Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-5999656-20190205035159/@comment-25582638-20190902024140

As Sorrel’s blood seeped into the tentacle, a rumble reverberated beneath the waves crashing against the broken 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 pierced even deeper into the boat, eventually reaching the engine room that was torn apart in one fell swoop.

More. It wanted more. Then it gurgled, giant red eyes dilating at the two black figures swimming towards it so bravely it made the Grimm shiver in delight. 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 flavorus, making it a habit to toy with food before devouring them. And it would do just to these humans who had dared to challenge it in its domain.

Black-blue ink squirted out of its siphon, spreading far and wide and shrouding Diaboli and Lustra in a heavy void- far darker if that was possible. Its two longest tentacles, thinner than the armored tentacles above (arms, actually), contracted into a tight swirl as the razor-sharp scales fanned out. In an instant, the long tentacles released tension, ejecting several dozens of scales like a machine gun firing bullets in all directions. -- 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. The tentacle freed itself from the floor, glaring at Wynston with all the spasming red eyes before going after him

Hopeless. There was no word better than that to describe their situation. Wynston lost count 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. The motorboat was nowhere to be seen, and the yacht was practically nothing more than a floating giant piece of junk in the middle of Grimm-infested sea.

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 holding the barely conscious Hazel. Then he heard the wall behind him ripping itself apart.

"Duck." 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. "You could've died for-... You have a glass in your leg." Coughing, Wynston lifted up his face, peering through the cracks of his mask.

"Hil- 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.

Suddenly, the yacht shook violently, the Grimm's rumbling shook the air and the waters altogether. Another armored tentacle burst from the bridge's room, dripping with blood and shredded raw meat.

"Have you seen our boat?" Brunhilde asked, Black Magic's rune materializing over head. In a blink of an eye, the rays drew a 10-meter black line which struck the incoming tentacle.

Wynston shook his head, "No."

"Damn it," Hilda said, crossing her arms as she clenched her fists. All the black poles flew to them and formed a revolving protective fence. "... Ugh What choice do I have?"

"Huh?"

For a moment, Brunhilde fell silent, her hand fishing out a Dust-infused dagger. "Nothing," she replied, "I have a plan. Is everyone still alive? Except for the Syndicate boy."

"Yes, but Diaboli and the Huntress… jumped overboard."

"What?! Those idi-" Brunhilde took a deep breath, shaking her head and muttering a long line of vague curses.

"Hilda, what's the plan?" He pressed on, noticing the growing numbers of tentacles slithering to their position, attracted by Hilda's sour mood. A tentacle wrapped around one of the lines and began pulling it. But before it could do more, the captured line twisted itself, its smooth surface allowing it to slide off the Grimm's grasp. In retaliation, the fence stopped revolving, shifted to horizontal position, and plowed through the tentacles that had gotten too close for comfort. A single pole remained stationary near the duo, however.

Once again, Wynston was grabbed by his collar and hurled onto the waiting pole like a wet shirt fresh off from the laundry. He craned his head to face his young cousin, eyes wide behind the mask.

"Get them on board," Brunhilde said. "If I leave them behind, it'll leave a bad taste in my mouth."

"What about you?"

"Oh, that's very thoughtful of you~," A chuckle escaped from her mask, artificial eyes gleaming with amusement. "Don't worry. I don't plan on dying tonight."

Before he could say anything, the next thing he knew, Wynston was back on the front deck, gripping the sturdy pole that unceremoniously crashed the floor as if a wrecking ball had fallen onto the boat. Recalling Hilda's words, Wynston pushed himself up to sit promptly, his head swiveling at the five-member crew around him.

"C'mon! Get on the pole! Quickly!" He beckoned. "We're getting out of here!"

On the other hand, Brunhilde gazed up at the five tentacles glaring ominously at her, spinning the dagger in her hand to calm her nerves.

She didn't want to talk. Not now. Wynston was the last straw. She'd risked her identity.

That person would find out soon enough, and she wasn't prepared as she thought she was, her head tightening painfully as she thought more about it.

Now she needed a way to vent out.

"So~ are we going to stand all night?" Hilda said, two of her lines hovering beside her, "Or are we going to fight?"

But she already found the perfect punching bag.