Noctis watched Jaune and Carmine spar, part of him pitying the poor guy because the spar seemed to be so one-sided in his teammate's favour while another part of him watched in vindictive amusement. He had gotten to know his own teammates, as well as team RWBY and team JNPR, a lot better over the past months. Jaune honestly seemed like a nice guy overall, and Noctis would have been fine with it if not for the fact that his sister was practically obsessed with him. Sure, he was oblivious enough to not have noticed it yet, but what if he eventually caught on and decided to take advantage of that fact?
He fretted over the possibility for a moment before dismissing it. Hah. It was more like it was his duty as a fellow man to protect the guy. If things went on as they were, sooner or later his sister would just shove him into a secluded spot and have her way with him. He wasn't ready to be an uncle yet…
Jaune dodged the sword swing that would have lobotomised him, at the very least, before retreating and cowering behind Crocea Mors. At least against Carmine his shield actually meant something barring her insanely powerful beam-rifle tumour arm, or whatever she called that giant mass of many-eyed nope, while against himself it was only an invitation to teleport behind him and backstab like a scrub. However, it wasn't much of an improvement in Noctis's opinion.
"Come on, Arc, where is that bloodlust that your family is supposed to have?" She jabbed. "Stop hiding behind your shield and start fighting!"
His shield was then smashed to the side by what was frankly the most hardcore weapon Noctis had ever seen. It was true that Cardin's mace was bigger, as if he was compensating for something, but Carmine's sword looked like it was something that a demon would refuse to use because it was too dangerous. The lengthened two-handed form of the blade, quite literally a blade-shaped hunk of writhing flesh and eyes, promptly smashed into Jaune's jaw in a brutal diagonal uppercut. The impact lifted him into the air, and soon he landed on his back in a wincing heap. Carmine walked over, standing over his prone form.
"Alright, I admit that I may have hit you a bit too hard." She said, sounding not the least bit apologetic, before grabbing his hand and yanking him to his feet. "Whose turn is it now to beat the new guy to a pulp?"
"The honour would be mine." Noctis declared cheerfully, raising his hand and smiling maliciously at the horrified look on the face of JNPR's fearless leader. "But it's getting late, and you've basically killed off the last of his aura. Probably traumatised him as well, what with the nightmare fuel you were swinging at his head. We'll continue tomorrow, but not before I tell Jaune what he did wrong."
"Okay, so where did I screw up?" Jaune asked despondently. Good. He was learning.
Noctis ticked off the all too numerous reasons one by one with his fingers. "Firstly, you fight with too much defense and too little offense. Not a problem if you're tanking for teammates that can dish out more damage but can't take it in return, but if you're alone it's not a good idea. Anti-armour weaponry like my partner's pistol, which I may add is absolutely bullshit, will make short work of you."
Jaune winced. "Yeah, I get the idea." He admitted.
"Secondly, you depend too much on your shield. Sure, against lighter attacks like mine it'll hold up fine, but what if you're the target of the unstoppable force and immovable object that is Lapis? I'm pretty sure that when she gets into a proper lance charge with all those rockets on her weapon and armour, she's faster than some aircraft. Do you really want to tank a lance that's travelling at nearly Mach 1? I didn't think so."
Jaune nodded. At least he had some sense left.
"Now, you actually aren't that bad." Pyrrha cut in. "Your stance has improved, so you're more balanced. Your defence is top-notch, but now we need to work on your offense. We'll train that tomorrow, but now we all need to get some rest."
Noctis turned to leave with Jaune and Pyrrha, but Carmine grabbed his shoulder before he could walk off.
"You two go on ahead first." She called out. "My leader and I have something to talk about.
"Are you sure?" Pyrrha asked, but the two of them were already on the way out.
"I am as sure as I am sure that I serve the one true monarch." Carmine replied.
As soon as the two teammates had left, Noctis turned to Carmine. "What the hell was that for?" He asked.
"As I said, I needed to talk to you about something." She maintained, resting her ginat blade on the ground. "Namely, your dream."
Noctis stared at her. "What have you found out?"
"You have been muttering in your sleep… something about a city called Yharnam."
His eyes widened. At last, a breakthrough!
"Tell me, what do you know of Yharnam?" He muttered pleadingly. "Please, tell me something. Anything."
"The city lost to the Dream? My father came from there, long ago. But what I am more concerned about is your blood."
"My blood?" He asked concernedly. Surely the blood he had imbibed wasn't harmful. It healed him, after all.
"The Old Blood runs in your veins, emboldened by the echoes of bloodshed. You're a Hunter, it is clear as day." She declared. "There is another sign, but I am not sure how to describe it…"
"What is it?" He prodded.
"Do you know how when a battle has taken place, you can smell the cordite and gunpowder even years afterwards?" She asked him. "How the stench of shed blood and dead men never quite gets washed off the soil of a battleground?"
He nodded silently. He knew that all too well...
"You smell… like the moon. There is no other way to say it. It boggles my mind, and there is no logical way that it would make sense, but you smell like moonlight."
Noctis by this point had already lost any comprehension he had had of what she was saying. What did she mean, he smelled like moonlight?
"You are a Hunter, and a Paleblood one at that." She said, before smiling. "You may be trapped in Yharnam, but there might be a way in which I can help you."
"How? By helping me kill this deranged hunter that's been kicking my ass for the past week?" He snapped.
"No. I cannot interfere or intervene in your Hunt." She explained, the eyes on her sword looking at him angrily, before hesitating. "Pursue the echoes of blood, and I will channel them into your strength." She finally uttered. "You will hunt beasts… and I will be here for you, to embolden your sickly spirit."
Then, she grabbed his hand. Noctis let her. "Let the echoes become your strength. Let me stand close. Now, close your eyes…"
He did. Suddenly, he felt a peculiar warm feeling course through his body. It seemed to concentrate itself on his arms, legs and head before dissipating.
"How did I do?" He heard Carmine ask. "That was my first time doing it after all…"
He flexed his hands. He felt stronger somehow, more robust. He felt invigorated.
"You did well, I think. Thanks." He cheerfully said. He was more distracted by how Carmine looked in the pale moonlight that lit the rooftop. She looked stunning, even more than usual. More regal, captivating and somehow… doll-like, in a way. He shrugged the feeling off, before his teammate turned to look him straight in the eye. Hopefully she hadn't seen him ogling her...
"Before you return to that thrice damned city, promise me that you will remember this. Fear the Old Blood. By the gods, Noctis, remember this. Remember this, that despite all the horrors and abominations you may meet on this Hunt, that the very Old Blood that heals you is the greatest peril of all."
"How do you know so much?" He finally asked, noting the point about the Old Blood.
"I was born in the Dreamlands. That is where Cainhurst is." She replied somewhat hesitantly.
"Wow. Sounds cool. Maybe you could bring me there one day?" He asked, winking at her before breaking out into gentle laughter when she suddenly looked flustered. "Nah, I'm kidding. See you tomorrow, I guess."
If he had walked just a little bit slower, he would have heard Carmine have the final say. "And so, the hunt begins again." She whispered, looking up to the shattered moon. "Even so, I wish you luck, good hunter. May you find your worth in Yharnam."
/-/
Apparently he could teleport now in Yharnam, after the improvements Carmine had given him. Granted, he could only teleport as far as he could probably roll, and he didn't leave a clone behind every time he did as a decoy, but it was still a major improvement.
He was now able to dodge attacks much faster than normal, effectively flash-stepping past most threats and backstabbing those he couldn't. This meant that he had wasted practically no time at all getting back to the Tomb of Oedon.
He teleported away from Gascoigne's customary opening lunge, reappearing behind the crazed hunter. Then, he pulled out his pistol and shot the hunter in the back. The buckshot slammed into his back, staggering the man with a shower of foul blood. Noctis moved in, punching into Gascoigne's back with his right hand before ripping out with a visceral spray of blood.
"And fuck you too, bitch." Noctis exclaimed. "I can't even begin to count the number of times you did that same shit to me."
He promptly received his retribution by Gascoigne pistol-whipping in the teeth. He teleported away, before spitting out what must have been half of his dental structure along with a lot of blood. He promptly used a blood vial to repair the damage, subjecting himself to the utterly alien sensation of feeling his teeth grow back out of his jawbone. Then, he teleported back into the fray. He materialised inside of Gascoigne's guard, taking the opportunity to run him through with his rapier.
That, at least, elicited a reaction. The deranged Hunter kicked him away, growling as he did, before extending the haft of his axe. Noctis teleported to the side, just missing Gascoigne's axe which slammed down to his left in an attempt to cut him in half. He pulled out his pistol, blasting Gascoigne with a spray of buckshot that interrupted a horizontal swing he was telegraphing. Having staggered the older man, he sheathed his rapier before again punching into Gascoigne's chest cavity. He tore it out with a burst of gore before pulling out his flamesprayer and holding down the trigger. However, it didn't seem to do much. The flames washed over Gascoigne, but refused to ignite his blood-soaked garments.
Noctis swore aloud, realising his stupidity. Gascoigne wasn't a beast yet, so fire wouldn't be any more effective than usual. Luckily, his new ability allowed him to barely dodge a retaliatory shot from Gascoigne's own pistol. He backed away while an idea formed in his head. Then, he decided to act on that idea and pulled out the music box. He turned the crank, eliciting the same reaction from the crazed hunter as before, and while the man was essentially incapacitated he moved in. His rapier flashed in the moonlight, one slashing into the man's neck and the other swipe cutting in between his ribs. He teleported away, causing Gascoigne to miss his retaliatory swing.
"Damned beast!" The Hunter roared. "I'll kill you!"
The battle cry was undercut somewhat by an oil urn shattering on his face and covering him in kerosene.
"You need to chill out for a bit." Noctis snarked. "How about I help you with that?" He asked, before following up with a Molotov. This time, the oil seemed to do the job, Gascoigne's bloodsoaked form bursting into flame that ate away at him. Noctis raised his hand and flipped off the burning man, before shooting him in the head twice with the transformed gun-rapier. The Hunter stumbled under the force of the slugs punching into his head, before collapsing against a gravestone. Just to be safe, Noctis threw another old urn onto him before pulling out his flamesprayer.
His caution was proven worthwhile when a shockwave of warm displaced air slammed into him. He turned to look at Gascoigne and indeed, the man had once again turned into a beast. The Hunter smiled. Other Hunters might be opponents actually worthy of consideration, but beasts? Beasts were vermin to be slaughtered. He flipped out the nozzle mechanism of his flamesprayer, pointing it at the transformed man before holding down the trigger and spraying the form of the beast before him that was just starting to rise to its feet with flame. He dodged an overhead slam from the beast, noting just how much the fire was burning it. Honestly, it was if the creature had cotton wool for hair. Noctis leaned in, cutting open the beast's gut and drawing back in disgusted horror when engorged intestines began to fall out of the opening. He then promptly got a horrible idea, in his opinion, that might actually work. Noctis lunged forward, stabbing the beast that was Gascoigne through the throat with his rapier, while jamming the nozzle of his flamesprayer into the beast's abdominal cavity with his other hand. Then, as the second and last part of his barely thought out plan, he pressed the trigger of the flamesprayer.
Gascoigne seemed to become less of a beast and more of a walking bonfire. It's innards lit on fire all too easily, burning away in a wash of flame that completely enveloped the beast's form. Noctis watched as the monster before him was immolated, and grinned. He honestly didn't know why he was smiling. This… was horrifying. A very small part of him revelled in the bloodshed, but called for yet more blood. The vast majority of him balked in horror, and promptly shut it down.
The still smouldering creature swiped at him with its claws, but missed. He retaliated by slashing the back of its legs, before shooting it in the back. It stumbled under the force of the shot, and Noctis used the opportunity to stab it in the back. He then transformed the weapon while it was still embedded in Gascoigne, before firing the inbuilt gun and using the force of the slug punching into it to push it off.
"Sick creature, may you rest in peace." He whispered. The beast stumbled around to look at him, at least before Noctis stabbed it one last time in where he thought its heart was.
He seemed to have struck true because after a few seconds of silence, the beast collapsed to its knees. Then, it simply turned to stare into his eyes. For the first time since they met, Noctis saw a glimmer of human intelligence in Gascoigne's eyes. "Forgive me." The fallen Hunter whispered, but to whom Noctis knew not. Then, the beast's form vaporised in an explosion of blood as the Cleric Beast has done.
Prey Slaughtered.
Silently, Noctis apologised to Gascoigne's daughter. He picked up the wide-brimmed hat that had belonged to the man before placing it on a nearby tombstone. Sobered by the realisation that he had killed the father of this world's version of Ruby, he decided to check the numerous corpses strewn around the tomb. His gut seemed to fill with the horrible feeling of dread. He ignored the numerous dead beastmen that littered the area, instead focusing his search on the human corpses. The graveyard itself held only a few old bodies that yielded either blood vials or quicksilver bullets, but somehow he just felt that there was a fresher corpse on a nearby roof.
He stepped up onto the roof. There was only a single corpse there, that of an uninfected woman. He knelt down, pushing her onto her back to check the pulse and examine the body. However, the more important detail was what was on her chest. A bright red, beautiful ruby brooch. He stepped back in slowly dawning horror, and slowly intensifying despair.
"Fuck." He whispered. Noctis then proceeded to examine the still warm body, which couldn't have been more than an hour old, and began to sob. Any jubilation he had gotten from finally defeating Gascoigne was now completely gone. He'd quite literally missed his eleventh hour chance to save Rose's family, because he fucked up. He arrived too late to save them. He ruined the lives of this family. He gently pulled off the brooch, putting it in his pocket before he sat down and wept.
He got up soon enough, however. Despair had morphed into cold rage. The fog that had blocked the door of the Cathedral Ward had dissipated, leaving it clear. He unsheathed his rapier, raising it while the razor sharp edge gleamed in the cold moonlight. He'd be damned before he let Gascoigne's death become meaningless. The man had blocked his way to the Cathedral Ward, and now he was gone Noctis could continue. Maybe, just maybe, he would get to the bottom of this. And god help anything or anyone who got in his way.
Then, he found Oedon Chapel.
/-/
Noctis trudged up to the door of Gascoigne's incredibly rapidly emptied out home. It was partially his fault - no, it was almost entirely his fault - but he couldn't have known.
"Hello mister hunter. Still can't find my mum?" He heard Rose ask.
He dodged the question, instead knocking on the door. "May I come in? I need to talk to you for a while."
"Umm…" Rose hesitated. "Okay, I guess." He heard the door unlock, before it opened. Before him stood an exact replica of Ruby, if she were half her age. The pure white ribbon she wore around her waist seemed to flutter in the foul metallic wind. Again, the consequences of what he had done stabbed his heart. He had killed her father and failed to save her mother. Now all he had to do was keep their daughter safe.
He walked into the home. It was a humble one, the main area comprising of one long sofa and a rectangle coffee table, with two armchairs flanking it.
"Please, sit. Do you want tea?" The young girl asked.
"No, no. I'll get the tea myself." He replied. "Wouldn't want you to scald yourself."
He poured out the tea into a teacup Rose gave him. It was a dainty thing decorated prettily with gold leaf, and the image of gruff old Gascoigne trying to manhandle it without smashing the crockery brought a bitter smile to his face. Not for the first time, he wished that the two of them had met under different circumstances. He sipped the tea, savouring both the flavour of the good English Breakfast that had been prepared and how the hot liquid scalded his throat. It seemed to warm both his heart and soul.
"Alright. So here's the deal." He said, after draining the tea. The idea of lying to someone around half his age was abhorrent, but he had no choice. He had to get her to safety somehow, instead of losing her to the inevitable grief that would come if he told her the truth. "Your mom and I found somewhere safe for you to hide. Safer than here, with all the beasts roaming around and everything. I gave her the music box, and in return she gave me this so that you would know it was me." He pulled out the brooch, placing it on the coffee table next to the empty teacup.
"Are you sure, mister hunter?" She asked plaintively. "Daddy told me himself that the streets are dangerous during Hunts. Too dangerous for me, at least."
Noctis took her hand. "We found a way into the Cathedral Ward. There's nowhere safer than that."
Rose's eyes widened. He continued. "The Church will keep you safe once we get there, but to do that I'll need you to stay close to me at all times. Understand me?"
"Yes, mister hunter." She replied. "Did you see my dad, by the way? He's really hard to miss."
"Yes, I did." He replied truthfully for once. "I really hope that music box is as good as you say it is, because your father is one hell of a badass. For my sake as well as yours, please, for the love of God, stay safe. I don't want to have to answer to him as to why his daughter is dead, because I have a feeling that his axe would be doing the talking."
Rose chuckled. "Definitely sounds like dad. Shouldn't we get moving now?"
"Yes, Rose. We probably should." He replied, the lies that he had recently spoken tasting ashen on his tongue.
Things went badly the moment they walked out of the house. From running into a bloodthirsty mob of Hunters along with their hounds, to getting swarmed by obese crows. Luckily Rose had been as plucky as he had hoped, and clearly inherited some sort of survival instinct from her father. That survival instinct had mostly manifested in getting the hell out of the way whenever fighting actually started. He was fine with that. Under no circumstances did he want a girl less than ten years old to be facing down a troll wielding a brick larger than her head.
But it seemed that instead of engaging him simply because he had run into them, the assortment of beasts and rogue Hunters that prowled the streets now seemed to be actively hunting them. Not an encouraging thought, he mused while dodging a wild swing from someone's flaming torch. He replied in kind by slashing the crazy Hunter in the neck. The beast man dropped like a sack of bricks to the cobblestone ground to join his compatriots.
"Rose?" He hollered, looking around to see where she was hiding.
"I'm here!" She responded, emerging out of what had previously been a closed coffin. "Luckily for me, this thing was empty."
"We aren't going to be seeing these things any more soon. We're heading into the aqueduct, so get comfy while you can." He called back. The sewers has been nothing but a shithole as far as he was concerned, but sadly the gate at the bridge was still locked. Maybe after he got Rose to safety, he could check on Gilbert?
"I'm not a corpse yet, mister hunter. Getting comfy is the last thing on my mind."
Of course they had gotten separated in the sewers. Of fucking course.
He brought up his flamesprayer, dousing the horde of hunting dog sized rats in front of him with hellfire. They shrieked in pain, the fire devouring their stringy fur and melting their flesh, before they succumbed to the overwhelming heat and dropped to the damp cobblestone with wet, sizzling plops. He snarled.
"Rose, where are you?" He shouted, noticing how his voice seemed to echo through the chasm-esque sewers. This area seemed familiar, somehow. He walked onwards, peeping into the numerous corridors. They also seemed familiar. "Are you here?"
Suddenly, he heard the voice of a young girl scream. He heard Rose cry for help. He distinctly knew that it had come from the direction of the crossroads. Noctis stopped in his tracks, horror slowly emerging in the forefront of his mind. The crossroads with the giant pig.
He broke out in a full sprint, desperately hoping he wasn't too late. "Please, please, don't do this to me…" he muttered. The pig was just in front of him, and Noctis could have sworn that he was just in time when he heard the dull crunch of bone. The incessant screaming and cries of help that had filled his ears abruptly cut off.
He stopped. He stared viciously at the boar, which was now swallowing what had turned out to be its last meal. The grip he had on the handle of his rapier became so tight it would probably bruise, but he didn't care. Somehow, his vision seemed to be tinged and rimmed with blood red. He didn't care about that as well. What he did care about was that this damn pig would die. The boar turned to him, the too many teeth in its jaws still dripping with fresh blood, and started to charge. Noctis dived to the ground, slashing open the soft underbelly of the giant boar when it leapt over him. He pulled out one of the throwing knives Eileen gave him, flinging it when the pig turned around again and sticking it in the eye. The purple ooze seemed to dissolve in contact with bloody flesh, forming a rancid-smelling blackish sludge that even now seemed to eat away at the boar.
Just a few days ago, someone else with the same name as he had fought the same pig. That man had unleashed so many pork-related japes that he could never look at a bacon sandwich the same way again. That man was not him. That man had been a Huntsman. But himself? He was a Hunter. That was all that mattered.
The boar shoulder checked him, sending him flying into the cold cobblestone wall. He made impact with a loud crack, swearing in response to feeling his vertebrae get smashed into powder. No matter. He got up anyway, jamming a blood-filled syringe into the vein of his wrist before flicking another poison-tipped knife into the hindquarters of the swine. Another one emerged between its ribs, and another one punched into the side of its head.
Before long, the poison took its toll. The porcine monster was now barely standing, dragging itself along in seemingly drunken attempts to kill its tormentor. Noctis bared his teeth in a bloodthirsty facsimile of a smile when it finally succumbed, breathing heavily in great gusts of air. He transformed his rapier, pointing it down at where he thought the boar's skull was weakest, before emptying the entire magazine into that exact spot. The giant pig went still. The red tinge on his vision faded into nothing, and clear, rational, thought returned to him.
Noctis leaned over and sliced open the boar's stomach. Rational thought had returned, but emotion was still far away. There was practically no hope of the girl he was escorting being alive, but maybe he could get enough to bury? It turned out that there was practically nothing left of the girl except pulverised meat. Noctis sighed, before inspecting the boar's mouth with the same amount of detachment. If that failed...
He pulled out something bloodstained from the teeth of the boar. It was a previously immaculately white ribbon, now stained irreparably with blood. But whose ribbon was it?
The answer hit him like an emotional sledgehammer. Rose. Gascoigne's last surviving family.
Ruby.
He screamed, in complete denial of what had happened, but nothing cared.
He was alone. Again.
He collapsed against the wall of the sewer. Somehow, he had achieved a somewhat happy medium. He wasn't catatonic enough to be unable to pull out his pistol and place the muzzle to the side of his head, but he wasn't lucid enough to stop himself from pulling the trigger.
/-/
Icarus walked towards the seemingly deserted ruins of Mountain Glenn. His contact had told him that this was the White Fang's bass of operations in Vale. He grimaced. Using the ground zero of one of the worst catastrophes in recent history was disgraceful, even for the Fang of today.
He saw the tripline, probably connected to an alarm system. But he kicked it anyway. He wasn't here to infiltrate, after all. He was here to attract attention, and this seemed to be the best place to do it.
"I really hope you thought this plan out, Noctis." He muttered.
Noctis had woken up in the middle of the night just yesterday, bawling his eyes out. Carmine had tried her best to comfort him, but whatever nightmare had woken their leader had seemingly scarred him. He was now withdrawn and sullen, but no less determined at least. They were lucky that all that had happened before the weekend that they had decided to start the plan.
Surprisingly, the contact that Jaune knew had agreed to accept an electronically transferred sum of Lien in exchange for telling them Roman's location tonight. An electronically transferred sum that they had managed to spoof, thanks to GEMINI. Seriously, that thing was useful as hell.
Today, Roman would apparently be at this old dive bar called 'The Club', run by someone called Junior. Apparently Noctis knew the place and the owner well, so he had been chosen to infiltrate from that side of things. For the White Fang? He was the only logical candidate. Lapis couldn't do so because she was already Legion, and Carmine couldn't because she technically wasn't a Faunus. The regenerating girl had proposed grafting animal parts onto herself, but Noctis had shot that down as going over the top. Besides, her lack of contextual knowledge would probably expose her instantly.
Red alarm lights flashed on the walls of the base, in tune with the jarringly deafening blare of a klaxon. Uniformed White Fang members, line grunts if you will, rushed out of passageways and doors. In the span of less than a minute, Icarus found himself facing nearly a hundred White Fang soldiers armed with assault rifles and swords.
"Hands where we can see them, and don't move!" One of the higher-ranked ones, probably a sergeant, yelled.
Oh, if only they knew… He smiled to himself.
Icarus activated his semblance, before snapping his fingers. He felt his fingers perform the action, but no sound reached his ears. Or the ears of those surrounding him, for that matter. Then, he pulled out a smoke grenade that Noctis had given him. He pulled the pin and dropped it, shrouding the entire area in thick white smoke.
He kicked on his jump pack, rising up and above the chaos. Then, he pulled the string that was to remove the pin from the rest of the grenades at his belt. He dropped the belt.
Luckily for the White Fang, all of those were flash bangs. Of course, that luck was relative. Getting blinded and deafened, now that he was out of range, was probably unpleasant to the extreme. He especially pitied those Faunus with enhanced sight or hearing, but this was the plan after all.
Icarus cut off the thrust of his jump pack, before landing on one particularly unlucky grunt in a downwards drop kick. He reactivated his semblance, transforming his rifle into its glaive form before sweeping a wide arc in front of himself. Luckily he didn't actually cut into anyone, owing to the lack of resistance to the swing, but even if he did he would just pass it off as collateral damage. Those equipped with rifles seemed to be holding their fire, however, probably because of the risk of accidentally hitting their comrades.
He dodged multiple sword swings, fully cognisant of the fact that there was no way in hell that he was winning this particular confrontation. But that honestly didn't matter, because the literal purpose of this charade was to stall for time until he arrived.
"Hold your fire, for fuck's sake!" He heard an all too familiar voice yell. "Don't you know who the hell that is?"
Icarus lowered his glaive. The White Fang soldiers backed off. "That's Daedalus, you blind fucks!" Some of the soldiers scrambled back in horrified recognition, while others just looked at those backing away in confusion. Others seemed to simply freeze up, staring at him. Some particularly brave idiots tried to swing their swords at him again, but the loud crack of Adam firing Blush into the air stopped that.
"Adam, you haven't changed a bit, haven't you?" He asked with false cheer. "The Minotaur's still playing the drill sergeant, I see."
Adam stared at him, and Icarus was about to call it a day and abort the mission before he saw the leader of Vale's White Fang cell smile.
"No, I haven't." Adam said softly. "Good to see you back, friend." Icarus stared at him in confusion. Where was the overly gung-ho bastard that he had left behind, and what had this cheerful, sentimental person who seemed genuinely happy to see him done with the old Adam?
"Everyone, back to your posts. Now!" hollered to the grunts. They slowly returned to wherever they had come from. Then, he slowly turned to Icarus. It seemed like he had put on a mask of good humour for the benefit of the masses, and was only now showing his suspicion. Silently, he beckoned Icarus to walk with him.
"What are you actually here for, Daedalus? We both know that this isn't a social call."
"I'm here looking for a job. Someone in the know in Roman's side of things told me that you and him are planning something." Icarus bluffed. "I just thought that it would be a convenient way to get back into the business."
"And who, by that chance, told you about that?" Adam asked, his voice deceptively calm. That voice, Icarus knew, promised swift and severe retribution towards the mole.
"Just a guy who makes fake transcripts." Icarus shrugged, fully under the knowledge that he was throwing the unknown dealer under the bus. "The guy probably knows more than he needs to. If you like, I could help you tie up that loose end."
They walked through the base. It was frankly massive, probably intended for use as a military stronghold before Mountain Glenn itself was abandoned. They passed through what seemed to be a vehicle pool, where mechanics tinkered with Valiant IFVs and Vanquisher Light Tanks. Icarus watched one of them at work on the breech of a 152mm main gun of one of the Vanquishers, while others worked with the six-barrelled rotary cannons installed in the turrets of Valiants. Others seemed to be replacing a section of ERA on the left cheek of a Challenger MBT's turret, one particular crew remotely controlling cranes that were lifting off a section of armour that had been set off - probably by an obsolete older model of a RPG or something similar, since the tank wasn't a written-off wreck - from one particular tank before replacing it with a new, undamaged piece of armour. Another team of mechanics moved in with power tools to secure the armour.
Icarus personally loved the Challenger, and would readily admit that right now he was basically staring in awe. It was an armoured behemoth on a set of treads, weighing a total of 54 tons when fully combat-equipped. It had a single rifled 105mm gun, as well as a coaxial 7.62mm machine gun, two more 7.62mm machine guns at the loader's hatch on the sides of the turret's top and one more 12.7mm machine gun mounted on the gun mantlet that was aligned with the main gun. That main gun was capable of being one of the few things Icarus dared not face without a proper escape plan, especially since it was deadly accurate and could lob building-destroying HESH shells at a moment's notice. Alternative choices of ammunition comprised of smoke shells, APFSDS shells and HEAT-FS shells. A Challenger tank had once shot an abandoned apartment building he had been using as a sniper nest, and Icarus had only barely managed to fly away before the building had collapsed beneath him from the force of the HESH shell detonating. The secondary armaments - three 7.62mm machine guns and one 12.7mm machine gun - were no joke as well, being equally able to either pin down enemy infantry under a hail of fire or mow down advancing swarms of Grimm with near impunity. Smoke launchers on the turret allowed for the placing of a smokescreen behind which the tank could change position for a counterattack or a tactical retreat. There was a literal fucking battering ram on the front of the tank, just for even more awesomeness of busting through houses.
Explosive reactive armour - ERA - covered the entire surface of the tank, combining extremely heavy protection that made the tank virtually invincible to shaped charge-based munitions like RPGs and HEAT shells, with copious amounts of firepower from a quick-firing 105mm main gun, three rifle-calibre machine guns and one .50 cal heavy machine gun that served to effectively wrap up the massive machine that was able to blow enemy assets to smithereens and crush Grimm under-tread with equal ease. It was honestly a shame that Atlas's government had neglected conventional vehicles in favour of the flashy yet less effective Paladin-290 battle suits.
"Fake transcripts, huh." He heard Adam mutter, before the overall commanding officer of Vale's White Fang cell turned to him again. "So you've enrolled into Beacon?"
"Yes, in fact." Icarus replied, turning away from the tank. "I went mainly for the credentials, but learning some skills wouldn't hurt."
"Huh." He heard Adam mutter to himself, before he suddenly asked, "Have you seen Blake anywhere?"
"Blake?" Icarus asked. "No, I haven't seen her at all. You think she ran off to Beacon? My guess is that she probably fled to another kingdom." He lied. The fact that Adam didn't know where his pseudo-girlfriend had run off to was reassuring, as it essentially killed off the possibility that Blake was a spy. Hopefully he would get this information back to his team before Lapis connected the dots and decided to solve the problem with her lance.
Adam swore. "Dammit. Anyway, the job I have for you is simple. A few days from now, we're providing men and equipment to help Roman out for a major dust heist. Stealing from the SDC is basically our MO nowadays, and Roman's looking to up his game."
"What's the dust for? Are you going to sell it?"
"Actually, no." Adam replied. "We're gathering dust, no pun intended, for a major mobilisation somewhere down the line." The bull Faunus's hand strayed to the hilt of his sword. "I can't tell you anymore, since the information is on a need-to-know basis. The only reason I've told you as much as I have is because I trust you. Our being friends ended a long time ago, so don't break my trust. I won't have any qualms about killing you now, so don't give me a fucking excuse."
Icarus decided to stop prodding.
They moved up to a meeting room, with a long table in the centre. In the centre of the table was a holographic projector, that at the moment was broadcasting a three-dimensional image of the small fleet that Atlas had sent as a security detail for the upcoming Vytal Festival. More concerning were the fighters that escorted the massive battleships that were Atlas's superweapons. Instead of the geometric beauty of Adler fighters, the eerily sleek shapes of Nidhogg flight units accompanied the veritable armada in front of them. The other person in the room was another lieutenant, a brute of a man with a tattooed left arm and a massive chainsaw on his back. Icarus actually recognised the man, despite the full face mask that covered the larger man's features.
"Nice to see you again, Banesaw." Icarus said, offering his hand to the man.
"Good to see you, Daedalus. Marksmen are you are hard to find and harder yet to get on our side." The lieutenant boomed. Icarus didn't know his name, yet the two of them were friends in a way that he and Adam never were.
"Now!" Adam interrupted. "The reason we're here is to enable a direct chain of command from the AWACS to the surveillance equipment in this base. Our pilots will be lifting off in about two minutes to eliminate this particular drop ship." He pointed to a particular drop ship that was flanked on both sides by fighters that had particular markings that were visible even through the hologram. One was otherwise unmarked except for a red left wing, while the other had blue stripes tapering from the fuselage to cover the entirety of its control surfaces. "We have determined that this aircraft is carrying a VIP whose elimination will benefit our cause. Of course, Atlas's new ally has made sure that this VIP shall remain highly secure. Galm Team themselves will be responsible for the safe passage of the VIP, and we are reasonably certain that our fighters will not be able to destroy them in a straight dogfight."
"Wait." Icarus raised his hand. "So you're telling me that you're sending these pilots on a suicide mission?"
"No, not exactly." Adam said. "We have obtained a few of Atlas's premier Adler fighters, which should be a major step up from the old Phantoms. Still, we paid dearly in blood and tears for every single fighter we managed to get. More importantly, they can use these." A smaller projector activated, projecting the image of a missile. "Four-target air-to-air missiles, 4AAMs for short. One from every fighter we deploy, from beyond visual range, should blow the target out of the sky before the escorts can do anything. They're meant to engage multiple targets at long range, but they work just as well against a single target. Our new fighters should then be fast enough to escape from any potential retaliation."
"No LAAMs?" Banesaw asked. "They'd arguably be more useful here than 4AAMs."
"We couldn't obtain any." Adam grumbled. "Besides, they aren't compatible with Adlers. The 4AAMs will have to do."
"How many fighters are you scrambling, Adam? If they mess up the opening shot, they're screwed."
This time, Banesaw gestured to the window. "Two squadrons of four planes each, so it's a total of eight fighters."
Icarus sighed. "Eight planes against an entire armada. Even if it's an assassination mission, I'm willing to bet that only half of the fighters at most return to base."
He was interrupted by the blare of a klaxon and blaring yellow lights, signalling that the massive blast door that shielded the underground air base from the outside was raising up into the ceiling. The alarm was mostly there because the blast door opened to a sheer cliff, the base having been carved into the side of the mountain. It would have been a waste to lose otherwise skilled operatives to an unnecessary two kilometre drop into jagged rocks. Not even a Huntsman or Huntress could survive that.
One by one, the eight fighters taxied over to the runway before taking off in the direction of the setting sun. Adam's look of absolute determination was matched by Banesaw's decidedly somber body language. The large man raised the microphone attached to the table at his seat and asked with a surprisingly upbeat tone, "Silber One to Silber Two. Since my Phantom's wings have been clipped and I can't lead you bunch of idiots myself, what colour's the sky up there? I know it's an old wives' tale, but never mind that for now."
"Silber Two here." He heard a young male voice respond. "Too bad your lucky charm of a striped Phantom isn't up for the job here, old bud, because we could really use as much luck as we can get. The sky's looking pretty colourful right now, but that's not a good thing. It's blood red, up and up into the heavens with no end in sight."
Icarus leaned back. A blood red sky was a horrible yet fitting omen for what he expected to happen. Banesaw seemed to think that as well, especially since he ripped off his mask and cradled his face in his hands with a muffled "Fuck." Adam simply growled in impotent anger. Icarus leaned down to peer at the radar displayed on the touchscreen display of the table, watching as eight dots marked as friendlies slowly inched towards the storm of enemy-marked dots, and could not help but feel a sense of foreboding encroach on his soul.
Who couldn't, when the domain of the gods themselves seemed to be promising the inevitable bloodshed that would come of this?
(Sorry this one took literally forever, this particular one just didn't want to come out of my head... anyway I've decided to split up the recruitment arc because I don't want to have to rush the scene between Noctis, Junior and Roman. Quality over quantity, I guess.)