There was a time, where i would have given anything to leave that place, That fortress of the mountains. Where it had been safe, a place of security and comfort. I wanted so desperately to leave, but now all i can think of, is going back.
Rothe wandered down the ship's brig hall, searching for a sign of any sort of restroom. He had been confined to his room for three days and the captain had "forgotten" about him by the second. He hadnt been willing to stay in that cramped room for so long anyways, so when he hadnt been given lunch or dinner, he had left. Now here he was, a Winter Knight, with the trademark long white hair, ice blue eyes, and white jacket of the armored defenders. Along with this white jacket hoodie, he had blue gauntlets, an ice blue scarf, black and blue shoulder pads, the right one adorned with three spikes, signaling his old rank in the Winter Knight apprentices, Trinity being the highest rank to earn.
Then there were the weapons Rothe carried upon his person. A small decorated shortsword, a tall kite shield with short range 12 gauge barrels built into the center for emergencies, and a chainaxe. They were all specially crafted for him and him alone, built to carry out his violent occupation. All were equipped and ready, something wasnt right on the ship. It was too quiet, and there was too much cargo for him to just be "forgotten" about.
The lights started to flicker as he walked down the hallway. It was a squareish shape hallway with rounded corners with several doors and two couchs somehow nailed into the black iron floor. That was when Rothe noticed the third door. There was blood on it. Blood all over it. "How?" he thought to himself as he walked up to it. the blood wasnt even on the floor, just splattered there in large swathes. He readied his axe not pulling the revver, so as to hear if anything was on the otherside. There was, it was a low ragged breathing almost, mixed with a static noise coming probably from a radio or tv of some sort.
"God, oh God, oh God! Give me strength to fight this fear of mine!" He thought to himself as he placed a hand on the door knob, coated with sticky, still warm blood. He braced himself and pushed it open. Nothing. just an empty room, save except for a crackling tv, and a small coffe table in front of it, no chairs or beds or couches whatsoever, just these two pieces. As he began to walk over, a feeling of dread descended upon him, he could practically feel the bloodlust in the air. Whatever was on board, it wasnt friendly. He had reached the tv when suddenly the door closed behind him. The only illumination was the flicker of the tv static.
Rothe instantly pulled his shield from his back, wishing he had brought his full helm, so he could better see whatever was around him. The static started to grow louder behind him, and the darkness of the room closed in on him from all directions. Then, Darkness.
And suddenly an explosion of red. a Grimm unlike any he had seen, standing tall right before him, unmoving, bathed in it's own crimson glow. It was shaped almost like a human, yet it wasnt. It held in it's hands, a head, just a head. Not of a man or woman on the ship, but a doll's. Rothe couldnt move, he was terrified. he knew that this Grimm was alone, yet it had killed all aboard. And he knew that better than the color of grass. Rothe hurriedly searched for a way out, anything. But there was no escape, nothing to take advantage of.
The Grimm leaned down over him, it's bone mask splatterd with the red of the men on board the ship. It seemed to be tall enough to reach the ceiling and it was more red than onyx, glowing in the black. A long black toungue slid out of a mouth shaped like a jackolantern's and it began to move torward me.
"MOVE! MOVE DAMMIT! ARGH!!" Rothe thought to himself as he struggled against his own shackles of fear, until he realized that there was nothing he could do. He had one option open to him, to die.
The Grimm's toungue suddenly shot forward piercing directly through the center of Rothe's chest, going right through his flesh until it reached his back and exited his body. Blood splatterd all over the tv he had been standing in front of. His axe and shield fell to the ground, his jacket was stained with a red splatter of blood, But Rothe would not fall here.
The Grimm pulled Rothe torwards itself, it's own toungue containing almost unreal strength, until he was underneath the terrifying monstrosity. He could see it's eyes now, and they were the object of nightmares, swirling red with no pupil, spattered with black dots, constantly twitching and pulsing. Now was his last chance to live.
Rothe had used the pain to knock him out of his own stupor and now he was going to use his oppurtunity to at the very least hurt this abomination. He pulled his short sword from it's sheath by his belt and and stabbed it right into the side of the Grimm's chest, praying his last chance would work.
It did. The Grimm screamed an unearthly howl and stumbled back, withdrawing it's toungue from the mess that was Rothe's chest, but Rothe didnt stop there, his aura and adrenaline pushing him through the incredible pain. he rushed the howling Grimm stabbing it again and again, putting all his strength into his right arm, mustering up his reserves of energy to end this creature.
The Grimm was backing off, and edging torward the door. It was covered in wounds, yet it didnt seem to really care and it dissapearred right through the door with not a sound and leaving almost no sign of its appearance but the wound in Rothe's chest and the blood splattered all over the ground. Rothe fell to the floor, his aura already starting to heal the wound on his chest, though he knew it wouldnt save him. He needed real medical attention. "To think that i would only get this far, i was going to Beacon dammit..." He thought to himself as he lay in his own blood on the floor.
But his wounds were not just physical, Rothe was terrified. He was, for the first time in years, scared of something. He hurt on the inside, he fellt like crying. He had been taught all his life, that the Grimm were Mindless monsters, following emotions. But the way that thing had looked at him, he wasnt sure anymore, only something that could think and choose with a level of human intellingence could look so terrifying to him. Rothe realized that he was crying, it hurt far too much to bare, and so many were dead. He was scared for himself.
"Would that creature leave, or would it come back, and haunt him, torture him, devour him?" Rothe was contemplating these thoughts when he realized he could move again. He stood up slowly his entire body strangely enough, feeling like an inferno. He walked over to his weapons, and took them in his hands. He needed to get off this ship.
