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"I warn you for honor's sake, there is a vast number of Grimm reported to be in the area. You appear unarmed and unarmored, and so I do not know that you are able to combat them." The man's brow rose and he hummed, a sound like gravel under his boots. Crunching and rolling harshly. His arms, crossed by numerous scars and made of corded muscle, crossed over his bare and equally molded chest, and the Undead hummed curiously. "I rush to add that I mean no insult when I say that."
"I appreciate it." The barrel of a man said, huge by any standards but the Undead's own with his eyes almost level to the ancient man's chin. "Grimm aren't a problem for my associates and I."
"I suppose that only makes sense." He'd sensed a Grimm dying, after all, though why the rest didn't attack he couldn't claim to know. Concentrating now, he could feel a score of the creatures in the woods, but… Nowhere near enough that the military shouldn't have been able to deal with them. "It appears that the Grimm are not so numerous as we had come to suspect… Is that your doing?"
"My associate's more than mine, but yes." Suddenly, the man offered a hand to shake and he grunted, like he was forcing the name around rock and stone lodged in his throat, "Hazel Rainart, wandering Huntsman."
"Deacon Knight," he answered, letting his shield rest against his shoulder and taking the man's hand with his, "Instructor in the art of sword and shield at Beacon Academy. And sole remaining warrior-priest of the Sunlight Covenant. An honor to meet you. A friendlier sight than the maws and claws of Grimm, to be certain."
"Maybe." The man grabbed his arm around the wrist and held it there, Human eyes peering up into the Undead's visor searchingly. "You aren't who we thought would be coming."
"I've a habit of being unexpected, 'tis true." He nodded, pulling his arm free and watching the man opposite fold his arms again. Sighing, the Undead warrior looked around and observed, "You didn't say you were killing the Grimm, I note. And to expect someone in specific to come out here implies a plan of sorts, likely relating to the reports we have received."
"I don't know you. That means you don't have to get involved with this." Hazel grunted, answer enough to what the Undead had wondered about. Somehow they'd either controlled the Grimm to cause them to throng here, or planted the lie in a way that would get back to Ozpin and thus send forth the man's agents. "We're here for Branwen, not you. You don't need to die today."
"Still your heart and your concerns, for I shall not die here. I know that for fact." He'd died more than enough to gauge when he would, facing down something. Adjusting his grip on his sword meaningfully, he added, "As to your suggestion that I withdraw and abandon my comrade to whatever you have planned going forward… No. I shall not forsake him."
"Hm." His brown eyes narrowed, a leg sliding back readily, and the man asked, "Are you certain? You don't have to die for him."
"And I shan't. I've men and monster both faced, and of them, few could stand against my onslaught. Perhaps you will be one who manages to draw my blood, but my life will ever remain mine." The Undead stated evenly, watching the tree line curiously and cautiously for attack. However they kept the Grimm at bay, whatever they were doing to accomplish it, he didn't know when they'd stop. "You approached in peace and, if you wish it, I am honor bound to allow you to depart in it as well."
"Honor bound?"
"I am a Knight, enthralled to the Covenant of the Sunlight Warriors, good sir." He answered simply, shrugging his armored shoulders at the obviousness of the conclusions to reach from that title alone. "Thus I am bound by oaths, creed and honor. You came in peace to offer peace to me, even if such was not to be. And so you may go in peace, if you wish it. You came to fight a single man, and face two instead on your own."
"I'm not going to walk away, and I'm not alone." As if on cue, and possibly so given the man's phrasing, loud shots cracked out behind him rapidly. Gunfire, he knew from his lessons as many students used it in their spars. Distantly, he saw a wiry man wielding a golden gun evading Qrow's sword while Hazel spoke. "Your fight is with me. I'm not attacking you with your back turned."
"A duel it is, then?" The man opposite him rumbled and Deacon took that for the officiality he needed, nodding his head. "Very well then. A duel between us it is."
When he turned back, hazel had taken several steps away and slid into a relaxed but ready stance, arms raised at his sides and legs spread apart just enough to anchor himself. Sighing solemnly and sending a silent prayer for his comrade's safety, the Undead turned to his own opponent. An unarmed fighter, then, and one unperturbed by the sight of his heavy armor and great armaments. Cockiness, possibly, but more likely confidence. The difference seemed slight to the unlearned, but the way the man held himself calmly in the face of a larger and better armed foe spoke of skill and experience behind the stance and attitude rather than simple bravado.
And so he would treat him as the threat he likely posed.
Slamming his shield into the dirt, he leaned down to let it stand on its own weight as a wall against whatever came, his blade held off to the side with the full length on shimmering display, silver etchings glowing as though in reaction to the fight ahead and his own prayers of battle. Behind the strange man, Hazel, Deacon could make out for the briefest moment a shifting all across the treeline. Grimm charged, a century and a half of lupine, swine and ursine monsters loping towards them in a reckless lust for carnage and little else.
But recklessness was a cruel master.
The guns had been hacked to lower their ranger, and thus not alert them to the Grimm, but they still functioned. And the tinny popping sound of the large turrets unleashing their ammunition, canisters of ball bearings that would shred Grimm and earth both, sounded behind him as though to confirm that very lesson. Then ahead of him within a few seconds, the payload slammed into the ground and Grimm with an almost thunderous applause of metal striking flesh, earth and stone. Then the main guns opened up, whirring loudly like a thousand large and mad cats in fury, churning soil beyond the green-garbed man and hurling dirt, stone, and Grimm pieces into the sky in long lines while more canisters of shrapnel bellowed forward.
A safehouse for Hunters indeed, he pitied the creatures which tried to take it. For they fared poorly here, with a throng beyond normal counting falling to the last to raking shrapnel and carving lines of precision, explosive fire from the main guns. But still they pushed on, gaining inches towards their target even as they were cut down. Admirable actions coming from men, but pitiable and little else in poor, unarmored beasts thronging to the slaughter and doing little but costing money and ammunition.
But the pitiable Grimm desperately vying to reach him weren't his concern. No, the man in green alone held his attention, the duo watching each other carefully and closely. Several seconds of silence in the midst of the carnage of soil and monster, both roaring their own cries, as the warriors stood each other down.
Unlike Hazel, Deacon's patience was eternal, owing to the never-ending life of one and the more temporal existence of the other. Standing there with his shield held at the ready like a silent, steel sentinel.
The smaller man took the first steps, closing with the steady titan. He stepped into swinging range and, probingly, Deacon lifted the sword slightly, angling the bottom edge in just a hair. Sharp brown eyes, like razors for how honed they were, flicked to the slight movement as though he'd roared and telegraphed a swing as wide as the Lord of Sunlight could throw a bolt of divine lighting. Confidence borne of experience and expertise, then, rather than bravado and pride.
"Once more I say, you did not come for this fight." Hazel's eyes returned to his visor, the man humming that gravelly hum again. "Leave, and do not return. I will not follow you."
"Can't." He grunted lowly that the din of the cannons nearly drowned it out, jerking his head behind the man at the battle happening between Qrow and his opponent. "My ally is there, and my… Boss won't like it if I tuck tail and leave him behind."
"Very well. Then you shall fall to me, Hazel Rainart." The Undead stepped forward, sweeping the massive blade from right to left in a fast but wide arc to force the man back, towards the Grimm and the fire raining down on them.
Deft beyond what his size implied, the man ducked under the swing and stepped in, pivoting on his heel to threw a punch that was felt even through plate and chain, the force of the blow like a hammer to his diaphragm even past his defenses. Deacon ground his teeth together and, as ever, resisted falling his knees from either the shock of the blow or surprise at the force of it and slammed his pommel down. But the man once more evaded, stepping to the Undead's left and catching the rim of his great shield as it rammed forwards into his chest and staggered him back. Before the smaller man had time to recover, he lunged forward and raised his sword high, slamming his chest into the man's chest hard enough to knock him from his feet and throw him to the ground so that the knight could bring his great blade down on his chest and finish this in one fell swoop.
The blade glance off crossed arms, Aura sparking brightly as the sword sunk into soft soil instead of muscle and flesh, and the man rolled to the side to escape the mighty boot that threatened to cave in his chest. Carving through the soil as it went, he cut the sword to the side toward Hazel before he could rise, biting into the man's chest, but once again drawing bright sparks of Aura instead of blood as the man staggered away, scrambling for a couple feet of space between himself and the massive, armored warrior that had struck him. He took a short step towards the man and froze, Hazel's hand vanishing into his vest and staying there, the Undead knowing better than to dive in against an opponent reaching for something when he couldn't know what it was. To their side, the massive cannon's fire began to slow as the Grimm died to the last, until all that was left was the sound of falling rock and a dull roar echoing in his ears.
Quick as lightning, the man yanked the glowing yellow crystal from its resting place inside the vest and, to the Undead's surprise, drove it down into the crook of his elbow. Roaring as he did, electricity sparked all along his arms and set his largest veins glowing through the skin, like spiderwebs of yellow light travelling under the dark skin. Glaring at him and suddenly seemingly infused with vitality, Hazel leapt towards him. High, through the air and with a fist cocked back ready to strike, he brought his shield up over his shield-side shoulder to catch what he thought would be a small blow.
Instead he grunted as what felt like ten times the force a man his size should be able to deliver slammed down into the metal shield, driving it against his shoulder hard enough he had to sweep a leg back and plant it to stay standing. The man rolled off the shield and landed on his feet, surging up and slamming his shoulder against the rim of the shield inside his guard like a beast possessed by some manner of devilry. Then he dove forward, slamming the other into his chest, too close for him to swing his great sword properly or wedge his shield between them and thus forcing him to abandon the tower shield.
Hand free, he grabbed the man by his coat and tore him away, the cloth tearing as he spun and hurled Hazel towards the building. He landed in a roll, coming up with another crystal in his hand, and Deacon scowled behind his helmet. Gripping the greatsword in two hands, more for speed than for any strength given that putting more weight into his strikes would off balance him, he considered his opponent anew as he drove a second crystal into his flesh and roared.
Strength of a mad berserker, recklessly attacking without care for himself judging from the bruises that his strikes had produced even through the man's Aura and the blood flowing around the crystals. But still agile enough to duck and dodge past his strikes, and smart enough to strategize and plan judging from how he'd dove into his swinging range to nullify his fighting power. And now Deacon had been forced to abandon his shield, which lay beside him barely a foot away but which might as well have been a continent away for all he could likely attempt to get it.
When hazel, charged once more by whatever those crystals were, leapt at him with a roar his decision was made. Swinging wide, he began to speak, "In the lands of Oolacile, it has often been said." The man ducked under the strike, hammering a blow up into the Undead's side harm enough to spark Hazel's own Aura and break something in his chest.
Snapping his boot up, he kicked the man back and brought the leg down heavily, to emphasise the next point and send further power into the ground, "That in the forest, should you tread. Your steps to the last should honor those dead. Lost to darkness, along with their head." Confused, Hazel froze, and Deacon raised his sword high, "So take these steps, as do the dead. In the Tranquil Walk of Peace!"
The power of the words rang true, light ringing around the man and dragging him to his knees in his surprise as the hex-like Miracle took hold. Seizing the moment, he leapt, bringing his sword down while the man, past gritted teeth, brought his arms up to block the blow. A shower of Aura sounded for it, the man collapsing under the weight of the blow and flickering with yellow light.
His Aura shattering, he knew. Looking down on the man, he said as much, "Yield. Your Aura is gone, and the Walk of Peace will drain you until it expires. When I shall simply cast it again, before I cut you down. If you do, then you may leave, for I have to contend with whomever assaults my ally."
"Why give me the chance?" He asked lowly, looking for all the world like he was surprised to even hear the demand. "I'll leave, but you know I'll come back."
"You spoke to me in honorable peace, to spare me in a fight I did not know would come. Regardless of the end of that," he shifted the sword meaningfully to show what he meant, and Hazel hummed understandingly, "I appreciate the kindness. And honor tells me to return it, this once alone. Face me again at your own peril, but if you leave and take your ally with you, then I will allow you your life."
For a moment he seemed like he'd fight, but then, like he'd heard something in his ear, he looked to the side and let himself fall to the ground, "I'm done, but I can't promise he'll leave. I have no control of him."
"Go." He stepped back, though he held the sword out warningly as the man staggered upright just in case he attacked. But the large man just nodded, grimaced, and turned to leave. Once he had gone far enough, the Undead turned and bellowed, "My opponent routs, Qrow! How goes your fight?"
A moment or two passed, and he considered going to join his companion, before he heard the tired sounding man call back, "Ran off a second ago, when that bastard you were fighting did. Guess he didn't fancy bein' on the receiving end of a three way, eh?"
"Your eloquence is a credit to you and your entire generation, most assuredly. A poet of the generations, certainly." He grumbled, turning to retrieve his shield and dusting it off as he did. "I am coming to join you, Branwen! Are you well?"
"I ain't dead so doin' 'bout as good as I think I could hope to."
Truly eloquent, a poet that would be mourned after his death.
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"So," the smaller man said when they had gone inside, and he'd collapsed onto a couch to nurse his flask, "I guess pointing out this was one big fuckin' trap would just be stating the obvious, yeah?"
"Quite." He agreed, removing his helmet and idly checking it for damage as he spoke, "The man I fought, Hazel. He said as much to me in direct, prior to our battle. A trap laid for you, in fact, Qrow. They had little idea you would have assistance, and I do believe that altered their plans as a result. Hence their flight, once I bested my opponent."
"Yeah, care to… Explain why you let Hazel frigging Rainart just… Leave?" His voice rose at the end and, curious, the Undead raised his brow in question. Frustrated, Qrow growled and took a long draught of his flask before, in a lower voice but still full of irritation, explaining. "That bastard is one of the big bads, works for some really evil sons of bitches, and you had him. Why would you just… Let him walk like that?"
"He yielded, and offered me the kindness of standing down from a fight I hadn't come knowing I would face." Qrow's brows shot up and Deacon grimaced, rushing to add, "Not that I would accept, obviously enough considering I fought him and drove him off. But he yielded to me, surrendered I suppose would be your word, and I owed him a kindness."
"I'm sorry, he yielded to you?" Qrow scoffed, earning a glare from the venerable giant.
"A duel is not without civility, Qrow Branwen. Civility and honor."
"A duel?" Another scoff, and the giant's hands curled into fists at the tone. Anger was a familiar mistress, but one he had long since learned to resist, and so he schooled himself into calm while the man spoke. "A kindness? Duels, honor, civility to Hazel fucking Rainart?! That bastard has killed at least a dozen of my friends, but hey, he was nice to you so he gets to fuckin' walk."
Ranted was, perhaps, a better word.
"I am an Undead, and honorbound as well." He answered simply, rising from the seat and returning his helmet to his head. "I shall go outside, and patrol the trees. Lest we be struck in the night by sabotage and Grimm once again, as we know they are wont to use both of these as weapons."
"What if a Beowolf whines when you stab it, hm?" Qrow mocked, leaning forward where he sat, hands on his knees to brace himself. "Gonna let it walk off and kill someone innocent too? Honestly, I always wondered why we ditched the whole 'knighthood' schtick, and I see why now. You just got a lot of people killed for some namb pamby bullshit about 'honor' and 'civility' that you oughta blow out your ass."
"You are tired, sore from battle, and at least mildly inebriated." He dismissed simply and as politely as he could manage, turning to look down on the man. "But I urge you not to insult me, Qrow. My oaths keep me Human and stave off the madness of my Curse. Without that which you so deride, I would have become but a frittering away into madness and lunacy, rambling and ravaging in equal measure. You ought respect them."
"Yeah, well… I don't exactly know much 'bout this 'curse' of yours." He waved his hand at the Undead knight, other hand raising the flask towards his lips. "Go on, tell me why I should give a flying Brothers damn about it."
"Very well." He sighed, taking a seat and removing his helmet once more, taking a deep breath before speaking. "An Undead's mental state is fragile, and degeneration permanent almost without exception. Undead also will, invariably and without fail, rise again once. You understand this?"
"I get the idea, yeah."
"And I trust you understand how powerful I am." He raised a hand, pointing a finger at himself and meeting the Huntsman's eyes with grim surety. "Do you believe that you could best me in combat, one on one with nothing held back?"
"I…" He saw the pride flare in the man's eyes, saw his shoulders stiffen at the question, and sympathised. Pride was yet another cruel maestro to dance to, and matching its beats and thrums lead only to death if one could not step beyond them.
Luckily, Qrow seemed to, and he answered, "No. Those 'Miracles' you do, your… Damn durability, and that armor… I can't match 'em. If we fought, head on and no holding back, you'd tear me to pieces."
"Indeed." He nodded, steepling his fingers and sighing, nearly breathing the words in the same motion, "And I am, by far, not the strongest of my kind."
"What?" Qrow blinked, clearly shocked, and he understood why even before the man stammered and spoke. "But you killed… Friggin' gods, and demons, and you're alive when they aren't. How can you even possibly not be the strongest?"
"Undead maintain their sanities, not through force of arms, but through tenacity, willpower, and discipline as well as the ability to adapt to and overcome what they come to face. A man without the Curse may waver in the face of a foe or tragedy, but to an Undead… Such is madness, literally, incarnate. We lose our minds, and ourselves, and become wandering monstrosities hoarding Souls and thirsting for power." Deacon paused then, to let him absorb the words for several long seconds, before adding, "Imagine a thousand and one mes, all mad and frothing and slaughtering any near them for power. What would that do to Vale?"
He knew the man's answer when his mouth clicked closed and his eyes hardened, no doubt with visions of fire and blood. He let him contemplate it and stood once more, satisfied, and turned towards the door.
"My oaths, faith and honor keep me sane." He added in finality, resting his sword across his broad shoulders and reaching up to touch the spot over where his medallion rested. "Should I abandon them, I will become a mad beast. And none will be able to stop my remnants from tearing this world asunder before I can be sealed away. If I can be sealed away at all, of course."
Without another word, he strode through the door to walk and relax.
Qrow would be doing very little relaxing that night, he knew.
Morning came with little conflict aside from the occasional Grimm, small, weak and easily cut down by his great blade. It was meditative, if not in the same way as making a circle would be, but still more than enough to allow him to relax and decompress. And think as well, on what had happened the night previous, as little as he knew he could still theorize on what it all meant.
The Grimm had attacked in support of Hazel, or at the very least stood down while the man approached him to speak and then been let off the proverbial leash. Which meant the Grimm could be controlled, somehow and by something. But what could do it and how, he didn't know, and was willing to bet that it wasn't something available to many given the Kingdoms' eternal war with the creatures.
They wouldn't fight the Grimm if they could control them and nullify their threat, obviously.
The question of the report that had called them out there was also on his mind, of course. But he didn't know enough about the militaries of this world to guess at how such an infiltration could occur, or even if one would be needed. A simple report to the proper person in Astora, in his age, was said to be able to influence a King's decision on any matter. It only took knowing who that person was.
He'd need to voice these thoughts, confused and full of empty conjecture as they were, to Ozpin when they returned. But for now, as the sun rose, he was content to enjoy the warmth until Qrow woke and came to him.
"Hey." The man said when he finally arrived, meeting Deacon in the middle of the ruined field outside where he stood, enjoying the warmth and the blue morning sky. "Look, about last night, I… I'm sorry, for what I said. Hazel just…"
"He has taken much from you." Deacon said knowingly, not once averting his eyes from the blue of the sky. "A man once took much from me as well. Slew a dear firekeeper I enjoyed the company of, and ripped her soul away... And though it pained me, he had his reasons and his honor. I forgive your frustrations and your words both, Qrow."
"Yeah…" The Undead felt something tap against his armored breast and looked down, the Huntsman holding out his silver flask. "Drink on it? We're friends now, I guess, and friends share drinks."
"I dislike alcohol, but… If it would please you and mend our relationship." He took the flash, and a small sip from it, hacking at the acrid taste and burn in his throat while Qrow laughed good naturedly. "I did say, did I not, that I disdain alcohol?"
"Yeah, yeah, come on." The smaller man, hunched over but smirking oddly regardless, stepped past him and back towards the building. Deacon followed, and Qrow added, "Gotta get to Oz with a report about this shit."
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Archcalamity :
Yes it would, theoretically, if he thought of it and could bend his mind to working with it. Deacon makes limited use of that, using Faith and incantation to power Pyromancies up because that's how his mind runs. On Faith, belief, and honor.
Turkish DS Fan :
I won't answer much of that, sorry, spoiler stuff. However, Gwynevere will not be making a reappearance, nor will Ash Lake. DS 2 2 happened, but not 3 as Humanity found a way, with the Brother's help, to fix the problem of Humanity. Side effects include Faunus, Grimm and Aura to name a few items, but I won't get into details here. For brevity and for spoilers both.
Not every question will be answered - per DS fashion - but some will find answers eventually, or answers that can be drawn. I won't go into more, and hope you forgive that.
Also, as shown here, other Miracles will make an appearance on occasion. More 'holy' or sacred ones, though, won't be used very often. For obvious reasons, given our protag's origins and beliefs.
Kaioo :
Give it time. I sympathise, but authorial foreknowledge. XD
Alex Sakurai :
He's not acclimatized perfectly, but yes. He is very adaptable, a trait I infer from his ability to learn and fight such a wide variety of enemies. From Humans, to Hollows, to Demons and Dragons all.
Glad you're enjoying!
Wandering Pie :
I made a list out on one of the other chapters, but in brief, he wears the Steel set and carries the shield from the same set.
Yesboss 21 :
Same way that the Atlesian droids know between Grimm and non-Grimm. Answer? I don't know, I just… Made the turrets and asserted the same interface. Sorry, a failing on my part.