["Once, there was a family that were the first to hunt the darkness itself."
"They bore no crown, ruled no kingdom... yet everyone owed them peace."
"They were wolves in men's skin - relentless, faithful, and doomed."]
["They were once a proud bloodline...
but time turned their legend into a bedtime tale."]
Snow drifts through a dark, ruined forest. A flicker of movement - a shadow passes between trees. A young Beowolf, sleek and lithe, pads cautiously through the undergrowth, sniffing the air.
[ "Now, the blood of the hunter runs thin...
and only one still walks the lonely trail."]
Footprints in snow - human ones - overlapping with the paw prints of the Grimm.
The Beowolf crouches low, sniffing the air. Its head snaps up. From the fog, a figure steps forward. A deep, dark red poncho, fluttering in the quiet breeze. Wide-brimmed hat casting a shadow over coal grey eyes. He kneels by a fresh pawprint, brushing the snow with a gloved hand.
The figure (quietly), "Still warm."
The figure - a young man - stands as red eyes begin to appear all around him. At first ten, then twenty, then hundreds. Beowolves crawl from the mist, circling their prey. They emerge from the trees, encircling the solitary figure.
In the deepest shadows, the Alpha's silhouette emerges - towering, monstrous; the massive, scarred form of the Alpha Beowolf glares down, its glowing eyes fixed on the young man.
["For centuries, they fought, adapted, and innovated. Yet, they themselves asked one question. Are we the hunters... or the hunted?"]
The first snarl breaks the quiet.
The young man's expression doesn't change. He tilts his head, breath fogging in the cold. He grips his weapons compact form. A click, snap, and the weapon unfolds into a massive bardiche-style axe.
Everything is silent for half a second
then erupts into combat.
---
(Bro's theme begins. Lyrics: "Footsteps echo where old ones bled/A lineage's whisper once thought dead.")
He dashes forward, his aura flaring in a burst of wine red light. His axe arcs through the air, and the Beowolf splits in two. The axe blade twists, rising high as he spears another Grimm that leaps from behind. Snow and black dust swirl together.
(Lyrics: "Silent howls of those who came before/Echo in my soul, calling for war.")
The Figure(under breath, steady), "One at a time..."
(Lyrics: "No pack behind me, no den to call home/Chasing the shadows, of where monsters roam!")
He moves like a machine with a savage edge. Brutish, calculated, exact.
(Lyrics: "Every scar on this steel, every cold hard truth/Is the heavy burden of a cursed youth!")
He slams the staff end into the ground, sending a shockwave that knocks several Grimm back.
(Chorus: "BARK! BITE! HOWL INTO THE NIGHT!/Relentless pursuers, no shadow can hide!"
"GROWL! THRASH! Endless pursuit!/Stubborn tenacity, wolves hunting you!")
He cleaves through wave after wave - cutting down Grimm in efficient savagery. Each movement is heavy and precise, each strike leaving glowing embers that fade into snow. His axe chops up limbs, and he sweeps and pierces. His integrated flamethrower releases bursts of fire.
(Chorus: "Take up arms, the hunt calls,
Hunter, or hunted? You must decide!
Oh pup, your hunt has just begun!")
Gradually, the battlefield stills. Black dust drifts through the air like ash. The young man stands amidst the dissolving Grimm, a steady breath fogging from the cold air. Then... a low growl breaks the silence.
From the treeline, the Alpha Beowolf watches. Twice the boy's height, plated in bone and blackened spines. It snarls, eyes glowing with primal hate. However, the Alpha retreats a step. Then, he turns and bolts through the forest. Its immense form through the undergrowth in a desperate retreat.
[ "And yet... the last wolf still hunts."]
The Alpha charges - claws tearing through snow. The young man doesn't speak. He doesn't need to. He simply gives chase, his movements fluid, relentless.
(Lyrics:"Every foe, every Grimm, every silent night,/Tests my resolve and sharpens my sight.")
It roars and spins, striking down trees as he dodges, weaving between shadows.
(Lyrics: "Every strike, every shot, every breath I claim,/I walk the line where the brave die in flame.")
Just as the Alpha thinks it's gaining ground, a metallic glint flashes past it.
A scythe from midair.
the blade catches the moonlight. The weapon whirls through the night, slicing through branches, embedding itself deep into the Alpha's back.
(Lyrics: "Am I the heir to a throne of rust?/Or the last echo turning to dust?")
The monster collapses, pinned and howling. The man approaches slowly, unholstering a revolver with an intricate rose pattern on the handle from his side. A family heirloom passed down through time. The revolver's barrel gleams.
He fires.
A blinding flash, then silence. The Alpha's struggles cease. Its form begins to dissipate into dark smoke.
(Lyrics: "No one to guide me, no one to hear,/The wolf walks alone, facing the fear.")
Ash drifts like snow. The young man holsters his gun, pulls his weapon free, and slings it across his back.
(Lyrics: "Mirror, mirror, can you tell...
From shadows of ancestors that have fell?
Will I burn bright and break the spell?
Or will my end be red like roses?")
He adjusts his hat, gaze lowering toward the horizon. He stands before the rising moon. The silhouette of a lone hunter in a field of dissolving shadows.
The wind howls again... faintly echoing a wolf's cry.
(Lyrics: "Howl little pup, the hunt carries on.")
["Hunter... or hunted...
the bloodline endures."]