2Yeah, yeah, I know. What am I doing typing up something new? Well my brain had vomit that needed expelling. Enjoy it. Or don't. Leave comments? I need to know where to improve.
On another note, I didn't proofread/revise. So feel free to shamelessly point out all grammar and punctuation errors.
I suppose I should count my lucky stars. I gather that any person in my present situation might mirror my same mindset. Potentially. I wasn't entirely convinced that my luck escalated past fifty percent in this situation as per certain factors. One such factor being that I'm no longer on Earth, but hey! I'm at least alive! Bigger, too. I don't remember being approximately three meters tall back home, nor do I recall living in-or-near any of the colder regions on Earth; even further, I never lived in a rural village to begin with.
These observations stemmed from the additional set of memories I've found myself the proud owner of. Said aforementioned memories have left me pondering the conundrum I've found myself in.
I'm now in what I had once considered a fictional world.
I groaned aloud, palming my face as I leant forwards and sat up in my bed. My bed happened to be composed of a strong oak frame that had multitudes of hides and furs as the mattress. My covers consisted of thick furs to trap warmth whilst I laid in the bed.
Pulling the covers off me, I swing my legs off the bed and haul myself away from its edge. I know what I look like from my current memories, however, I wanted—no, needed—to witness my current appearance with my own two eyes.
Entering the restroom, I came to witness my reflection in the mirror hanging above the sink.
The visage and form that I became introduced to was burly, barely on the paler side of the skin tone spectrum, blue-eyed, white-haired—or is it furred?—white-bearded—recently shaved from last night, according to this body's memories—with two sets of ears: my human ears and my faunus ears; polar bear faunus ears. The p-bear ears were easily larger than my human ears and had improved hearing capabilities, something that was more a burden than a boon sometimes. Then there was my nose, my sweet, wonderful, spiteful nose.
Why spiteful? The little shit has an enhanced sense of smell due to my faunus heritage. Fuck me, man. The things this body has smelled from time-to-time are fucking nasty.
"Raul! Getch'er ass out here now'fore I tear down yer door!" A strong-voiced woman called out with the thick accent that seemed to plague this village. There was harsh knocking—pounding, really—on my door.
Raul. That's it. No last name. That's my name in this world. The world of RWBY. The show made by Rooster Teeth… that I never watched and only barely read about. I only know of perhaps five canon events and I'm not even sure of when they occur because I never bothered to research the lore of the story or watch the show.
I groaned before deeply inhaling, my right hand raised to cover my countenance only to drag it down and exhale profoundly through my nose. The one special breath a week that stopped me from putting a cap in my head in my past life.
"Yeah, yeah! 'M comin', Gretch, don't getcha panties in a knot." My own grizzly voice shouted back, its volume lowered to a more personal level as I griped about the woman I—or, well, the old Raul—nicknamed 'Gretch.' I marched away from the restroom to the coat rack near the door. As a polar bear faunus I already had powerful resistances against cold climates, although I always enjoyed being warm in this life and the prior, regardless of the temperature.
I kneel by the rack to don the sturdiest boots I'd ever seen. The memories of this body recalled using materials from wild game to create these boots. Thick, layered, dark brown leather made up much of the material. The trim of the boots were lined with bone fragments and its mouth was lined with white fur.
I stood and slipped on the functional dark brown coat on the rack, made of similar materials as my boots. At least the coat has pockets, one over each pectoral and two others at my sides. The insulation within was made from white fur, it being the main coloration of fur available out here in this frozen wasteland called Northern Mistral.
Northern Mistral, as in, I live in what might as well be an off-the-grid village in the small head-looking area in the North-Eastern-most region of Mistral. At least I had a map in this house.
My pants were made from thick hides with four pockets to each side. One at each hip and an additional three below that with flaps to keep them shut.
Get the clothing theme? No? Well, the idea is that no one up here cares for the fancy-flashy fashion of Huntsmen and Huntresses. It didn't matter out here where survival took more importance than looking like some beacon of hope.
I open my door and furrow my brow at the woman that slammed her fist upon my door.
"Gretchen. The hell d'you need from me at this hour?" With stern tones did I address her, using the full first name instead of the nickname. I wasn't quite pleased with how she treated my door.
"Grimm. The Joy couple said that their boys were out playin' by the perimeter fer sometime'fore they came back spooked. The kids talked'bout somethin' out there that was pitch black an'movin' fast." Gretchen responded morosely, her arms crossed beneath her sizable bust; something easily seen with how large her mammaries are despite the thickness of her own coat.
Gretchen is one of those ginger-haired women with a fire in her attitude. Her lightly tanned visage has one imperfection that most would say only enhances her charm: she's got faint freckles that line perpendicular to her nose from cheekbone to cheekbone. Her eyes are the fiercest gold I've ever seen and her figure is nothing short of curvaceous with wide child-bearing hips that lead to thick, powerful thighs. It helped that she was only a foot-and-a-half shorter than me.
"Grimm? Here? Already? Shit. Alright, lemme grab m'rifle and gauntlets, then I'll go sort it out." There was faint and questioning surprise in my voice before it shifted to a more grim acceptance. Everyone in the village—including myself—didn't have their aura unlocked, rendering us incredibly vulnerable to Grimm that wished to come lurking for a snack. The only upside to the lack of activated aura was the lower priority the Grimm put on us, but that only worked so long as the Grimm weren't near the village. That was the case for the last month or so. Now? Not so much.
I had done as I said: entered my home to retrieve my weapons. My gauntlets have bulky cast iron bars over the knuckles and plates of the same metal covering my forearms for some protection should I need to block if I enter melee range.
My rifle was similar to one of Earth's WW2 Solothurn S18/1000, the only difference being that the original magazine was replaced with a box magazine that held fifty of the 20x138mm rounds. I tinker with it from time to time, mainly to clean it, other times attempting to figure out how to turn this bad boy into an automatic weapon. Unfortunately, I'm no gunsmith or engineer. Plus I'm sure the rifle would explode if I tried that. Best to leave the modifications to a professional if I ever meet one.
I took an extra item with me: a flare-gun with a preloaded flare.
I leave my home and go to walk past Gretchen, only for Gretchen to grab me by the left arm and tip-toe to plant a firm kiss upon my cheek.
"Fer good luck," Gretchen excused her gesture, her tone soft as she continued, "please come back t'us safe. The village needs you, so you best be prioritizin' yer well-bein' over takin' out them Grimm."
Gretchen then grinned and attempted to make light of the situation by making a jest of her reasoning to enlist my help, "And I came t'ya'cause yer the only fella I know that could wrestle an Ursa Major to th'ground." Gretchen's voice, however, subtly wavered towards the end.
"I'll do what I can, Gretch. I'll be back soon. Promise." I remarked with low tones, preferring to keep the presence of Grimm a quiet matter unless I couldn't handle it. In that case I'll fire my flare into the air.
Thankfully my rifle had a sling so I could carry the bulky thing over my shoulder and against my back.
I jerked Gretchen into my arms and gave her a firm embrace. It was the least I could do to calm her frayed nerves. Gretchen may have a spirited personality, but this woman also had a heart as golden as her eyes. She cares. Not just about me but about everyone in the village.
I felt Gretchen squeeze me before I let go and turned away. It was time to clear out the beasts.
Out in the tundra I was headed in the direction the kids had last reported they saw the Grimm they had supposedly seen.
'I say supposedly 'cause I've yet t'see any tracks or Grimm.' I huffed, straining my ears for the sounds of Grimm and sniffing at the air in an attempted to track any down. I've yet to see any signs or disturbances in the area. Grimm tend to leave wild animals be unless the two are disputing for territory. I hear no signs of conflict and nor do I hear anything aside from the whistle of the snowy, cold, biting wind.
I grunted, hefting my rifle and holding it to my chest as I kept a vigil over my surroundings with all my senses. My left hand gripped the extended pistol-grip with my index laid against the trigger-guard. Yeah. This body's hand was too big for the original grip and so I had crafted a larger hardwood one—two, actually, another vertical grip set closer to the barrel for more control. To add further modifications, I had the scope moved to the top of the rifle and the ironsight moved to the right.
I moved slowly, the snow beneath my feet crumpling softly and giving way to my large size.
What I had mentioned before, how there was no noise but the wind, that in and of itself was a sign that there was a Grimm presence. Wildlife and Grimm tend to avoid each other, so for there to be a lack of activity and scents for me to trace with my senses…
"Gawdammit, Gretch, why'd y'have to be right?" I murmured with a grimace. That was when I finally heard activity just barely within my maximum hearing range. That meant whatever was going on was nearly three-hundred meters away to my North.
Picking up the pace I began to hoof it, running the distance in a scant few minutes thanks to this body's stamina and size. Coming up to some snow-covered bushes, I knelt behind them and attempted to peer past the naked snowed-up branches. I breathe evenly, keeping a clamp on my emotions and did as best I could to keep my calm despite the blood in my veins pumping rapidly. Grimm. Right there in the clearing ahead.
"A pack o'Beowolves. No Alpha? Then a newly formed one. Good, good. Hopefully I can take all of'em out'fore they reach me." I leave myself that hopeful whisper and plea.
I shoulder my rifle and took aim towards the largest of the pack. My trigger finger hugged the trigger itself as I zeroed in on my target.
I pulled the trigger, then—BANG—the round is propelled from the barrel, crossing the distance in less than a second before perforating the Beowolf's head to leave it a mangled, gory mess. The distinct disintegration of Grimm proceded to occur immediately.
The rest of the pack began to yelp, howl, and snarl in my direction before shooting into a mad dash.
More shots from my rifle pop off, every round shot preceded by the telltale bang and muzzle flash. More Grimm are decimated as they cross the distance between us.
Eventually the Grimm are all dead and in the middle of vaporizing. I lower my rifle and I gulp down any saliva in my mouth. The last three of the pack had nearly reached me, just being a scant few feet away from my position behind the brush.
The adrenaline in my blood rushed anew as a more guttural growl made itself known.
'What?!' I turned around alarmed, coming face-to-face with an Alpha Beowolf before throwing myself to the left in an attempt to avoid its clawed swipe.
My dodge was successful in saving me from fatal harm but my rifle was ripped from my grasp by the Alpha's attack.
I stood up, my arms raised to defend my head as my hands clenched into fists.
The Alpha charged, closing the distance in a manner of seconds. It lunged at the last second, utilizing its momentum to reach me, both sets of claws poised to strike.
I held firm, bracing my armored forearms against its natural weapons. Then with hastened motion I gripped at the Alpha's wrists and spun on my heels, making use of the beast's own inertia against before tossing it towards a nearby tree.
Branches explode into splinters as the Alpha briefly writhes and growls against the the tree. It seemed stuck to the trunk, a moment I took to scramble for my rifle—it was a moment too late for the Alpha Beowolf tore free from the tree. From its back jutted out a particularly large branch that it had apparently become impaled upon.
The Alpha threw itself onto me, knocking me over before I could reach my gun. I was turned over onto my back and I readied my defense, arms up to protect my head just as the Alpha furiously slashed at me, its claws leaving shallow gouges and marks in the cast iron of my gauntlets' forearm plating.
My arms and shoulders burned with the sheer effort it took to keep its claws at bay.
The Alpha Beowolf's frustration mounted to a boiling point, 'causing it to recklessly attempt in clamping its jaws over my arms and head.
I reacted instinctively, my hands catching the beast's jaw and muzzle with an iron grip. My strength served me well, allowing me to hold of the jaws of death.
I reared my right leg and managed to kick the Alpha Beowolf away, the strike putting some distance between myself at the beast that had caught me off-guard twice.
Once again I scrambled for my rifle, this time reaching it and having enough time to aim it at the Alpha. I don't hesitate and mag dum every round into the Grimm in my rush to kill it and make sure of its demise.
The Alpha seemed sturdy enough and managed to resist succumbing to some forty and odd rounds of my rifle despite the many holes in its body. It limped towards me with its crimson gaze and I stumbled to my feet before putting space between I and one of the forms of darkness incarnate.
Turned out I had no need to, for the Alpha Beowolf fell face-first after two steps, its wounds proving too fatal.
I gulped gallons of air as my breathing remained hastened, the adrenaline of the encounter not having quite worn off.
Whilst I rode the alertness of my remaining rush, I kept alert to my surroundings, my eyes, ears, and nose strained to the limits in an attempt to detect any further hostiles.
Nothing but wind, snow, leafless trees, and bushes covered in bundles of snow dotted the landscape.
The lack of any presence caused my adrenaline rush to gradually subside, leaving me exhausted and worn. I was lucky I hadn't taken any damage to my being. It's luck that Beowolves aren't the smartest of the Grimm out there, most of them being slain before they could truly reach an age where their intelligence becomes genuinely lethal.
I hissed in pain, my arms shaking with rifle in hand. Quickly did I sling the weapon over my back to be capable of un-equipping my gauntlets so as to roll back my sleeves.
Bruises both large and small decorated my forearms, the discoloration denoting the strength of the Alpha Beowolf despite my own stature. I had no Aura so I'd be healing the natural way.
"Fuck me—that hurts like a mother fucker." Uttered beneath my breath. I shook my arms and drew my sleeves back over my battered arms.
I knelt and picked up my gauntlets, holding both under my right arm, the gear feeling just somewhat heavier than before due to the condition of my arms. It was time to trek home. I needed to see Gretchen and assure her the threat had been dealt with.
I began to trudge through the snow, uncaring of the trail I left behind. The freshly fallen snow will cover up my tracks soon enough so I've no worry.
"Finally," I exhale, relieved and exhausted as I pick up my pace to a brisk walk with the village in viewing distance, "home. Sleep… Hm."
Soon enough I complete my journey to the village, returning successful, proud, and relieved. Proud because I managed to slay an Alpha Beowolf regardless of the fact that I had no aura; granted, my stature, strength, and weapons played their role in the execution. Relieved because my village was safe from an impending threat that could have become more than simply a threat.
At the village gates I spied Gretchen pacing back, forth, left, right, and every which way she had room to pace.
"What? No welcome party, Gretch?" My easygoing tone broke Gretchen out of her musings and she leapt at me with a surprised and ecstatic yell.
"Aaaaah! Yer back, yer back, oh m'gosh, yer back! Yeeeeess!" Gretchen's legs wrapped around my waist as she clung to me, her cheek pressed to mine as she went off and more vomited her words at a rapid-fire pace.
"Y'big lug! You took so long! It's been hours since y'took off to find those Grimm! I was hopin' it were nothin' but some animal those kids saw, then I just worried more as time passed. Where there actually—?"
I nodded, affirming the past existence of the Grimm.
"There were Grimm, but I managed t'take'em out. Beowolves. They had an Alpha that nearly took m'head off. I let my guard down an'thought it were a newly formed pack without an Alpha. Luckily'nough, I didn't take a single scratch other than some bruises to m'arms from blocking that thing's claws." I summarized my experience, preferring to keep it short and to the point.
"Also," I added with the barest hints of a grin, "I said I'd make it back. Y'know I won't go back on my promises."
Gretchen exhaled carefully to calm her nerves, then smiled at me.
"Yeah, I know, Raul. Now hows'bout you leave yer gear at yer home and come over to my place fer dinner?" Gretchen ventured with the slyest of smirks I'd ever seen upon her lips.
I blinked. Unsure how to respond to Gretchen's invitation.