The Red Trailer
On the island of Patch in the Kingdom of Vale, there was a mountainside topped by a thick forest. Several inches of snow lay on the ground as more continued to fall from the grey sky. The moon had started to rise and the landscape was empty except for a solitary figure. The figure was dwarfed by the trees around it, and wore a riding hood and cape that were red like roses.
The figure exited the forest to a clearing at the edge of a cliff where a tombstone marked the memorial of Summer Rose. The phrase “Thus kindly I scatter” was engraved beneath her name.
The figure stopped. It stood before the tombstone and was quiet as the snow continued to fall. Finally, it sniffled and a tear rolled down its cheek. A dainty, white hand rose to the face and wiped the tear away.
“I miss you,” said a small voice.
The figure stayed there for a little longer, still silent. The sky got darker and a full moon had risen into the sky. In the distance, a howl much like a wolf’s could be heard.
The figure’s eyes narrowed. It sniffled again and without a word turned back the way it came.
It walked back through the forest of leafless trees. The weather became colder as the wind picked up. The figure pulled its cloak tighter around its tiny body and braced against the wind, but it was still cold—sad and cold. But despite the sorrow and chill, the journey still had to be made. Even as another howl rang out and something big and black whipped past, the journey still had to be made despite the risk.
The lone figure stepped into a wide clearing where a pack of shadowy monsters had gathered. They looked like wolves but were five feet tall on all fours and eight feet on two. Their bodies were black and emitted a shadowy essence. They had bone white claws and spikes that came out of their spines, arms, and shoulders. The top of their heads was missing the skin showing the top of their skulls with red vein-like cracks made throughout. They had no lips and openly bore their teeth and fangs. Their throats and eyes burned like the fires of hell. They were Beowolves, creatures of Grimm, drawn by the figure’s grief and now feasting on the animosity it bore them.
Three Beowolves charged and swung their claws, but in a red flash and flurry of rose petals, the figure was gone. It jumped into the air where the wind caught its hood and cape revealing the tiny frame of a young girl. She wore a black, Gothic shirt and skirt with a waist cincher, and her bobbed hair was black ending in dark red gradients. But what made the Grimm quake with fear was the girl’s silver eyes.
The girl reached behind her and pulled out a red metal object. It opened up into a rifle and the girl fired three shots in quick succession hitting each of the Beowolves in the head.
The girl landed and another Beowolf charged her. She shot it and used the recoil from her rifle to roll backward. She spun the rifle around further opening it into a great mechanical scythe.
The pack circled the girl and she gave them a hard look.
“How dare you disturb my mother’s rest,” said Ruby Rose. “I’m going to make you pay.” The faintest hint of a smirk pulled on her lips.
A Beowolf charged and Ruby swung her scythe, but the beast made it inside her guard. It threatened to rip her throat out until a shot was fired from the end of the scythe and the Beowolf was viciously decapitated.
The pack charged, but Ruby spun her scythe and the blade landed in the snow. She cocked the bolt and started firing as fast as she could. With each shot, more and more Beowolves fell. But there were too many and they succeeded in closing in on her. With a flurry of spins and twirls, Ruby hacked and slashed the Beowolves apart cutting off their limbs, heads, and slicing them in twain.
Once, she wrapped her scythe’s blade around a Beowolf’s neck, jumped onto its back and pulled the trigger. The blade bit into the Beowolf’s neck, but more than that, Ruby was thrown into the air. Several Beowolves saw her as vulnerable and leapt at her. But she shot her scythe into the air and spun downward shredding the Beowolves with great brutality.
The girl landed in the snow and discovered that the pack of Beowolves had grown substantially. Drawn by her negative emotions and the sounds of battle, they had been lured from the forest. They growled and licked their chops savoring the meal to come.
Ruby dropped the box magazine from her scythe and rearmed with another. She flipped her scythe around so it was pointing behind her and fired. She was launched forward and slashed several Beowolves in half, but not being satisfied, she ran along the ground and a power called a Semblance propelled her at inhuman speeds summoning rose petals in her wake. She neared the pack, opened her scythe blade to resemble a spear, and began spinning slicing the Beowolves in a great fury of steel.
Ruby stopped in the center of the pack and slashed away with great vehemence. She fired her scythe multiple times as she spun it hand over hand, arm over arm, and around her body in a complex combination. With one final shot, she killed the last Beowolf and backflipped. She landed on her feet and held her scythe at an angle behind her. The battlefield was littered with rifle rounds and the bodies of Beowolves. But as they died, their shadowy essences drifted away and their bodies evaporated.
Ruby collapsed her scythe and hung it on her back. She lifted her hood and began her journey home no worse for wear, but much warmer.
