of its entire colony!"

"I dunno, it seemed to be a loner," the girl says. "It's still young, but it's a little spitfire, so be careful when you handle it! It'll probably try to bite your fingers off."

Merry laughter is the teacher's response to the girl's warning. "Oh, don't worry my dear. That's typical for all Grimm. And we'll do worse to it eventually. I'll put this find of yours with the others for now. Thank you."

You feel yourself being carried again, and when the next door opens, your nose is assailed by the familiar scent of death and decay. Even without the wave of malice that calls out to you, the various screeches, growls, and rumbles alert you instantly to the fact that you're in the presence of other Grimm. The drop cloth is finally removed, and you see a well-lit room lined with shelves, each containing many cages full of a variety of smaller Grimm, ranging from rats to roosters. The largest thing in the room is a Boarbatusk, but even that is only fledgling like yourself, a mere shadow of its true potential.

The green-haired man with an imposing goatee grunts as he lifts your cage and sets it down on one of the shelves; he smiles at you, though without any trace of warmth. "Welcome to your new home," he says, and you recognize him as the professor from earlier. "May your stay with Sanctum Academy be brief and fatal." With a wink of an eye, he exits the room, closing the door and leaving you alone with the other Grimm.

The cage to your right contains a baby Taijitu, barely a hand-span long and with only one head developed so far. It's curled in on itself, trying to preserve what little energy it can in the absence of sunlight. To your left, a Grimble is scratching behind its ear, its long, lolling tongue hanging out of its mouth. You watch in fascinated horror as a drop of drool slowly forms and drips off, splashing into the small lake at the bottom of the pug-like Grimm's cage.

Obviously, this is going to be a pleasant stay.

You manage to spend about half an hour watching the Grimble slobber all over itself before your temper breaks and you slam against the bars of your cage once more, desperate to reach over and rip the damn thing's tongue out. This time, something gives – you calm yourself and inspect the cage more carefully.

It looks like whatever the farmer had used to weigh down your cage last night weakened the joints! With your abnormal strength, if you just keep pushing hard enough and further weakening the bars, you might be able to free yourself! It's certainly better than waiting around here for whatever experiment the Huntsmen teachers want to conduct.

With some time and effort, you manage to snap the metal holding the weak side of your cage together and push it out. There's just enough space for you to squeeze onto the shelf.

 

[Enkida]

Escape from Sanctum Academy​

For a brief moment, you consider fleeing. Then you catch sight of the Grimble, still drooling like an imbecile. All thought and reason flees and in a fit of rage, you reach over and bat the lock right off of its cage. Then you make good on your mental threat and charge in. The Grimble doesn't even realize what you're doing before the puddle of drool on the floor of its cage is joined by a severed tongue. As it gapes at you in shock, you go for the jugular and end the miserable thing's existence.

The feeling of contentment that fills you as you step over the hapless corpse slows your steps, and you approach the Fledgling Taijitu with deliberate patience. You take your time twisting off the lock of its cage, and when it uncoils, lightning fast, to strike at you, you simply keep your paw pressed against the cage door to foil the attack. You nudge the door open as it twitches against the bottom of the cage, stunned, and reach down and almost lovingly sever its tiny head with your fangs.

Pleased with your success, you carefully inch your way down to the next set of cages. The first cage contains a tiny bird-like Grimm, a young Avis. With the same studied care, you break the lock on its cage and wait for it to attack. Screeching, the Avis rushes straight towards your face, aiming to peck at your eyes. You don't even bother to use your claws this time, simply whipping your head from side to side. Your floppy, bone-studded ears fly out, smashing into the Avis mid-flight and breaking its fragile bones. You finish the job as it writhes on the floor by stepping on it.

Moving on, you see another bird in the cage next to it. This one contains a Basan, and with its magnificent crest and tail, it's even larger than you. It watches you breaking the lock off of its cage, scratching at the ground with its talons. Rather than waiting for you to enter, however, it rushes out the moment the metal snaps in your jaws. Using the cage door as a shield, it rams you out of the way, and then leaps off of the shelf with a shrill cry. The Basan's cackling and cawing as it runs along the length of the storeroom floor is enough to send remaining trapped Grimm into a frenzy.

Rolling to your feet, you look over the edge of the shelf at the Basan, your whiskers twisted into a snarl. That stupid bastard! Now you'll have to work faster before the humans can interrupt your murderous spree.

You rush to adjoining cage and slap the lock off with one strong swipe, then swing the door open to attack your next victim. Two beady red eyes stop you in your tracks before you can enter, though. The Nonnus that waddles out to greet you is slow, enormous, and completely unconcerned by your presence, and you realize you just might have greatly underestimated its power simply because it acted so lethargic compared to the tiny Grimm surrounding it. Now, as you question your life choices and eye the broken lock to its cage with some regret, you find yourself paralyzed by a dual sense of fear and fascination at the aquatic Grimm's strange appearance. It decides after a cursory inspection of you that you're simply not worth its time, and continues its stately waddle towards the floor. The Basan, at least, seems to know enough to steer clear of it as well.

Shaking off the uncomfortable encounter, you proceed to the next cage. This one contains the exact opposite of its shelf-mate, a Lesser Vermivious, a vicious little Grimm rodent that inspires little more than ridicule by its miniscule appearance. You make short work of the lock and open the door to move in on it, but the mouse-like Grimm is having none of it. Rather than trying to fight you, it scuttles across the floor of the cage, zipping straight between your spread paws and disappearing under the shelf almost too quickly for your eye to follow. You gnash your teeth in frustration, but can't take the time to chase after the little bastard – the door is rattling ominously, and the only reason that it hasn't swung open seems to be the Nonnus, which has reared up onto its hind legs and is leaning its full body weight on the door, snuffling at the knob.

The next shelf is host to another Vermivious, this one quite a bit larger and very similar in appearance to the rat you slew in the forest, but for its Grimm markings. You smash the lock off of its cage and waste no time in cornering the hissing creature. You're still smarting from its lesser-evolved companion's hasty escape, and the memory of your first kill in the forest is fresh in your mind. With a mad glee, you waste no time in pouncing on the Vermivious and smashing its head into a bloody pulp with your paws. As you exit the cage and move on to the next, your feet squelch against the metal shelves, leaving a trail of bloody footprints along your path of destruction.

The Ratatosk awaiting you in the next prison is already hanging off of the ceiling, chittering wildly as its fluffy tail twists back and forth in agitation. Obviously, it knows what you're up to and doesn't want to die. Unfortunately, as you gaze at the top of its especially large cage, you don't have time to figure out a way to bring it down. A few fruitless leaps only prove how much more agile it is than you, dodging each snap of your jaws. With a squeak of discontent, you give up and make your way down off of the shelf and onto the floor.

Only four cages remain occupied now, and you make quick work of the first, which contains a tiny Sepulcrum. Despite lacking the usual glowing red eyes of a Grimm, the little mole-like thing still manages to avoid your pounce and scuttle around you, making its way towards the floor. You follow it, fully intending to catch it between your jaws and tear it apart – you're really beginning to hate these quick little cretins that keep managing to avoid your efforts to slay them. It disappears before you can reach it, though, its powerful front paws tearing the concrete floor into shreds, and disappearing into the ground with a speed you wouldn't have believed possible, leaving only a small pile of rubble behind as evidence of its passing.

You approach the small mound to inspect it, but stop short when you feel a pair of eyes watching you, and a surge of malice. Looking up, you realize you've put yourself directly in the path of the cage containing the Boarbatusk – the largest of the Grimm trapped here, and undoubtedly the most deadly. It also seems to be more intelligent than the others, much like the Nonnus. It eyes your progress, deadly still, and you realize that freeing this particular Grimm might mean ending your own life in the process.

It's a decision you don't have time to weigh, however, as the door of the room flies open, the Huntsman guard on the other side finally managing to overpower the Nonnus. The human steps into the room, then lets out a gasp of dismay as he sees the bloody trails you've left all over. Wafts of black mist fill the air as the Grimm you've slain begin to disintegrate. Before the Huntsman can react, the Basan, already panicked, rushes him, beating its wings in his face. His pained scream splits the air and he makes a grab for the Grimm; you realize you only have moments before the human takes care of that idiot rooster and notices you instead. And much as you 'd like to finish the job of ripping his face off, if you couldn't even kill a schoolgirl, you're not about to take on the school guard by yourself.

You feel the Boarbatusk's eyes on you, and the inklings of an idea slowly rise to the surface. It snorts at you, and you make your decision. Even if it kills you, you can feel its bloodlust rising; it will definitely pose more of a challenge to that Huntsman guard than you and all the other remaining Grimm in this room combined.

Determined, you leap for the Boarbatusk's cage and destroy the lock with one powerful hit. That's all it takes; the Boarbatusk charges straight for the Huntsman the instant you free it. The human sails out of the room on impact with the Basan still attached to his head. You watch as the Nonnus waddles out calmly after them, then feel a surge of frustration as the one remaining Verivious shoots out of its hiding place in a black streak, following the other Grimm. As if to add insult to injury, the Ratatosk that had been out of your reach finally leaps out of its own cage, only to land on your head and use it as a springboard. It, too, goes flying out the door after the other Grimm, either desperate to escape – or, from the sounds of it, eager to tear off a chunk of the Huntsman before the Boarbatusk and the Nonnus finish him.

You're now alone in the room but for the last three cages, still locked and containing their prey. But now, you have some time to consider your self-appointed mission to slay the rest of the remaining Grimm before you make your escape. The first cage hosts a Mafdet, a much smaller version of the cat you fought in the forest. Bolstered by the memory, you decide to make this one your first victim and approach its cage, feeling your excitement build.

The Madfet is pacing back and forth in its cage, clearly nervous. Its tail lashes back and forth, and you know instinctively know it will choose to fight you. You, however, are not nearly as worried as your victim is. It has witnessed your strength, and you take your time in breaking the lock, knowing that the other Grimm will fall easily.

You pause before the closed cage door, watching the Madfet carefully as it slowly folds itself into a compact ball, preparing to pounce at you. It's clearly faster than you are – what isn't, you think with some ire – and you're reminded of all those annoying little bastards who managed to evade your attacks simply because they could run fast enough to get away from you.

Your teeth grind together, a hot flash of fury momentarily overtaking you. No, you're not going to even let this one have the chance to make that decision. You also lower yourself into a pounce position, keeping your eyes fixed on the Madfet despite the barrier between the two of you. Then, concentrating all of your power in your back legs, you leap forward. Once again, your nightmarish strength allows you to simply dent the metal inward, tearing the door off of its hinges and smashing it inwards. Your momentum carries you all the way to the other side of the cage – unfortunate for the Madfet, who was still in it. Sticky pieces of flesh and fur jut out from between the crisscrossed metal bars that once formed the door of the cage, like some kind of gruesome sieve. It didn't even have a chance to attack you before it died pitifully, like a squashed melon.

Shaking yourself off, you hop over to the second cage to study your opponent. This one contains a Strix, a proud owl-like Grimm that is slightly larger than yourself and clearly not afraid of you despite the example you just made out of the Madfet. It opens its wings in invitation, hooting a soft challenge at you.

No, this one won't run, you know, even as you destroy the lock and swing the door open. It seems to want to fight you fairly, one-on-one, and perhaps see who is the stronger of you both. You tilt your head in acceptance, as if inviting it to come out and duel with you.

As if you'd fight fairly.

You leap upwards the moment it exits the cage, stopping its flight by snapping with your jaws around one wing. Surprised by your sneak attack, the Strix crashes to the ground. It struggles helplessly against you as you rip into its wing and ground it. The Grimm manages beat you off with both its remaining wing and talons, raking your sides in the process, but it won't be getting away from you anymore. Its tattered wing is now too damaged to support its own great weight, nearly ripped free of its side.

You don't give it a chance to recover, leaping towards its head, eager to finish the job. This turns out to be your downfall, however, as you forget, once again, just how clumsy you are and trip over your own paws. Rather than gloriously striking the final blow, you slip backwards and roll head over heels to a stop a few paces away from the other Grimm, injuring only yourself. You look up, blinking, and meet the glowing red stare of the Strix from across the floor. At least you did manage to mangle it with your claws a little while you were flailing about.

The Strix hoots softly, and you clack your teeth together in frustration, because that almost sounds like a laugh. It struggles to its feet, shrugs its ruffled feathers, and then hops towards the door – clearly, it doesn't intend to stay and finish this fight with you. You hear more sounds coming from the hallway – that Huntsman, who'd been screaming, has fallen silent by now, but the higher-pitched shouts of some passing academy students have taken his place. Evidently the Strix has chosen to gracefully ignore your sorry excuse of an attack and would rather take its chances with the human children than you; it is a victory of sorts, even if not a satisfying one.

You finally approach the last cage, your pride smarting much more than your body does. This is it; this is your last chance to draw blood and claim victory in this Grimm arena. The creature waiting in the cage knows that you won't let it escape; it doesn't seem to want to try, either.

You destroy the lock of its cage, a matter of routine by now, and let it swing open before taking a few steps back. The Grimm inside vibrates, then slowly trudges out of the open cage.

The Jihlava that stops to face you is only slightly larger than you are, but decidedly more intimidating than any of the other creatures that have faced you because it seems to be made up entirely of spikes. Long, ugly, razor-sharp bone spikes and you have a bad feeling that they're only tenuously attached to the Jihlava's body. As you consider how to attack it, it makes the decision easy for you, simply curling into a ball and hurtling your way.

You leap straight up into the air, and your powerful legs allow you to clear the Jihlava's charge completely. It hits the wall behind you with a loud thud and an audible grunt of pain, and you smirk. This thing isn't the brightest of the Grimm in the room, even if it is the spikiest.

The Jihlava quivers, and the smirk is wiped from your face as said spikes suddenly detach themselves and fly in your direction like dozens of tiny thrown spears. They hit you head on, piercing through your thick fur and causing you to squeal in pain.

Your entire chest is on fire, and the sheer number of quills sticking out of you is making you look like that bastard's smaller twin. You swing your head around, sweeping as many of them off as you can with your teeth and your flopping ears.

The Jihlava is still trying to roll to its feet from where it smashed itself against the wall, and you realize as it contorts that its soft underbelly is the only part of it not papered with those annoying spikes. You rush towards it as quickly as you can – and thankfully, the Jihlava is almost as slow as you are, so you actually succeed this time – and sink both of your claws into its exposed belly, drawing blood.

Screaming, the Jihlava jackknifes, trying to protect itself, and your attempt to disembowel it with your fangs is cut short by the wave of spikes that embed themselves into your face as it's caught in the crossfire.

Pain explodes across your entire head, and you stumble backwards, seriously injured by your gamble. Thankfully, the quills missed piercing your eyes, though your ears feel like fire and you can't hear much anymore. Through the dull haze of hurt radiating from your face, you can see that the other Grimm is not much better off. It's really just a test of endurance now… whoever manages to land the first hit will be the victor, since you're both ready to drop from your mutual attacks.

Somehow, the Jihlava manages to position itself to fire even more quills at you, and something inside of you snaps.

You won't be defeated here, not by this glorified porcupine. Ignoring your own wounds, you surge forward and smash the Jihlava into the wall before it can fire, feeling a few of the spikes pierce through your paws. It's worth the agony, though, because the Jihlava can't stop its own attack, and by smashing it into the wall, you basically forced its quills to backfire into its own body. As it writhes in pain, it finally exposes its tiny black throat. Your face hurts far too much to attempt to tear into it with your fangs, but you lift your quill-studded paw and simply smash it into the Grimm's throat, nailing the sharp spikes back into their original owner.

The Jihlava convulses a few times under your paw, but you hold it down, snarling. Eventually its struggles slow, then cease. You wait a few more moments, ensuring that it's really dead, before flopping over onto your side in exhaustion, barely able to move.

The Huntsmen will be coming, you know. You need to escape. But you feel weak, and your body must regenerate before you will be able to move. You lay there helplessly, struggling to move, when the Jihlava's body begins to dissipate.

This time, the black mist that forms doesn't swirl into the air and drift away into nothingness. Instead, it is sucked towards you, pulled by some invisible force with you as its lodestone. The mist surrounds and infuses your body, and you feel your wounds rapidly closing, faster even than your own bodily regeneration can manage.

But it's more than simply healing you, as the tickling feeling turns into one of sharp pain. It's as if the Jihlava's quills are piercing you all over your body. Your breath constricts, your chest crushing in on itself as each breath becomes labored.

Something about you is changing, and it hurts. You black out briefly, and when you come to, you are different.

The pain recedes, and as you rise to your hind legs, the world seems just a little smaller than before. It takes you a moment to realize that it's you who has grown taller. The bones ornamenting your black fur have increased in both size and number, and you can feel the weight of the horns rising from your head. As you bask in the newfound power coursing through your body, your ears pick up on the sound of screams and battle coming from down the hall.

You slink towards the door and peek out of the room, surveying the carnage. Blood is splattered on the wall, trailing down it in a long, straight streak that ends in the prone body of the fallen guard. Though the Boarbatusk must have struck the killing blow, the bird-brained Basan actually managed to ravage the fool's face into an unrecognizable mess.

Tentatively, you hop into the hallway; you can hear the sounds of fighting around the corner, and feel an instinctive desire to join the fray. A few more hops bring you closer to the noise, but a sudden shout and the pounding of multiple footsteps in the distance stops you cold. Quickly, you search for somewhere to tuck yourself away before the charging horde can trample over you.

Salvation comes in the form of a few stacked cardboard boxes against the wall. You squirm your way between them and manage to tear open a rip in the side of one just large enough for you to squeeze into. You settle into the box and peer out from the hole you made.

The Basan charges around the corner, squawking and flapping its wings, obviously on the run. Following it is a gaggle of both young and fully-grown fleshlings, all wielding implements of destruction in their hands. The charge is led by the professor with the magnificent green goatee; he's whirling an imposing-looking triple-studded flail over his head. He lets it fly, and the spiked chains extend down the hall, catching the Basan and smashing it directly into the wall above your stack of boxes. It impacts with a wet squelch, and you see a few feathers fluttering into your field of vision, followed by a loud thump. It would seem the Grimm rooster didn't make it out of that experience alive.

"You got it, Professor!" a familiar voice shouts, and your eyes instantly focus on the source: a small, dark-skinned girl with deep blue eyes and bobbed black hair. Her strange forked weapon is in hand, and a surge of anger overcomes you. The entire reason you've been trapped here is right before your eyes, alive, kicking, and entirely too healthy for your liking. That won't stand, you decide, your newest immediate goal in life set: Revenge. Of course, this may not be the best place to take it, you understand now; alongside your newfound intelligence, you've also gained a measure of patience and cunning.

"Yes, but we were too late to save Mr. Roe-Saeh," the professor says with a pained look on his face. "Come, we've no time to waste. That Nonnus could be causing even more trouble as we speak." Swiftly, he leads the others down the hall, away from your hiding place within the boxes.

You emerge slowly; your desire to follow after them, or even just explore the school at large and add to the chaos, has been dampened by your newfound goal: exact your due from the one calling herself "Seki." To do that, you first have to escape – preferably unscathed. And you think you know of one potential way.

Slinking back inside the ruined Grimm storage room, you inspect the small pile of rubble where the Sepulcrum burrowed into the floor. The hole is much too small for your body, even more so now that you've evolved into double your previous size. You paw at the loose concrete, pushing it aside easily, and consider the hole. The Seplucrum's claws were obviously made to plow through anything, whether it be flesh or stone, but your own seem more honed for battle than digging. Still, it seems like a better opportunity to escape than trying to face down the angry man with the flail and his child minions, as enticing as that sounds.

Tentatively striking a paw thorough the rubble, you clear it away. Then, laboriously, you begin to dig, trying to widen the hole to accommodate your body. After the first few tries, your paws unconsciously gain speed, moving faster and faster. Soon, you're halfway through the ground, scooping up concrete, stone, and earth at a rate nearly as fast as the Sepulcrum. The repetitive action has awakened your first memory, of desperately trying to burrow into the earth to find your colony. You realize, as you continue to tunnel, that this is a skill that comes just as naturally to you as it did to the mole.

As you force your way through the ground in total darkness, your Grimm sense allows you to orient yourself. From above, you can feel the panic, fear, and anger of the fleshlings still in the academy; a much deeper, colder malice informs you that Nonnus is still alive and doing something to inspire those feelings. There's not a trace of the banked violence of the Boarbatusk, however, and you can only assume the other Grimm also met its fate at the hands of the Huntsmen. Considering how much stronger it was than you, your own decision to flee the school was probably a wise one.

A bright flare of greed close by causes you to abruptly stop; the Sepulcrum that escaped your wrath is near, and it seems to have completely forgotten about you.

You certainly haven't forgotten about it, though. You dig harder and faster, focusing on your prey, and burst into the Sepulcrum's tunnel – it's time for your first act of payback. The Sepulcrum tries to turn its powerful claws on you, but your newly grown horns are more than enough to keep the creature away. It only takes a moment's effort to snap the tiny Grimm in half between your jaws. It fades quickly, the taste of its Grimm blood sour on your tongue.

Its death does little to sate your hunger for violence, particularly when you remember how sweet and warm the blood of the tiny would-be Huntress tasted in your mouth. Twitching, you renew your efforts to burrow outside of the academy.

When the chaos you sense from the students and teachers has faded to the faintest of nudges against your consciousness, you choose to surface. You poke your head out of the ground and take in your surroundings: you're at the edge of a small, peaceful-looking copse of trees overlooking this "Sanctum" of would-be Hunters. From your vantage point you can clearly see the main entrance to the school, and the wide, winding road that leads out of it towards a small city in the distance. You hunker down in the underbrush, trying to blend in with the trees – thankfully, with more success than your usual clumsy attempts produce.

Students are already streaming out of the school even though it's still mid-morning; it seems like the havoc the other Grimm wrought forced the school to shut down early today. This is exactly what you were hoping for. You watch the gates intently, ignoring the masses of human and faunus children exiting the building. You're looking only for once specific face in this crowd, after all.

You spot the girl leaving a few moments later; her pathetic brother is trailing after her, looking queasy. They break away from the other students and leave the paved road to travel along a smaller dirt trail that passes by your hiding place. Incredibly enough, when they stop right next to you, neither of them notice your presence at all. It allows you to clearly hear their conversation, however.

"Oh Brothers… I think I'm gonna be sick!"

The girl gives her brother a few supportive pats on his back. "I'm telling you, this wasn't normal. I still think it was because of that Caerbannog we brought in... It just had this look in its eyes, y'know? I don't think it was normal."

The boy is leaning on his knees and seems to be hyperventilating. "How can you be so laid back about it? That guard's face…" He burps wetly, and you silently plead to these "Brothers" that the boy can hold in the content of his stomach, because he's standing right over your hiding spot. Thankfully, he manages to control himself before his breakfast can make a re-appearance.

"This is all the more reason you have to officially enroll and wake up your aura! It's just not safe out here, Nadir. You can't ignore all these Grimm, especially not when we live on the farm. It's too remote to call for a Huntsman every time a Grimm threatens us or the livestock! You need to learn to take care of yourself."

Your manage to keep your ears from twitching and giving away your location when you hear this new information. So their farm is remote, and they won't have any of those flail-wielding Huntsmen on guard to protect them? A plan begins to form in your mind.

"This was the worst orientation ever," the boy declares. "My first day at Sanctum and I got to see one of your teachers get killed by your own Grimm! I'm never gonna become a Huntsman! Never!"

"Let's just go home already," the girl says, actually looking a little fearful for once at the mention of her deceased teacher. "You can decide about becoming a Huntsman later."

"Yeah, if by later you mean like never…" the boy mumbles as he trails after her.

Rising from your hiding spot and shaking yourself off, you stare after them. Then, with the barest twitch of your nose, you burrow into the ground to follow them home.

 

[Enkida]

Best Served Cold​

Twilight is descending, and you're back at the farm of the two human children. Now that you can actually see it, it's only a modest-sized house that the family lives in, though the barns, stables, and pastures surrounding it are sprawling. They own two pet dogs, though they're still missing their hunting cat, and if your guess is right, they won't be finding "Freckles" anytime soon.

Apart from the little girl, you're not certain if any of them are Huntsmen. It seems foolish that they wouldn't be, given that they live in such a remote area. On the other hand, fleshlings do tend to be fools, as evidenced by their brilliant idea to gather and trap Grimm in a school full of barely-trained children.

The two children you were following disappeared almost immediately into their house; you've been waiting and watching since, biding your time until the little demoness with the weapon separates herself from her companions. You imagine sinking your teeth into her soft flesh; this time, you won't miss her throat. Of course, your newfound patience is being stretched to its limits during the wait – it seems like the mother of the children was serious about her punishment, and you haven't seen hide or hair of either of them since they entered their house.

Finally, the door swings open, and the girl steps out – dressed in overalls and thick rubber boots. You note that she still has the belt with the stick and pouch attached to it, but it hardly seems like she's prepared for a fight. Instead, she's carrying two large pails full of slop and is on her way to feed the pigs in one of the barns to the side of the house.

You watch her enter the pigsty; the door swings open behind her, slamming on the side of the barn house with a loud clatter.

As soon as the young girl disappears into the barn, you make your move. Your paws scrabble at the dirt, quickly creating at tunnel to the entrance of the barn. You hollow out the earth just outside of the door; you're displacing so much of it that you have to break through to the surface to let it all pile up. You think little of it, however; the girl won't be able to see the small hill you've created to the side of the doors until she's clear of the barn itself, and by then it will be too late for her. You do have a niggling concern than someone in the farmhouse may note the anomaly and come out to investigate, but if that happens… you look forward to dealing with any interlopers, too. After all, the humans must learn that you are a force to be reckoned with.

You poke your head above ground and inspect your work; but for the new mound of soft, loose soil you created, things look untouched. The surface is paper-thin, however, and held together more by a measure of luck than anything else. Your ears swivel towards the barn's interior, where you hear footsteps approaching: the time for the girl to understand the enormity of her mistake is nigh.

When she appears, she still has the two slop pails in hand, though they're empty now. She isn't even looking at the ground, but instead checking the sky for the onset of twilight; you watch her booted foot rise, and then fall… followed by the rest of her body as she crashes into your trap.

It worked! You disappear below the surface, blood pounding in your veins, and burst into the pit you prepared, ready to eviscerate her.

She lies prone on the ground looking surprised, but when she sees you leaping, she doesn't bother to scream. Instead, one pail after the other comes flying at you. You knock away the first one, but have to abort your charge to twist out of the way of the second. By the time you recover, the girl is already on her feet; you only have the chance to take a single swipe at her leg, because she's already clawing her way out of your pit.

She grunts when your claws connect against her leg, raking straight through her denim overalls and into the flesh below, but doesn't stop climbing; instead, a booted foot comes down on your head, knocking you back into the pit while she continues her desperate scramble out.

The blow stuns you, but you regain your feet quickly. It was her mistake not to follow you down and ensure that you stayed there; you're not the same weakling that she faced before. With a silent snarl, you crouch on your hind legs and then push off the ground. Your jump sends you sailing to catch her just as she reaches for the edge of the pit; you clamp down on the hand that grasped for salvation and tear it away, sending her careening back into darkness.

She lands with a silent cry, the wind knocked out of her, and opens her eyes just long enough to see you preparing to land on her, head down. She tries to scream, but it's far too late. Your razor-sharp horns sink into her stomach, brutally impaling her. There's a wet ripping sound as you tear them free. One of them snags on that useless belt of hers – still holding the stick weapon – and it snaps off, getting caught on your antlers.

"C-caer—" she manages to gurgle, her eyes wide as she watches you tower over her, blood pouring out from the mangled remains of her stomach. You extend your claws to their fullest and swipe them across her face to silence her, and it works. For being such a brash, loud girl in life, her body is oddly quiet and still as that spark of life flees from her body, tortured breath by breath.

After a few moments, the last one escapes her with a dull wheeze, and her eyes turn glassy.

Revenge, you feel with the deepest satisfaction. You step back from your kill. The human girl couldn't have been more than 14 or 15 years old. You burn the lost, broken look on her face into your memory: your first human victim will stay with you for the rest of your life, no matter how short or violent it might be.

You allow yourself to savor the moment for a short while longer before you attempt to delve out of the pit, bathed in the girl's fragrant blood. Unfortunately, her weapons belt is still tangled in your horns, and once you clear the ground, you shake your head wildly until it flies off with a snap, rolling across the field… and under the paws of a large, shaggy sheepdog.

It lowers its head to sniff at the belt, letting out a low, concerned whine.

You didn't come this far by waiting for others to react to your presence, so you're already running towards it as it lifts its head, the whine turning into a snarl. There's no backing down when you've come this far, and besides, you're nearly as large as that dog itself now. You ram into it before it can charge at you, surprising it with your strength and goring it viciously with your claws and horns. The dog tries to fight back, managing to push you off with some effort, but you obviously still have the upper hand when you separate. Sensing an easy kill, you rush in for the final blow, and pay for it when the dog rallies and snaps at you, turning your own charge into an opportunity for it to sink its teeth into you one last time. The wound the already-dying dog manages to inflict is negligible, however, and does little to stop you from stabbing it through the eyes with your horns. Your formerly white antlers have turned a bloody shade of red, something you hope will become permanent as you shake the mongrel's corpse off, just as you removed the girl's weapon belt.

"Seki! Mom says to hurry up, dinner's—" You look up from the corpse, only to meet the eyes of the human girl's brother. He freezes upon seeing you. His gaze travels from the fallen dog at your feet to the bloody belt strewn across the ground nearby, and his mouth drops open. You consider rushing up to him and ending his life as well, but something pushes him out of the way – the other farm dog, this one all teeth and fangs as it attacks.

"GRIMM!" you hear the boy screaming, his voice high and loud with blind panic. "GRIMM! MOM, DAD—"

You tune him out as the dog slashes at you, but this mutt is just as slow and helpless as his companion was. You make quick work of him, simply smashing his clumsy attacks away from your armored hide and going straight for his throat. You manage to rip a good portion of it away with your fangs, but somehow you miss fatally wounding it. You've managed to teach the thing its place, though, for it turns and runs from you, splattering blood behind it as it tries to flee for its life. You have no intention of letting that happen, but a strong, shrill voice stops you in your tracks.

"SEKI!"

The mother is standing on the porch, her son pushed behind her. In her hand is a large, black stick with two holes at the end. If it's anything like the weapon the girl you killed had been using, you instinctively know that getting in the path of that stick would be a very, very bad idea.

As if to illustrate your point, the woman, whose eyes are wild with fury, presses something on the stick and it roars to life, spitting lightning and fire in your direction. The deafening noise nearly dazes you, and you wonder if this new weapon will be enough to end your life.

It's only a split second of curiosity, though, for the human's aim was terrible, and rather than slamming into your body, the projectile she fired slams straight into the loyal dog that was running towards her. The upper half of its body splinters into tiny bits of gore, flesh, and bone, showering you with even more blood.

"Mom! You killed Buddy!" the boy screams, as the woman's mouth drops open in horror.

Dark amusement fills you and you hop towards the two fools, intent on eradicating this moronic family completely. As murderous intent fills your entire being, you faintly notice another, tickling sensation.

"Strange, for a child of mine to be born with a body so weak, yet a will so strong…"

You don't know what it was that you felt, but it sends a shiver down your spine, and a feeling of fresh vitality floods through you.

No matter what it was, you feel more than ready to tear the woman and her useless son to shreds. This shall be the ultimate payback for having the impudence to try and contain you, the embodiment of hatred, with their flimsy cages and Huntsmen—

"Keep your filthy paws off my family!" a deep voice roars, and a huge, bearded man pulls the woman and the boy out of his way. He towers over both of them, and an enormous pitchfork that seems to have little in common with the farming tools you'd spotted lying about the place is in his hand. Also, his entire body is covered with a crackling orange glow. He lifts the pitchfork and aims it at you.

Just like the woman's stick, the end of this one cracks and explodes with light. This time, however, there's no hapless dog to absorb the impact for you. The projectile fired from the weapon slams into your body directly, lifting you off the ground and sending you rolling backwards.

The shock of the impact is so great that it takes you several moments to even register the pain; it's like something has lanced straight through your chest and made every movement sluggish and painful. Even breathing seems difficult at the moment. You roll to your feet and try to claw your way into the ground… if you can just gather the energy to dig, you could get away from the humans. A fleeting thought of ambushing them crosses your mind, but the ground is growing dark with blood all around you, and faintly, you know that this time, it's your own.

"You die here," the man growls, murder in his voice, and you hear the now-familiar cock of those lightning stick-weapons above your head. You turn your head and bare your teeth in defiance at him; if you're to die here, you won't allow this unworthy human to send you like a simpering coward.

Before he can pull the trigger, the ground around you erupts. It's the only way you can describe it with your muddled, hazy senses. Black bodies are rising all around you, eyes as red as blood and armored with bony masks and spikes.

Caerbannog, you realize muzzily as they set upon the man, who fights them off with the skill of a fully-trained Huntsman. The sheer hatred you managed to generate between yourself and the family called your own colony to you. It's a rescue, of sorts – you're too weak to join in on their attack. But their collective fury bolsters you, allowing you to rise to your feet and burrow into the ground, to safety, to buy yourself the time to regenerate and recover. As you disappear surrounded by the chaos of battle, one clear, resounding thread of absolute, focused hatred manages to pierce your consciousness.

You look up through the black bodies overrunning the once-peaceful farm, and meet a pair of deep, blue eyes. The coward, the useless one, the pink-haired boy who could do nothing, is staring at you, and only you. Even though his mother is desperately trying to shield him from the other Caerbannog, his gaze doesn't waver. He lifts one hand; in it, a bloody slingshot. In the other, a stone. He aims at you and fires, and you dive into the ground, feeling the pellet graze the tips of your horns. His anguish and fury follow your retreat, and for the second time today, another face is burned into your memory: that of your now-sworn nemesis, the boy who calls himself Nadir Shiko.

 

[Enkida]

The Warren​

You barely manage to hollow out a small pod underground before collapsing into it, your boiling blood cooling enough to begin to heal your grievously wounded body. You fight the pain and the lethargy. As soon as you regain a measure of your strength, you force yourself to move. You managed to kill that irritating girl and obtain your sweet, sweet revenge. And somehow, despite all odds, you faced off against a Huntsman by yourself and survived the encounter. The siren call of the battle after such success is hard to ignore, but even you can recognize how badly the Huntsman with the pitchfork injured you. With slow reluctance, you decide to delve deeper into the earth, searching for a place to rest and heal yourself.

There is no good stopping point underground; it's merely a matter of how far you're willing to push yourself. Your unusual strength gives you the ability to slog through the soil for longer than most other Caerbannog could, but even that has to give out at some point. Eventually, you cease your efforts to push forward and simply hollow out a comfortable pod to rest in, certain you're far enough removed from the battle as to be safe. The mixed spikes of hatred, glee, despair, and bloodlust that you feel emanating from the other humans and your fellow Grimm have turned to nothing more than soft whispers tugging at the back of your mind. Sleep quickly overcomes you, your abused body giving out.

When you wake, moments or hours later, you're still not entirely healed, although your mind is clear enough to sense that the battle has moved to you. At least, that's what it feels like, as the collective surge of dark emotions rush past your hiding spot. Somehow, the other Caerbannog passing you manage to avoid smashing through your pod as they retreat, though that seems more a matter of luck than design.

In fact, as more and more Caerbannog tunnel through the earth beside your spot, you feel your mind going fuzzy. It's as if their collective emotions are a rushing river of rapids that you've been thrown into, pulling you under and thrusting you along the dark current. You feel yourself being carried away by the pounding of your blood.

With little conscious thought, your paws move and you throw yourself into the stream of passing Caerbannog, pushing others out of the way as you scrabble desperately for the same destination. It's the last semi-coherent thought you manage to have before everything fades into a base amalgam of hatred, fear, and desire pushing you into motion.

Eventually, the jostling of your fellow Grimm breaks you out of the trance; you've been making it harder for your body to heal itself, although the collective excitement of your Grimm brothers and sisters was more than enough to buoy you along the path to… wherever this place is.

Stalactites and stalagmites jut out of the floor and ceiling like giant teeth; from them, drips of milky water splash into small pools lit only by the weak blue-green light of phosphorous moss and fungi. Between this nightmarish vision of stone teeth, Caerbannog Grimm are everywhere.

It looks like you managed to tunnel your way straight into a large underground cavern complex; deep under the surface of the earth, and apparently the one haven most Caerbannog feel safe enough in to call their home.

Safe is a relative word, of course. You've barely taken two steps into the warren when you notice two Caerbannog fighting each other to your right. They seem to be of a similar evolutionary level as you, though both of their antlers are significantly larger and more developed than your own. They're surrounded by a crowd of spectators, you being one of them at the moment. The aggressor makes a high leap, aiming to end the life of its opponent. His victim attempts to return the favor by viciously goring the other Caerbannog. It doesn't work out for the already-injured Grimm lying prone on the ground – the resulting crunch you hear is proof that it will never walk again.

The crowd around you has been growing more and more restless during the course of the battle; it's as though the floodgates have been released when the sound of bone snapping reaches their ears. As the victor steps back, shaking the blood off of its claws, the spectators surge forward with howls of fury.

Rip. Tear. Destroy the weak!

The impulse pulls at you, and you feel yourself slowly drifting back into that foggy haze where your memory becomes fuzzy at best. The other Caerbannog have set upon their fallen comrade with a vigor that almost seems like starvation. As the overwhelming press of fur and bone threatens to drag you into the center of their mad rush, your temper breaks. You are not a weakling, and you will not be controlled!

Against the mad wave of Caerbannog pushing you, you simply turn around and shove them out of your way with your superior strength. It's still like swimming against a powerful current, if just from the sheer numbers of others trying to join the fracas. You clear the immediate radius of the scuffle and look back, but can only see a writhing mass of living Grimm flesh now – too close proximity has already caused many of the others to start fighting among themselves.

Hopping away before you can be swept into the mindless brawl again, you set out for the outer edge of the warren, where there are significantly less Caerbannog. A small number of Fledglings have huddled together, apparently seeking out similar company for safety against their larger siblings. Even here, the heady atmosphere is affecting them; more than a few of them snap and shove against their fellows, clearly vying for dominance.

You can't help yourself; these hornless idiots were you just a while ago. How can they not see that they're acting like sheep when they herd themselves together like this?

Well. If they want a shepherd… they'll have to look somewhere else, you're only interested in forcing them into subservience, not tending to them. You approach the group and rise to your hind legs, towering over the nearest of them, and then blow out a long, hard stream of air through your front nostrils.

The ones closest to you notice your presence immediately and stop jostling one another. One of the little ones, a brave one, pushes its way forward and looks up at you. Then it bares its teeth in defiance.

Your response is swift and merciless. You lift one paw and lower it onto your challenger's head. With a sharp crack, its Grimm mask splits in two, and it drops like a stone. The other bunnies hop out of the way of the falling body, but you move forward and very deliberately step on it, making sure to twist your paw so the bones crunch. The Caerbannog under your grip convulses, lets out a quiet squeak and then dies the painful death it earned for trying to defy you.

The other Fledglings look on, silent. None of them seem too eager to hop forward and serve you, despite your superior power. But they definitely are watching you now, waiting to see what you will do next. You look over your shoulder at the scuffle between the pack animals, which has devolved into a bloody free-for-all, and let out a low snort of disgust.

You sit back and stare at these sorry excuses for Grimm, so unlike yourself. They cluster together for safety and protection like cattle, so it's no surprise to you when the bloodshed from the brawling of the older Caerbannog behind you begins to attract their attention. These weak-willed Fledglings quickly fall under the sway of their rising bloodlust and drift towards the fray.

Bothered, you hop before the first few drifters and block their way. It's not so much any sense of charitable desire to keep the Fledglings safe; more that you think they might prove useful to your own goals, and they can't exactly do that if they're dead.

Of the roughly twenty-odd Fledglings in the group, your low, throaty growl manages to freeze only a few of them in place. The rest hiss restlessly, searching for a way around you. They dare to ignore you, after you showed them your strength? Your temper flares, and you begin to lash out wildly at the insolent fools. Their level is so far beneath yours and they're so blinded by the heady emotions radiating from the nearby fight that you easily cut through them with your teeth and horns. By the time you've slain five of them, you realize that the fight is hopeless; killing them is much easier than intimidating them.

Giving up the Fledgling herd as a lost cause, you let them slip away to their own deaths – or evolutions, should they manage to survive the brawl – and continue your retreat away from the over-crowded, stifling warren. It's only when you've traveled several paces down one of the smaller, winding side-paths along the edge of the cave that you realize you're being followed.

Looking behind you, you see three trembling Fledglings freeze in place. One of the braver ones crawls forward, ears in a submissive position, and squeaks. Your own ears cock forward in amusement; though your efforts to recruit a small Grimm army ended in failure, you still managed to get three of the scrawny Fledglings to accept you as their leader.

Inspecting them more closely, you can sense some dark emotions radiating from each of them – none nearly as strong as you, but still enough to separate them from their other, more mindless brethren. Those emotions are of wrath, gluttony and sloth.
You'll have to see how useful these three prove in the future, but for now, you show them your fangs as a warning not to follow you too closely for the time being.

Though you've been traveling away from the fight, the noise of squabbling Grimm has grown steadily louder as the free-for-all slowly overcomes the Warren. You were just considering burrowing your way outside before you or your minions could be caught up in the fight, when a wave of malice hits you. It's so overpowering that you are nearly knocked to your knees; your three minions are flattened to the ground instantly.

A loud, low snarl echoes through the sudden silence in the cavern, and warily, you peek your head out from the large stalagmite you've been creeping behind. On a high ledge overlooking the rest of the warren, a dark figure stands. It's larger than any other Caerbannog you've seen, though it still clearly is one of your own kind.

Long, wicked bone spikes protrude from its back and shoulders, and just one of the horns rising from its Grimm mask is already larger than your entire head. Its eyes burn with an intelligence surpassing even that of the Boarbatusk you met at the academy, and its foul temper alone was more than enough to suppress the entire fight in the warren.

This, you understand immediately, is the Colony's leader – a Grimm so powerful, it can control almost every other Caerbannog in the warren with the mere threat of violence. As it surveys the masses of bruised and bleeding Grimm below it, its eyes land on you, one of the few to resist its initial demand for subservience.

You feel a strange pull, and realize that the Leader is demanding your submission. You try to resist, and the Leader turns its head and bares its teeth at you.

The wave of pressure that hits you from the Leader's displeasure is so intense that you momentarily black out. When you come to, you're still drooling and twitching, and the company of Fledgling followers you'd managed to recruit have all, unsurprisingly, abandoned you due to your show of weakness. You manage to crawl to your feet, but not through your own will… instead, they bring you plodding, slowly, towards the center of the room, where the other Caerbannog are parting for you.

You stop directly below the Leader's ledge, almost as though you are on trial among your peers. Leader looks down upon you impassively. Your defiance has earned you attention that you didn't need; now, it seems, it's upon you to prove your worth to the rest of the Colony. Just by staring you down, you can feel what your Leader wants of you.

Blood. Death. Destruction.

You sense the Leader waiting for your decision. You have never been one to cower before others' intimidation. In a battle of strength, you are always the strongest, and despite the Caerbannog Leader's overwhelming charisma this situation is no different. Straightening your spine, you bare your teeth and glare up to the ledge threateningly, daring him to come down and face your challenge.

A Grimm Colony is ruled by strength; there's no way the Leader can ignore this personal challenge you issued. It stares at you for a moment, as if in disbelief, and then opens its mouth to yawn.

Your blood boils. Strongest! You are the strongest! You bunch your muscles and flex, displaying your raw power to all who dare to witness it. You slam your paw upon the stone floor, and it cracks under your feet! The spectators back away in fear. You look up in triumph and see the Leader open its mouth once more. In awe? In shock? In fear?

The Leader emits a furious roar that flattens your ears and blasts you to the ground. This time, its scream is aimed directly at you, not at the warren at large, and you bear the full brunt of its effect alone. The cracks that you made earlier widen from the force of your heavy body hitting it, and you're rendered completely immobile.

Frozen, you can only watch as the Leader makes a dramatic leap off of the ledge to attack you. It's a small comfort that even a being as powerful as it can miscalculate, though. Apparently, it misjudged the distance between you and the ground, smashing its face into the floor right next to you and breaking off one of its protruding bone spikes in the process.

It stands up, shaking its head to stabilize itself, and snarls at the bystanders as if to reassert its authority. The misstep makes little difference to you, who are still mashed to the ground like a squashed fruit, unable to even twitch. Almost in a leisurely fashion, the Leader confronts you, taking a swipe at your body with its spiked antlers, following the attack with a sound beating.

The pain, at least, manages to snap you out of your stupor; by the time you gain your feet, you've been grievously injured, but not nearly enough to quell the anger burning within you at the Leader's feckless surprise attack. You leap at him, prepared to disembowel the fool with your deadly claws, for you know he won't be expecting your monstrous strength – a fatal flaw in all of your victims to date.

You swipe, and bite, and twist, and snap, and slowly, it begins to percolate through your head that perhaps physical power is not the only measure of strength to test one's ability. The leader effortlessly dodges each of your blows, almost as if dancing; in the end, you only manage to catch it with a glancing blow from your horns. The damage that does is laughable; the Leader hurt itself much more when it fell on the floor than when you actually attacked it.

Your pitiful swipe did manage to draw a streak of blood, and as with all Grimm, you raised the Leader's absolute attention and fury by doing so. When it attacks you again, there is no cruel teasing; this time, it means business. It darts between your defenses easily, slashing at your throat with both of its wickedly long claws. You fall to the ground, unable to breathe as your blood spills out, and the Leader rushes towards you with a vicious finality, its teeth bared. You feel a brief explosion of pain as it tears out your throat, and then something snaps, and your world goes black.

.x.x.x.​

You come to slowly; something is different. You feel… smaller. Weaker. You wonder why you're still alive… the last thing you remember was your neck snapping. By all rights, you should be nothing more than black mist. But for some reason, you aren't.

You've disappointed me, child. But you may yet regain my favor.

Slowly, you roll to your feet. They're decidedly shorter than they were before, and with a sinking feeling, you realize you've reverted back to your previous evolutionary form – once again, you're a fledgling Grimm, tiny and inconsequential to most other creatures in Remnant. The memory of the taste of power teases you, and your momentary forlorn confusion burns away. You remember, still, who you were, and more importantly, who you can once again be.

Studying your surroundings, you realize you reformed exactly where you had been slain; you're still standing in the middle of the warren, although now, it's nearly empty. There is the soft scuttling of a few Grimm nearby, but your eyes and ears quickly single them out – nothing more than a motley collection of Sepulcrum, who show no more interest in your presence than you theirs.

How much time has passed since your first "death"? Everything is the same, yet different. Not a single Caerbannog is in sight, and even the scent of the Colony is old and faded. Confused but determined, you decide to burrow your way back outside to investigate.

When you break to the surface, you are hit by strong sunlight; it's midday in the forest, and from what you can determine, you resurfaced somewhere between Sanctum Academy and the small village of Himawari. Strange; the season smells off. It was early fall when you were last here, and now it reeks of the sweltering heat of summer.

You sense some pedestrians traveling down the road; students, most likely, since they're coming from the direction of the academy. Hopping quickly into the underbrush, you perk your ears and listen for any scraps of information you can find to figure out what happened to yourself, and the other Caerbannog.

"… almost finished with the renovations. It's a pain, though, having to go to school during summer break."

"Please! It's a small price to pay for not, you know, dying during that Grimm attack! I mean, who could've seen it coming? And led by the Caerbannog, of all things! I hear they led the charge like they'd all lost their minds or something."

A snort. "Grimm, having minds? Are you serious? They're like… really mean fake animals. They can't think!"

You scoff, offended, but hold yourself still. After all, what the humanoids don't know is to your advantage.

"That's what was so weird. It was like someone was doing the thinking for them. That attack was way too coordinated to have been a coincidence!"

"Yeah… it would've been so much worse if that Huntsman hadn't been there. That guy was a fucking legend!"

"Hey! Do you really need to swear? Although… he was pretty hot." A giggle.

"Hot? Ugh, he was old enough to be your father. Besides, good luck with that. You're just a grade schooler. There's no way someone as famous as Qrow Branwen is ever gonna look your way."

"You never know! I hear he's still hanging around Himawari. They spot him at the bars from time to time."

"No way, I hear he lives like some kind of bandit in the forest. Maybe he's still investigating what caused the Caerbannog uprising. Besides, it took more than just one famous Huntsman to save the school. It's not like the rest of us stood by and did nothing!"

"Umm, excuse me? We did stand by and do nothing. Everyone heard about how those Caerbannog killed Seki! Most of us were scared out of our minds!"

"Not Nadir, though. Man, for a freshman newb, he sure was crazy. He even beat one of them to death with his bare hands! It's always the quiet ones, I tell you."

"Can you blame him? Seki was his sister, after all. He's got a real chip on his shoulder. I hear he's taken to eating rabbit for dinner every night. Besides, he wasn't the only one that helped. Pyrrha surprised the hell out of me. We all knew she was good, but first the Boarbatusk, and then what she did at the invasion? I mean, damn! That's some next level stuff right there. I bet she could get into Beacon Academy right now if she wanted to apply!"

"That would make her like, the youngest student there ever, wouldn't it?"

"Youngest headmaster, youngest student… it sounds kinda cool. I wanna be like her one day. She's definitely the Queen of Sanctum!"

The voices fade as the two students continue travelling down the road, still gossiping, but you ignore them, struggling to process what you heard.

More time than you realized has passed, definitely. Half a year? Maybe more? And during that time, it sounds like something spurred the Colony to attack Sanctum Academy. Seeing how the academy is still standing, it looks like it didn't end well. Was it a blessing in disguise to have "died" before you could be coerced into the assault? You might never find out. Still, a force powerful enough to move the Grimm to collectively attack a Huntsman trainee academy? It would have to be something even stronger than the Leader which slew you, and that leaves you feeling distinctly uneasy. Now, armed with the information you've gleaned, you have to decide what your next course of action will be.

 

[Enkida]

Kuro Forest​

You consider tracking down the boy, Nadir, but you realize how weak your current body is and quickly abandon that idea. Instead, you return to the forest, the most comfortable place for you to hone your skills and relearn how to murder things properly.

A few hours later, you've managed to travel deep into the forest with little to show for it. Apart from a few mice and an owl foolish enough to mistake you for an ordinary rabbit, you haven't come across hide or hair of anything remotely dangerous, Grimm or not. You're completely dissatisfied with the results of your search, but something keeps pulling you in this direction – the faint feeling that not all of this dissatisfaction is entirely your own.

The source of this weak emotion proves to be a male human sitting on a fallen log in the middle of the forest. He looks quite tall, but from the way his shoulders are slumped over, you really can't tell. You creep closer and a strange, heady scent hits your nose. The man leans back to drink deeply out of a silver flask; in doing so, his tattered cloak falls away to reveal a wicked-looking sword. With a jolt, you realize this is probably the Huntsman those academy kids were talking about, the "Qrow." It looks like he really was living in the forest, and is probably the reason you can't find anything dangerous to hunt for yourself.

You dislike him already. He seems to be out of sorts, though – probably something to do with whatever he's been ingesting from that flask – and is mumbling to himself. This is a chance for you to learn more about what happened at Sanctum Academy, so you steel your nerves and creep even closer.

"... and still stuck in this two-cow town searching for clues. It'll be like a vacation, he said. A walk in the park. All you have to do is have a look at that Nikos girl, he said. Well, fuck my goddamn luck." He looks to the sky, his black hair flopping into his eyes, and shakes his flask at the clouds. Amber liquid sloshes over his knuckles from the uncoordinated motion. "A Grimm uprising is what it was, you old bastard! Recruitment mission my ass! What the hell am I supposed to be doing here anyway? It's been months of nothing after nothing! I know every woman in this town already, and worse than that, they're starting to know me! Damn it Ozpin, I'm not ready for celibacy yet!" He continues to curse out this "Ozpin" person, using increasingly creative slurred invectives.

You don't think you'll manage to glean any more information out of this off-kilter foul-mouthed bastard, so you decide to slink away before he notices you.

It's truly a pity that your body had forgotten how it felt to be slow and uncoordinated again. A twig snaps loudly under your paw, and Qrow falls silent almost instantly, one hand reaching for his sword. You're not sure of this man's strength, but you do know you're not yet ready to die so soon again, and so you do your best to find cover before he can spot you.

A small, leaf-covered sinkhole in the nearby underbrush catches your eye, and you leap for it. It's only when your feet pass through the thin layer of leaves that you realize why the sinkhole was there in the first place. You crash through the layer of detritus and into the muddy pit where the summer rainwater collected with a loud splash. Mud fills your nose, ears, mouth, and eyes, and kicking and gagging, you struggle towards the edge of the pit you'd unearthed. Thankfully, your strength makes it easy enough to pull yourself out to safety through the thick, cloying mud. More problematic is the amount of dirt, twigs, and leaves that have become stuck to your body in the process, making the art of stealth a permanently lost one for you right now.

"What's this?" You squeeze your eyes shut as you feel the Huntsman's presence loom over you. He grabs you by the scruff of your neck and lifts you up, and a wave of vertigo hits you. You dangle helplessly from his grasp – the human truly is tall. He looks at you, brows creasing, and turns you this way and that. You bare your fangs at him and hiss, taking a few ineffectual swipes at him with your paws.

A goofy smile breaks out over the man's face. "Aww, c'mon, calm down little buddy. Is that any way to treat your savior?"

You pause mid-swipe. Savior?

Still wearing that unhinged smile, the man pulls you in against his chest, flips you on your back, and begins to tickle your stomach. Your eyes narrow and you vow to rip that smile right off his face...

Ohh. Except that petting thing he's doing feels pretty good. You can't stop your hind leg from twitching a little as he continues to scratch.

"That's right. You're such a cute little guy! My niece would love you, you know. Too bad she has a dog already, 'cause she just adores animals. Especially the small and cute ones. And aren't you a cute little guy, mister bunny-wunny-cuddly-wuddly?"

The addictive belly-scratching continues, but the vomit-inducing nickname is enough to snap you out of your stupor. What the hell is wrong with this guy?

He leans over and grins at you, eyes glassy, and that heady smell hits you full-force in the face – it's coming from his breath, strong enough to make your eyes water.

"I bet you were scared, you poor thing. Traumatized by all the big nasty Grimm in Kuro Forest, right? Well don'tcha worry, your papa Qrow took care of them for you." He continues to coo and scratch, re-seating himself on the log with you still cradled in his arms. "That's why I'm here, actually. I'm looking for your big Grimm cousins, you know. Nasty little bastards with horns. Not at all cute and innocent like you are, little guy." He flips you over and begins stroking your head, smashing your floppy ears down in the process. The force with which he's petting you makes you think he might snap your neck off, but he hasn't seemed to have discovered your bone plating amidst all the twigs and leaves covering your body.

Qrow continues his aimless ramble as you struggle fruitlessly to free yourself from his grasp. "See, I'm stuck here investigating the Grimm uprising for Ozpin. The school, he said. We gotta figure out why Salem was targeting the school. It's crazy. Or is it? Cut off them off at the roots, maybe? Who knows what that crazy bitch was thinking."

You pause in your struggles. Salem? Who is that, and how did she manage to control your colony?

"I still don't get why she picked Caerbannog, though. Maybe because it was so unexpected. God, I need another drink. All this thinking is giving me a headache." As if on cue, he stops petting you to take another swig from his flask.

This is your opportunity to escape! Tensing your muscles, your ears flatten, and you prepare break his hold on you and leap off of his lap.

"Whoa whoa whoa there, little guy! Don't be so scared, I'm harmless!" Qrow grins and tightens his grip on you, lifting you up. "Here, I know just the thing to help you relax. Nectar of the gods and hair of the dog, all in one."

Before you understand what's happening, he's already shoved the flask into your mouth and is pouring the amber liquid down your throat. You choke and splutter; it burns going down, and it smells foul.

After a few moments of struggling, you begin to feel a little woozy, and against your will, your muscles relax.

"There, all better, see?" Qrow grins at you and plops you on the ground next to his feet. You promptly lose your balance and collapse, all thoughts of escape vanishing until the world stops see-sawing before your eyes.

You do manage to focus your gaze on Qrow, who's drinking again. You decide you really, really hate Huntsmen. You'll kill them all one day, really you will. Especially the stupid ones.

He burps loudly, then reaches down to scratch his crotch and you're left with no idea as to why the students were talking this addled fool up. He pets your head one more time, and just as you're debating to sever his fingers, the bushes nearby rustle, then part. Both you and Qrow freeze and look up at the low snarl.

A Beowolf emerges from between the leaves, followed by another, and another. With a sinking feeling, you realize that like most Grimm, they travel in numbers. Nothing compared to the Caerbannog colony, but the pack of Beowolves that continue to reveal themselves and surround the two of you is daunting all the same. You're literally surrounded by enemies on every side; if you could make yourself sober up right about now, you probably would, except that whatever Qrow force-fed you was stronger than even your own constitution.

This was not the way you planned to die. Still, you bare your fangs, and resolve to take down the Hunstman first. At least his kneecaps will be yours.

You turn to attack him, but there's a whoosh, and your teeth close on empty space where Qrow's leg once was. Confused, you spin around, and see him twisting through the air, sword in hand. Except it's not a sword anymore – it changes, growing joints and flexing as though it were alive.

You watch, boggling, as the drunken fool somehow manages to transform himself into a Grimm reaper. There is not a single moment of lost coordination as he moves, swinging the scythe as though he's mowing down fields of wheat rather than Beowolves. Limbs fly, blood sprays, and you are suddenly very glad you didn't try to remove his fingers a moment ago. Instead, you crouch down on your belly and do your best to crawl-heave yourself away from Qrow's Grimm massacre, shamelessly using falling Beowolf body parts as cover for your mad scramble into the underbrush.

It's over in moments; the howling of the Beowolf pack has died down to a few forlorn whimpers, and Qrow stands amidst the carnage, brandishing his scythe. He seems to be looking for something, and you shrink down upon yourself, trying to become small and unnoticeable.

"Bunny? Bun-bun? Where are you, bunny bud?" He spins around, evidently missing you, calling out in all directions. "This ain't funny anymore. C'mon little guy, tell me you're still alive!"

You watch, confused, as he finally stops moving, his shoulders hunching over. What in Remnant is he doing now?

"Aww, shucks. Not again." A broken sob escapes his throat, followed by a powerful wave of sorrow and rage comparable to what you felt coming from the Shiko boy when he realized you killed his sister. "YOU GRIMM BASTARDS!" he howls, mad with rage. "YOU KILLED MY BUNNY!"

Whirling his scythe around, he hacks away in a blind fury at a few of the trees, before abruptly deflating. "This is why you can never let them get close, Qrow. You're bad news." Dejectedly, he trudges out of the clearing, dragging his scythe behind him.

You wait, cautiously, until you can no longer hear the noise of his passage through the forest. You wait so long that you see the defeated Beowolf pack turn into black mist and fade away. And when you do finally decide to move, you realize, with a start, that there are still a few prone figures lying around Qrow's battlefield.

It seems Qrow wasn't that thorough of a Huntsman when he was hacking away at the Beowolf pack. A collection of four bodies of varying sizes are still scattered over the forest grove. You inch closer and realize they're all still alive, if stunned. Most of them seem to be injured, and as an opportunist, you see this as the perfect chance to whet your teeth and work out some of that stress from your encounter with Qrow.

You slink out of the forest, intent on your prey: the still-unconscious Beowolf closest to you. Its larger body reminds you strongly of your lost form, and for that reason alone you hate it more than any of the others. Cautiously – for you remember how much more powerful your evolved form was than your current one – you approach it, but when it shows no signs of moving, you take the opportunity and leap towards it, claws extended.

Your claws open twin slashes along the Beowolf's sides as you forcibly flip it belly-up, an easy enough task for you despite its greater size. And then you reach down and sink your teeth deeply into its throat. This is finally enough to wake the Beowolf, which begins struggling immediately, trying to claw you off. For once, however, your tiny body is working for you – the ferocity of your attack made the already confused Beowolf believe it was still fighting a Huntsman, or at least something closer to its own size, and its desperate swipes pass harmlessly over your tiny head.

You dig your paws into the Beowolf's sides, hanging on as it thrashes over the ground, and double down on your efforts to bite through its throat and bleed it out. Your effort pays off; in a few moments, its struggles die out, and it expires with a silent whimper.

Releasing the Beowolf, you hop off and rise to your hind legs, triumphant over your fallen prey. It was larger than you, stronger than you, and faster than you, but nothing can escape your wrath. As the corpse begins to emit black mist, once again, rather than rising into the sky and dissipating, it funnels towards your own body, cloaking you in a dusky cloud. This time, you're ready for the change; bones snapping and elongating, muscles cording and bunching, and the glorious antlers springing from your head… you welcome the pain, because you know you are growing.

As you shake off the mist, reveling in the power flooding through your body, you realize the other Beowolves in the clearing are still lying around, prime targets for you to attack. But as you approach the next one, the Alpha Beowolf, you pause. Losing ahold of your power and assuming your weakened, newborn form was a horrible, humiliating experience that you have no desire to ever repeat. And this Alpha Beowolf makes that giant Huntsman, Qrow, look short. Even in your evolved form, you barely reach its knees. You inspect the remaining corpses, mulling over your options.

The fledgling Beowolf – and that's what it must be, for it's only slightly larger than you are, and completely lacks the bone plating of its peers – is still out cold, as is the Alpha you're standing before. The Hunter, however, is beginning to stir, and you realize you will need to act quickly or you'll be spotted.

There is no such thing as "brotherhood" between Grimm – you know from your own experience that the only rule amongst your kind is the rule of might. And you just might make a convenient target for that Hunter Beowolf to vent its own frustrations.

… unless the Hunter was faced with something even more powerful than itself. You eye the Alpha, an idea forming. Hiding is obviously not an option, considering how well that has gone for you almost every single time you attempted it, so deflection is the next best thing. Better yet, once the Beowolves start fighting amongst themselves over their disastrous attack, you might even get the opportunity to strike and take another one of them down. Bolstered by the promise of violence, you reach down and grab onto the ankle of the Alpha Beowolf with your teeth, giving it an experimental tug.

The Alpha's body slides easily across the ground; despite its great size, you have no problems dragging it over the leaves and twigs. Your body is still relatively tiny, though, so you have to work quickly to bring the Alpha's body closer to the Hunter and leave it in a compromising position.

Your haste turns out to be your undoing; the Alpha's head bumps along the ground, striking a particularly uncomfortable stone and jolting it awake with a pained snarl. It sits up, confused, then looks down at its ankle… and spots you, still tugging.

The fist that comes down towards your head is as large as your entire body. You pull away, knowing even without your inebriated state that you wouldn't be able to dodge that punch. Still, being drunk has thrown your coordination off, and you forget to release the Alpha's ankle as you leap backwards.

Surprisingly, the Alpha's punch completely misses you. This could possibly have to do with the fact that its foot is still in your mouth… though no longer attached to the Alpha's body.

The Alpha howls in pain and doubles over its severed limb, and you spit out the furry foot in disgust. Toes just don't have the same flavor as a juicy throat. That decided, you give up any attempt at retreat or subterfuge, and simply leap towards your goal, aiming to tear out yet another Beowolf jugular and at get rid of the aftertaste of Grimm toe jam.

The Alpha does manage to get in a good hit, which probably should hurt more than it does, but Qrow's magic alcohol also seems to dull pain. You shrug it off easily and keep going, which is unfortunate for the Alpha. Once again, as a larger foe, it has underestimated your strength because of your relatively small body, and you simply snap its forearm backwards like a twig as it tries to block you on your path to its throat. By the time it throws you off, you're both bruised and battered, though it definitely looks worse for the wear.

The Alpha, panting and wheezing, takes one look at your blazing red eyes, then turns tail and runs.

You blink and then snarl. Not again! Your temper rises, remembering how many of the caged Grimm managed to slip from your grasp just because they were quick on their feet. You hate things that flee almost as much as you hate Huntsmen, and even though you know it's hopeless, you give chase.

Luck is on your side, for the Alpha, in its desperate scramble to get away from you, forgot it was missing a foot. It missteps, then trips, and you're upon it in seconds, ripping and tearing. You almost don't notice when it dies, you anger overtaking you as you crush its bone spikes between your teeth and rip and tear at its flesh. It's only when the black mist rises around you that you realize it's dead.

And this time, when it wraps around your body, you aren't prepared for the raw power that floods through you. If you thought the first time was painful, the power and experience collected in the essence of an Alpha Grimm makes that transformation seem like a mere pinprick. You see red, then white, and then your vision blacks out even as your body seizes, completely beyond your control.

The pain prickles along your head, dances down your spine, and for a few moments that stretch into eternity, you wish you could die, simply fade into painless black mist, rather than suffer through the intense agony you feel right now. Gradually, as your senses return to your body and the blood in your ears stops thundering, you realize just how much you've changed.

The first thing you notice is that everything has shrunk. It takes some moments to orient yourself, but by the time you're back on your feet, you understand that it's you who has grown. It's even stranger when you realize that you can balance on just two of them and grow even taller. The power you absorbed from the Alpha Beowolf has catapulted you into an evolutionary stage on par with it, one you certainly weren't expecting, but are more than happy to receive. It's accompanied by a splitting headache, though.

Interesting. Very interesting. Come, my eager child. Finish playing with your toys and attend to me. It is high time we met.

The ringing in your ears slowly fades, along with the migrane. You come to your senses with a clear view of the Hunter Beowolf, which has finally come to its feet. It sways unsteadily, but is surveying the remains of the battles with dismay and increasing anger. It spots you and freezes in place, and you can see it mentally calculating its chances to flee from you.

It's a nice change for once! You think you'll reward the Hunter for this compliment with a swift death. Remembering the battle with your own Caerbannog colony's Leader, you decide to test out the same strategy. You open your mouth wide without giving it much thought and let out the most fearsome roar you can muster.

The piercing shriek that flies out of your mouth knocks the Beowolf to the ground, freezing it in place. It twitches helplessly as you approach it. You're eager to try out your arsenal of powered attacks and the new weaponry you can feel protruding from your arms and back – long, bony spikes that you realize you can shoot at will towards ranged opponents.

In a twist of fate that played out much the same way as your battle with the Leader Caerbannog, you overestimate yourself thanks to your confidence in your new powers, and as you strut your way to your victim, you accidentally trip over your own feet. You can't help it; your legs have never been quite this long before, and your fast-paced evolution gave you little time to become acquainted with your new bipedal body before you threw yourself into battle. The spill you take does bring you closer to the Beowolf, whose wide eyes watch you with fearful bemusement. Two of your proud, brand-new spikes break off in the accident as well, mere tickling injuries but humiliating nonetheless.

Though frozen in place, the Beowolf's obvious disbelief at your clumsiness fills you with furious embarrassment. It's going to die for giving you that look, and it's going to die now. Bringing yourself to your feet, you make two fists – fists! – and pummel the hapless Beowolf with everything you have, and this time you make certain that you don't miss. It's a lot easier than before, just because the reach of your paws – fists – are so much longer than they ever were before. You're so eager to smash the Beowolf to bits with these new toys of yours that you lose your balance several times, not that it helps the other Grimm avoid any of your blows. By the time you're done, there's little left of the creature besides a pulpy mass of fur and shattered bones.

Being a traditionalist, you decide to extinguish the life of the unfortunate Grimm under your hind leg with a single, powerful stomp. This time, when the black mist puffs up, it drifts into the sky, fading away – your body is too strong to absorb such a weak essence, proof of your new status as head of the pack.

Killing the last remaining weak Beowolf is hardly even worth mentioning; it was less an act of malice and more of an oversight when you trod on it, squashing it flat while trying to adjust to your longer stride so as not to embarrass yourself in the future.

And so, once again, you achieved a scene of almost complete and total carnage, much to your satisfaction… and your strange benefactor's amusement.

Now that you've had your fun, it is time. Come to me.

Your ears twitch, and you shake the buzzing voice out of your consciousness. Whatever is causing it is undoubtedly powerful – most likely the reason your colony attacked the Academy, now that you consider it. And while you appreciate and share the goal of bringing devastation to the world of Remnant, it does mildly irritate you to feel as though you might be beholden to some greater being's will.

Still, you are pleased with the results you've achieved. That you've evolved far beyond anything you ever managed before is something you earned on your own, something you can be proud of. With your newfound appearance and strength, you now feel confident enough to listen to that annoying voice in your head before it becomes problematic. It obviously wants something.

 

[Enkida]

Deep Thoughts​

Thinking of all the things you could do with your newfound power makes your mouth water and your fingers twitch. Well, your fingers would be twitching regardless, since it's such a novel sensation to you. Experimentally, you scratch behind one of your ears. Your eyes nearly roll back in your head from the sensation; definitely better than trying it with your hind legs. Maybe these humanoids are on to something with their opposable thumbs.

After indulging for a few minutes more, you finally shake your head clear. Besides feeling really good, the long scratch helped rid you of the lingering vestiges of the buzzing headache left behind by the phantom voice you heard. Thinking about it, your come to understand it's not the first time you've been aware of such a presence in your mind; it's just the first time you've been able to fully comprehend and understand that it was a communication of some kind.

The part of you now capable of more complex thoughts starts to wonder if you can communicate back in much the same fashion. You put your fingertips to your temples and begin to rub – your right foot begins to thump automatically in response, and –

No, wait a minute. You want to communicate, not give yourself another head massage. You remove your traitorous fingers from your head to stare at them furiously for a few moments, before carefully replacing them (without movement this time) and concentrating.

Words don't come easily to you. While you can understand what was being said, formulating them yourself is something you've never tried before. After fruitlessly trying to mimic the speech patterns of both the humanoids and the voice in your head with your thoughts, the pounding headache threatens to return and you abandon your attempt, frustrated.

Maybe this communication thing could be simpler. Focusing again, you concentrate on relaying your emotions, rather than words. The frustration is easy, that much has been building since the start of this little exercise. Exasperation comes next… these headaches are more than just bothersome, and if they keep coming your way, you're going to lose your temper and it won't be fun for anyone involved except you. And lastly, you make a token attempt at passing on your filial acceptance of the command.

It's quite enlightening and relieving to focus your thoughts this way, give them purpose and direction in a manner you never have before. You feel pretty accomplished.

You spend a good fifteen minutes feeling pretty accomplished as you continuously broadcast those emotions as loudly as your brain can manage.

It's on the twentieth minute that it occurs to you that nothing is happening, and maybe, just maybe, this communicative method only works one way. Your mood sours as you drop your hands and consider the possibility. Either whoever it was is ignoring you, or you've been standing here in the forest holding your head for twenty minutes for nothing.

Either way, something is going to die for this.

Your face erupts into a fierce scowl, and channeling your burgeoning annoyance, you begin to crash your way through the forest. Trees fall as you shove them aside. Bushes crumple underfoot. And then the first Grimm appears, attracted to your foul temper.

It's a slender, graceful Blackhart. It swivels its head in your direction, looking you up and down.

Well, at least it's another chance to attempt this mental communication thing on something weaker than the originator. You concentrate, thinking really hard of sending your emotions to the deer-like Grimm: fury, dominance, and the expectation of submission.

Whether or not that worked seems to be a moot point because the Blackhart, like all Grimm, can sense your negative emotions much more clearly than any nascent telepathy attempts. And boy, are you full of them. With a squeak of terror, it turns on its heel and bounds away, fleeing from your wrath.

That only serves to stoke it, and you lumber after the Grimm, giving chase. At least one good thing comes out of this encounter; as your two long legs begin to move faster and faster, picking up speed, you realize you're no longer the slow, helpless creature of before. You, too, can be fast now. Perhaps not as quick as the wind, but certainly faster than a damned cowardly Blackhart. You catch up to the fleeing Grimm, pace beside it, and then stretch out one long arm and catch it by the horns. Then, in a fit of rage, you pick it up and simply toss it as hard as you can into the sky. The antlers remain in your hands, but you can hear the bleating of the Blackhart slowly fade as it vanishes above the trees.

What goes up must come down, and you hear it land with a loud splash. You grunt, disappointed; you were hoping it would land with a satisfying splat. Instead, as you look to the small but unfortunately deep pond that broke the Blackhart's fall, you watch it emerge from the water, shivering and drenched, but utterly intimidated by your show of force.

It meekly limps to your side, bleeding from the missing horns on its head. Well, you feel a little bad about that now, maybe you should have let the thing keep them so it could actually be useful in a fight. Shrugging, you toss the severed antlers away and ignore the Blackhart to continue your trip through the forest.

Before long, you come across a small rocky hillside, overgrown with weeds and hanging vines. Your ears swivel back and forth, and you hear the faint sound of wind whistling through the rocks, and much further away, something more muffled… the dripping sound of water, coming from deep below the earth. Stomping towards the vines, you push them aside to reveal the entrance to a rocky cavern leading steeply down into the ground. It emits a comforting smell of death and decay, and somehow, you know this is where you need to go if you want to answer the call of the voice.

You decide to enter the cavern.

 

[Enkida]

Into The Depths​

The dark cavern beckons to you, a far stronger call that the annoyingly lively and bright forest above ground. You crave the death and decay that you can sense emanating from the depths, drawn to it by your very essence.

But, as you hover at the entrance of the cave, you are also now wise enough to give pause before acting thoughtlessly. The Voice called you here; the Voice is also very powerful. Perhaps the Voice may not have your best interests at heart; after all, you certainly don't particularly care whether or not your sniveling Blackhart minion lives or dies.

The Blackhart freezes, noticing your attention landing on it. Its ears flatten as an idea strikes you. With a ghastly smile, you advance on your minion, reaching out for it. It takes a few steps backwards, bleating plaintively, but that does little to stop you as you hoist it up in your arms and stomp to the entrance of the cavern.

The drop is pretty steep – an easy enough path for you to manage a controlled descent, but just dangerous enough to make for a good trajectory. You take aim as the Blackhart's panicked bleating increases in severity, though at least it's smart enough to not struggle in your hold.

Drawing your arm back, you let the Grimm fly. You hear its scream echo, followed by a loud thud. There's a beat of silence, and then you hear a weak, wobbly bleat of misery rise from the depths.

Damn it all to the broken moon and back, that Blackhart can't seem to die no matter how hard you try! It's annoying. Gritting your teeth, you leap into the hole, intent on seeing what happened to save its sorry hide this time.

What you find is the crumpled remains of a mid-sized Death Stalker, still twitching in shock from the impact of having a random flying deer smash into it as it was lying in wait for prey to pass by. Much to your annoyance, even that is still alive. Ignoring your bruised and bleeding minion, you suck in a deep breath and let out a bellow of discontent towards the scorpion Grimm.

It had almost regained its feet when the blast hits it, flattening it back to the ground. You swagger up to it and finish the job your incompetent minion couldn't manage, reaching down to rip the two pincers off of the Death Stalker's body with your hands and using them as nails to finish making the Stalker's body a permanent fixture of the cave floor.

The path freed, you and your minion travel deeper into the cavern. It's utterly dark now, with no hints of daylight seeping in from the outside – not that this bothers you in the slightest. The cavern is beginning to take on that dank, moist smell of a freshly dug tunnel, though. Your steps slow, and your ears swivel back and forth warily.

There's something else down here, you're sure of it, and as you take another slow step forward, the wall at the far end of the tunnel crumbles, and a white, bony snout pokes through.

Your hands clench into fists – it's a Sepulcrum, another one of those damned moles. But this one is unlike any Sepulcrum you've seen before. It's nearly as large as a Boarbatusk, which, while being nothing compared to your own massive size, is still something of an incredible feat for a tiny Sepulcrum Grimm.

This one, you realize, must be very old, or very strong, or both. Perhaps it is just as strong as yourself. You eye its massive front paws with their wicked talons; even the Fledgling Sepulcrum could bore straight through concrete with those nails. But then again… so could you.

The Sepulcrum remains motionless, observing you however it does, for a Grimm lacking both eyes and ears. You weigh your options.

As you face the Sepulcrum, trying to decide how to move past it, your temper begins to flare. This is just another Grimm, standing in your way yet again. Granted, you have a deep-rooted hatred of pretty much anything that moves with the exception of your fingers, but constantly having to challenge Grimm after Grimm is grating on your nerves. Your ultimate goal is to destroy what those pathetic humanoids like to call their civilization, and while stepping on a few Grimm to get your way is a pleasant diversion, it also keeps you from your real enemies: the Huntsmen.

The Voice in your head is powerful enough to unite the Grimm, if what you suspect is correct – it seems like it could be an easy way to circumvent these needless encounters. Still, if the Sepulcrum isn't going to move out of your way, you're not going to back down from a challenge. Cracking your knuckles, you take a menacing step forward.

The Blackhart pushes past you, looking a little wild-eyed as it races to put itself between you and the other Grimm. For a moment, your anger transfers to your disobedient minion – if it would only die from your repeated attempts to kill it, this wouldn't be an issue. Despite your simmering anger, something stays your hand, though.

Weak as it is, the Blackhart is still your servant, not your thrall. It had been acting so submissive that you'd almost forgotten the crux of Grimm servitude: strength governs Grimm behavior, not loyalty. And every Grimm, no matter how small, has its own measure of strength. Diplomacy is obviously not yours. Your Blackhart, even missing its iconic horns, however, is still a proud creature, proud enough to defy even you when it thinks it knows better. It seems it has had enough of being a tag-along to your destructive games, and if its life is to end, it has apparently decided it will end it on its own terms. The Blackhart is battered and bruised, bleeding from several places on its torn and scratched hide, it has a definite limp, and at the moment it looks like a strong wind could kill it. But it still stands between you and the Sepulcrum, drawing itself up to its full height and staring the other Grimm down. Or at least trying, since the Sepulcrum seems to see with its nose, rather than its eyes.

The Blackhart lets out a long, low bleat and then stamps a hoof in a ridiculous challenge which both you and the Sepulcrum know it has no hopes of winning. You gnash your teeth and cross your arms, leaning back against a cave wall to watch how this farce will play out. Perhaps while the Sepulcrum is busy disemboweling the Blackhart, it will provide you with an opening to attack – a fitting last gift from your unlikely minion.

To your surprise, however, the Sepulcrum only lifts its long snout higher into the air and whiffles. Then, shaking its fur free of rubble, it waddles around and dives back into its hole, throwing clods of earth out behind it as it tunnels downwards. The Blackhart stares after it, quivering, then slowly turns to look at you. Your minion's plan for a glorious suicide foiled, it regards you with an expression of almost comical dread.

You, on the other hand, feel your anger fading, only to be replaced by puzzlement. The Blackhart was an easy target; the Sepulcrum wouldn't even have had to work to put it out of its misery. It simply didn't care to fight either of you. But why?

You stomp towards the frozen Blackhart, still struggling with the answer. It's a part of the integral Grimm nature to destroy and kill, you had thought… but the Sepulcrum was as highly evolved as you. Was it also being plagued by the same thoughts you were? Your ears flatten back against your head as you slowly understand just how dangerous you – and other Grimm of your experience – really are. Both you and the Sepulcrum have gained the power to be able to overcome your base nature – the desire to fight – for a longer-term goal. In your case, to meet this Voice. You'd almost lost sight of that, had it not been for your minion's disobedience to spur these thoughts.

As thanks, you decide to let your Blackhart forge its own path. Perhaps it will evolve and become stronger, just as you did. Perhaps it will fall prey to its base nature and be consumed its own desires. Whatever the case, you're not going to end its life here, and that's good enough. You raise your meaty hand and let it land on the Blackhart's head, giving it a good rub with your fingers. It felt pretty good on your own head, right?

At your touch, the Blackhart's eyes roll back up into its head and it collapses, probably from the shock. You spend a few moments with your hand outstretched where its head used to be, looking at the unconscious Grimm at your feet in surprise. Then, shrugging, you decide to move on. It can rejoin you when it wakes, if it wants. You don't care either way.

Now that you're alone, you can concentrate on the negative emotions surrounding you. You reach out with your Grimm senses, feeling the many different Grimm inhabiting this dark underground lair. There are a few powerful forces nearby, some as strong as you, just as the Sepulcrum was. There's also a myriad of weaker Grimm scattered through the various tunnels, each lost to their own vices. The deep, alluring pull that you instinctively know has to be connected to the Voice is attracting them all here, and you follow that pull down yet another winding cavern. It seems to take an eternity, but eventually you end up in another rocky underground complex, littered with malformed stone shapes.

It's dank and wet here, but what pools between the stalactites and stalagmites is not water – it's a strange, black, viscous goo that flows slowly and seems to corrode everything it touches. There are the remains of some large bones in the cavern, but the black pools have been winding their way through the stone for so long that you have no hope of determining what, exactly, those bones might have belonged to.

The feeling of evil permeates the entire area, but it's not until you see some movement rising from one of the large pools in the center of the room that you can focus on its source. Moving closer, you watch a large, pod-like Grimm with many dangling tentacles and bone teeth rise out of the pool and hover in the air, before slowly bobbing its way towards you.

Your feet slow to a standstill, and the strange, jellyfish-like Seer comes to a halt before you, red clouds swirling within its depths. They're strangely hypnotic, freezing you in place, and you find yourself swaying before the Seer as a figure forms within its depths.

A human! You can't stop yourself from baring your teeth as you see the woman's human face appear within the depths of the Seer, and you reach out to grab the Grimm and crush it.

The woman's face contorts with amusement even as the Seer's tentacles wrap around your outstretched arm and neck to hold you back. Or at least try to; your muscles bulge, and with a wet tearing sound, you snap off first the tentacles holding your arm still, and then rip off the ones wrapped around your neck. You raise your fist to continue your punch and end this soft Grimm's life, but the Voice stops you. And this time, it's not in your head.

"That's quite enough." You freeze as you realize it's the woman who said that; the human woman. Confusion floods through you, and the woman regains her crafty smile.

"You are stronger than I'd expected, to overpower my Seer that way," she croons. "But you're not the brightest, are you, my dear? You of all creatures should know that a Grimm is much more than they might appear to be."

Your ears twist in confusion, but you stay your hand, lowering it slowly and listening to this strange woman's words. How could the Voice belong to a human?!

As if in answer to your question, she chuckles lowly. "I am no human, my Caerbannog. I am Salem." Her comforting voice takes on a tone of iron. "Your mistress. And you would do well to remember that before you disobey me again."

As she speaks, a crushing pressure overwhelms you; a wave of disapproval that sends you to one knee, even without the help of the Seer's tentacles. You struggle to raise your head, but Salem's laughter dances over it, keeping your posture bent and lowered.

"It's so rare to see a Caerbannog choose that form when they evolve," Salem muses from somewhere overhead. She sounds almost curious. "Most of your ilk prefer to remain as beasts. I wonder, what makes you so different?" The pressure relents slightly, and you're allowed to lift your head, with some difficulty, to look back into the depths of the Seer, meeting the red-eyed gaze of the strange woman. "It's certainly not intelligence."

You fume silently, still struggling to release yourself from this woman's hold.

"Whatever the reason, you do show potential. I had thought it was your pack leader behind that unrest at Sanctum, but now, I see… it was you, wasn't it? You were the one who killed that girl. Quite an accomplishment, for a lone Caerbannog. It certainly caught my attention."

You remember your discovery from earlier, thinking of your Blackhart standing before you, shivering but proud. Wrath is an integral part of your nature, but it need not rule you. Pushing aside your anger, you tilt your ears forward and meet Salem's eyes. This woman has power, and power is what you need. Perhaps it would do well to hear her out, humiliations aside.

"You showed initiative, my precious servant. Such a rare and unusual thing amongst our kind. You have the makings of greatness. But was it an aberration? A coincidental mistake? Or was it a talent of yours, one that I can shape and grow?" She regards you with narrowed eyes.

"If you wish to prove yourself to me, I have need of you. It will be a task neither simple, nor easy." The cold half-smile returns to her lips. "It is a task I am assigning to you, and you may either smash yourself upon the rocks trying to accomplish it, or smash the rocks that stand in your way and overcome all that oppose me in an unstoppable flood." You feel the intense pressure return, and struggle to keep your head raised. "Make no mistake, this is not your choice, peasant. But how well you perform this task will determine how much favor I show you in the future."

Her words are cutting, meant to show her superiority and put you in her place. But she obviously has the power to back them up; you can barely keep your head lifted, and even your eyelids feel like lead whenever you try to stare at anything other than the rocky floor underfoot.

 

[Enkida]

The Path Of Thorns​

Rebellion. That's your choice. It's not so much that you disagree with Salem's goals, as it is with the way she's trying to implement them.

Struggling under the imaginary weight holding you down, you slowly lift your head. It's incredibly difficult; your movements are slow and jerky. But it's also not impossible; whatever mental hold Salem has upon you is inferior to your sheer physical strength. You come to your feet, panting, and look Salem in the eye.

She's smiling, though her expression is devoid of any warmth. "That strength, it's extraordinary. Yes, you are indeed unique, aren't you? I'm going to enjoy breaking you, my little one."

Your anger flares, and you reach out with grasping claws to grab the Seer's tentacles, fully intending to pull the creature close and deliver a punishing blow to it to send your message. If this "humanoid" Grimm Salem intends to work with you, then it will have to be as equals, not master and servant.

You're able to pull the Seer close, as you planned, but before you can deliver your punch, a crackling sensation travels down your spine. Lightning, swift and painful, races through your body as your joints lock in place.

"Foolish Caerbannog," Salem croons, her features disturbingly large and distorted from your proximity to the Seer's view pod. "Did you really think you could rebel against me, your creator? Never forget, my little one. You are all my children. And you will heed my command." Her tone turns deceptively careless. "Or, you will suffer."

As she speaks, the pool of black ichor beneath your feet undulates. All throughout the cavern dark, murky shapes begin to form and rise from the pools. You can do little more than watch them approach you, frozen in place as you are. The black goo slowly drips away from the newly-born Grimm, revealing a pulsing morass of young Seers, painfully underdeveloped. Some of them have as few as three tentacles dangling from their strange bone maws.

This makes little difference; the fact of the matter is that there are more than a dozen of them, and you are frozen in place. There's little you can do to stop them as surround you, holding you in place. Tentacle after tentacle wraps around your body; your arms and your legs are bound so tightly they look unrecognizable. For all intents and purposes, you've been trussed like a sacrificial turkey by the Grimm surrounding you. They hold you immobile, exerting just enough pressure to begin to be worryingly painful – you've been left completely at the mercy of Salem's newborn servants.

"It would be a pity to kill you for displaying such cheek," Salem sighs. "A waste of all that wonderful strength of yours. Nonetheless, your actions cannot go unpunished."

All at once, the Seers attack you, their tentacles digging into your flesh, tearing with their sharp boned spears and pulling so tightly your skin splits in several places.

"So, my dears. That's quite enough," Salem says, and abruptly, the Seers release you. You're no longer held by Salem's crushing binding, though you're not exactly in the best shape to move around freely anymore. A sense of deep weariness permeates your bones, and you realize that your body is no longer rapidly healing as it used to.

"Have you learned your lesson yet?" Salem asks, and her voice reverberates around the cavern, for her face is being broadcasted from every single one of the newly formed Seers she created. It's more than a little unsettling to be pinned under her red-eyed glare from every angle surrounding you. "If not, simply inform one of my minions. I will be more than happy to retire you from my service and find a more suitable replacement."

There's a beat of silence as she waits, almost patiently, but even you can tell when a battle has been lost. Fuming silently, you fall to one knee and bow your head in acceptance of Salem's command.

"Very good," she says quietly. "Now. You are to take a journey, my little one. There is someone you need to meet. I assure you, whatever reception you choose to present to my subordinate will be willingly reciprocated." Salem sniffs carelessly. "They will give you instructions for my next mission. Work with them, or ignore them and complete the mission on your own – it matters little to me how you choose to behave. The only thing I care about is results. You will provide them, or suffer the consequences." Salem's image winks out from the viewing pods of the surrounding Seers one by one. The last image, present in the Seer before you, smiles briefly, before her eyes flicker downward.

"Remember, my little one. There is always a path forward. Whether you choose the easy way or the hard way is entirely up to you."

You look to your feet, and notice the pool of black ichor is churning once again. Your eyes raise, and you see Salem smile at you cruelly before that image, too, fades away. Though wordless, you can sense her clear instruction. Enter the pool, and meet this other tool of Salem's will.

You step into it without hesitation. Salem has already displayed the limits of her tolerance for disobedience, and you don't want to risk raising her ire and sacrificing any more of your abilities. You need to start this mission as quickly and smoothly as possible.