On the island of Patch in
the Kingdom of Vale, there was a mountainside topped by a thick forest. Several
inches of snow lay on the ground as more continued to fall from the grey sky.
The moon had started to rise and the landscape was empty except for a solitary
figure. The figure was dwarfed by the trees around it, and wore a riding hood
and cape that were red like roses.
The figure exited the
forest to a clearing at the edge of a cliff where a tombstone marked the
memorial of Summer Rose. The phrase “Thus kindly I scatter” was engraved
beneath her name.
The figure stopped. It
stood before the tombstone and was quiet as the snow continued to fall.
Finally, it sniffled and a tear rolled down its cheek. A dainty, white hand
rose to the face and wiped the tear away.
“I miss you,” said a
small voice.
The figure stayed there
for a little longer, still silent. The sky got darker and a full moon had risen
into the sky. In the distance, a howl much like a wolf’s could be heard.
The figure’s eyes
narrowed. It sniffled again and without a word turned back the way it came.
It walked back through
the forest of leafless trees. The weather became colder as the wind picked up.
The figure pulled its cloak tighter around its tiny body and braced against the
wind, but it was still cold—sad and cold. But despite the sorrow and chill, the
journey still had to be made. Even as another howl rang out and something big
and black whipped past, the journey still had to be made despite the risk.
The lone figure stepped
into a wide clearing where a pack of shadowy monsters had gathered. They looked
like wolves but were five feet tall on all fours and eight feet on two. Their
bodies were black and emitted a shadowy essence. They had bone white claws and spikes
that came out of their spines, arms, and shoulders. The top of their heads was
missing the skin showing the top of their skulls with red vein-like cracks made
throughout. They had no lips and openly bore their teeth and fangs. Their
throats and eyes burned like the fires of hell. They were Beowolves, creatures
of Grimm, drawn by the figure’s grief and now feasting on the animosity it bore
them.
Three Beowolves charged and
swung their claws, but in a red flash and flurry of rose petals, the figure was
gone. It jumped into the air where the wind caught its hood and cape revealing
the tiny frame of a young girl. She wore a black, Gothic shirt and skirt with a
waist cincher, and her bobbed hair was black ending in dark red gradients. But
what made the Grimm quake with fear was the girl’s silver eyes.
The girl reached behind
her and pulled out a red metal object. It opened up into a rifle and the girl
fired three shots in quick succession hitting each of the Beowolves in the
head.
The girl landed and
another Beowolf charged her. She shot it and used the recoil from her rifle to
roll backward. She spun the rifle around further opening it into a great
mechanical scythe.
The pack circled the girl
and she gave them a hard look.
“How dare you disturb my
mother’s rest,” said Ruby Rose. “I’m going to make you pay.” The faintest hint
of a smirk pulled on her lips.
A Beowolf charged and
Ruby swung her scythe, but the beast made it inside her guard. It threatened to
rip her throat out until a shot was fired from the end of the scythe and the
Beowolf was viciously decapitated.
The pack charged, but Ruby
spun her scythe and the blade landed in the snow. She cocked the bolt and
started firing as fast as she could. With each shot, more and more Beowolves
fell. But there were too many and they succeeded in closing in on her. With a
flurry of spins and twirls, Ruby hacked and slashed the Beowolves apart cutting
off their limbs, heads, and slicing them in twain.
Once, she wrapped her
scythe’s blade around a Beowolf’s neck, jumped onto its back and pulled the
trigger. The blade bit into the Beowolf’s neck, but more than that, Ruby was
thrown into the air. Several Beowolves saw her as vulnerable and leapt at her.
But she shot her scythe into the air and spun downward shredding the Beowolves
with great brutality.
The girl landed in the
snow and discovered that the pack of Beowolves had grown substantially. Drawn
by her negative emotions and the sounds of battle, they had been lured from the
forest. They growled and licked their chops savoring the meal to come.
Ruby dropped the box
magazine from her scythe and rearmed with another. She flipped her scythe
around so it was pointing behind her and fired. She was launched forward and
slashed several Beowolves in half, but not being satisfied, she ran along the
ground and a power called a Semblance propelled her at inhuman speeds summoning
rose petals in her wake. She neared the pack, opened her scythe blade to
resemble a spear, and began spinning slicing the Beowolves in a great fury of
steel.
Ruby stopped in the
center of the pack and slashed away with great vehemence. She fired her scythe
multiple times as she spun it hand over hand, arm over arm, and around her body
in a complex combination. With one final shot, she killed the last Beowolf and
backflipped. She landed on her feet and held her scythe at an angle behind her.
The battlefield was littered with rifle rounds and the bodies of Beowolves. But
as they died, their shadowy essences drifted away and their bodies evaporated.
Ruby collapsed her scythe and hung it on her back. She lifted her hood and began her journey home no worse for wear, but much warmer.
Keep writing, my friends.
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