Tears slid down the boy's swollen cheeks. Fleeting steps take him away from the accusing sets of alien eyes that lay in the round council chambers. The words echo through his head, over and over, haunting him without repent.
How could they refuse him. All he had ever wanted to be was a Jedi. And now... His dream was in shambles.
The boy stupidly looks up towards the owner of the voice. Blinded by his anger and crushed by the disappointment, he had failed to realize that he had run into someone and fallen down. Wiping away the tears that clouded his vision, he looked up towards the person, his eyes falling upon the oh too familiar garb...
The boy shrieks. The sound loud enough to make several heads turn in his direction. Were they mocking him? Were they shoving the fact that he would never be Jedi in his face? He could see them. Pointing their fingers and laughing. With a burst of inhuman strength, he shoves the startled Jedi out of his way and tears down the bustling Coruscant street, not to be seen for 10 years.
A calloused hand grips the back of his neck, waking him from his nightmare infested sleep. An equally rough voice rings through his ears, not helping his headache any.
He is dragged off of the ship and tossed to the ground, landing flat on his buttocks. The two freighter pilots, owners of the ship that he had hidden himself on, tower over him, looking not very pleased. Not at all.
Whatever the second man's intentions had been, he would never be able to voice his opinion. The sickening stench of charred flesh floats through the air as a blazing crimson blade emerges from the man's left chest cavity. He gargles, trying to manage understandable words through the blood that cascades into his pulsating throat. The dying man's friend, can do nothing but watch as his partner squirms, impaled on the lightsabre.
Before either of the two living parties could register what had happened, the sabre is pulled free from the now thoroughly dead man, the motion and effort given creating a suction like sound. It is then seen hurtling through the air, a disc of malicious purpose, which lops the second pilot's head clean off. The owner of the weapon, snatches it from it's destructive path, and turns to face the boy.
What stood before young Corrose, was a man, or what could be considered one. It stood at approximately 172 centimeters, rather lanky. On its muscle-wrought form, it wore a tight black body suit, with white gloves and boots, daringly contrasting the black. The most interesting, yet somewhat disturbing aspect, was the creature's face. Whatever it was, it chose to hide its features behind a mask. The cowl, also black in color, had two large white oval eyes, with a matching circle over the nose. Running perpendicular through the ovals, were two spear shapes, running the height of the head.
Corrose simply looked towards the thing, seemingly lost for words. When he finally did answer, his own tone was firm, uncharacteristic for a boy his age.
Still, the boy faced down the creature. But as the moment passed, Corrose's anger grew. This one, whatever it was, was also mocking him. He grits his teeth, his brow slightly furrowing. This change had not gone unnoticed by the creature.
Corrose was of Kunian blood, with far more heightened attributes than a human. And he was very, very pissed. Cutting through the air as he springs off of his hind legs like a jungle cat, the young boy latches himself on to the creature, wrapping his small arms around it' neck before sinking his teeth into it' flesh.
The creature, was a formidable warrior, but he had never expected such a display from the boy. He had been defeated. The feeling of his neck being shredded to fleshy pieces was extraordinary, and at that point, he knew that he was dying. Yet he laughs, even as his very life stream flows from the wound and down his neck. His time was over, yet this one showed promise.
Corrose looks over the body of the thing, curiously tilting his head to the side. He had killed it. With his own hands. Slowly kneeling, he examines the body. Hours passed. The mask. He had to have it. Peeling the cloth off of the corpse's head, he holds it in his hands for a moment, looking down at the eyes that seemed to gaze back at him. It didn��t laugh at him like everyone else.
When an event of significance takes place, it's point of origin can be traced to a single event. Corrose Shi would be the next Grendel. The single act of aggression against Hunter Rose at the hands of 10 year-old Corrose would be that very catalyst. He would find the secret lair of Hunter Rose 20 kilometers from the spot where he had first killed another life. The logs of the previous Grendel, chronicling every act of violence that he had committed would only further Corrose��s state of mind. He had no idea how this vortex of violence would eventually prove too much for his fragile soul. These copious journals, would consume the young boy in all entirety, drowned in the life of a person so possessed by death. Lot in the past, he experienced memory losses as well as outbursts of temper. At some point, he stopped talking. Although outwardly sick by his startling change in demeanor, internally, Corrose continued to nurture his continuing rage. The evolution of his violence, finally peaked with the killing of an unknowing visitor to his home. The creation of the light-spear would be the final element for his transformation. By this time, he was 24, and an abomination in his own right. The spirit of aggression was reborn, in him, and he would carry on the legacy, painted all those ages in blood.
