Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-7838080-20131225042819/@comment-11588669-20140412215004

''Huff...and puff....really? I mean, come on. What's next, a girl with a red cloak swirls through the mob with a red scythe? Maybe her sister with golden hair nukes a club after a lock gets yanked.''

Ambrose rolled his eyes, and shot off to the side. A single beowolf leaped, and was promptly cut down. He never stopped moving darting everywhere he could, keeping an array of movement to cloak what he's about to do. Finally, he slid from the treeline, behind the main body of the pack. And dropped onto another Grimm, the bottom blade of his spear slicing through it's neck before it can make a sound. Rolling, he pulled the weapon up, and spun, taking a Beowolf in the knee with one blade and ramming the other through one's chin. Sliding through flesh and weakened bone, the angled and pointed metal drove through its brain- and discharged built up energy, leaving him free to pull it loose.

He stood, at the back of the pack, and switched Final Echo into it's ranged form. Ambrose dropped to one knee, the weapon shouldered and aimed. He had recovered enough to shoot with minimal charging, so he aimed, exhaled and pressed the trigger. Repeating the sequence, tagging any who tried to get behind brick. And only a few noticed him...one exceptionally large, leaping too close for him to bring his rifle to bear against it. His golden eyes widened, and he desperately tried to turn.

SHIT!