The huntsman's blood goes cold as he lays slumped on a tree, holding his guts with the arm he still has. For a moment, he thought it was the blood loss that was making him hear things—a delusion as his mind struggled as his life came to an end—but that same voice came once more from the mouth of the beast he underestimated.
“You are dying, hunter. A victim of our eternal conflict. Tell me, how many of my kindreds have you vanquished? Was it for sport? glory? justice? vengeance?”
The huntsman trembles; he has killed Grimms for so long that it has become second nature, a routine. He has grown complacent, so when the time came to kill a pack of grimms, he didn’t think much about it. In the worst-case scenario, they would fight like a pack of wolves, nothing he hadn’t handled before, or so he thought as he could see the shadows of the pack continue to encroach ever closer.
The talking Grimm moved closer just as the darkness began to claim the huntsman's vision as his life escaped his grasp. The red, glowing eyes meet the huntsman's gaze. Is he going to finish him up? watch the light of life leave his body? He could feel the warm breath on his skin, soaked in blood and sweat before the creature spoke once more in that old, deep voice.
"Hunter, your history doesn’t have to end here, for I have a gift for you. An opportunity to hunt once more, to become something greater… A new chapter for us to write. Do you accept my gift?"