Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-5999656-20190205035159/@comment-25582638-20190528080836

It all started when a man fell down a hole.

When the facility shook violently, the ground had twisted and ruptured into colossal gaping holes, followed by the rush of salt water coming in rapidly from all sides. It wasn’t strong enough to topple the people- only drenching everything in its path and swallowing the infrastructure from below.

That was supposed to be the only problem, aside to the school of gigantic aquatic Grimm that was eager to join the fray. Catching a glimpse of spine-chilling creatures lurking in the waters, almost everyone disengaged and scrambled away, their chaotic free-for-all scrimmages forgotten in a blink of an eye in favor of survival.

Unfortunately, one of the criminals slipped and plunged into the pitch-black waters. A younger man with bull horns yelled and ran towards the fissure, hoping to save his companion. But perhaps this was the best outcome for the majority. Because if the man hadn't fallen and the young faunus didn't peer into the black abyss, maybe no one could've been prepared for what about to happen.

After confirming that Nozomi wasn't going to come back, Wynston ran over to Hilda's prone figure. Fortunately, his cousin was conscious, letting out an irritated groan and trying to get up.

"Can you walk?" He asked, worried as he caught a glimpse of Hilda's current Aura level in his HUD: 30%. Wynston didn’t pat down her body for injuries, and he simply crouched beside her, waiting. Regardless of the situation, he’d learned that Brunhilde never, ever let anyone touch her without permission. Except Cyzarine.

The swan helmet tilted upwards, revealing its cracked visor as Brunhilde shook her head. While clutching her sore right forearm, she glanced to the side, watching the brown-haired girl's retreating back. Wynston spared a glance at the other woman, mostly out of bewilderment.

Brunhilde was silent. Not ranting about about her lose nor further provoking her foe out of spite; the reactions which Wynston expect from his cousin to show at this point. This was also the first time he’d seen her this… too quiet. She wasn’t even demanding anything from him.

When the floor shook unsteadily again, Wynston spoke. “C’mon. Give me your hand.”

Brunhilde complied wordlessly, giving him permission. Wynston took her uninjured hand, wrapped her arm around his nape, and heaved her up. Just as he was looking for Maris and Sorrel, a shrieked pierced through the sounds of bubbling waters and debris hitting the waves below.

The ground near him cracked and tilted, and there was someone clambering up the floor, screaming. He caught a glimpse of a hand clutching on the edge, then of bull horns, and a pair of eyes that went wide in horror. “Help! Ah-”

And then he disappeared, as if someone had pulled him back, alarming the king cobra faunus.

“... We need to go now. They’re going to swarm this facility.” Brunhilde said quietly, grasping Wynston’s sleeves.

“They?”

“Grimm, what else?” she replied, irritated, “I have better ears than you.”

As soon as those words left her mouth, countless squeaks and tiny sharp nails scraping the floor resounded from the other side of the tilting floor. Without looking back, the two Bluthardts moved away, sidestepping the web of cracks spreading throughout the facility. Wynston perked up at the figure of Sorrel and Maris.

"Run!" He yelled to the two young Syndicates. A giant ice king cobra materialized beside him, its blood crimson eyes flickering at every movement within its vicinity. Pouring more Aura, Wynston expanded his summon's body and gently put his cousin on top of the cobra's back.

"Hang on tight." He said. Cold Cobra then slithered away in an instant, racing and plowing through the debris like a speeding truck.

One by one, criminals and cops and careless Hunters alike fell to the bottom where hundreds of blood red eyes blinked and stared from the abyss. Every time someone hit the waters, a mass of slimy black rats would rapidly drown them and spread the color of red. And for those who clung desperately on the edge, hoping to escape the impeding carnage, their legs were left with grotesque meat dangling on the bones.

The Grimm rats didn’t stop there. With nothing more than the people’s negative emotions and hunger driving them forward, they crawled their way up and poured into the facility like ants. Carpet of wicked claws flayed flesh indiscriminately, and fangs like that of a tiger’s sunk deep into adrenaline-seasoned muscles. The captive criminals were the easiest target of them all- just like livestocks imprisoned in a slaughterhouse.

A legion of black rats raced to Diaboli, whose attire were drenched in blood, which oozed fragments of fear, malice, grudge, and hatred left by the dead. Others distributed themselves deeper in the sinking facility, and might encounter Jett and the rest of SAINTs.

Bigger, wiser rats gazed quietly upon the swinging ropes. They saw several people deftly climbed up to the choppers. More people, more preys. Without wasting another second, they squeaked in hurried, loud tone, communicating to their smaller counterparts that started climbing on top into each other. Sensing what they were about to do, Hunters took potshot at the growing mountains of Grimm rats. But soon they were also pushed back by the horde.

Finally, a Grimm rat successfully snatched a rope. The red eyes below gleamed in delight, and immediately began their ascent.