"A safe haven. Until... an explosion opened the mouth of another cavern, filled with subterranean Grimm. After that, the Kingdom officially sealed off the tunnels, creating the world's largest tomb."



It sounded like a thousand voices screaming at once. Perhaps it was. Out of pain. Fear. Despair. There was no starry sky for the glassy, lifeless eyes to reflect. Only stone. Only rock. There was no peace here. Even in silence, years later, echoes of the slaughter bounded from wall to wall, forever screaming, forever praying, forever afraid.



I... I don't want to die.



I want to live.



I'll do...



Any...thing...



Any....



help....



me...





It's first breath sounded like air, rushing through a cave. Empty. Hollow. Loud. Old. The flesh of the skeletons that surrounded it had long been eaten away by vermin and time. Only snow white bones decorated the floor now. Quite a contract to the void darkness of the being's skin.



Red eyes glowed out from a bleach white mask. It seemed to examine it's.... hands. Yes, these were hands. He... yes he. It was a he. He knew what a he was, and he was one of them. He stood on two legs, upon two feet, upon the ground. He knew what parts of him where. Are. But... he did not know who he was. What he was. All he knew was...



I don't want to die.



Run.



And he did. He ran. To where is not important right now. What is important is taking place inside a small pub a few weeks later, on the outskirts of Vale (The City) where a man of large stature sits. His clothes scream "Middle Class". His hair screams "Silver Fox", and the small peace of metal attached to his forehead, currently being his behind a hat screams "James Motherfucking Ironwood". Cradling a low quality, lukewarm beer, he looks towards the door, expectantly.



In walks a man, tapping his cane from wall to wall, darkened sunglasses covering his face. He whispers to the Barkeep for a few seconds, and is then directed to James' table.



"I've missed you, James. It's been a while since we talked."



"I haven't had time, you know that. And you're harder to get a hold on these days too. So many fake trails, you must've wasted thousands of dollars in information gathering."



The blind man chuckles as his drink is placed in front of him by a waiter.



"It's what I do, James. Besides, you have so many leaks in your organization, it's more of a colander. Besides, you got me in the end, right?"



"Yes. About that."



"Just tell me what you need James, and make it quick."



"It's about Mountain Glenn. There's a squad of rookies and one vet moving in to take down a white fang base."



"And you need me to keep an eye on them?"



"No. Well, yes. But not because of the White Fang. I've been keeping tabs on each of the members of the small team, and they are each more than capable. It's something that hasn't been spotted. It's near Mountain Glenn, and we think it might've originated there."



"Wait, if it hasn't been spotted, how do you know it exists?"



"Well, first a caravan passing by the area disappeared. Then, the police we sent to find it. Then, the military platoon to look for the police. And the odd thing? Every single one of my men had cameras on their person. Nothing."



"So, it can turn invisible?"



"No. These cameras have thermal, polarizing, current, even wind pressure filters. If something attacked them, it would have to be out of view of those cameras."



"So that means..."



"That's not all. In all the footage we reviewed, there was something bothering us. Every time someone fell to the ground, there was something the unnerved us exponentially. That's when someone finally figured it out. There was audio with the cameras, but no one ever fired a single shot."



"Fuckin' A."



"So you're looking for... something. Human, Grimm, or something else, that can somehow kill an entire military platoon from their blindspots before any of them can fire a single shot."



A thin lipped smile stretches below the sunglasses. The drink sits untouched, condensation beading on the outside of the nearly clean glass.



"So, something a bit more difficult than usual."



James sighed, his head in his right hand.



"Yes. I'm sorry. I call you all the way out here for a mission."



"No, it's fine. I appreciate the courtesy. As a reward, let me give you my number. Contact me if you need anything."



After taking the scroll from James and inputting a number, James wondering how he knew what he was entering, he handed it back and stood up to leave.



"Oh, and James, plug the leaks as much as you can. I didn't order a drink and this bar doesn't have any waiters."



As the cane tapping became muffled from the door shutting, he looked at his scroll, and the name that came up.



"Moirai."







He slept with sightless staring at stars. When alone, no glasses. No blindfold. His weapon sat next to him, wrapped up tight. He could almost feel the light on his eyes, trying to make it's way through the darkness, into his mind, to give him sight. He knew what the stars looked like. He had seen them. Before he...



Before he...



Forsook the light.





Before his shoes had become heavy with the soaked in blood of Remnant's enemies. The shadowy ink mixed with the striking red, soaking into his shoes. His socks. His pants. Crawling up his body. His shirt. His neck. Crawling down his throat. Soaking into his eyes, blacking them out. Ripping them out, to dance in the moonlight. crawling into the holes left behind, into his skull, into his mind. To torture him until



He awoke, the sun warm on his face. Nightmares were becoming rarer. But when they returned, they were so much more intense. But at least the sky was clear.



How did he know that...



He could see himself, sitting on the bed, looking ahead.



He turned, and could see himself looking at his weapon.



A shield, covered on the bottom with bloody handprints, and in the center, a hand with an eye in the middle, looking directly at him. κόψιμο (Pronounced kópsimo). He knew without seeing that the second half of the weapon, a long, long roll of fabric sat at it's base. μέτρο (pronouced métro). He picked up the shield, and rewrapped it, covering the eye, and plunging him back into darkness. He then slung it over his back using μέτρο and carried it. He could feel it in the cloudless sky. Something was coming. Something was about to start. And he had to be in the middle of it. Or else, people would die. Well, more people.



That, and he knew that whatever it was, it was going to be fun.