Bright Steel: Onward to the Horizon

Disclaimer: I do not own Fate/Stay Night, Type Moon, RWBY or the character called Black Wing. The last belongs to the author beyond compare, Lupine Horror.

Chapter 1: Surrounded By Vermin

The blond youth was greatly confused, bordering on panicking.

He didn't know his own name.

A person's name was the very core of their identity, their most important and valued possession. All of the actions one has taken in their lives, all the choices they have made, be they for good or ill, are all ascribed and recorded and connected to the word that they are addressed by, making that word embody the very concept of who that person was.

To not have it, to not have a name, was to be nothing, to have nothing. To not even exist in the world and to never have existed, one's previous accomplishments rendered null and void.

To not have a name but, at the same time, know that you exist...it is not something that can be adequately described but is, nonetheless, maddening.

'Okay, bro,' the youth thought to himself, frazzled and hanging on the edge of his sanity by his fingertips, the loss of the very core of his identity shaking his very foundations, mind, body and soul, 'keep it cool and try to work things out. Panicking won't help.'

The young man's breath slowly evened out as he closed his eyes and thought of calming things. The wash of the waves on a beach, the sound of a breeze blowing through the trees, the comfort of sitting before a hearth fire and letting it warm him on those cold nights. He felt his heart slow down, his panic begin to leave him, as he thought of image after image.

A few moments later, he opened his eyes, orbs of blue fire aglow with peace and determination.

'Okay,' he thought to himself, 'the time for panic has passed, the time for resolution starts now.'

The boy slowly lifted himself off of the cold stone upon which he had been laid sprawled and inspected his surroundings more thoroughly, an unknown instinct telling him to take stock of surroundings, to aware of them as much as he could.

His first impression had been correct, he was clearly in a large cavern. Stalagmites and stalactites littered the uneven, but relatively flat, floor and the high ceiling, enough that, as his eyes tried to pierce the shadowy gloom, it gave him the impression that he was looking down the hungry, fang filled, maw of a beast.

Or he was already in its mouth, looking out at the world from behind its teeth, awaiting to be devoured.

He shivered inwardly at the morbid observation and continued looking around, closer to himself this time, as the darkness allowed him to see little beyond maybe a hundred feet. He wasn't sure how he could even see that far, as he saw no visible light sources, but didn't bother to look further into it. Never look a gift horse in the mouth.

He scanned himself while he patted himself down, dimly hoping for something that might explain either his current situation or reveal something about himself. Most people didn't go anywhere without some form of identification, though how he knew that was a mystery. It was a long shot but maybe...

He unfortunately didn't encounter any notable lumps in the thick denim of his jeans that might have indicated a wallet, nor did the two belts that criss-crossed his waist have anything hanging off of them, and his upper body was sadly completely bereft of cloth and cover with the exception of a thin but durable and tight sleeveless shirt in a darker colour that he couldn't quite make out (something that made him wonder why he didn't feel a cold chill from laying upon solid stone. In a cave like this, he knew the stone floor should have been cold as ice and very uncomfortable. Yet he had felt nothing in regards to that.), but he could instinctively tell that, along with his leather boots, that the articles of clothing he wore were of good quality, tough and durable, the clothes of worker or a traveller, and could withstand a great deal of punishment...so long as he didn't deliberately try to destroy them in some fashion.

His eyes, however, as they perused his clothing, also noticed a large cloth wrapped bundle placed against a small group of three stalagmites, right near where he had been laying before his sudden awakening.

He fell upon it like a starving man upon a feast laden table.

His fingers paused the moment they touched the wrapping of the strangely feathery feeling bundle, feeling a sudden warmth flow from his chest, his heart, up to his shoulders and then down his arms to his fingers before flowing outward from his fingertips, like warm water from a shower trickling over his fingers. It was an odd feeling, strange in fact, but seemed...right yet unfamiliar.

The bundle reacted to this strange sensation by giving off a dim light, bringing colour and greater definition to the cavern. He welcomed it.

The bundle's wrapping was strange to his eyes, seeming to made of thousands of individual long crimson strands of hair or fur, or even fine silk for all he knew, long enough to possibly make cloak or long cape, and was slightly ragged at the end. With the glow coming off of it, it made itself look like it was on fire or created from crackling flames, the individual fibres it was made of rippling like writhing embers or tongues of flame.

He brushed his hand through, feeling the white glowing strands flow between his fingers, his eyes filled with a sense of wonder. It was beautiful sight, whatever it was. A glint of metal drew his attention to the top of the bundle, noting that it came from a thick band of golden material, like a collar. He reached for it with his other hand, immediately feeling smooth metal with small gaps and joins and a strange feeling length of some sort of cord.

It was a clasp, he realised. Wordlessly his nimble fingers loosened it, drawing out the cord and snapping it open, revealing to him what the bundle's wrapping, that he now knew to be cloak or cape, had contained.

As marvellous as the cloak that the contents of it had been wrapped in was, the said contents were as mundane to look upon.

Contained with the folds of the still glowing cloak were four objects.

The first was a small, but bulging, pack with a baldric-like shoulder strap, filled to the brim with what he recognised, somehow, as trail mix and jerky. Further inspection showed that, if rationed at one pack per meal, three meals per day, it could last him at a month. That revelation made his hopes dim a fair bit.

People didn't pack that much food in a carry pack unless they were going to use it. And with the types of food he saw, meals for those that took long treks into the deep wilderness, far from civilisation, he doubted that, even if he got out of the cavern, that he would be anywhere near a convenient location for a rescue and, considering his scrambled memories, he would have no clue where he was in relation to civilisation.

He was when and truly lost in the middle of nowhere. Without any support and with only his wits and his body as his allies.

He shook of that maudlin thought and kept inspecting his newly acquired acquisitions.

The second thing in the bundle was both easily identifiable and yet oddly strange.

It looked to be an old fashioned waterskin. A really old fashioned one if the fact that it seemed to be made of some type of white animal skin and had a small nozzle that he thought was made of ivory or bone. While it was clearly full, practically bulging, it was also rather small, holding maybe a litre of whatever liquid was within, not nearly enough for a seasoned traveller to use. The strange thing about it was the blue markings that seemed to be dyed into the skin, twisted and flowing and sharp shapes that littered the outer surface of the skin made of some type of blue ink or dye. It honestly looked like a child's random squiggles when they were first trying to right the alphabet.

Yet, somehow, those blue scrub longs made his skin prickle, the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand on end, like he was standing next to a power transformer, an invisible but almost tangible sense of power emanated from those markings.

There was more to that skin than met the eye, he was sure of it.

The third object was by far the smallest of the lot, able to fit in the palm of his weathered hands.

It was a medallion, with a chain attached to it so that it could be worn like a necklace.

A flat disc, like an oversized coin, of what seemed to be, much to his surprise, burnished and polished gold, without any sign of tarnish or wear, like it was newly created or crafted. The design upon one side of it was that of a rayed sun, every second ray slightly indented and shorter and than the previous first. The other side was even simpler, that of two arcs going from one edge of the medallion to the other, carved deeply into it, looking like a rainbow's arc.

'Arc..Arc..Arc! Arc! Arc!' His head rang rang with the word, the taste of familiarity on his tongue.

His temple pulsed and throbbed hard, making him grunt, the second symbol swimming in his head, the word ringing in his ears, screaming familiarity and recognition, images of a white shield with the same design upon its face surfacing in his mind. He knew that symbol! Somehow, in some way.

Slowly, the sudden pounding in his skull slowly died away, leaving him with only a single word that could help in his quest for his identity. His breath once more became even and deep.

He quickly flicked on the medallion, the cold chain that held it resting on the back of his neck while the medallion itself rested above his heart.

Hopefully, this medallion would help him find a bigger and better clue than a simple three letter word as to who he really was...eventually.

His eyes then traveled to the last and largest item that rested upon the glowing cloak, his hand reaching out and lifting it off of the glowing cloak.

It was a sheathed sword. From the pommel to the silver capped pointed end of the black sheath it was roughly four feet, if he was any judge. The weight, just by lifting it, was decent, but not exceedingly heavy, a blessing for anyone who wielded a blade. The hilt was in a simple cross formation, without any embellishment, and the grip was wrapped in rough leather, all the better to be held.

It was of plain design, eschewing decoration for functionality. It was soldier's sword, made to be used as the weapon it was, not to decorate a mantlepiece and be gawked at by others.

He ran a finger over the straight crossguard, a small frown going over his face. The only odd things about it was the fact that he wasn't sure that, judging by the hilt, that the sword was not made of steel. He wasn't why he thought this, there was nothing about the way it looked that made it seem any different than any standard steel blade, but there was something...

He shook his head, stopping the train of thought, and shifted his eyes to the other oddity of the still sheathed blade. The pommel stone.

It was a perfect orb, a sphere, the unnaturally shaped object grasped firmly by the three claw-like extensions of the hilt, keeping it firmly clasped in the hilt's embrace. It was also an odd yellow in colour, more of a bright gold, and semi-opaque, but was clearly not of metal. In fact, it seemed to be more like a crystal, whether it was a gem or simply solid coloured glass he didn't know. It was only colour, save for black and polished metal, that was on the blade. It was oddity that stood out on the otherwise plain hilt, emphasised only further by the soft glow it began emitting when his bare fingers touched the metal crossguard.

He could feel a trickle of the warm power flow from him into the blade and thence to the orb, an almost identical sensation to when he had grasped the cloak. What was this power he felt emerging from his very core? And why did it seem to react to these two objects?

He frowned deeper and set the question aside as he then grasped the dark sheath just below the crossguard of the sword. He could dwell on such matters at a later time, when he wasn't literally lost in the dark and trying to find a way out.

With a forceful flick of his thumb under the crossguard, the sword was loosened in its sheath, a small portion of blade exposed as the hilt jumped up. The business portion of the weapon shone softly in the light with gleaming sharpness. His other hand let go of the cloak of flame, the light from it dimming slightly but not disappearing, and used it to grasp the hilt, the wrapped leather fitting well in his hand, familiar and odd at the same time, as if he had handled a similar blade in the past, and drew the sword completely out of the sheath.

Like the rest of the sword, the blade was exceedingly plain but also clearly functional. A simple longsword, double-edged and razor sharp, that some part of him told him was a little wider across than normal. It was blade that meant business, designed to cut and pierce those that stood before it. It wasn't too light, nor was it too heavy. It struck that fine balance between the force it could apply and the ease with which it could be applied. Just by swinging it slowly a handful of times in the light of the cloak, his muscles moving instinctively in a certain pattern once he had grasped the sword's hilt, he knew that he could keep swinging it for hours on end.

It was a well made, if simplistic, blade from what he could tell and having it gave him a sense of relief. He had a means to defend himself from the predations of both man and beast other than just his fists, even better was that his body and unconscious mind knew how to wield said weapon even if his conscious mind did not.

He glanced over his meagre possessions once more. Things could have been much worse. He might be completely lost in a cavern that was who knows how deep and who knows where and with a complete of memory as to how he had got there and lacking even the knowledge of his name or history, but at least now he had food, water (even if it was limited until he could find a stream of clean water), a way to defend himself and, he fingered the golden medallion, a possible clue as to his identity.

It was a start and gave him a fighting chance. Time to take advantage of it.

With an ease that he didn't know he had, he slowly slid the sword back in the sheath, the slight grating hissing whisper of metal brushing metal loud, but comfortable, in his ears. With a slight click, the crossguard met the locket of the scabbard, holding the weapon in place. Another click sounded in the darkness as he clipped the scabbard comfortably on one of the belts he wore on his left side, the chape of said sheath just missing brushing the ground by a handful of inches.

The other parts of his small stash were also quickly placed in their appropriate places on his body. The pack full of food rested easily on his back, its baldric shoulder strap aligned comfortably on a diagonal angle across his chest, going from his right shoulder to left hip. The strange water skin hung easily from the right side of his waist, attached to one of his belts, and didn't throw his balance off thankfully. Over the top, the crimson cloak was thrown, immediately blazing with a brighter light once his hand had touched it once more, and was swiftly clasped around his throat.

It seemed that he had slightly underestimated the size of the cloak as it was a full length one, brushing his ankles, and engulfed him completely, front and back. The only things that could be seen when he wore it were the tips of his boots and his head. As it wrapped around him, he felt a trickle of the strange power that he let unconsciously flow into it flow back into him, suffusing him with a further feeling of warmth.

Intriguing but of no importance at that moment.

His blue gazed around at the cave, his brow furrowed in thought. Fact was, he had no clue where he was or where to go. One wrong move in this cavern and he could end up going deeper into the bowels of the earth rather than towards the surface. He also knew that natural caves, which he believed this place to be, were rarely had tunnels designed for navigation.

In other words, just because a tunnel went up at one point, it didn't mean that it would lead to the surface and might instead be only a delay for him to plunge into the depths of this underworld. Nor could he expect that the tunnels that had lead here were all tall enough for him to walk through. No doubt there would be a degree of crouching, crawling and belly wriggling involved at some point.

It was honestly a predicament that he was unsure how to fix and just wandering aimlessly would as likely result in his premature burial in this place as much as it could result in him escaping, or perhaps even more so.

Yet he couldn't just stay put...

He sighed heavily, palming his face in frustration. Damned if he did, damned if he didn't. Just great.

"File Note: Subject has obtained the objects that were left close by." Blackwing's melodic voice spoke, cool and clinical with every word, "of particular note is the response of the cloak that was provided. Each strand of fibre in the cloak reacted to the Subject's very touch. Considering the origins of the cloak, this proves the Subject's Origin beyond doubt. It has also shown that this Aura of the natives of this world is confirmed to able to affect the world outside of the organism that it comes from. How much it can do so and and to what extent is still up for debate."

Blackwing took a breath, glancing at the surveillance spells again, despite the blindfold he wore, noting the shifting black shapes with scarlet eyes that moved across the face of it. A mapping function that he had used on the cave system, similar to the Marauder's Map of Hogwarts, showed the relative position of the confused and worried blond swordsman in comparison to certain beings that would no doubt like the youth's liver on a plate. The creatures were getting closer and closer, but they were still a few cavern systems away from the youth even as they made a bee line for him, not stopping and scurrying fast, driven by an urge that he had yet to understand.

"The Grimm, an odd set of beings on this world (and a possible candidate of this world's answer to my own world's Phantasmal Beasts. All though if they are, they would be very low ranked back home.), Remnant, that seem straddle the line between flesh and spirit, appearing in various bestial like forms, and are completely antagonistic to the sentient species of this world, seem to have the capability of sensing said sentient species once they are within a certain range, possibly due to a reaction between the sentient's Aura and their lack of one, regardless of the obstacles between them. A small swarm, numbering between a dozen and twenty, of one particular branch of Grimm are currently making their way toward the Subject.

"The upcoming combat data will be recorded for later analysis."

The blonde frowned heavily and suddenly, pausing in his careful stride, as he heard something over the dripping of water from the ceiling hitting the floor, his bright blue eyes squinting slightly to try and discern what was causing the odd sound.

Some time ago, his indecision at which direction to take had come to an end as he noticed something that had escaped his discerning eye before.

By chance, he had hung his head after sighing and palming his face at his situation when he had caught movement out of the corner of his eye and had frozen. His eyes suddenly becoming watchful, his body tensing, as he feared something was sneaking up on him. In a cavern so clearly deep beneath the ground, who knew what was down here and what intentions they harboured?

He relaxed again when he had noticed that it was only the fibres of his cloak moving, flickering slightly. It had been a false alarm. However, his thought processes halted as he ran the thought through his mind again.

The fibres of his cloak had been moving, rustling, despite him standing stock still. The fibres and strands had also flickered, dimming slightly, almost guttering in fact...

Like a candle flame in a breath of wind. Wind that did not naturally happen underground.

Except when one was near an entrance to the upper world.

He had watched his cloak carefully for a full minute, just to ensure that it wasn't his eyes and mind tricking him. Sure enough, his patience was reward by another ruffle of his cloak, stirring and swaying like curtains in a breeze.

Without a single hesitation, he had strode in the direction that the weak blast of air had come from.

It had been rough going for him. The floor was uneven, loose scree from who knows what and where, along with a raised and buckled stone floor that sometimes dipped and raised steeply like a succession of small hills made up the majority of his path. Rarely did he encounter flat and relatively even flooring, and when he did it was almost always slippery as a result of water falling from the roof of the cave.

Not to mention that his route in this labyrinthine location was hardly straight, he was almost certain that some of these tunnels doubled back on themselves like the spine of a serpent. Both of these factors definitely slowed him down. But he doggedly kept moving, chasing the gust of air that occasionally brushed against him, the ruffling of his cloak his guide.

He was thankful, though, that he hadn't needed to crawl on his knees or belly yet so far.

He was now in another high-vaulted cavern, though this one was smaller than the one he had awoken in, the light from his cloak reaching the far ends of the cave, illuminating all within it, even the spiked ceiling. He could see, through the stony forest of stalagmites upon the floor, a sort of junction on the other side, three different exits from the cavern he was now in, excluding the one that had he had used to access the cavern. Considering how close they were to each other, he may have a difficult time choosing the correct one to venture through. The breeze he used to determine his path was a little imprecise, especially when the options to choose from were so close together making the breeze behave wildly and erratic, confusing the trail.

But that was the least of his worries at the moment.

Over the soft and persistent sound of dripping water, he could hear the sound of scratching, hard and grating even if the volume was low. The sound echoed oddly in the cavern, making it hard to determine from whence it came, and was slowly getting louder.

He frowned slightly. The scratching reminded him of something. It was clearly not a workman and his tools, the scratching far too rapid and haphazard and it seemed to come from more than one source. If he was honest with himself, it sounded like an animal's claws scrabbling over rock and stone, though far louder than anything his subconscious could recall.

A chill went down his spine for some reason at that realisation, alarm bells ringing in his mind, and he found his hand already wrapped tightly around the hilt of his weapon, his legs dropping into a slight crouch much to his slightly confused dread. His body was readying itself to fight as if it was anticipating danger was approaching.

He didn't know why his brow was suddenly coated in a cold sweat. He didn't understand the reason that his eyes kept glancing around the cavern, nervous and anxious, looking for a way out.

All that he knew was that his body, his instincts, his very soul, screamed at him that danger was approaching and that he had to prepare for it.

He heeded that call and his muscles firmed, his stance grounded and his now drawn sword, the pommel stone glowing brighter than it had before, like a golden fire, stopped shaking in his hand as the scratching and scrabbling sounds got louder and louder, a cacophony that made it almost impossible to think as it echoed around the cavern, making him think that thousands of beasts, with screeching hisses and snarling shrieks, were descending upon him.

It soon turned out that he wasn't far off.

It had been too long since the Horde had made a kill.

None of the Bright Ones had ventured into or near their den for many Suns. Far too many. The Horde had been forced to go into the Cold Sleep to stop themselves from Fading.

But now they had been Awakened from the Cold Sleep. A Bright One was near. A strong one. One that would fall to fang and claw.

The Bright One was Powerful, an Alpha amongst the Bright Ones, making some of the Horde cautious. The Horde had faced such foes before, Bright Ones who used their Light as their claws and fangs, their hide thick and hard, their movements fast and strong. It was a powerful foe.

But it was also alone.

Alone and Afraid.

The perfect Prey.

The Leader shrieked a call as the Horde moved through the tunnels of their den, the Lessers moving forward first, ahead of the rest of the Horde, bursting into a sprint towards the light they saw at the end of tunnel and the waiting Prey. They would weaken the Bright Prey, wound it, bleed it. The rest would follow, coming to make the Bright One Fade.

The Horde would make a kill this Sun.

Like a wave of darkness they came, streaming out of the rightmost tunnel and then flowing over the loose stones and rocks on the floor of the caver, weaving through the smooth pillars that arose from the floor and cascading over each other with hisses and snarls as they all glared at him with eyes of blood and filled with madness and hunger as they bared their claws and fangs at him.

He couldn't help but feel a frission of fear, suddenly shocked, at the sight before him.

The creatures were large, each coming up to the middle of his thigh whilst on all four of their sharply clawed paws. Their scarlet eyes each filled with a lust for blood and their coats, to a one, from their tapered head to their larger and wider and higher hind ends, a uniform abyssal black, seeming to absorb the light that touched it. Their tails were long, about the length of their bodies, and whip-like, flicking and lashing the air as they came. Their front teeth shone eerily, like white daggers, as they hissed and snarled. A few of them, but not many, had protrusions of white bone, like a fragment of a carapace, on their bodies, breaking up the darkness a little.

A fragment of memory jostled loose in his head as he saw those scarlet eyes, those black bodies and the white bone that seemed to have grown on some of them. A single word that made his heart clench and his knuckles whiten as his hands gripped his sword harder than before even as other memories, ones of blood and darkness and death, flickered on the edge of his mind. He whispered it aloud as they came, a harsh breath before the oncoming tide of malice and hatred.

"Grimm."

And then, between one breath and another, they were on top of him.

For all the fear that surged through him at that moment, slowing his arms and freezing his feet, he was still able to respond to Grimm's charge.

The first of the wave met a quick end. It had leapt up at him, jaws wide, as it came to just out of his strike range, launching itself toward his head and throat, intending to tear them both apart. A tilt of his torso and harsh swing of his blade ended that, the edge of his sword almost tearing the Grimm's head from its narrow and hunched shoulders, a viscous red liquid, that was too thick and dark to be normal blood, spurting from the wound. The force of the blow also knocked it off course, sending it flying away from him to hand with a wet thud. Still. Dead.

One strike, one kill. A decent job so far.

But this was only the beginning. There were quite a few more.

The fact that he was able to kill one of these foul creatures loosened him up, his fear shoved to the back of his mind and his muscles unlocked from their fear induced paralysis.

This fight had only just begun.

Two of the Grimm scuttled and scampered quickly, going low and aiming for his ankles and legs, as another hopped and bounded and then leapt for his chest. He focused on those three quickly, his eyes narrowing.

Not good.

He couldn't afford to dodge the airborne one, it would end up behind him if he did, forcing him to split his attention to fight on two fronts. Only a fool, and a soon to be dead one, does that if he doesn't have to. If he dealt with that creature though, he would be left open to the attack of the two aiming for his legs, each of them the size of a relatively large dog, with the chance of making him lose his footing and go down.

In battle, 'Down' is equated to 'Dead'. It was something he kind of wanted to avoid if at all possible.

Neither option was something he desired. He lost whatever option he chose.

So he chose Door Number Three.

He Improvised.

He took a quick step forward, while at the same time thrusting the point of his sword forward, using the force generated by the step to enhance his sword strike, skewering the feral Grimm like a roast on a spit, the sword piercing through the underbelly and exiting the creature's back. The Grimm went limp almost immediately. Killed.

His sword was sharp, he realised, very sharp. He had barely felt any resistance to plunging the blade into the beast's flesh. 'Was that normal for a sword?' He absently thought, still very much focused on the battle, 'Or was there something special about this simple blade, more to it than met the casual eye?'

He grunted at the dead weight of the Grimm on his extended sword for a moment, the creature being heavier than it seemed at first glance, before using that weight to accelerate a downward cross slash toward the two Grimm about to harry at his ankles.

The dead creature upon his sword made for an excellent makeshift mallet, knocking both of the heavy beasts back, sending them sprawling for a time beneath the corpse of their comrade that had slid off of his sword blade. He blinked for a half a moment, surprised at his own strength.

His eyes then flickered towards the rest of the wave of scuttling creatures, another three almost within range to pounce and strike at him! And there were another five after that if his eyes didn't deceive him! Damn they were fast! If he stayed on the defensive, the blue-eyed blonde knew that he would be overwhelmed in very short order. These strength of these beings, as large as they were, clearly did not lie in the individual, nor did they work like a pack wolves, co-operating to bring down the larger prey.

No. Their strengths, like that of the rodents that they were shaped like, lay in the endless swarm. Wave after wave of assault, unceasing and unrelenting, attacking from all sides. Eventually, their larger target would slow. They would tire. They would weaken.

And then, inevitably, they would fall.

Any wall can be battered down, any castle can be crumbled, if enough force was applied ceaselessly and consistently. Nothing stands eternal.

On the other hand, while their swarming strategy did very well against those who defended...

His hands firmed on the leather grip of his longsword and stepped forward into the fray, two lightning quick thrusts to the skulls of the rodents, their heads splintering beneath the quick blows, that were beneath their comrade ending that particular threat, allowing him to face the last eight of the beasts freely.

...It didn't seem to do so well against those who went on the offensive. Especially as they didn't seem to know fear, to know when to retreat, merely throwing themselves at him in a frenzy.

His 'blood' soiled sword, that he idly noted was also glowing slightly, struck out around him, shattering bone and piercing flesh with every blow. The next three of the beasts felt the bite of his blade most keenly as he hacked and hewed at two them, his attacks made difficult due to how low they were to the ground.

Two skulls splintered even as the third leapt up at him, making his eyes widen slightly. He couldn't bring his sword around in time to knock it away! Instinctively, he rose his left arm high, attempting to shield himself from the attack.

The weight of the oversized vermin landed directly on his arm, claws digging slightly into the bare flesh of his wrist. Yet, strangely, the weight was not as much as he thought it would be, not even forcing his arm down, and while he felt the pressure of those jagged claws, he felt no pain, nor was his skin broken by their lethal sharpness.

The rodent's fangs didn't do much either, save for making his skin feel like it was being pinched by a clothes peg, albeit rather hard and with a great deal of jerking and thrashing as it hung there attached to his wrist, scarlet eyes glaring at him with inhuman and crazed hatred.

A sense of confidence and vexation at his apparent foolishness filled him.

Had he truly been afraid of these rodents? Especially when their attacks, now that he had experienced them, were so weak as to be ineffective?

With a sharp jerk of his arm, the massive rodent was flung away from him and into the creature's kin, sending them all tumbling.

While his wrist didn't show so much as a scratch.

A fire was lit within him and, without his notice, his cloak brightened, and his blade glowed white, like hot metal in a forge. And a glow danced and skittered across his skin, an aura, an armour, of light against the darkness.

Not anymore.

He leapt into the fray, sword extended, suddenly moving faster and seeming stronger than before, as he took advantage of the creatures' confusion. The sole of one of his boots met the vulnerable neck of one of the scrambling beasts, the bone giving way with a muffled crack and snap.

With all the ease of snapping a dry twig.

His sword was an arc of white light, flashing through the air, as it rent two of the rodent's heads from their shoulders. In one swing.

Three to go.

Another Grimm met its end as it leapt at him, like many of its fellows. It was caught easily by its throat with his left hand and just as quickly dispatched as he squeezed. Hard.

The resultant corpse was thrown at one of the creature's distracting it, a dog shaking its toy hard before releasing said toy from the clasp of its jaws, while he moved in on the other. A boot to that one's face knocked it back, stopping its attempted assault on his legs, before a single sharp stab ended it.

Then there was one.

It was leaping for him, coming from the side, where he couldn't easily respond with a slash or stab. Either pure luck or bestial cunning on its part. But it wasn't enough.

He felt his foot slide back, his body following, as everything seemed to slow down to his perception, like it had been for a while, ever since the fight had begun if he was honest, but he had been too focused on the battle to realise it until now.

The flying rat passed through where his torso had been just before, moving through the air like it was water. He was not above taking advantage of such an opportunity.

His sword swiftly raised high and descended to do its grisly work, to perform the action for which it was made and crafted.

In a moment, it was not one Grimm that was in flying leap, but two halves of one twisting in the air.

The blonde warrior heaved a sigh as he watched the remains of the Grimm land with a splat upon the cave floor, feeling his muscles relax slightly. He raised a hand, shaking slightly, to his brow, wiping away the sweat that had developed there.

The encounter with the beasts had been quick, lasting less than a minute.

But, as he looked at the aftermath, the strewn corpses of the dead feral beasts, his body felt like it had run a marathon. His limbs trembling slightly and his breath coming in uneven pants. But his grip on his blade stayed firm and his stance wavered not and his mind was still sharp and aware.

"Well," he panted to himself, looking at the resulting carnage with wide eyes, as if he couldn't believe that he had wrought such destruction to mere beasts, even if they had been the ones to attack him first, "that was...interesting."

"Indeed it was," Blackwing hummed as he eyed the slightly tired physical state of his little guinea pig, the dimensional traveller's mind already storing away the knowledge and data gained from just watching the boy fight. It made his hand twitch oddly, like it was reaching for a weapon to use, the urges from his Tyrant aspect surging in his soul.

It was more than clear that the boy was almost completely untrained in the use of the blade. He knew the basics of the basics. Footwork, grip and strokes. That was all he had. The boy had none of the tell tale signs of someone with a sword style that they had religiously practiced for years. His skill was, at best, brawling with a blade.

But that just meant that the boy had more potential.

The basics gave him a foundation which, while not as firm as Blackwing would have liked but nothing that couldn't be remedied by copious amounts of live experience (something that he had noted the boy was severely lacking. If he had had a sparring partner on a semi-regular basis, some of the mistakes that he had noticed the boy make would not have shown.), would allow the youth to eventually branch out, exploring the styles that this world had to offer when the time came, to see which one might mesh with his other skills and personality. Something that Blackwing thought may be a bit difficult to find. Especially given the attributes that the boy's Origin had gifted him.

A form of unconscious and seeming permanent Self-Reinforcement that seemed to do no harm to the body, making him stronger and more durable than he should be, even considering the boost that he had observed activating someone's Aura conferred onto the recipient, that seemed to able to further boosted by either his emotions or through unconsciously pumping more Aura into the ability. Being a practical reactor for Aura, his levels of power not only massive but kept topped up even as he used them, meaning it was almost impossible for him to run out of Aura even if his body waned and weakened on him. A seeming growing skill with blades (while he saw the mistakes the kid had made in the confrontation with the black rodents, he was also sharp enough to notice the improvement in skill, small though it may have been but still impressive, during the very short engagement.) that was only just beginning to make itself known, with a hypothetical rate that was absolutely ridiculous.

And these were only the passive abilities that he had noted. The boy had yet to tap into his true potential, unleash the true power of his Origin or Semblance, and would likely not for some time yet, not unless he was pushed to his limits and tried and tested. And when he did...

Blackwing couldn't help but smile to himself, a satisfied smirk of accomplishment, as he imagined the power that his little guinea pig/foolish student would one day wield...provided he lived long enough to attain it.

Even just having these passive skills was impressive and made him a possible candidate for the Saber class alone. Albeit a rather weak one.

Proper training would only make him better.

But that would be at a later time, when and if the boy managed to make it back to civilisation.

The kid wasn't out of the woods, or the cave in this case, just yet. Round two was about to begin.

The blindfolded purplette watched as the slightly tired blonde youth abruptly straightened from his tired slump, his blue eyes wide with slight shock as he looked toward a tunnel entrance, seeing the scarlet eyes that glared out.

Blackwing idly turned the monitoring spells he had trained on the boy on once more, not willing to a moment of data from the upcoming battle.

An air rending screech, that bounced off the walls of the lighted cavern making a cacophony that made his ears feel like they were bleeding, made the young swordsman start back to attention, his sword clasped tightly and his shoulders straight and eyes darting around to find the source of the ungodly noise.

He was quick to find it, the slightly glowing scarlet eyes of Grimm not doing much to hide them from his now wary and alert eyes. The moment he laid eyes on the source, however, he wished he hadn't.

Scrabbling out of the tunnel that the previous Grimm had used to enter the cavern, came what he could describe as their 'big brothers'.

Half again as large as the last lot of Grimm, these beasts looked far more intimidating and a hundred percent meaner than their smaller counterparts. Each of them, on all fours, would have been level with his heart. There were more of those plates on them than the smaller ones had, thicker and some even had spines, spears of bone jutting out of them like an obscene and malicious form of armour. All of them also had bone helmet, like their skull was on the outside, making their glare even more menacing, as well as thorny bone growth of the very top of their tails, looking like the head of a spiked mace, making the appendage just as much as weapon as their teeth and claws. Just looking at them gave the young man a scare.

These ones also, in contradiction to the actions of their smaller brethren, didn't charge him mindlessly, trying to dog pile him beneath the weight of their numbers. They prowled, slowly and steadily spreading out, making him have to slowly back up so as to keep them all in sight. Those feral gazes gleamed with a hunger just like the smaller ones, but there was also a degree of caution that the smaller ones had lacked, a primal understanding that the foe they faced was as much a danger to them as they were to it.

This would not be an easy battle.

And it was only made worse by the mammoth hissing and snarling of the last creature to step a paw out of the tunnel, backing up the other three.

The boy felt his blood turn to ice as he beheld the immense beast that was revealed to him, the heavy weight of fear resting over his shoulders while his mouth went dry and panic wedged in his throat, making him almost want to choke.

While the tunnel entrance that the beast came out of would have easily let the boy through, with plenty of room to spare in width and height, the massive beast's girth and height filled it completely.

Menacing red eyes glared at him through the white skull helm it wore, white spines rising out of the back of said helm, seeming to create a cruelly regal crown. A strip of white bone ran down it's spine, short spikes jutting upwards from it as if it's back bone had emerged from beneath its dark flesh and black bristly fur. This strip of bone continued even onto its extremely long whip-like tail, the spikes covering said appendage looking to be more curved, sharper, like a weapon. Just as much as its jagged claws and dagger length gnashing teeth.

This one was a monster. No ands ifs or buts about it. Plain and simple.

At it looked like it wanted nothing more than to tear open his stomach and sill his innards on the cave floor. How wonderful.

He gulped inwardly as he eyed them all, menacing hissing growls coming from the smaller ones while the king, its eyes horrid and primal and piercing, was silent as it glared at him.

He couldn't retreat as the only entrance was a distance away. While he was closer to the entrance, the smaller brethren of these beasts had proven themselves to both agile and swift. Possibly swift enough to cut him off. The only option he had...was to fight. Fight to survive, to live.

Even if the chance of victory seemed slim.

His hands tightened on the hilt of his sword, his tired body going into a slight crouch, readying himself for the battle that was to come.

The King seemed to agree.

The massive creature gave a piercing howl, a shriek that made the very walls of the cavern tremble beneath its furious onslaught.

With a higher answering growling squeal, the three smaller ones charged.

With their King slowly following in their wake.

He knew had his work cut out for him as he watched these larger rats move.

They were fast, faster than anything their size had the right to be in his opinion, cutting the distance between himself and them swiftly, becoming almost jagged black blurs as they leapt agilely towards him. In comparison to their smaller brethren, who scuttled and scurried along the rocks, they pounced and leapt towards, covering ground faster and making their path more erratic, harder to predict, as if they were black lightning.

The world just seemed to love messing with him.

The Royal Rattiness, on the other hand, seemed to be content in prowling along behind its smaller fellows, coming at him slowly, letting the smaller ones wear him down in order for the crowned rodent to finish him.

Bastard.

The blonde focused on then first one to meet with him, coming from his left and slightly ahead of the others that were both coming from his right. A pincer move that would prove deadly to many.

Hopefully that wouldn't be the situation with him. Hopefully.

He didn't even think about match the now leaping creature strength for the strength, the difference in mass between them was clearly evident, and he also wasn't sure that his blade could pierce or cut through the ivory armour that appeared here and there upon it. Not to mention that, if he committed with a sword blow with it now, he would left vulnerable to the two coming from the opposite direction. Not an ideal scenario for him to be in.

So, instead of blocking or defending or dodging, he did something a little different.

He stepped forward, toward the pouncing creature, and just slightly to the side, leaving him just of the arc of its attack, and then his left hand released from his grip on the hilt of his sword and whipped out to grasp the small ruff of fur behind its narrow head, the grimy texture of it making him want to cringe in disgust.

He ignored the sensation and held tight, his arm following the arc of the creature's leap, before suddenly stiffening his arm, planting his feet firmly in the stony floor and wrenched his torso and arm in another direction.

There was resistance, a weight that made him grunt, but not out of pain, as he sought to alter the trajectory of the airborne rodent. The weight of the creature was an anchor in the air, a heavy drag, and his grip on the neck ruff of the Grimm threatened to slip. But he managed to succeed.

The whip like movement of his arm sent the oversized rodent right into the teeth of its brethren, his own strength added to the creature's own leap giving the makeshift vermine projectile enough force to send them tumbling and rolling a good distance through the rocky scree with squeaking roars.

He went to leap after them, to take advantage of their confusion, and tensed his muscles to do so, when suddenly, his mind screamed at him to MOVE!

He obeyed, lunging into a roll away from his previous position. And it was just as well that he did.

In his roll, he saw a thin white blur slam down on his previous spot, smashing into the stone floor with an ear splitting crack. Whether it was because of the stone giving way and crumbling beneath the force of the white blur, revealed to be the bone armoured tail of the crowned rodent Grimm that was still ambling, almost arrogantly, towards his position, or because said blur had moved fast and hard enough to imitate a bullwhip he didn't know or really care. All he knew is that things were definitely not going his way. Especially with the massive armoured rodent now willing to join the fray.

He was back on his feet again swiftly, his back to one of the stalagmites that littered the makeshift arena the cavern had become, his hands clutching his sword as he now kept a watchful eye on the rodent with the bone crown as well as on the more immediate threat of the now recovered others. At least those three were all coming at him from one direction now, no chance of a pincer move that could end up with lying in the floor trying desperately to hold his own guts in.

The three smaller, for a given value of the word, rushed him with knee-weakening snarls of rage and hatred, making him have to give them the majority of his attention.

He scowled as he noticed that he wouldn't be able to attack them, possibly killing one of them, without leaving himself wide open to reprisals from the other two. That meant he would have to go on the defensive, which was only a delayed death sentence at best, especially with the royal rodent slowly approaching and willing to use that damned tail to interfere if it so desired. Not to mention that his current load out didn't exactly lend itself to defensive tactics, lacking any form of shield or armour (he somehow didn't think that whatever had stopped the fangs and claws of the smallest rodents from piercing his flesh would be able to withstand the bite and slash of the larger ones, let alone the arrogant royal. And he had no desire to test that theory either.)

Luck just didn't seem to be on his side today. At least not good luck anyway.

But how to turn it around? That was question of the day.

The smaller 'Noble' rodents charged him, their movements as swift and erratic as before. The youth knew he needed to find a way for them to come at him in a manner of his choice if he was ever going to live to, hopefully, see the sun again.

His hand brushed against the smooth cone of stone behind him and a sudden idea blossomed in his mind.

Hopefully, it would work.

Without a second thought, he whirled around to the other side of the pillar of stone jutting up from the floor, putting it between him and the 'Nobles'.

Doing so began a dance that gave him the advantage...for a change.

The three rodent Grimm were forced to split around the pillar, their black river forced to flow around the boulder in front of them. The stalagmite was large enough to force them to part but, at the same time, didn't allow the blonde youth to lose sight of any of them.

Two of the 'Nobles' split to his right, making the youth automatically move to his left, meeting the lone rodent, sword first. Prepared as he was, and despite the rodent's own not inconsiderable might, the Grimm fell to a single swift blow, a blurring thrust of his blade directly through the abomination's throat.

He didn't stop to celebrate his victory, yanking the blade out and swiftly, but deftly, stepped towards the falling and spasming corpse, once more placing stalagmite between himself and his now reduced foes.

If he could keep them split, able to direct their avenue of attack and limit their options, them he might just yet achieve victory...at least against these two. He doubted the same strategy he was using now would be effective against the massive and hulking beast that, even now, was prowling toward him. He could feel the heavy glare from the creature weigh heavily upon his shoulders.

He would have to finish this portion of the battle quickly.

The smaller rat-like Grimm spun on their toes, redirecting their paths and coming at him again. Once more, the stalagmite he stood behind forced them to split. To his left he stepped forth once again, aiming to cut down his foe.

Only, to his horror, to completely miss as the targeted Grimm, showcasing a degree of cunning and awareness that he hadn't yet seen from them, seemed to flow low to ground, ducking under the strike and swivelling on its toes as it came around the spiked column of stone, its back exposed to him, and using its unique weapon.

A bony mace head, the size of basketball, hammered directly into the boy's gut due to the nimble creature's lashing tail.

The youth felt his breath leave his lungs, his body bowing slightly under the force of the unexpected blow, his limbs going numb. Then he was sent airborne.

The damp air of the cavern whipped by him as he flew, his cloak ruffling about him so that he looked like a blazing comet, shadows dancing within the cave as the light source of it went along with his flying body. But those brief thoughts in his mind were only mere dregs, the majority of his attention focused on the pain in his chest.

It wasn't as bad he thought it would be, merely like someone had gotten a good strike, a punch, in, winding him and leaving him gasping with a few spots in his eyes. But the feeling he had was outweighed by realisation of the force he knew had been applied, enough that his body, a healthily developed elder teen, was now being flung through the air like a man would toss a rock.

As far as his muddled mind knew, this type of blow would have utterly destroyed a normal person. The human body just wasn't meant to endure that type and amount of punishment, not without serious consequences. Consequences that didn't involve merely simple winding.

What the hell is he? Did it have something to do with the weird power he could feel flowing from him?

He didn't have any more time to ponder his dazed but insightful thoughts as his brief flight was terminated against one of the larger collections of stone spires in the cavern. With a slightly sickening thud and a loud crack, which he dearly hoped didn't come from his spine, he struck it, winding him again as the small pack he wore dug slightly in the small of his back, and fell briefly to the uneven stone floor on his butt, his mind dazed and breath gasping.

That had hurt. For the first time since he had awoken in this dank and miserable underground maze, he had felt pain. A pain that was swiftly disappearing as he felt the warm sensation of that odd power being focused on the small of his back, his head and his gut, like the injuries were being healed at an accelerated rate even as his mind became clearer and his vision stopped swimming.

Despite his still slightly dazed mind and pained body, he swiftly scrambled to his feet, more than aware of his vulnerability in the current circumstances and thankful that he had managed to keep a hold of his sword despite what had happened. The battle wasn't over yet and the only time someone lost their feet on the battlefield was when death was not far behind.

He had barely managed to get back to his feet and set himself when the two 'Noble' rodents were almost upon him.

Through pure luck, the small 'thicket' of stone spires he had landed amongst gave him an advantage. Said stone structures, untouched by the hands of men, were too many and too close together any more than one of them to come at him from any direction, being forced to weave through them to reach him and barely having room to move otherwise. He, on the other hand, a certain amount of space to move, centred around the larger spire of rock he had impacted against, a towering oak amongst the smaller willows. Enough room to swing a blade without any hindrance.

He felt a crooked smirk cross his face. Inadvertently, the rodents had practically gift wrapped their forthcoming destruction and handed it to him on a silver platter. And he wasn't above taking advantage of it.

He rushed toward one of them, the one that was about to breach the 'tree line' into the 'clearing' first, and stifled a smile as he saw that the oversized vermin had chosen the worst avenue to take toward him, a gap in the stone spires that was thinner than most, making the rodent have to squeeze through to get at him and limited its options at attacking while also slowing it down.

It let out a gurgling squeal as his blade flashed, practically tearing out its throat with a single swipe. A second back-handed one ensured its death as its bone helmed head was severed cleanly from the body.

His present foe dead, he was already spinning on his toes to meet the last of the smaller rodents as it breached the line as well, charging him with a roaring shriek that made his ears ring and the cavern vibrate and echo. The spires created a makeshift arena around the two of them, one that he hoped that the massive 'King' would not be able to penetrate, at least not for a time, while he was busy with its smaller underling.

Fighting both the underling and the 'King' at the same time was not something he wanted to do.

He dodged the whipping mace headed tail of the creature as it attacked, the long appendage snapping around the owner's long but squat body like a swift curving strike of a scorpion's tail turned ninety degrees, by shifting back a step, not willing to challenge it with his blade. He eyed the spiked ball momentarily as it passed in front of him, too quick for him to strike at, remembering the pain he had felt when one of them had hit him before. Those things were dangerous.

The rodent lashed out with its front claws, a swipe that could have torn his head from his shoulders. Steel met bone claws with a dull scraping sound that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up and making him shiver slightly, as he deflected the strike, the power behind it surprising him slightly, and retaliated with a backswing that the creature rear back slightly.

His eyes flashed as he saw a chance to end it quickly.

He swiftly cut at the creature again and again, advancing quickly, not giving the creature a chance to do anything more than retreat, rearing back further and further, becoming taller and taller, even as it staggered back on its hind feet only. It was not a natural position for the Grimm to be in, its body just wasn't hardwired for bipedal locomotion, and the sheer size of the creature prevented it from using its tail or fangs to reach him when he was already in so close. Its front claws were its only viable weapon, a weapon that he knew how to deal with, dodging in close like a boxer.

Once it had reached its full height, the youth ended it, stepping in so close he was practically breathing in the creature's grimy fur, despite it having a stench that almost made him ill, not only rendering it unable to touch him but leaving it at his, non-existent, mercy, and buried his sword up the hilt in the centre of its gut. Then, while it froze in slight shock, disembowelled it with a swing and wrench, carving it open like a fish, and hopped and spun away as it collapsed with an agonised squeal, thudding to the floor of the cavern as its innards, a hideous blackened red spilled onto said ground.

A brief hop forward and sudden vicious stab to back of the skull, where the neck met the head, ended the raging and thrashing of the creature.

But he didn't stop to celebrate the momentary victory.

Without pause he spun around, glancing through the upright stand of stone spires, to find the King. He found it easily enough, glaring all of its hatred at him from its low head through the spires of stone, even as the rest of its body was visible above the wall of stalagmites that separated the two of them. He faintly saw the extremely long tail, a flail of segmented bone, flicker around behind it.

Time for Round Three.

"Note to file," spoke the blindfolded purplette in his observation dimension as he watched the blonde haired young man prepare himself to take on the largest of the Grimm, "The substance known as what the natives humanoids of this world call Aura seems to be highly reactive to the possessor's state of mind and seeks to preserve the organism that it is bound to, flaring up and becoming stronger when the possessor enters a certain mindset thus triggering an unconscious response. An example of this would be when the youth was surprised by the Grimm's use of its tail and getting a hit in. Scans taken show a momentary spike in his emotional state, particularly in the aspect of fear, followed almost in the same moment by a sudden increase in the amount of energy, Aura, suffusing the youth's skin, making the normal barrier there suddenly increase in power, enabling him to easily shrug off the strike. At first it seemed to be an instinctual response, much like when someone would automatically raise their arms to ward off a blow." Blackwing's eyes narrowed behind his Mystic Eye Killer. "I, however, now believe that there is something more to it.

"Other, more accurate, scans revealed that, while the entirety of the subject's Aura flared in response to the emotional stimuli, there was a heavier, much heavier, concentration of Aura in one particular spot on the subject's body. The spot where he was struck by the Grimm's tail. Before he was struck.

"The minimal data attained before this experiment, followed by the current recordings, has lead me to hypothesize that this 'Aura' seems to have an, at least, rudimentary intelligence or awareness or perhaps even a consciousness. Enough of one to react in the proper manner to emotional stimuli and to have a small awareness of the one it dwells within and a small portion of the immediate surroundings allowing it to act, in a limited manner, in order to preserve the organism."

He frowned slightly to himself, wondering at the connotations that this may have, but continued speaking and recording, "Whether this is entirely unique to the subject or not remains unclear, especially as the subject seems to be unique even amongst the unique, making it difficult to quantify. Further experiments will be needed in the future. End note."

Blackwing's frown became slightly heavier as he clicked off the dictaphone and leaned back in his comfortable chair, still absently and recording observing the images that the surveillance spells showed him while he pondered. This Aura of the world of Remnant was fast becoming more intriguing than he had initially thought, with abilities that, at first, seemed only useful but, when one looked deeper into the 'hows' and 'whys', soon showed themselves to be much much more.

(Some of which made him thoughtful and, dare he think it, apprehensive. Not because of their possible power or function, but because of how familiar they were, particularly in metaphysical mechanics...

He cut off that train of thought before it could develop completely. He did not need those nightmares running around in his head. Just the mere possibility of such a suspicion being true made him shiver.)

Some of the abilities that he had briefly seen the Hunters (not be confused with the Girl Scouts that loyally followed a certain, short-tempered and man-hating Lunar Maiden in a world far removed from the one he was currently on.) of this world exhibit were on the level of some of the Ancestors (albeit the lower ranked ones, ones that could still be killed in a relatively normal manner.) back home, if he were to be generous.

Seriously, there were not many magi or regular Apostles out there who could call up a small localised thunderstorm, complete with basketball sized hail stones and veritable barrages of lightning bolts. Let alone be able to do so at the veritable drop of a hat like that woman had done.

'Though' he mused slightly on a tangent, 'that might be because the manipulation of the weather didn't exactly lend itself to creating a path to Akasha.'

He shook himself out of that trail of thought and put it on the back burner of his mind for later musings and his frown returned. Yes, this world was very interesting and he looked forward to delving deeper into its many mysteries, with the, currently, unwitting help of his new(est) student.

He rose a fine eyebrow as the large vermin Grimm decided to then take a swing at the golden youth.

Provided said student survived long enough, of course.

It was the only whistling sound it made as it parted the air that allowed him to dodge the massive rodent's opening strike.

Acting on some instinct, he rolled to the side, just in time for a, relatively, thin white blur to smash where he had just been previously standing, shattering stone and pulverising rock.

He paled slightly as he noticed that it had been the creature's tail, moving too fast for him to perceive by sight, that had crashed down, having looped over the entirety of the rodent's large body, the forest of stone spikes and the amount of distance he had placed between himself and said forest, to strike down like a meteor. The spiked mace-like end of the nigh prehensile limb doing an excellent job of looking both nightmarish and alien.

The blonde haired young man just knew he was going to have nightmares about that ball of spiked bone hitting him in the future.

If he lived through this, that is.

He hadn't even seen it move that way, he had only seen it wave back and forth a moment ago.

The youth had feeling that he was in way over his head, and there weren't lifeguards around to pull him out of the deep end right now.

The sudden scrape of stone in conjunction with an eerie rattling noise had him reacting again, rolling backwards, to avoid the bone tail's swipe as the creature whipped it sideways, the sharp and jagged edges of the creature's bony exoskeleton on that appendage passing within mere inches of his body.

Far too close for his comfort.

This started up a deadly game between himself and the large Grimm, a deadly game of cat and mouse where, ironically, it was the mouse that was playing the role of the cat.

Again and again the deadly tail swung, smashed and and swiped, using every inch of the deadly limb to try and kill his frantically dodging form while destroying the floor beneath his feet, making his footing dangerous at times. He had thrown himself into rolls, leaps, slides, drops and hundreds of other manoeuvres that didn't have a name because he made them up on the spot as he tried to avoid being smashed to death.

The prehensile limb was fast, too fast for him to do anything more than follow his instinct to dodge and avoid, he didn't have time to think about blocking or parrying it with his sword, the damned oversized vermin moved it too quickly for him to see and produce a viable counter for the tactic. In addition, the small open space in the roughly circular wall of the nearby stalagmites, that had once proved to be a blessing against the damned creature's smaller kin, now proved to be a death trap for him. He had limited space in which to dodge and, sooner or later, the blasted rodent would figure out how to corral him, which would then result in his death by being beaten into a lump of human jam.

He snarled angrily in frustration (and a slight bit of fear and despair) as he spun away from the flailing tail once more.

It had been a mistake to roll backwards from the second attack, a mistake that he was mentally cussing himself out for in the infinitesimal times between the subsequent attacks. Moving backward, toward the taller pillar of rock within the circle, limited his options even more and put him further away from the source of the problem. He needed a way to get in close to end it, if he did get close enough, he was almost positive that the danger of the tail would, at least, be reduced by a significant amount.

The way the tail was formed, all of those bony vertebrae-like rings, not to mention the size, in length and breadth, of said rings, meant that it was wasn't as flexible as real rat's tail. Much like an animal's spine, the tail could only bend so far before the vertebrae got in each other's way, preventing it from bending or looping any further.

That meant that there was a limit to how far the tail could expand to strike and a limit to how close it could strike at a foe. Get close enough to the front of the oversized cheese eating monstrosity and the tail would be taken out of the equation.

Of course, that would mean having to contend with an irate rodent of huge proportions, and overwhelming physically powerful attributes, with hideously sharp claws and fangs, at melee range.

Not exactly the best scenario to be in, but it certainly gave him a better chance at living than all this exhausting dodging.

But how to get in close?

He rolled again, the dangerous tail tip whistling just over his head, as he thought furiously.

He could charge forward, but that would mean having less time to dodge the flailing tail and, even if he managed to run that gauntlet, he would still have to get through the tall spires of stone, the majority of the gaps between which were too narrow for him to run directly through, meaning he would be unable to defend himself as he squeezed through them, making him easy meat for the rat. He would have to gamble on the whatever power was reinforcing his body, to the point of making his skin like some form of flexible armour, being strong enough to prevent him from being immediately ripped apart by fang and claw.

It wasn't a gamble he wanted to take.

He might be able to climb the towering pillar he had first impacted with, it was tall enough to that close by stalactites along the ceiling had points that were below the pillar's tip. He could get to the top and leap and grasp onto various stalactites until he was over the small 'thicket' and then drop down on to the cave floor.

But that would, again, leave him defenceless and unable to attack, even if he would be just out of range of the rodent's tail. Somehow, though, he doubted that the rodent would deterred. The small 'thicket' was only an inconvenience for a creature of that size and power. He had no doubt that, when the rodent saw his actions, it either leapt over or barge through the barrier to get at him, putting him in a very small arena against a massive foe with his back to the metaphorical wall, making his situation even worse.

If that was even possible.

Sharp whistling made him launch himself back as he came out of the roll, a five foot leap backwards that managed, barely, to allow him to avoid the spiked ball of the creature's tail. Stone broke and shattered and scattered at the blow, making him raise a hand up instinctively to shield his face from the flying debris with a heartfelt curse.

This was getting absolutely ridiculous! If this bout was a boxing match, he was already on the ropes and getting pounded! He growled harshly, low and feral, like a cornered beast, his body throbbing with pain, frustration and anger.

(Unknown to him, his odd cloak brightened, the white embers suffusing it flaring to become tongues of flame, in response to his turbulent and powerful emotions.)

He needed to get out of there! But it wasn't like he could fly...!

His blue eyes widened slightly as an idea came to him. It was insane, it was dangerous, and no person in their right mind would have thought of it.

But he didn't have a lot of options.

If he did it right, he may receive more than just a way out of the trap he had made for himself. If he did it wrong...

He tried not to think about that.

He rolled away from another tail strike and eyed it carefully as it whipped back for another blow. His eyes had adjusted slightly to the speed now, enough to for him to at least see the blur it made. If his insane plan was to work, the timing of it had to be perfect, right down to the millisecond.

He watched the deadly tail rise, ominously to his hyper focused mind, rearing up like a scorpion's sting.

'Steady.' He thought to himself, slowly tensing and relaxing his muscles in preparation for his batshit crazy stunt.

It reached the apex of its arc, of at least ten metres and change (something that made the youth wonder how the creature managed to get around with an appendage that long. Surely it would have gotten in the way at some point, yes?), and seemed to hang there for a moment, the long spines on the ball shaped tip of the tail seeming to glint slightly in the light of the cave, a sword about to fall upon a helpless and downed foe, and showing just about as much mercy.

'Steady.'

The grip he had on his blade was tight as he watched the tail then be directed in his direction, the Grimm's weapon aiming to crush him into paste when all its other attempts had not given him a large scratch. Something that the creature planned to remedy quickly if the brief glimpse he got of the vicious and slitted red eyes he could see through the rock 'fence' was any indication. He could practical,y taste the bloodthirsty if the creature as its tail tip, big and deadly, was brought down upon him like the wrath of a divine being, a hammer ready to strike a mighty blow.

As focused as he was upon it, the whistle it normally made as it pierced the air sounded like a demonic roar, the howl of a bloodthirsty beast. But he didn't care about that, only the spiked ball made of a hard ivory substance, that was plunging towards him, meant anything.

A heart beat passed as the deadly tail tip cut the air, the young man's body tensed and ready to move as it did so. The tail covered the distance between the two of them swiftly, aided by the will of the Grimm it was attached to and the primordial force of gravity.

'Now!' The boy mentally howled.

Again, the boy dodged the strike as it came down to crush him, a neat sidestep that put him just out of its reach, but this time it was different. Only the barest of margins separated his body from the tip of an especially sharp point of the tail, so close that a breath of air would have found it difficult to pass between the two.

And, without hesitation, while desperately hoping that his plan would work, his hand snapped out of grasp one of the tail tips spiked points and heaved himself onto it, grasping it desperately and almost adhering himself to it, as it then began to move again.

With a violent jerk, the tail was torn from the ground and back into the air, the young man attached to it like a limpet.

The young man clenched his teeth as he rode the tail of the Grimm. The way it moved and jerked, pulling him hither and yon and willy nilly, was absolutely nauseating. The Grimm seemed to have noticed what he had done, not that that was hard, and was trying to get him to let go, flailing its tail around wildly in an attempt to do so as it roared and howled. Were it not for the fact that the youth was holding for dear life, it might just have worked. But his sense of self-preservation kept him holding tight. He was just thankful that the creature hadn't tried to hammer him into the ground to try and rid itself of him as yet.

That gave him the chance to put phase two of his 'Insanely Daring Plan' into action.

Others would have called it Insane. Period.

He would have to quick, the oversized cheese eater would wisen up eventually and try and pound the ground with its tail. It had shown cunning in the previous part of the engagement. He would have to move before its instincts were forced down by its cunning once more.

He tried to make a guess of his position in the air in accordance with what was below, even as he was whipped around, his hands, even the one that still held his sword, grasping onto the tail tip strongly to try and keep him in place. It was difficult, the speed and unpredictability of the tail's movements allowing him little more than brief shots at a blurred landscape, with the only true light source, which was the glowing cloak on his back, casting dancing shadows as he was fling about violently. But that was fine.

His target was rather distinctive.

He eyed the frill of white bone that stuck up behind the head of the massive rodent, the sharp points gleaming ever so slightly in the flaring light of the cavern, a strong indication as to their sharpness. Getting hit by those would hurt a hell of a lot. Getting impaled by them would probably be a whole lot worse.

He would try to avoid that in as much as he possibly could.

Instead, he tried to focus on the strip of black fur and flesh just behind the frill and in front of where the creature's spiked spine started to appear, where the vermin's head met its neck. A vulnerable spot on any creature (though a part of his mind almost refused to call the oversized rodent that. Said part seemed more comfortable in titling such a being 'Monster'.) , it seemed to be one few viable points he could strike on this one, and a guaranteed kill if he managed to stab his blade full length into that spot. Not to mention it put him out of range of retaliation from either tail, claw or fang, which was a large plus.

Though it was going to be absolute hell to get at said weak spot. Timing and precision were the order of the day, followed by a large helping of luck and chance.

He waited, gripping the tail hard and pulling his body closer to the white bone he clutched while his head rose from contact with the substance so as to allow him to judge, for just the right moment. For when his momentum and position was optimal for the path he had chosen to take.

He felt the moment come, the tail lifted sharply upward so that it was directly over the body of the large Grimm. He clenched hard against the tail, an iron determination filling him...

Then he launched himself downwards into open air, pushing away from the tail tip and accelerating his fall from it using said part of the tail as a brace. There was nothing between him and the Grimm but the damp air of the cavern. Perfect.

Like a hawk after its prey he dived, his face set and eyes narrowed as his body, spread eagled in the air, fell towards his opponent, his sword, his mighty talon and sharp beak, clenched tight in a strong fist and his bright cloak, his burning wings, whipping behind him.

It took him but a moment for him to cross the distance between his former position and the large rodent. A moment in which said rodent had become slightly confused as to why the weight on its tail had disappeared and had shifted a little, almost whirling, making the youth curse slightly in his mind as he tried valiantly to shift himself in the air, seeing that his initial plan for the large vermin's quick death had just failed, in order to gain at least some advantage from the now failed idea.

Instead of his planned landing behind the creature's crown and a swift strike of his sword followed by the creature's death, as per his original plan, the young man landed hard on one of the myriad of bone plates on the creature's body, just off centre of the beast's hideously dangerous spine, on its rump. His sword pierced through said ivory plate and dug itself into the flesh of the creature beneath, anchoring itself, and him, there.

Predictably, the Grimm didn't appreciate it.

It gave an unearthly horrifying squealing roar of pain, agony and rage that made the cavern seem to shake as his ears feel like hot knives were being plugged through them to reach his brain. It was only through sheer self-preservation that his hands, both of them now, kept a hold of the hilt of his sword otherwise he would have placed them over his ears in an attempt to prevent himself from listening to the insanity creating din.

Then things got even worse.

As he manfully held onto the hilt of his sword, the only thing keeping him from sliding off the creature's back, the face of said creature whipped around, flexible and agile like a gymnast, to try and reach the irritation he had created for it.

Those gnashing teeth stopped only a couple of feet away from his own, clacking and chittering and raging as they strived to reach him, the creature's body beneath his feet bucking and twisting and whirling in an insane attempt to reach something just out of reach, like a dog chasing its tail. All the while, venomous crimson eyes glared at him through the bone helm that was over the creature's head, filled with rage and a hunger that wasn't for flesh, but for something more primal, more basic, more blasphemous, than the needs of the flesh.

It was all he could do to hold on to his blade and keep his self anchored to it as the creature thrashed and writhed. Thankfully, for him anyway, the creature was unable to either bring its tail to bear against him, his anchoring point far too close to the base of the creature's flailing tail to reach him, or to simply roll on its back to crush him beneath its rather large weight, the sharp spines on its back making it a difficult proposition for the black furred vermin, at best.

The youth gritted his teeth as the Grimm bucked and thrashed. He wanted to kill the damned critter, not ride it like an idiot at a rodeo! He growled lowly and he held on, his hands clenched tight to his only saving grace.

At least the thrashing on the creature's hind end wasn't as bad as when he had been dangling several metres in the air, desperately adhering himself to the trash eating devil beast's tail.

He grimly held on as the creature leapt and thrashed and bucked, running to and fro around the chamber, brushing up against stalagmites that jutted from floor every now and then to try and scrape him off, like the dirt beneath someone's boots. His position on the creature's back, however, was too close to the centre to be able to do so easily. Every now and then it would whip around to try and get at him itself, trying to grab him with teeth almost deadlier than his own sword, and about as sharp. But he managed to keep himself rooted to the bone plate in which his blade was pierced.

He snarled slightly as the rodent made a sharper whipping turn in attempt to make him lose his footing and bring him within range of its teeth, and only barely avoided it by almost hugging his sword. This entire situation had been a nightmare ever since he and first saw the smallest of the black abominable rodents! He needed a way to end this! Soon!

His blue eyes searched desperately for anything he could use, not that there was much, if anything, in the fur of the creature for him to possibly find except grime and slick muck, while his mind raced to find a possible solution before he made a single mistake or his arms tired from the tight clench he had on his sword.

His only weapon was currently unavailable, piercing the bone and flesh of the Grimm and keeping him in a relatively safe spot, so long as he kept close to it. However, it also left him devoid of anything that he could use to attack the beast. If he had a back up weapon or just something sharp...

A sudden and unexpected lurch and buck of the creature he was riding made him tip forwards as his mind wandered, his grip slipping from the leather wrapped hilt slightly. It was only through luck and chance that his madly scrabbling hands were able to grip the sword again, this time by the crossguard, one hand on each 'branch', and stop him from skewering his eyeballs on the nasty looking spines that ran along the length of the rodent's back.

It would not have been a please tell way to go.

A sudden thought crossed his mind as he desperately held on as the Grimm below him squealed and rage and thrashed. Riding the momentum and ensuring his feet had a firm footing, he ignored the gnashing teeth of his foe, and current ride, and instead looked closer at the painful looking spines.

They were short, to a point, with a thick circular base that was almost welded on top of the external vertebrae and slowly rose upwards with the slightest of curves and tapering with every passing inch before reaching a narrow, and exceedingly sharp, tip almost three quarters of a foot later. If he were honest, they each looked like an oversized version of a snake's fang, though far less fragile and much more solid. It would take a fair bit of force to even crack one of the things, let alone break them completely.

His eyes narrowed as he braced himself again as the roaring Grimm made another attempt to buck him off.

Perhaps...just perhaps...

He mentally shrugged in indifference. It wasn't like he had any other options aside from a painful execution by being gnawed to death by the oversized rodent. And he would like to live to see another day, thank you very much!

Without another thought, he put his half-baked plan into action.

He moved his left hand swiftly from the cross guard of his sword to the leather wrapped hilt, holding it tightly, even as he braced the sole of one his boots against the visible portion of his sword and, using it as anchor point (a blasphemous action to many a warrior), to lean over toward the ungodly sharp spines, his right hand reaching out grasp one of them even as the vile creature he was in top of seemed to be driven into a maddened frenzy, the creature's actions becoming increasing wild and vicious, making things so much harder than they already were.

His hand touched the slightly rough piece of the bone-like substance that made up the deadly sharp white spike and curled around it, making a fist and gripping it close to the base. He felt his shoulder muscles judder and stretch uncomfortably for a moment as the Grimm bucked again, making him feel like the rope in a tug-of-war, but manfully ignored it and continued with his plan.

His eyes narrowed and teeth clenched as his grip around the spike tightened, determined to end this madness. Then he started to apply pressure to the spike, muscles tensing and working against the solid substance, trying to make it break, to make it yield before his might.

At first nothing happened, the spike standing resolute against the strength of his muscles, a testament to the power of Nature's design (though he wasn't exactly sure that Nature would approve of the entity that currently bore it.), but it only made him more determined to see his plan through, to succeed, knowing that it was, possibly, his only hope.

Muscles bulged and his brow sweated while tendons felt like they were groaning under the pressure he was putting on them, the entirety of his focus on what he was attempting and clutching on to his sword anchor out of little more than instinct. He was pushing his body to the limits to try and break the damned piece of spiny carapace, and his body was starting to protest against the amount of force he was using.

But still the bone would not yield to him.

'You will break!' He growled mentally, determination and self-preservative fear driving him on, grasping on to the faint light of hope before him, unwilling to give up a chance at survival, even if it seemed just out of reach, 'you will break and yield before me!'

(In a place that both existed and yet didn't, a metaphysical plane of existence that was anchored to reality, the physical realm, by a single strand, a life, a soul, something began to move. If one could actually be in the blank expanse of white darkness, they could have heard the slow and heavy whirring of metal, like a vast metallic beast awakening from its slumber.

And with that whirring, the light, white and gold and filled with purity and majesty, of might and power, that had only just begun to appear within the expanse a little while before the whirring began starting up, seemed to blossom, suddenly expanding and growing as it started filling the area.)

The young man, for a moment, thought he hallucinated a bit, a sudden vision appearing before him. It was of a metal disc, one that both filled his vision and yet, some part of him told him, impossibly vast and beyond his comprehension. Upon that simple but massive disc was the carving of a stylised sun, a circle with a cone-like triangle just touching it at each cardinal point while smaller triangles of the same type hovered between each point, making an eight pointed/rayed star/sun. And, strangely, one part of it, the centre circle, was glowing a soft gold.

Then his vision vanished, returning him to reality, and things got strange, in a welcomed way.

As if in answer to his demands (prayers), he felt a warmth flood through him, also it identical to feeling he had when the strange power flowed from his body and into his belongings, and the light of the cavern suddenly seemed to become brighter, while, at the same time, he felt his muscles tense harder, surpassing the limits he had found moments before. He felt himself, somehow, become stronger, mightier.

And, with a loud crack!, he broke the spike off of the rodent's back, almost easily, and immediately the broken spike he now held began to glow slightly. A match for the faint glow he now noticed on his skin.

He didn't waste time thinking about the whys or wherefores of the act, survival came first.

He shifted his body slightly, angling his torso so that he was facing toward the front of the maddened creature he was atop of, his body still having that underlying powerful feeling to it, an undercurrent of strength. For what he had planned, he would need it.

It was with almost perfect timing that he turned, as the crowned rodent, its crimson eyes feral and disturbing, had once more whipped around to try and rid itself of the irritation attached to it, teeth gnashing impotently at him and its horrid grating squeals making his ears ring.

Making it open for his planned reprisal.

Taking quick aim, his right arm shot out, launching the makeshift bone weapon he had appropriated from the rodent's own body. To his surprise, the bone protrusions flew like a bullet from a gun, so fast that he could only see it due to the strange whitish-golden glow that was around it.

With a sound like thunder, it left his hand and, like lightning, it struck his targeted foe, hitting the part of the rodent's body he had aimed for.

However loud and powerful the shrieks it may have emitted were before, they had nothing on the soul juddering cacophony that erupted from its throat as his makeshift weapon struck true, destroying one of the creature's crimson eyes utterly. It reared back, going on its hind legs alone, and howled in agony as it instinctively tried to get as far away as possible from the cause of its pain, its claws scrabbling at its eye socket to try and get the projectile out of the broken egg-like mess that one of its eyes had become.

The young man felt his mouth twist into a grim smile even as he held onto the back of the thrashing creature. The plan had worked so far, but he didn't think he needed to follow it all the way to the end game, not anymore.

He released his grip on one of the creature's spines and stood full height for a moment, the angle at which he was doing so almost tipping him completely over, and with his glowing hand that still gripped his bright sword, pulled the gently luminescent blade from its place stabbed through the bone place and into the creature's dark flesh with a grating hiss and equal ease, as he were drawing it from its own sheath.

He had another plan, one that was only possible due to the strength that now suffused his muscles and sinews.

To cut it down.

He leapt off of the hind end of the still screeching beast, his eyes locked with his first target.

A single swing of his blade, a strike whilst he was still airborne and passing it by, was all that he needed to sever the giant rodent's deadly tail from its body, his glowing sword cutting through bone and flesh with equal ease, taking away the larger vermin's main weapon.

He landed lithely on his feet and was instantly whirling and moving, sprinting across the rocky terrain as the Grimm whirled about in rage and his cloak trailed behind him like a flaring ember in the wind, a howl of pain and anger erupting from its throat as it sought him, still reared back on its hind feet.

A mistake on its part.

He was smaller in comparison to the creature, especially with it reared back the way it was, and used that to his advantage, running low and swiftly and his sword poised to strike. And strike he did.

He got close to the creature, low enough neither its front claws or its gnashing teeth could reach him unless it dropped back to all fours, and struck out again. His gleaming sword pierced relatively shallowly into the creature's gullet. He didn't stop moving though and kept running. This had the consequence of him almost dragging his embedded blade across the rodent's stomach from one side to another, the sword only leaving the flesh of the creature when he kept sprinting onwards and away from the injured beast, his golden glowing feet lending him metaphorical wings.

His actions, as a result, disembowelled the creature, its putrid guts falling out of the hole in its flesh and spilling over the floor of the cavern, like a fish that had just been gutted.

The creature gave another cry, weaker this time, and fell back, almost slumping, onto all fours. He noticed the creature's legs buckle and quiver slightly as it did so. It was weakened now.

Its head turned, trying to track his movements as he circled around it, slowly and groggily, to glare at him with its single eyed gaze. The completely crimson orb, lacking even a pupil or an iris, conveyed to him naught but hate and rage and madness, the hunger that he had seen within those scarlet pools vanished beneath the weight of the pain he had inflicted on it.

Weakened and pained as it was, practically on its deathbed, it was clearly still willing to do all that it could to kill, to destroy, him, no matter what happened to it. It would not retreat to try and lick its wounds. To the creature, there was only victory or oblivion once battle was joined. It was like it was almost driven to do so, by some unknown force or instinct that he could not perceive.

This was not normal animal behaviour. Yet, in the depths of his soul, something told him that this was what a Grimm did, that this suicidal foolishness was the typical behaviour of a Grimm.

Disturbed by his thoughts, he decided to end this now.

He abruptly twisted on the balls of his feet, his boots crushing stone beneath them due to the force needed to make a sudden movement, and shot towards the entity that had given so much grief this day. He was within the creature's range swiftly, a series of easy dodges allowing him to easily bypass the creature's sluggish movements and attacks from both claw and fang. It was almost insulting how easy it was to move around the half-hearted attacks. Especially with whatever it was that was still empowering him at that moment.

Then a single strike from him ended it. Ducking below the gnashing fangs and its half blinded face, he stabbed his sword, as deep as it could go, through its throat, the flesh almost parting like water before its sharpness and the tip of the blade blossoming from the back of its neck.

Then he casually ripped.

Flesh was rent and torn, making a gaping hole in the beast's neck, and it was only his increased reactions and strength that made him able to leap away from the veritable fount of the creature's substitute for blood that erupted and avoid getting covered in the gore.

As he landed on his feet, breathing slightly heavily, a distance away, his mind slightly boggling at the exact distance he had travelled with a single leap, the creature's body slumped onto its belly, its feet collapsing beneath it, with a loud thud.

Dead.

The youth stared at the corpse of his fallen foe, taking deep gulps of air as a sudden feeling of relief and tiredness seemed to wash over him, the light of the cavern dimming ever so slightly to his blue eyes, his no longer glowing sword, save for the dim pommel jewel, suddenly becoming a little heavier, barely noticeable but there, the tip of it resting on the stone floor, and his muscles seeming to sag slightly, whether from relief that he was still alive or for some other unknown reason he didn't know or care at that moment in time, making it take a small effort to stand.

He had another flicker of a vision, of the stylised sun, this time showing that the circle that had once been glowing gold had dimmed, shifting to a small whitish-blue with flecks of gold flickering through it. He put the strange thing out of his mind and down to his physical weariness. He didn't have the desire to indulge on his own delusions when survival was more important.

That...had been one hell of a brawl. And not one that he was willing to repeat any time soon, if he could help it.

Blue eyes flicked around the now silent cavern, taking in the shattered columns of ancient stone and other damage that been wrought by the oversized vermin in the fight. His eyes narrowed in puzzlement and suspicion as he saw that, save for the giant one he had just killed, the rest of the bodies of the rodent's were no longer in sight, their black flesh no longer seen. He did note, however, that the bone carapaces that they all had were still there, bleached bone grave markers to the passing of a beast.

So where had the rest of the dark creature's corpses gone?

That question was only one of the myriad that surged through his mind, and it wasn't the most important one either. His mind was confused and he felt a headache starting to develop behind his left eye from all the crap he had been through for the last day. He was really wishing that it could end some time soon, he had enough on his plate that he didn't want to borrow more trouble.

The young man sighed heavily, as he, wearily, straightened up and, with an unconscious flick of his hand, spun his oddly immaculate sword, strangely free from any marring from scratches against bone or splatter from the guts and gore it had cut through, around and smoothly sheathed it in a practiced motion.

"Well," he spoke to himself tiredly, now alone in the large cavern, "that was a thing." He released a gusty sigh.

"Now," he said softly to himself, his brow wrinkling as he turned around, seeking for his original purpose of entering the cavern, ignoring the trashed state of it. His eyes alighted on his initial reason and began trudging forward, toward the trio of tunnels that exited the cavern.

"Which way to go?" He asked himself as he stood before the combined entrances to the three tunnels, pondering and looking around.

It took him a few minutes to discern what he thought was the correct path to take, the same tunnel that the rodent's had used to enter the cavern in the first place, with the tried and true method of scenting for fresh air and feeling for a slight breeze with his dimmed, but still bright, cloak.

Then he trudged on, uncaring of his leaving behind a shattered cavern and the exoskeleton of dead Grimm behind him.

"Impressive," mused Blackwing as his monitoring spells showed the young man tiredly trudge through the opening into the tunnel, one that the wielder of the Third True Magic knew would lead to the outside and the world beyond the dark caverns. "Quite impressive...for an amateur."

The battle with the largest of the rodent like Grimm had been a veritable fount of data and information for the experiment. The way the boy's Aura reacted in his time of need, if what he had seen within the boy's soul was what he thought it was, regardless of the sheer impossibility of it...

But the signs were there. The fact that he was able to wear the cloak and have it act in such a manner, the fact that he was able to even wield the blade that Blackwing had left for him, one of the many treasured tools that he had obtained through various means over the years, meant that the boy was something that was not normal, that didn't conform to expectations of society...or reality.

That he was unique. And all the more powerful for it.

Yes, he was glad that he had taken a gamble with the boy. He might not be a proper baseline for him to lay the foundations of his experiments upon, but if the boy could possibly achieve, to reach, the heights of power that his sight had seen dwelling within the depths of his soul...

But that was a long way off. The youth was only just learning how to crawl, he still had to learn how to walk and run before he could reach those lofty heights. And that would take time, a great deal of it, and even more experiences, both good and bad.

Thankfully, for him and not for his student/guinea pig, this world was rife with challenges to met, even with Blackwing's own intervention. Those challenges would push the young amnesiac to meet them and overcome them if he wished to survive.

And both the boy and he would reap the benefits. The boy would obtain what he long sought, Might and Power, and indeed had already done so, ever so slightly, when he had exhibited that strength whilst atop the rump of the large rat. The resonance of the boy's soul and power had been hard to miss.

While he, Blackwing, would take his payment for services rendered in the form most dear to him, that of Knowledge.

He would, of course, have to ensure that the boy had the tools he needed to keep on going, whether it be in goods or knowledge, for him to obtain said Knowledge, but that didn't matter much to him. He wasn't a very materialistic person, save for the fact that said materials were needed to further his pursuit of knowledge and aid his experiments.

It was why he had gifted the boy with the cloak and sword freely, even if it was in aid of an experiment, where other magi would never dare even think of such a thing, especially considering the value, both in financial and other terms, of those particular objects.

Speaking of the boy...

Blackwing looked at the illusionary screens that reflected what his surveillance spells viewed, a small grin, devilish and devious, like that of his Grandfather, crossed his lips as he saw where the youth now was.

His reaction would, no doubt, be quite amusing.

(In the back of his mind and soul, a rather rambunctious and blood thirsty being shook her head. Why, oh why, did her Origin have to take after his damned Grandfather so much?)

The currently nameless young man gave a small sigh of relief as he saw the begin to lighten ahead of him, even beyond that of the light shone from his strange, but very much welcome, cloak. A sign that light from beyond the tunnels and caverns, from the land outside, was able to penetrate into the underground passage way, meaning that he was probably quite close to the surface in some way. It was a welcome thought for him, the darkness of the underground passages, though heavily mitigated by his wonderful cloak, made him feel squashed and pressured, as if the weight of the entire mountain loomed over his shoulders, ready to crush at a moments notice.

It was not a feeling that he particularly enjoyed experiencing and welcomed any respite that he could from it, few though they were as, to his surprise, as he went on through the deep earthen maze, he had found that it was completely empty of any other surprises. He encountered no other Grimm or, oddly enough and something that made him more than a little apprehensive, indeed any other animal like that of a hanging bat, a roosting bird, a sheltering reptile or even any hint of a sign of insects. The tunnels were completely barren of life, something that was very much unnatural.

There was something very weird about these formations of stone. And that made him cautious, to an extent. It was not enough to deter him from his path, but enough to make him walk with his hand near the hilt of his sheathed sword, ready to draw and wield it with his still tired body at a moments notice.

He took heart, however, in the fact that his goal was almost in sight, making his stride longer and steps swifter in the anticipation of leaving the barren tunnels. His sharp eyes were still watchful though, and his senses tense and sharp. It would not do to fall down with the end in sight.

It was because he was so tense, his senses tuned for anything out of the ordinary that may possibly be a sign for an ambush, a trap or other deceitful and surprise attack, that he noticed other things about the tunnel he moving through. Things didn't quite make sense (at least to him.).

The tunnel was, while not uniform in height or width, never seemed to drop below a certain height, about a foot or two above his own height, nor did the walls come too close to each other, making it comfortable for him to walk through, if not fight with his sword. The walls also, while having lumps and bulges in it, was also quite smooth, no jagged stone jutting from the walls that could have torn into him if he had brushed against it. Even the floor of the path he took was strangely smooth, having no loose stones or the rough texture he had expected in comparison to the previous paths he had taken in this venture.

His eyes narrowed in thought slightly, before widening to the size of dinner plates as the reason for these unnatural features was because they were unnatural. As in not shaped by the patient and idle hand of the planet and time, but by the hasty and measured tools of humanity.

His footsteps quickened, his boots thumping against the floor of the passage, as the light of hope flared within his breast. Where humanity had left its mark upon the world, literally carving their names and deeds into the planet itself, humanity was never far away, rarely straying from these areas of importance. That meant that there may be a settlement close by! One that he might have checked in with if his suddenly revealed knowledge, if not memories, of travelling etiquette and safety were in any way accurate.

One that may have a chance of letting him recover what he had lost. His memories. His past. His name.

His footsteps pounded the stone floor, his heart beating furiously, as he almost sprinted through the stone passage, his cloak whipping behind him like a fluorescent banner.

The light from the outside soon merged with that of his cloak. After several twists and turns, which made him absently wonder how the light from outside had managed to penetrate into the curling caverns and passages, he abruptly halted, his boots skidding and grinding against the floor to halt his forward motion, as he saw a sight that left him breathless.

A simple rough archway carved out of the stone that made up the passages and caves, creating a great hole. A hole that revealed the outside world to him.

There wasn't really much to see from where he was, but that sight was all that he needed to know that he had found the exit to this, frankly, frightening abyss of stone.

It was a simple tree, weathered and beaten and gnarled, with white bark and long branches that were sparse of leaves yet still retaining enough to be called alive and green and able to make semi-adequate shade from the sun. It was precariously perched upon the lip of cliff of stone that extended past the entrance of the cave, branches hanging both out into space over the cliff and extending back towards the cave entrance. It was was wide enough, and the little cliff seemingly small enough, for the youth to see only flickers of the outside world past it as weak light, from what he assumed to be the sun, poured through the many gaps in the leaves and branches. It most probably did quite well in shielding the entrance into the caverns from casual view from the outside.

But that didn't matter to him. The fact that he had found the exit did, meaning he hadn't gotten lost in the winding chaos of stone below the earth.

And now he would be able to set foot into the real world and seek out answers for the myriad of his own questions. A literal journey of self discovery now awaited him as soon as he set foot out of the cavern entrance and into the free air, unburdened by the heavy weight of rock and stone he had walked beneath and through.

He didn't hesitate to take that step, the semi-shiny leather of his boots flickering as his feet crossed the slash of sunlight that, coincidentally, bordered the threshold hold between cavern and cliff.

He felt the difference immediately, or perhaps it was just his imagination. The air suddenly seemed fresher, more livelier, with a hint of scent that he somehow knew as wild flowers, losing the dank and damp scent that had continuously plagued him upon waking up in the dark cavern and followed him through the veritable warren of tunnels and passages.

Another feeling of warmth enveloped him, barely noticeable beneath his softly glowing and warm cloak but still known. It was that of the sun in open air, the soft, and sometimes harsh, hand of the life-giving orb in the sky, dispensing its blessing/curse to one and all, man or beast, hero or villain, with an even hand, as fair as anything could be.

Some part of him, deep within his soul, relaxed as he felt those golden rays caress him and resonated with the feeling, as if he was being welcomed home after a long and tiring journey. A small crossed his face as strode onto the cliff.

While the world underground, as strange as it may have seemed and as filled as it was with various awe-inspiring wonders he had noticed only in passing, was interesting (if only one word could be used to describe the completely different world in the caverns.) it was not a place for him. He could endure it, maybe even have enjoyed it if circumstances were different for him, but was not a place that he would ever have felt entirely comfortable with.

Having felt the golden light upon his skin, he knew now that he would always yearn, in some way, for that light's touch and would always seek out that warm caress.

His eyes flickered around, taking in the sight of the small cliff lip he found himself on, a small shelf of unyielding stone that projected from the cavern's entrance, though there wasn't much to honestly see, the large tree taking up the vast majority of his view.

The stone of the cliff, unsurprisingly considering his observations within the tunnels, was smooth, clearly touched and shaped by the hands of sentient beings. He was also quick to notice, with his sharp blue eyes, a slightly rough and scuffed depression in the surface of the stone. One that lead, snake like, from the centre of the cavern's mouth and curled over to the left of the outcropping.

It was a path. Worn and obviously unused for some time now, likely utterly abandoned right then, but had previously seen heavy use if the trail in the hard stone was still there, worn and scuffed like that. It would have taken many years for humanity to do something like that with only their feet and tread.

He was quick to follow it towards the rim of the outcropping where it then just disappeared.

A quick glance over the rim showed why.

A steep, very steep, almost a ladder really, set of stone steps, many of them looking to be rather cracked and shattered but still wide enough for six men to walk abreast, shoulder to shoulder, and long enough for two of him to lay end to end, descended for quite a ways downward, making him swallow dryly and grimace. It would have been absolute hell to climb up those damn things, and he wasn't betting against them being just as much of a pain to descend down. It might honestly be easier to either slide down the damn thing, or even leap over the side to the rocky ground he could a few hundred yards below!

He grimaced slightly. He was not looking forward to it.

His blue eyes followed a well worn path that began past the end of the steps and across the suspiciously flat sparsely grassed field they terminated in. His eyes narrowed as he saw patches of deep black within the grass but continued following the straight path, a narrow furrow of empty space in a large grassy plain. Further and further he looked, craning his head to do so, even as it became invisible to his eyes and he simply followed the direction it went in, the light of what seemed to be a late afternoon sun lighting his way.

It definitely wasn't an animal path or game trail. Nature, as a rule, didn't follow straight lines for the most part.

This was a road. Which explained the black spots he could see, the colour of bitumen and tar that was used to create sealed roads for vehicle traffic. Not something that creatures would be able to make.

It was one more piece of evidence toward a possible settlement being nearby. Though he was rather worried at the state of the road and the clearly man-made structures...and what it may indicate.

His eyes finally reached to just below the horizon when saw it.

In the great distance, white light gleamed and shimmered and shone, reflected off of some material and making him wince slightly in pain as it struck his eyes. He blinked heavily, swearing slightly, trying to recover from the glare.

His hand rubbed his eyes vigorously before he slowly opened them again, squinting hard and his face slightly down turned to ward off the glare.

His focused eyes were eventually able to make out the vague shapes of the glare's origin in the distance, almost looking like a small set of hills from the distance, the tops looking strangely squared off.

But he knew better. While he wasn't one hundred percent certain, the evidence was certainly mounting up.

He glowered at the object in the distance. There was no way in hell that he would be able to reach the object before nightfall, even if he ran all the way. He was in a strange place with limited options and no idea of the dangers that were about. He wasn't about to add to his already heavy burdens by foolishly walking in the dark, not knowing what was out there. With his cloak glowing like it did, even just softly, he would stick out like a sore thumb and would be easy target to attack and track.

And something told him that being a walking glowing target in the long grass of the plain was not a good idea.

He had already fought quite the battle today, he had no desire to add to his exhaustion and tempt fate just to try a reach a location that's situation he knew nothing of but, considering the wear and tear of the place around him, probably wasn't too good.

He nodded firmly to himself, decision made, and twisted on his heels, moving back into the caves. A semi-decent dinner of trail mix and jerky, along with some rest, would do him wonders for the long march he planned for the next day.

Author's Notes

Hey folks,

Another chapter of this story down. I hope you enjoyed the fight scene, it was the most difficult scene I have ever written and, honestly, the first time I have ever tried to do a proper fight scene. My apologies if it came out a bit rough but, hopefully, I will be able to improve as time goes on.

I will also try to, in future, condense the story down, to try and stop the chapters of my stories from being associated with the description of 'long-winded drivel'. Much like the second chapter of my Percy Jackson/Campione story 'A Voyage Toward the Stars'.

At least the commenter said it privately.

Grimm Profile

Species: Rat-tale

Description: Their name pretty much says it all. They look like Oversized Rats, the 'younger' ones generally the size of a large dog, with a very long tail. The 'younger' of the species generally have little in the way of the white bone armour that the Grimm are so noted for, but 'older' ones seem to develop a fair bit of it, notably on their heads and down their spines and along their tails.

The older ones also develop a hard ball of bone, sometimes spiked and sometimes not, on the tips of their long tails.

Habitat: These guys like dark and enclosed spaces. Caves are their normal hang outs but, due to a Grimm's desire to destroy sentient life, they also love the cities of the Kingdoms, much like their animal lookalikes and can infiltrate them with little difficulty. It is a constant problem, and duty, for the Hunters to patrol the cities and prevent these Grimm from entering or, if they have already entered, to exterminate them with prejudice.

Behaviour: Rat-tales are, much like their true animal brethren, sneaky and sly. They love to ambush, when alone. However, they rarely are.

When in a large group, they swarm their chosen prey like a wave, trying to crush it under the weight of sheer numbers.

Numerous records exist about swarms of over one hundred of these Grimm amassing together and attacking at once.

Abilities: Physically, these critters are the smallest and weakest of the various species of Grimm (whilst also being fast and very agile), at least in their 'young' stage, and are easily dispatched alone and in small groups, making them a nuisance to trained Hunters, at best. Even non-Hunters can deal with this type.

But their strength doesn't lie in individual physical might. It is numbers that they are made dangerous. Their strength is in Quantity, not Quality, at that stage. A Horde of a hundred small ones could present a decent danger to a lone Hunter, or even a pair.

And their threat only gets worse as they age.

Once they progress past the young stage, they will have developed a large mace head on the end of their tails, and are very willing to use it to crush the bones of those they want to kill by spinning on their toes and bringing the tail tip around like a powerful flail. Reports indicate that these attacks are able to break a prepared Hunter's ribs in it connects.

But it is nothing in comparison to when they reach the 'King' stage of their cycle.

Easily matching an Ursa in size, or even larger in some rare cases, this stage of the Grimm's cycle is intimidating. The whole tail is now a massive weapon, not just the tip, becoming an unholy amalgamation of a whip made of serrated bone vertebrae and a scorpion's sting. It is nigh prehensile and the Grimm, at this stage, is experienced enough to take advantage of that. Their strength is also nothing to scoff at and their agility is scary for something that size.

It should also be noted that this species of Grimm is highly sensitive to Aura, able to sense it, and the soul that produces it, from a fair distance away, regardless of the barriers between them and the Aura.

Tactics: One on one, these are easily dispatched and merit no special tactic for a Hunter. But as a Horde...that is a different matter.

Always watch your back or partner up. When facing a Horde of this type, never assume that the ones in front of you are all that there is to see. Chances are you have already missed one and it is going for your ankles or the back of your neck.

In regards to the Big Cheese's...either pick them off at a distance, a difficult prospect considering their reaction times and sensitivity to Aura, or get in close to their flanks or face.

Their deadly tail has a minimum range, getting closer to the Grimm than said range and you take that weapon out of the equation. Of course that means you are facing in excess of one hundred pounds of pissed off rodent, but that's just any day at the office for a Hunter.

Threat Level: E ~ C (depending on the development stage of said Grimm)

Hope you enjoyed the chapter,

Kujikiri21