AN: Hello, and welcome back to Fall, Rise, Fall! This chapter is a little bit on the short side, especially compared to the last one, but I think I was able to pack quite a bit of important plot developments into it, so there's that.
Well, since I don't have much else to say, without further ado, I present chapter 11 of Fall, Rise, Fall. Enjoy.
The King
He was in the dark room filled with monitors again. He had been called for a…"emergency meeting", as the councils preferred to call it. He preferred to call them "interrogations". It wasn't very long before he remembered why such was the case.
"…I understand your concerns, but I can assure you all that I have everything under control."
The councilmen from Vale scoffed at his words.
"Under control? Tell that to all the people that were killed, and see what they think! This was not, and I would like to emphasize that, not what we had in mind when we accepted your help."
Mistral's councilmen were somewhat less harsh, though only somewhat.
"The attack on Vale lies on your shoulders, King. Their blood rests on your hands, and yours alone."
The king merely sighed before responding. They were telling him things he already knew.
"What's done is done. Nothing I can do will bring the dead back. All I can promise is that their loss will not be forgotten."
The Atlesian council was not at all placated by his words. Truthfully, none of them were: they were just better at hiding it.
"We will need more than that, King. This attack came from one of your own: Cinder Fall must face judgement for what she has done! Give her to us, and we will ensure that everyone receives their fair justice."
The mere thought of the Queen being in their hands was more than enough to enrage him. His words dripped with cold, barely contained fury as he answered back.
"The Queen is my charge. I, and I alone, will be the one to oversee her punishment. There will be no room for negotiation on this."
His tone darkened, almost like he was challenging them.
"Do I make myself clear?"
They all exchanged looks with each other, unsure of the prospects of them surviving the king's wrath: they had seen the footage of the Presence's battle with Fall. Most of them were left utterly speechless throughout the whole thing.
They weren't stupid, as much as the king liked to think they were. They knew exactly what they needed to do if they wanted to make it out of this "meeting" alive.
"Very well. We will leave her in your…capable hands. We are certain that our trust isn't being misplaced."
The king was growing tired of their games. He responded coldly.
"I can assure you that it isn't, councilors. Is there anything else you need me for? Or can I finally get back to my work?"
Their answer would determine whether or not he needed to start looking for their replacements.
"Nothing at all. We only wished to-"
"Then it is settled. Goodbye."
Unfortunately, they would live for now. Finding their replacements would be too much work for the moment. He cut the transmission off without a second thought.
Politics. So tiresome.
The councils had their uses, of course, but politicians were a fickle bunch. One moment, they were praising you for your "hard work" and "dedication". The next, they were admonishing you for the exact same things, just worded somewhat differently. Some days, he wanted nothing more than to do away with them entirely.
Alas, they were too useful to simply be thrown away. For all their faults, the councils had the security of their kingdoms at heart, however misguided they may have been in pursuit of that goal. They knew all too well how important order was to maintaining humanity's safety from the Grimm (case in point being Atlas, of course).
Order countered chaos, after all, and chaos led to hatred and fear, amongst other things, all of it serving as nothing more than a lure for the Grimm. Whether it have been through propaganda, backroom deals, and all sorts of other…distasteful means, the councils would never let chaos reign, lest it bring ruin to them all.
The Queen had thrown quite a wrench into that status quo, of course, but such mattered little, given what was to come. Whatever she had done would look downright preferable in comparison to what they would be doing, after all.
It was a good thing that he kept them out of the loop: there was no telling what they would do if they were ever taken out of their blissful ignorance.
Humanity just wasn't ready, not yet, anyways.
He sighed: he would have to change that.
In truth, he had already been working to change it for centuries. He had made progress, to be sure, but it wasn't enough. Time was running out, and he wasn't sure if he had enough left. He could only hope that he did.
He wished that the Queen would come sooner: he would welcome the distraction gladly.
There was also the fact that, for once, he had nothing to do. Certainly, he could be making preparations for all sorts of things, but only a small part of him was considering actually doing that. The rest of him, to put it simply, was just really tired right now. Robert might have been on to something earlier.
Speaking of Robert...
Maybe he could help Robert out with sorting through the data they had gathered on the Queen's pawns. The man wasn't exactly the sort of person that liked that kind of job, but he had been kind enough to offer anyways. It was only fair that he help out in return.
Then again, the man did say he should get some rest...
Dust knew how long he'd gone without it.
Granted, he was immortal, so sleep wasn't a vital necessity to him like it was to many others, but the feeling that he needed to rest every now and then never truly went away, even after all this time.
It would feel good to finally be able to just sit down without having to think about what would happen next, what else he would have to do in regards to his work.
He liked the thought of it: he could indulge in this small pleasure, at least until the Queen returned. His work had gone on for centuries: surely he could take an hour of two for himself, couldn't he?
Robert would be just fine on his own…
Robert Thalon
If there was one thing that Robert Thalon hated like nothing else, it was a desk job. Sure, they were important and all that, but that didn't make it any more appealing to do. In truth, it really only served to make him want to do it even less.
"Oh well…"
Of course, he wasn't stupid enough to actually not do it, especially not when the order came directly from the king himself. Going against him was just asking for trouble, and he liked to think that he was just a little bit smarter than that.
Honestly, he wouldn't have minded just being able to read over the files: that was the exciting part. What wasn't so enjoyable was the fact that he had to write down every little thing that seemed important, and when you were looking to recruit people into a secret organization that protected humanity from the shadows (literally, in the case of The Presence), even the smallest of details could have some use.
In hindsight, he really should have kept his mouth shut earlier. Maybe then, he wouldn't be doing something that didn't exactly fit into his job description. Sure, it seemed like a good idea to help lighten his friend's workload at the time, and he certainly hoped that the man had taken the hint and made some time for himself, but busywork like this was absolutely not his cup of tea.
He was the sort of person that preferred to be in the lab, where all the real work was being done. The king had recruited him because he was the kind of man that had ideas, ones that were sometimes so ridiculous, that trying to make them work was like trying to play with Red Dust without getting your hair singed. How could he do any of that if he were stuck behind a Dust-damned desk?
He sighed.
The sooner he could get this over with, the sooner he could get back to his own work. Those experimental Dust serums wouldn't synthesize themselves, after all, and there was no way he was going to let anyone else try mixing pure Red Dust, arguably one of the most volatile substances on Remnant, with Yellow Dust, where one wrong move could send off sparks that more often than not lead to some rather…messy accidents. Letting anyone else try working with Dust like that was just a disaster waiting to happen.
"Speaking of Dust…"
He pulled out a loaded syringe from his coat; it was time for his monthly dosage.
Normally, he wouldn't even need to go about doing it like this, but he was away from his lab at the moment, so he had to go with the old fashioned method. The needle found its mark easily: the contents filtering their way through his bloodstream in no time at all.
The Dust serum that had given him what was effectively immortality had an odd tendency to break down over time in his bloodstream, and he would always need more if he wanted to stay alive. Granted, it had the even more unfortunate effect of killing anyone else that tried using it (well, with the stipulation that they were actually capable of dying in the first place: the king was rather unamused when he became an "accidental" test subject), so he wasn't going to complain. Manufacturing more of it was easy enough, thankfully, so he very rarely found himself worrying about not having it on hand at all times.
"Back to work, I guess…"
He returned his attention to the screens showing the data in front of him.
He had to admit, for all her other faults, Cinder had an eye for talent. These pawns she had gathered were most definitely a cut above the rank and file, and he was certain that they would have plenty of use.
He was quite shocked when he found that she had managed to bring one Adam Taurus into her plans, admittedly through some rather…aggressive recruitment, but the feat was impressive nonetheless.
Having a high ranking White Fang like him on their payroll would certainly provide a number of opportunities, and the man himself was no pushover, either. Getting him to work with humans, though, could be a real challenge. Sure, he was more than capable of being civil with them, but there was no way he'd be willing to entrust his life to anyone that wasn't a Faunus.
They'd have to work with that. Monsters like the Grimm were rather…impartial to little things like civil rights, and the distinctions between Faunus and human were minimal at best to them. Perhaps a very special session in the White Room was in order, though he'd need express permission from the king if he was going to do that again.
Next came the street rat turned master thief, one Emerald Sustrai.
Admittedly, a thief wasn't necessarily the most versatile tool they would want to have in their arsenal, but every piece had its place in the puzzle, and she was no different. A semblance like hers was a rare one, indeed, and it would be a waste not to put it to work. The king would certainly find a use for her, wherever it was. And of course, if they ever needed someone that preferred the stealthy approach, she'd be perfect for the job.
A rather significant contrast with the approach of her partner, one Mercury Black.
He was an assassin by trade, personally trained by one Marcus Black. His father's rather…unfortunate passing had sent ripples throughout the criminal underworlds of the four kingdoms as various would be hitmen tried to fill the vacuum he left behind.
Of course, the son that had killed him cared little for all of this, and any of the idiots that thought of ending the Black family line by killing him quickly learned why he was the one that had managed to kill his father.
He was a fighter, through and through. Dangerous was the word that described him best, and not just for his enemies: his loyalties laid only with himself, and his allies could become his enemies in a heartbeat if there was enough in it for him.
People like him were unpredictable disasters just waiting to happen. Admittedly, such a trait could prove quite useful, if they could point him in the right direction. Making use of him would be a high-risk, high reward kind of gamble, and though the king never fancied himself a gambling man, there were some things that you just had to take a bet on.
Speaking of gambling men, one Roman Torchwick had taken more gambles than he cared to count, and he had an uncanny tendency to win even when he lost.
Not bad for a runaway from Atlas. Ranked at the top of his class at Atlas Academy and one of the best pilots in all of Remnant, he was practically a shoo-in for great things. Then he decided to run from it all.
A man had his reasons, of course. He didn't care for the great things others were going to make him do: he cared for the great things that he wanted to do. Atlas was practically the antithesis of the freedom he wanted, and so he ran from it.
His new life in Vale seemed to suit him well. He had missed his calling, admittedly, but he could play the part of master criminal quite well. If he could figure out a way to incorporate master pilot into his persona, then he'd have everything he'd ever need.
Everything, including a family to call his own.
The girl he had taken in his as his daughter, Neopolitan (he wasn't sure if he should add Torchwick to that) was a truly perplexing one.
Unlike everyone else, there was almost nothing in the files on her. Information on who she was or where she came from was either nonexistent, or so deeply classified that even the king's massive intelligence network couldn't find it. He wasn't sure which troubled him the most, in truth.
"Oh dear…"
He looked over the few files they had on her again, and he found something that gave him pause. The file spoke of something titled "The Ascension Initiative", but that wasn't what drew his attention.
It had a picture, one showing the project's head researcher.
There was no mistaking that face, no matter how much the man had tried to change it. Those cold amber eyes were the kind of thing one could never forget, after all.
The file referred to him as Doctor Onyx Blackwell, a complete fabrication, of course: he knew the man by a much different name.
Doctor Richard Fall
He shuddered at the mere mention of it: that name was a much hated one amongst the very small group consisting of himself, the king, and a few others. He thought that they were rid of him for good. To think that such wasn't the case, well…
"That's not good…not good at all…"
The king would need to know of this.
The dust serums could wait. Nothing else mattered: this report needed to be finished now.
As for the girl, however, he had no idea what would happen to her. Taking her connection to one Dr. Fall into account, the answer should have been obvious, but he wasn't so sure anymore.
He looked over a picture showing father and daughter, and his heart grew heavy.
Ultimately, the king had the final say on such a matter, but…
He sighed sadly: protocol dictated a very specific action in this instance.
He wrote the final words on the report with his pen, his hand uneasy…
Damn that man for forcing him to do this.
Neopolitan- Recommend Immediate Termination
Signed,
Dr. Robert Thalon
Raven Branwen
In a clearing in one of the numerous forests that dotted the southern continent, a black and red portal opened itself, a dark aura pulsing in and out of it. Most of the Grimm in the vicinity were driven away by its sudden appearance, but a few brave (or stupid, there really wasn't that much of a difference) ones moved closer to the portal, still undeterred from their course as a masked woman stepped out of the portal.
Some eyed her curiously, others growled at her as a warning. She didn't react in the slightest, continuing on with a casual stroll as the portal closed behind her.
The Grimm were growing restless. They shifted about, wary of the sudden intruder upon their territory. She was a human, yet her scent carried the taste of a Grimm. They had never seen anything like her, and they were unsure of what to do.
They could attack her like they would any other, but they were uncertain of the outcome of such a fight. They could run, but such would lose them much prestige amongst their fellow Grimm. Such an act would make them look like easy prey, and there was nothing deadlier than looking weak in the Grimmlands, a place where it was either kill or be killed.
They all made their choice in an instant when she drew her sword, the blade extending to nearly double its length as it left the sheathe. Each of them lunged at her, intent on claiming the kill for their own. Not one of them lived long enough to curse their own folly. With a single swing, all of them had been cut in two, their bodies starting to evaporate the instant they hit the ground. The woman re-sheathed her blade, eyes narrowed on the decaying Grimm remains.
Dumb animals.
Raven rarely insulted her opponents, no matter who they were, but even she couldn't resist the urge to ridicule their stupidity. Young Grimm were always so reckless, so willing to charge into battle without a care for their own safety.
They were victims of their nature, really. It took years before a Grimm's mind could gain even the most rudimentary of intellects, and in those years, nothing but pure animal instinct dictated their every action.
Older Grimm were much more dangerous, more than capable of restraint if the situation called for it. They were capable of creating plans that the younger ones would find utterly incomprehensible, plans that ensnared unwary prey without mercy. Ultimately, of course, they were just as driven by their killer instincts as their younger fellows; they just got better at hiding it as they grew older.
The eldest of Grimm were practically sentient beings all their own. Centuries of life gave them vast experience and wisdom, and all of it served them well as they plotted on things greater than just their next kill. With age came perspective, after all, and the Grimm were no different. Killing became a means to an end once they reached the right age. Their base urges were all but buried by this point, replaced by a dangerous intelligence that desired nothing less than humanity's complete obliteration.
Age was the key to all of this.
Age brought strength, both in mind and body.
Age turned a Grimm from a mere animal to something much more dangerous.
Age brought vision to their minds, made them capable of seeing the bigger picture, and there were no other Grimm that could see it better than the primals.
Their existence had been one of Remnant's darkest and most well-kept secrets. Ancient was one of the words that described them best: even the oldest of the known Grimm looked like newborns in comparison to them. They well and truly predated the kingdoms, and some even predated humanity itself.
Their long, long lives were matched only by the danger they posed. Each of them commanded power that easily rivaled that of gods. Their minds were in a league of their own: untold millennia of experience had expanded their minds beyond all recognition, mere sentience turning into an unholy fusion of sinister intelligence, insidious cunning, and relentless brutality. Their martial prowess combined with their deep intellect, creating a nigh unstoppable engine of devastation.
Remnant was theirs once. Humanity was nothing back then, forced to huddle in the dark corners of the world: hoping against hope that they could hide from their fury.
Perhaps if they hadn't spent more time fighting each other, the primals would've still ruled the world of Remnant today. They had grown past the base desire for humanity's destruction, instead seeking to make the world of Remnant theirs, and theirs alone.
Each of them had carved out a piece of the world for themselves, splitting the world into hundreds of kingdoms, and the daily wars between them shook the world to its very core. The wars were always in full force, even towards the very end of the primals' rule over the world of Remnant.
Humanity had ridden the storm, clinging desperately to life as the gods waged war around them. In its darkest hour, a hero had arisen to lead humanity out of the darkness.
At least, that's what the legends would have one believe.
The details had been lost to the ravages of time, the fall of the primals becoming nothing more than a forgotten legend to modern humanity.
According to the ancient histories of man, the hero had gained powers beyond all comprehension, beyond that of even the primals, though none knew how. Wielding these powers, he split the kingdoms of the primals asunder, driving them from the world of Remnant and back into the hell that spawned them. The hero had sealed himself in with them, locking himself in an eternal battle with every last one of the primals, all to ensure that they would never return to the world of Remnant. And from the ashes of a world broken by millennia of war, humanity emerged victorious, ready to reclaim the world that had been left for them.
All utter lies.
She knew the truth. Her masters knew of it, after all, and they had graced her with this knowledge for her service.
There was indeed a hero that commanded powers that matched that of the primals, but he was not the reason for their fall. He had managed to fell a handful of primals that had underestimated him, impressively enough, but the others soon learned from those mistakes and tore him to shreds for his defiance. No, he was nothing but a mere ant in comparison to the voice that whispered to each and every one of them.
Every word it whispered into their ears promised of greatness, of power beyond all others. It poisoned their thoughts. It demanded total obedience with its words. Not one of them could refuse it: the voice was too compelling, too strong for even their great minds to resist.
It made them sleep. It made no mention of how long, only that it needed them for something great. They complied without question, utterly dominated by its will. Retreating beneath the surface and into the depths of Remnant, they slumbered for untold millennia. In their absence, their kingdoms crumbled, and humanity had been allowed to thrive in complete ignorance of their great fortune.
Their sleep did not stop their growth, however. The primals had grown even more powerful as they slept entire centuries away: some of them had grown strong enough to resist the voice, strong enough to break the chains holding them to its will. And so, their ages long slumber ended, and they awoke to a world that was no longer their own.
That did not sit well with them. Remnant was theirs once: it would be again.
They were not fools, however. The world they had woken up to was a much different one than the world they had fallen asleep in. Much had changed in the millennia they had slept away, and they were more than willing to bide their time until they knew the full extent of these changes.
More importantly, however, they were waiting for the voice's return. It had grown silent during their slumber, but they knew that wouldn't last. They would not be played for fools like they were so long ago, not this time. They would be ready for it.
Of course, she cared nothing for their vengeance: she had her own goals in mind.
Her masters had been awake for almost a century by the time she came to them all those years ago. She wanted their power, and they were more than willing to give it to her, for a price. She would serve them, and they would give her what she needed.
She had no intention of staying their servant forever, though. She would find a way to make their power her own. Then she could make her new world a reality.
That would come later, of course. Right now, she would bide her time. An opportunity would present itself one day, and she would strike without mercy once it came.
Her reflection on the future had taken longer than she thought: she could tell that several Grimm were watching her from just beyond the tree line, thinking they were out of her sight.
They were completely wrong in that assumption: she was far more dangerous than they would've thought possible for a mere human.
Her masters had given her a gift for her "loyal" service, after all. They had given her their mark, and it gave her power: not quite on their level, of course, but power nonetheless. They weren't fools, however: their gift had come with a rather…bothersome string attached.
No Grimm could hide from her eyes, yet neither could she hide from theirs. The mark gave her away, her every movement capable of being watched like she was a dog on a leash. While she doubted that she was truly being monitored every second of every day, it made her private efforts against them much more difficult to hide.
On the other hand, it was a rather small sacrifice to be made, compared to the other powers it had given her.
One of them was the power to command the Grimm. Of course, not every Grimm would simply obey her will: only the ones that were the spawn of her masters would listen to her, and even then, the older ones could disobey her commands, should such be deemed necessary. Any Grimm that did not already listen to her would have to be dominated to her will.
She turned her eyes to face the Grimm in hiding. Most of the older ones had fled at the sight of her, more than capable of recognizing the danger she posed, but one Ursa Alpha had let its curiosity get the best of it. It roared at her, charging out of the shadows in a full sprint towards her.
She didn't move in the slightest, instead focusing her eyes on the ones of the rapidly approaching Ursa. Its mind was strong, to be sure, but it was nowhere near strong enough to resist her. It halted dead in its tracks, the glow in its eyes darkening as she dominated it to her will.
She walked over to it and began to look into its memories.
Another benefit her masters' mark had provided to her was the ability to look into the minds of the Grimm under her command. Such helped immensely when she needed information on a new location: all she would need to do was dominate the local Grimm to learn what they knew of the general area, as well as any other potentially useful pieces of information their minds might have contained.
The Ursa's memories showed her everything she needed. They showed a mysterious woman, one with deathly pale skin, equally pale hair, and red eyes. The beast had trailed the woman, stopping only when she entered a cave that it had no intention of going into. It had stayed for a while before losing interest, wandering aimlessly until its interest was piqued by the sight of a strange red and black portal...
That cave was likely her best chance at finding the woman her masters had sent her to retrieve, and she now had a clear visualization of her destination for the creation of a portal, another power that the mark had granted to her.
Wasting no time lest she let the woman escape, she swung her sword to create the portal, stepping through not a moment after it opened. It closed behind her, leaving the clearing empty once again.
The Presence
What?
It could feel the Queen and her pawns stirring. It would only be a matter of time before they tried wrestling their way out of its shadows, and it couldn't allow that. Not until they made it home.
More time.
They were still an hour or two away. Normally, a short distance like this would have taken it mere seconds to travel, but carrying even a single person made it much harder for it travel anywhere, let alone seven of them. Added on with the lingering exhaustion it felt from earlier, and what was once a short journey rapidly turned into a much, much lengthier affair.
And that was only when they were all unconscious. Now that they were beginning to awaken, they would no doubt try to fight their way out, and it would have to divert its attention towards keeping them from escaping the grasp of its shadows.
Any that did manage to break free would be looking at a rather…unpleasant landing as they plummeted several hundred feet to the ground below. Normally, it would be amused at such things, but it needed them alive if it were to avoid drawing the master's wrath any further than it already had.
How troublesome.
They were like some of its more…unruly children, in truth. Always defiant, even when they were calmly (yet firmly) reminded of their place. They always had a tendency to band against it whenever it put its metaphorical foot down, and such was always a constant source of headaches. It sighed: it loved each of its children like any good father should, but some of them were just too much to handle at times.
Perhaps it could introduce them to each other: that would certainly be a day to remember. Then again, what would be considered a play date for its children would be a death sentence for their unfortunate playmates, so that particular meeting would have to wait, at least until they were no longer needed alive.
Sleep.
Sleep was the best solution here: they would be far easier to handle when they were lost in their dreams than if they were awake and thrashing about.
Unfortunately, forcing sleep upon them would be a taxing endeavor in its current state, and was thus out of the question. It would have to do this the hard way. It would have to gaze into their minds and find the information it needed to lull them into the realm of dreams, like lulling a terrified child to sleep after a nightmare.
It hadn't done something like that in ages. The children were all grown up now: few ever truly needed any comfort, and they would often settle the issue amongst themselves in those rare instances where it was needed. It took pride in the fact that they no longer needed their father as much, but that left the rather significant issue that it had no idea what to do now that it was to do it again.
It needed them asleep, but the issue of how to do so proved quite perplexing. A human mind was much different from those of its children, and it was terribly out of practice even then. Right now, the best it could do at the moment was peer into their minds and hope that it would find something useful in their memories.
It began to focus: trying to find its way into their minds while still keeping them from wrestling free of its shadows required an intensive amount of concentration, lest it risk them plummeting to their deaths if they broke free. The master would not be pleased if such were to happen.
It started with the little whelp from Atlas.
His mind was driven, almost singular in its devotion to the protection of the world of Remnant. His pride was his greatest strength, as well as his most damning weakness. It served him well at times, hindered him at others, yet it was all an act.
He hid behind it like it was a mask, hoping against hope that it hid the insecure man beneath. His thoughts betrayed him: nothing escaped its eyes.
He hoped that one day, he would be able to earn penance for all he had done in his life. He desperately wanted to believe that he had been right in doing everything he could to protect the world he loved. His memories showed much, and it could almost feel pity for him, for he had done so much for what he thought was right.
Appealing to this insecurity was the best way to break him down. Validate his belief in himself, and he would let sleep return to him.
And so it did. He was sleeping within mere moments.
It moved on to the dog that thought to resist it.
Hatred permeated his mind, just like so many other Faunus its shadows had touched. Yet his was different, for he had forged that hate into purpose, and he sought to wield it as a weapon against the humans that had wronged him so.
It would appear that the cycle of revenge had begun again. Humanity had wronged him, and so he sought to wrong them in return, perpetuating a bloody cycle that had gone on for centuries between the two species. The rage in his mind lent little to the belief that he would be the one to finally break the chain once and for all.
It was a pity that he didn't recognize his own hatred for himself.
His memories spoke of tragedy, one so damning that even his own mind had closed it off to him. In absence of these memories, falsehoods were created, and each served only to fuel the hatred he had for the humans. Hate for one was merely replaced by hate for another.
What little calm dominated his mind only came about when his fellow Faunus were involved. His people were everything to him, and he sought a better future for each and every one of them. He hoped with all his heart that they would all live to see that better future come about, but he was no fool. The world of Remnant was cruel and unforgiving, and sacrifices were demanded on a daily basis.
It was here that his hatred of himself shined through, despite the barriers his mind had erected: he was more than willing to become one of those sacrifices, to become a martyr to his cause, if it would help his people. He wanted a better world for his people, but he thought that he himself didn't deserve to see it.
It could work with that.
It showed him a false vision, a world where his people had earned their salvation through sweat, blood, and tears; a world that he had fought and died for. For once, a feeling of happiness washed over him. He fell asleep, the rage that permeated his mind calming, at least for the moment.
It moved on to another pawn, a dark skinned girl with green hair and burning red eyes.
She was a starving rat once, one that had found itself in the presence of a graceful queen that offered her food for loyalty. She had accepted within a heartbeat, and she went from a hungry rat to a tool, a useful one, admittedly, but a tool nonetheless. Her loyalty bordered on obsession: the Queen was foremost in her thoughts at nearly every turn.
She had no thoughts for herself, not anymore. Even a rat was free. She used to be free like them. She had no idea what to do if she were to be like that again. Her world revolved around a single pillar, and it would collapse without that pillar. A part of her knew this and wholeheartedly wished that this wasn't the case, but it was only a small part: buried beneath a pile of "loyalty" for her Queen.
It was disgusted at this. A life like that was no life at all. It would've ended her right then and there had the master not forced it to keep her alive. She would have much to do if she wanted to avoid its fury. Perhaps it could steer her in the right direction.
It showed her a vision of a world without the Queen, a world without the pillar that had been keeping hers up ever since that fateful day. It was disappointed at what she did, or rather, what she did not do.
She didn't set herself free like it wanted her to. The Queen's grasp was too strong on her mind, and she collapsed in on herself as the vision grew harsher and harsher with every refusal to think for herself.
She fell asleep, too exhausted to continue. It sighed tiredly. It didn't want to put her out of her misery, not if there was even the slightest chance she could lift herself out of it. She was nothing more than another victim of the Queen's schemes, another crime that she would have to answer for.
It moved on to the next one, a grey-haired boy.
His mind reeked of death, much of it caused by his own hand. From the looks of it, killing was something he took a rather sick enjoyment in. Pain and suffering were his bread and butter, and he dealt each in equal measure with sadistic satisfaction before delivering the bloody climax.
He had no particular loyalty to the Queen, or anyone else except himself, for that matter. He followed the killing, and any who could promise him it in great measures. The Queen just so happened to be the latest out of many that could provide it to him. The moment she stopped, however, he would find another. And another after that. He had no intention of stopping, not until he was dead: preferably amongst a sea of bodies.
It liked him immensely.
It hadn't seen any like him in a very long time. Such individuals were always an absolute riot to watch in action. They were dangerous, to be sure, but they were never boring. Whether it fought with them or against them, such experiences were never something to forget. They were wildcards in every sense of the word, and it certainly loved a good wildcard to shake up the game every now and then.
Yet there was something behind its new favorite pawn that perplexed it greatly.
He would always give into his urges and take his sadistic enjoyment out of them, yet he never truly felt happy from the experience. Every kill needed to be followed by another, or the buzzing in his head would stop, and he would be left bored once more. Certainly, he found some degree of enjoyment in things besides killing, but he had nothing that he could be truly happy for. Killing was the closest thing he had now.
That wouldn't do at all.
It wanted him to be happy. Not for his own sake, of course, but because it would make him all the more enjoyable to watch. There was pleasure and there was true happiness: the former was in no short supply, yet the latter was lacking severely. Both were supposed to feed into each other, yet he was different. It needed to fix that.
It showed him a world without the killing he craved so much. He had gone mad within seconds when the realization hit him, and it wasn't long before he tried turning the killing on himself, just as it expected. He tried to end it, to no avail. He was stuck in a world without the pleasure he had come to rely on. He would be forced to find something else, something that would give him the true happiness it wanted for him, whether he liked it or not. Only then, could he enjoy the scent of blood flowing freely once again.
It would have to settle this later: this was taking too long. He was stuck in the vision: he wouldn't be breaking free of its shadows anytime soon. It could afford to leave him awake, for the moment.
It moved on to the next pawn. This was the one that wore a rather fashionable bowler hat for some reason.
It could feel the bitterness radiating from his mind, a result of years of disappointment and disillusionment. He had been hopeful once: his mind still had traces of a light that used to shine as bright as the sun. The world of Remnant, ever prone to crushing such idealism without mercy, had snuffed it out almost completely.
He was tired of letting the world hurt him. He had believed, once upon a time, that good would lead to more good, that doing the right thing was just what you were supposed to do. He had gained nothing but pain from the experience. He wouldn't make that mistake again. If the world was so intent on kicking him to the curb every time he offered it a hand, he wouldn't even bother with the effort.
Yet there was something about that light in him that just refused to flicker and die. It looked deeper into his memories, and it found something quite interesting.
It was the girl he had come to call his daughter.
He had tried to play the hero one last time, against his better judgement. He had found a little girl, alone and lost on the streets of Vale. He gave her a warm home and a loving family, and in return, she gave him hope: hope that maybe, just maybe, some things were right in the world of Remnant.
His life beforehand had given him nothing but betrayal and disappointment. She changed that. His trust in her hadn't been betrayed. A knife wasn't in his back this time. Instead, she became the one thing that had gone right for him.
She was everything to him. She was his light, one that had kept him safe from the bitter darkness that threatened to consume him. Just as he saved her from the streets, so too did she save him from his own darkness. He would never let that light flicker. He would give his life for her in a heartbeat if the situation called for it.
They were a family, after all. They had each other, and sometimes, that was all they needed.
It knew exactly what to do to give him rest: it knew all too well how precious a child could be to their parents.
It showed him a vision, one where both of them were free from the Queen's schemes that had drawn them into this. They could live as they once did, and it could tell that such was all he wanted. He fell asleep peacefully.
Next came the odd colored girl that made up the other part of the family.
She was different from the others: much, much different.
Her mind had been shattered, completely and utterly. Something had broken it and tried putting it back together, but they did a very poor job of it. Whatever had done this to her, it wasn't human.
Her memories were distorted: only a scant few could be seen with any degree of clarity. The little it could see would've utterly disgusted it, had it not done much worse (to far more deserving victims, admittedly, but the point still stood). Regardless, very few people deserved to have anything like that done to them, and it seriously doubted that this little girl was one of those few people.
It looked deeper, and one thing stood out as clear as day and night.
One thing had kept her going. One thing remained intact, even as the rest of her mind split in on itself. One thing had given her the strength to carry on where others would have fallen.
It was the man she had come to call her father.
He had given her everything she could have ever needed, and she was grateful for every last bit of it. She had done nothing to earn his kindness that fateful day, yet he had given it to her anyways. She would never leave him, and she hoped that the feeling was mutual.
Her life beforehand had given her nothing but pain and suffering. She didn't know how, but the feeling was there. Everyone that she had ever met had hurt her. He changed that. She was afraid of him at first, but he did nothing to her that validated those fears. Where others saw something less than human, he saw a scared little girl. He didn't hurt her like the others did. Instead, he became the one person that showed her something that had been denied to her for her entire life: love.
He was everything to her. He had given her a life that had been stolen from her. He had found her at her lowest, and he lifted her out of it. He had saved her that day, brought her back from her cruel world of pain and into his own. He was her light, one that shone through the darkness and lit a way to a world where she was not some freak of nature that could only be hated, but a girl that could be loved like any other. She would never leave that light. She would never leave him, not even if the world itself demanded that they be separated.
They were a family, after all. They had each other, and sometimes, that was all they needed.
It knew exactly how to give her rest: it knew all too well how precious a parent could be to their children.
It showed her a vision, one where both of them were free from the Queen's schemes that had drawn them into this. They could live as they once did, and it could tell that such was all she wanted. She fell asleep peacefully.
It almost felt regretful for what it did to them earlier. Almost, anyways: it too had a family that it would do anything for, after all.
Almost subconsciously, its shadows moved them closer together as they drifted into their peaceful dreams. They deserved at least that much. A part of it almost wished they could be left out of this. It couldn't stand to see such a loving family like this.
It moved on. It could deal with those thoughts later.
Finally, there was the Queen herself, as well as her protector. Even as it rested on the fine line between consciousness and unconsciousness, her mind was still scheming: still plotting the master's downfall, as ridiculous a fantasy that was. If it wasn't being directed at such a hopeless cause, it could have almost respected her determination. Perhaps the master could turn it towards more productive goals. Fall was equally defiant. Even now, it was fighting off the shadows restraining it, to no avail.
They were arrogant to think they could win. So sure were they in their victory that they thought little of what would happen with their inevitable defeat. Certainly, they commanded power that few on Remnant could match, but that would only take them so far against powers that were infinitely their greater. Arrogance was a cleverly disguised poison, and they drank it up like water, just like so many others before them.
Yet this time felt… different. It was like they well and truly had no clue of the folly of what they were doing. Everyone recognized sooner or later when they had let their pride overtake them (often just before they met their ends as a result of it), yet there was no signs of such recognition from them. It didn't take either of them for fools, so it would have thought that by now at least one of them would have seen it. It was almost as if…
…?
...they were being played. It could see that now. How could it not have noticed this before?
A shadow had cast itself over her mind. Fall had yet to see it, and it was doubtful that it would ever would. The shadow had hidden itself well: almost completely invisible within the confines of her subconscious. Its teeth had sunken deep into her memories, twisting them towards its own ends, whatever they may be. Thankfully, it was sleeping, at least for the moment.
Why hadn't the master told it of this? Had he not noticed? No, that wasn't possible. Nothing could escape his eyes. It could deal with that issue later.
What mattered was that it needed to get home now. The shadow was stirring: it wouldn't be long before it was awake. There was no telling what could happen if it had free reign over her mind. Not even Fall would be immune to the effects.
It pushed onwards. Time was running out.
Home couldn't come soon enough.
AN: So, it would seem that quite a few interesting things are happening, aren't they? Let's quickly go over what they are, shall we?
Starting off with the King, it would seem that he finally decided to get some rest. Can't blame him, honestly. Too bad that he's probably in for a rude awakening once Cinder comes back.
Next with Dr. Thalon, it would seem that we've stumbled onto a rather familiar sounding name: Richard Fall. If that's not setting off any alarms, then you should really be paying more attention. Also, it would seem that Neo's up on the chopping block, primarily from her connection to this man. I'm sure you guys can figure out what happens next.
Next up, we've got Raven making her way through the Grimmlands. Personally, I think it's pretty obvious that her masters (whom it would appear that I've given quite a bit of backstory to now) are having her chase down Salem, so I'm not going to beat around the bush on that anymore and just straight up tell you guys that they're after Salem. As for how this goes down, on the other hand, well, my lips are sealed.
Finally, it looks like the Presence has become aware of the little worm in Cinder's head. Unfortunately, said worm is now waking up, and things aren't going to end up pretty if it gets a chance at her head. As for the other stuff, well, the Presence's delve into their minds served to be a proper look at each of our canon characters, as well as a chance for me to give my interpretation on a number of facets of their personalities in this story of mine. Roman and Neo in particular were the people I planned to emphasize, though everyone got quite a bit done with them by the time I finished.
Well, there's my recap of the chapter. Thank you very much for reading, and I hope you guys enjoyed it. If you are so inclined, please don't hesitate to leave a review stating what you thought or to send any questions you have my way. Thanks again, and stay safe.