Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-5999656-20190205035159/@comment-25582638-20190613233422

Brunhilde’s brows knitted, and she seized the daggers from her coat once again as she stumbled upon an unexpected sight; Syndicates, plus the Patched and the Stalker and some hobo-looking rugged man. Out of obligation as an ally, the Engelnacht heiress had decided to ensure that the other Dragons are keeping up with them. One way or another, she started regretting that choice, but it didn’t have anything to do with the Dragons.

Just why there are unnecessary people here? She kept asking herself. Lightning sprayed from the left dagger, and flames twisted from the right dagger as the Black Swan swung them. Cyzarine would most likely stare at her in horror if she saw her using Dusts wastefully and tactlessly.

Suddenly the king cobra faunus halted his salvo as a pair of magazines fell down onto the floor. The Grimm rats quickly seized the short-lived opportunity, charging at them in waves much larger than the previous group. The duo heard their oddly excited chatterings, red eyes gleaming at their direction- Brunhilde, particularly- like rabid street dogs drooling at fresh meat; that was when Brunhilde became aware of how tight she was clenching her teeth, and the irritation festering inside her. Wynston flicked his wrists, and magazines ejected from under his sleeves and reloaded the guns. He glanced back at her. “Swan! Please calm down!”

Having taken the position of a vanguard, Wynston looked like a poor gentleman recently ganged up by thieves. He had long since lost his white jacket, leaving him with drenched red colored shirt, and exposing the mechanical contraptions holding magazines around his forearms. Patches of black soothe and bite marks covered his pants, and cracks between his disheveled white fedora and wig revealed strands of light peach hair concealed underneath.

You don’t have to tell me the obvious. However, Brunhilde kept her eyes peeled, and stood on top of the summon; not openly showing an ounce of acknowledgement to her older distant cousin who had resumed blazing Dust bullets at the Grimm. Then just for a moment, in this anarchic hellhole, Brunhilde wondered if the Huntress had gotten out safely. How laughable. To think that she was worrying about someone who would've slit her throat without hesitation.

Shutting off the Dust on the left dagger, her hand reached at the back of the swan helmet. There laid a small, round-shaped metal jutting out slightly from the black surface; large enough to be grasped by the tips of the fingers. With a single twist, and a slide down to the nape with a sharp click, the contraption sunk into the helmet. On the outside, nothing seemed to happen; but the mechanisms inside the helmet whirled and clicked faintly. She felt a sting on her nape. Cold sensation flooded her consciousness, and the HUD flashed the words "Activating Inhibitor". Her mind lulled, allowing it to sift through her thoughts as she deftly stood on top of the giant king cobra.

She reignited the Fire Dust, and let loose bursts of scathing stream from the tip of the dagger. Each vermin she burned instantly echoed a deafening shriek. The heap of Grimm rats rushing after them dissolve into black mist, then replaced by another wave of vermin which met the same fate, repeating the vicious cycle. Brunhilde lashed out wordlessly as she switched between blasting Dusts and slashing and thrusting with uncanny sequence. Lightning churned around her, fueling and fusing with the flames’ wrath. Strays of Dust attacks dissipated before they could reach the group trailing behind, as though recognizing them as friendly.

But many Grimm rats endured the mass slaughtering, and prepared their counter attack. A rat, as big as a cat, was one of them; its intricate bony mask flaunting its veteran status. Leaping up from an upraised floor, it latched onto Brunhilde's left arm, almost pushing her off the icy snake with its weight. Before she could shake it off, Brunhilde felt its flesh-riddled fangs buried deep on her shoulder, and a murky white light flashed underneath the rat’s maw.

Warm blood trickled down her arm, yet Brunhilde didn’t hiss. In a heartbeat, she stabbed its neck and slide the blade down to its stomach with the other dagger. Seemingly losing interest on them, the number of vermin after their flesh thinned slightly.

Wynston kicked a rat back to a nearby chasm and looked ahead, just in time to see the roofs collapsed right on top of a group of unknown people, blocking the entrance to the other room. The crumbling facility rocked violently, slammed by the giant fish Grimm passing by. Then the ground to their left began drifting apart, the metal supports groaning painfully as they tried to keep the structure together. Lights blinked in and out, and abandoned stalls and possessions plunged into the gaping abyss, where the large red eye of ichthyosaur Grimm peered from the depths of the sea.

Not a moment after, a bullhead swiveled left and right, and twisted in the pitch-black sky as its tail tilted higher than the body. The nearby bullheads increased their distance from it, as Grimm rats emerged from the bay and fell into the forest waters. Followed by unfortunate Hunters thrown out to their demise. A few seconds later, the bullhead lost control, and nosedived straight at their group.