Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-5999656-20190205035159/@comment-25582638-20190905132023

As Sorrel’s blood seeped into the tentacle, a rumble reverberated beneath the waves crashing against the yacht. The Squid Grimm finally tasted the tangy, tender treat it had been seeking blindingly since the downfall of the facility. With newfound zeal, the tentacles dove even further into the yacht, creepy eyes spasming as they gazed hungrily at the weakest and most severely injured among the crew. Three appendages lunged at the two girls on the deck, one went after the ragged human male. The rest clung to the struggling boat.

More. It wanted more. Then it gurgled, giant red eyes dilating at the two black figures swimming through the cold, near pitch-black waters. The black squid watched them, floating as its other tentacles took their time peeling the poor boat, savoring every last bit of negative energy oozing from the remaining party. Having lived for nearly half a century, it had discovered that killing prey at their worst state made them much, much more flavorful. And it would do just to these humans who dared to challenge it in its domain.

Its two longest tentacles, thinner than the armored tentacles above (arms, actually), contracted into a tight swirl as the razor-sharp scales fanned out. They were ready, ready to tear these frail humans. Then they froze. Then all the tentacles turned as still as a rock, as if time had stopped for the giant black squid.

A wave of malicious emotions had struck its core.

Of all the prey it had fought so far, there was a particular being- an unstable clump of quiet anger- that barely left its spot, fighting but never advancing, yet remained untouchable no matter how many times the Grimm attacked. It had made the giant squid frustrated, so it left it alone.

Yet its sudden burst of hunger for destruction was severe, like a heavy sensation of bloodlust wrapping the being like a great coat, making the Grimm drool in hunger.

Desperate not to waste its meal, the squid Grimm let out an ear-piercing screech, time started moving again, and half of the tentacles smashed their way to the furious creature.

-- Sliding towards the edge of the boat as a tentacle slammed on where he once stood, the king cobra faunus landed on the railings, catching a glimpse of Diaboli and the Huntress flinging themselves madly into the sea, each wielding their respective weapons. As he made a guess at what they were about to do the tentacle freed itself from the floor, glaring at Wynston with all the red eyes before pursuing him.

Hopeless. There was no word better than that to describe their situation. Wynston couldn't remember how long he'd been trying to get away, running in circles and through the non-existent means to escape as the tentacles chased after him. He still had his Aura, yet not enough to summon his ice king cobra, and he had no weapon strong enough to pierce the armor plates.

Stumbling upon Maris and Jett, Wynston skidded to an abrupt halt, taking in the scene as the risk of putting them in danger dawned on him. No good. If he comes anywhere near them, more tentacles would come after them. So he dove through the hole in the wall, enduring the splinters and shards piercing and digging deeper into his bare feet. Blotches of blood trailed after him, dispersing through the salt water trickling in. Upon emerging to the other side, he came face to face with the cowboy gentleman, eyes widening at the mangled arm. Then he heard the wall behind him ripping itself apart.

"Get down!" Wynston said, his voice hoarse, as he jumped onto the railings and up to the bridge's direction, gritting his teeth. Immediately, three tentacles blasted through the wall right above Dust's head.

He managed to grab the bridge's railing, feet dangling helplessly above the waters howling at him. He tried to pull up himself, grunting weakly, only to realize that he didn't have enough strength to save himself. He tried again and again, but his hands began to slacken at every effort he'd put into. Wheezing, Wynston turned his head, watching the three tentacles hovered menacingly over him.

This is it?, he thought, breathing raggedly. Thunder boomed across the dark skies, heavy clouds slowly swallowing the moon and the stars as if responding to him. His mind started purging all thoughts of survival, distancing from the situation so swiftly that he couldn't feel the pain and the cold, wet shirt stuck on his skin anymore, and even asked himself whether he was, in reality, always ready to die. Ah, yes, that might be the case.

They shouldn't have taken this job if death frightens them

Every time he fought a cowering hitman or goon, this thought would never fail to resurface. Death exists when there's life, a withering old Seelehardt once said, and it couldn't be much truer in this kind of life he'd chosen. Or maybe he was genuinely more suicidal than he thought he was.

At that, he leaned his head against the wall, sighing in resignation.

The tentacles dove right at him. He closed his eyes, and wait-

CLANG!!

As he jolted in shock, his eyes opened wide as something grabbed him by the shirt's collar and sent him carelessly flying into the bridge.

"What the hell are you doing?" A familiar female voice resounded above him. "Do you have any idea how hard it is-... You have a glass in your leg. Don’t move." Coughing, Wynston lifted up his face, peering through the cracks of his mask.

"Swan." He muttered under his breath. The Engelnacht heiress stood rather hauntingly, holding a sizeable sniper rifle in her hands, her swan mask dented on the left side. Behind her, the predatory tentacles that had been chasing him were now being held at bay. Standing between them and appendages, two long black poles spun at a blinding speed, the air humming around as if a helicopter had descended. Whenever the tentacles lunge forward, one of the poles would strike back at Hilda's hand gesture, clashing with a resounding clank like steel against steel. It wasn't enough to damage the appendages, but it had the power to put them back to their place.

It was like Brunhilde was holding the poles herself, he thought. This was his first time seeing her Semblance in person.

Another armored tentacle burst from the bridge's room, dripping with Sorrel’s blood and shredded raw meat.

“Where’s our boat?" Brunhilde asked, sending a 10-meter black line barreling at the incoming tentacle.

Wynston shook his head, wincing as he held his injured leg tenderly, "It’s not here yet."

“Damn it. What’s taking them so long?" Hilda crossed her arms in front, her fists clenched into fists. All the black poles flew to them and formed a revolving protective fence as she turned to face Wynston, pulling out a handkerchief to tie around the man’s thigh.

“Hilda… You need to leave… I don’t think the boat’s going to hold much longer.” He heard snort in response.

“That’s very thoughtful of you but no,” She said as she rose to her feet, back facing the faunus. “As much as I want to save myself, I’m afraid I can’t leave.”

“Why?”

“Just because,” Hilda made a chopping gesture, and a black pole slammed at a nearby tentacle. “And perhaps you bring better news than our looming deaths.”

Wynston was about to shake his head again but stopped midway.

“There is one.”

“Oh?” Brunhilde sounded pleased, but his next words made her stiffened.

"Diaboli and the Huntress jumped overboard. I think they’re going to kill the Grimm… But I don’t think they can do it… I hope I’m wrong." . ..

“Hilda?”

“The Huntress,” Hilda spoke finally as her head turned slowly, the mask’s eyes gleaming at the faunus, “Is it the woman with a staff?”

Wynston nodded, “Yes.” . . . “Are you sure about that?”

“She’s the only Huntress,” he said, confused at having to validate his answer twice. “Hilda, what are you getting at?... Don’t tell me you’re thinking about settling a score. This is not the time to worry about some stranger!”

As soon as he said those last words, his vision was clouded with the blurs of black lines moving faster than he can see, the Engelnacht heiress standing in the middle with a hand clutching the mask's forehead.

“That damn idio-”

He didn’t hear what she said next, for the sound of blade and thunder shook the air, and a pair of tentacles fell to his left with a loud thud. - There were movements. Tentacles, two of them, lunged towards Brunhilde.

A thick blur of black struck down from the sky, hacking halfway through the scales and the rubbery flesh. Blood of black and red squirted, the tentacles squirmed under the pain and weight of the bladed poles.

Brunhilde looked up at the appendages, unceremoniously reminding her of seafood barbecue. But the thought disappeared as soon as it came, for her emotions had taken the reins and narrowed her vision.

Her hand swung down, as the thunder boomed and lightning split the horizon. A solid black line soared over head and pounded at the back of the blades with a resounding clang. The tentacles crashed on top of the bridge, shards of glass and broken wall scattered in all directions, and the upper portion of the appendages writhed helplessly on the floor.

Brunhilde stood there, looking over the murky pitch-black sea, as the appendages creeped even closer.

She knew that Lustra isn’t an idiot, nor the type to charge head on without a plan or two, if not counting the times she had lost composure. Yet, in spite of these facts, and knowing that it’s the fastest way to kill the Grimm, all the heiress can think of was what the Huntress did is way too much, way too risky. Maybe because Diaboli was also in the same stupid boat, it merely added fuel to the fire.

Or perhaps because, at the back of her mind, she felt a sense of deja vu, stirring something violently inside her. What she did know, however, that she was now at risk of losing something, and all she could do was watch it unfold.

Too many things were happening at once- things to sort through- as Brunhilde felt a headache squeeze her head. A short break would be nice, with wine and sweets and solitude. Then she can come up with a plan...

“Mind getting out of my face?”

But she wasn't in the mood, nor had the patience, for those bullshit.

Brunhilde lashed out, mutilating the tentacles indiscriminately with quick efficiency. Years of facing unfairly against her detestable cousins, enduring their assaults, had made the Grimm’s arms seemed nothing more than a bunch of street rats wearing high quality armor.

However, there were many of them. Her blades wouldn’t last long.

Suddenly the yacht shook, the Grimm's screech shook the air and the waters altogether. At that moment, a mass of some eight tentacles pulled out of the boat, then barreled towards her.

Withdrawing the long blades, she twirled her finger, blocking a tentacle. Another came from behind, and another, and another. Brunhilde clicked her tongue, sidestepping a tentacle as she pulled out a dagger, blowing another away with Wind Dust. The blades laid parallel to the ground, while the two plain ones suspended high in the sky. She leaped, her hands outstretched, soaring a few inches above the blades, landing on the other side with a forward roll.

She spun, lifting her fist over her head.

Five tentacles went over the blades.

She slammed her fist on the floor.

The blades went up, the other two went down. The improvised guillotine butchering the appendages albeit not as smooth as decapitating with a real guillotine; she had to scissor them twice.

Having gone on a warpath, almost nothing was left on the bridge but the broken floor, the roofless control room, and dangling pieces of walls. For a second, Brunhilde saw her cousin taking shelter near the bridge’s room and realized that she was putting him in a more dangerous position. So she jumped down to the deck.

As soon as she touched the floor, Brunhilde suddenly felt dizzy, dropping on the floor on one knee. She had Aura, but she was controlling a lot of lines simultaneously with very little breathing room in between. Clutching her head, the Engelnacht heiress cast her gaze to see three people within her vicinity, including the Syndicate girl. The yacht jerked back and forth, trying its best to stay afloat, as the waves and winds became increasingly aggressive.

Just as she was about to dismiss her Semblance, three tentacles emerged from each side, with a few emerging from the holes on the floor. . . . . “Oh Gods… I'm really flattered," Brunhilde drawled, cackling, still catching her breath as she stood up. "As much as I want to dance with you, I'm afraid this party is getting dull, don't you agree? Hm? Maybe those two (idiots) can do a better job… But if they were doing it splendidly, you won't be here in this boat." she said, whispering the last sentence.

Or maybe they're dead.

Brunhilde gritted her teeth, shaking her head inwardly, telling herself not to assume too much. She'd cut down and damaged many, many tentacles. She hoped it was a lot, enough to steal the Grimm's attention, enough for those who were in the sea to land a killing blow.

The tentacles didn't respond. Instead, they fanned their hard scales once again, their eyes stalking her warily as they caught a glimpse of the dissipating brutalized limbs from the bridge.

"Oh, finally, you're thinking!" Brunhilde sneered in mock, noticing the Grimm's caution unlike its frenzy state from before. "But not hard enough. Do you really think you can beat me?"

Snapping her fingers, ten Black Magic runes appeared out of thin air, nearly surrounding the yacht. Brunhilde's swan mask gazed at the appendages, its artificial eyes gleaming with mixed anger and amusement.

“In your dreams.”