Cinder woke with a start. She looked around the dorm room and saw that Mercury, Emerald and Neo had all also woken up. In the distance, they heard a horrifying scream slowly fading away.
"Azrael…" All eyes turned to Mercury. "It's definitely him. I don't know what set him off, but if he's this angry, I doubt it's good for us."
Emerald and Neo stayed silent, one from curiosity, the other out of a lack of the necessities for speech.
Cinder spoke up. "Mercury, tell me, just how much of a threat is Azrael?"
The grey-haired young man thought for a few seconds. He had never sparred with his teacher, but he had sparred with Lucatiel exactly once, outside of class. It had not gone well, and the medical bay had to lodge yet another complaint against Azrael. "If the way the two assistants defer to him is any indication, then he could destroy everything."
Cinder's eyes widened. "Surely you can't be serious?"
The expression on Mercury's face remained stoic as ever, but his voice had taken on a tone Cinder and Emerald had never heard from him before: one of respect. "Before we left on our mission with Vengarl, I sparred with Lucatiel. At first I went easy, but she could tell. She lowered her weapons and demanded I 'take it seriously', so I didn't hold back." Neo sat up straight, her interest piqued. Mercury continued, "But it didn't mean a damn thing. She didn't have any weaknesses I could exploit. She swung that big sword of hers around like it was made of paper, and her shield didn't even get scuffed by my weapons."
Silence reigned in the bedroom. Mercury pressed onward. "I also saw Vengarl fight a lot during our mission. If he wakes up before the tournament is over, he could even go toe-to-toe with-" Mercury stopped as he noticed pain forming in Cinder's eyes. "Cinder, what's wrong."
Cinder had fallen off her bed and down to her knees, clutching at her chest. Something is wrong. Why can't I feel Amber's aura? "The Fall Maiden…she's dead."
For the first time, Emerald spoke. "Shouldn't that be a good thing?"
"Normally, yes, but I can't…I can't feel the other half of her power. It's like it's been locked away somewhere."
At that moment, a small earthquake shook the ground, and Team CMEN looked out the window. This would complicate their plans rather severely.
Meanwhile, in the underground Vault, Azrael was smiling. Around him, Ozpin, Ironwood, and Glynda were splayed across the floor, in varying states of consciousness. Azrael stared at Winter before nodding in appreciation.
Winter gritted her teeth. She wanted to do something, to help her commanding officer, but against Azrael? Even if he wasn't my friend, what could I have done? The Undead broke her reverie. "There was nothing you could have done, Winter. The Witch of Izalith must die."
"The what? That is the Fall Maiden, you can't just kill her." Azrael ignored her and walked up to Amber's pod, recoiling his fist. In a single punch, he nearly shattered the glass, punching a large hole in the protective casing. Two more punches and the Maiden was bare, unprotected from the Undead warrior's fury. In a single motion, Azrael grabbed Amber's skull and caved it in. Blood and grey matter spurted out, coating the inside of the pod. Amber was dead, her soul separated from the vile influence of Izalith. Azrael heard two words, not with his ears but with the Darksign, nothing more than a whisper carried by a soft wind. Thank you. He closed his eyes, not bothering to whisper back. He had a more important duty to attend to.
The powers of the Maiden might travel from host to host, but Azrael was an Undead. More importantly, Azrael was an Undead who had personal experience with the Chaos Soul, regardless of how fractured it was at the moment. Before it could escape to rejoin with its other half, Azrael plunged his hand into the dead woman's chest and dragged it out manually.
Ironwood's eyes slowly opened. As the first to attempt to stop Azrael, he had received the lightest wounds, but he was still knocked out cold. He woke to what seemed a nightmare. Ozpin and Glynda were both still unconscious. Amber was dead and Azrael was mutilating her corpse. Ironwood snapped himself from his stupor and started screaming. "What the fuck has gotten into you, Azrael? Have you no honor?"
Rather than respond, Azrael slowly turned around and showed everyone what he was holding in his hand. A strange fire was resting two inches off of his palm, neither fading nor growing. It appeared to be a self-contained flame in Azrael's hand, but something about it seemed off—as though it was not complete. Then it hit Ironwood. This was the Fall Maiden's soul.
After a long silence, Winter spoke up. "How, Azrael?"
"I am an Undead. I have a familiarity with souls, especially this one. This is the soul of the Witch of Izalith, the Lord Soul of Chaos and Life. It belongs with me, not raped into that poor girl's body." Ozpin visibly cringed at Azrael's choice of words, mostly because it was not an inaccurate description. "I will watch over it until I find a way to dispose of it."
"I can't allow that to happen." Azrael's gaze shifted to Glynda, who was finally getting up from the floor. "We need the Maidens' powers to help combat the Grimm."
"And you shall have them. But not like this."
"Excuse me?"
"I cannot explain it all right now. Just know that this," Azrael held up the soul, "Is safer with me than with anyone else. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have business to attend to." With that, Azrael walked out of the Vault, ignoring Ironwood's and Glynda's protests.
The mere existence of these souls on Remnant was a mystery, one that Azrael intended to unravel. But he was not nearly well-versed enough in Remnant's history or archaeology to find the answers on his own. Azrael needed to talk with Dr. Oobleck—as far as Azrael knew, only Ozpin was better suited to providing information about Remnant's ancient history, and Azrael was none too keen to spend any more time with the white-haired headmaster.
Hyperactive historian it is, then. Azrael grimaced. He had sat in one exactly one of the doctor's classes. Thinking back to his own child-like handwriting, Azrael had been amazed by the speed at which Weiss was able to take notes, and Azrael knew from personal experience that the notes would be perfectly readable.
The Undead had avoided murdering Ironwood, Glynda, or Ozpin. Somehow, the undead warrior knew that refraining from strangling his emerald-haired colleague would be an even greater challenge.
For days, the fighting had raged outside the king's castle. One by one, the Forossan lines of defense had fallen to the relentless onslaught of the feral Undead, corralled into the kingdom by the enraged Gyrm. A fitting revenge, Vengarl mused, for King Ricard's treatment of the gentle dwarven race.
And now, Vengarl was all that stood between Ricard and an endless swarm of crazed Undead. His head pounded in time with the large double doors as dozens of improvised weapons and broken swords battered against it. The Mad Knight braced himself for the upcoming battle, as pain burst between his eyes, bringing the 12-foot-tall menace to his knees. He had been here before, he realized…long ago. He could remember fighting—and dying—for his King.
A thought drifted in Vengarl's mind, forever out of reach, like a swirl of fluid on his cornea. The harder Vengarl fought to seize it, the faster the memory fled from his grasp. He looked at King Ricard, once glorious and radiant, now pathetic and shrunken on his throne. The King had not even noticed his only remaining subject's seizure as he stared out at nothing, looking for all the world like a child who had witnessed his parents' violent death.
Finally, something emerged from the muck of Vengarl's mind. His King's aloofness to his own impending death had given the Mad Knight just the distraction he needed. Just like a calming bath can give a researcher a moment of clarity, the shock of seeing King Ricard unaffected by the battle had allowed a name to bubble up from Vengarl's subconscious mind. Azrael, King of Drangleic. Just as the name crossed his mind, Vengarl passed out from the pain in his forehead.
Vengarl opened his eyes, his dream slowly giving way to the reality of his situation.
For days, the fighting had raged outside the king's castle. One by one, the Forossan lines of defense had fallen to the relentless onslaught of the feral Undead, corralled into the kingdom by the enraged Gyrm. A fitting revenge, Vengarl mused, for King Ricard's treatment of the gentle dwarven race.
Coco and Sun were exhausted as dawn filled the patient room they had both stayed in overnight, watching over Vengarl and the two survivors of Fort Alcova—Clayton Cherry and Susan Bates, the only remaining town guardsmen and the niece of the owner of the hotel Coco, Mercury, and Team SSSN had stayed in.
As Sun's head started to bob up and down, sleep threatening to finally overtake the fatigued monkey Faunus, two of his teammates wandered into the room—Neptune Vasilias and Sage Ayana. Sun and Coco's watch was finished and they needed time to rest. Without a word, the tired students dragged themselves out of the room, eager to return to their respective dorms after the failed mission.
Sage looked at Vengarl's sleeping form. The dark-skinned boy realized that he had never actually seen the enormous teacher without his trademark fur and armor on before. He was surprised to find out that Vengarl's massive bulk had very little to do with the size of his armor. Despite wearing nothing but a hospital gown, the unconscious man dwarfed everyone else at the school, even Azrael and Yatsuhashi.
And yet that man handed Ven his ass on a silver platter…Sage remembered how Kirk had shown up, alone, and Vengarl jumped the massive fence whose construction he had spent so much effort overseeing. The teacher ran out to meet the armored bastard, and Sage remembered seeing recognition mixed with confusion on Vengarl's face as he had jumped the barrier.
They talked for several minutes, Vengarl's stance getting tenser and tenser, and then they walked away from each other. For a moment, it had seemed to Sage and the rest of the students that the confrontation was over, but then Kirk and Vengarl both drew their weapons—Kirk his knurled, spiked shortsword and shield with the same "decorations", and Vengarl his massive scimitar and shortsword.
The ensuing duel left everyone watching completely speechless. Vengarl dodged and spun faster than anyone his size had any right to. Kirk ducked and weaved between Vengarl's attacks, seemingly without any effort whatsoever. Every time an attack looked like it was going to land, Kirk's shield came up, stopping it cold and scratching the blade. This went on for minutes, until Mercury spoke up.
"This guy's playing with him." A loud scraping noise announced a blocked strike.
Sage looked over to the grey-haired youth. "What are you talking about? Vengarl is getting some damn good swings in." Another loud clang, another failed swing. "Pretty soon the other guy will start to tire out."
"He won't. It's obvious these two know each other and Mister Edgelord over there is clearly more skilled. Have you ever seen Vengarl even pant during class?" Mercury had a point. None of the teaching trio ever seemed to tire.
"So, what can we do to help him?"
"Nothing. Vengarl is going to lose. We just have to hope the guy isn't interested in either the town or us." As if to illustrate Mercury's point, Vengarl lunged forward, swinging with both swords, but Kirk easily rolled underneath the attack, ripping up the ground as he went. Before Vengarl could recover, Kirk stabbed his sword deep into the larger Undead's flank, tearing through fur, armor, and flesh, and leaving Vengarl's side a bloody mess as the vile weapon dragged bits of gore and viscera out with it. Vengarl winced slightly, but otherwise showed no reaction.
But first blood had been drawn. Sage and Mercury stood there and watched Vengarl slow down as the fight dragged on and Kirk began hitting their teacher with quick jabs, further weakening the giant. The fight was already over, and everyone—from the students watching in silence, to the horrified village guardsmen, to the combatants themselves—knew it. Vengarl, on his knees and shaking with rage, threw his swords to the ground and struggled to his feet. A hundred yards away, his six students, as well as the dozens of guards stationed along the wall, all heard Vengarl's last four words.
"Just end it, Kirk."
The smaller man obliged, dropping his shield and grasping his sword with both hands before driving it right through Vengarl's chest. A loud gasp went up from the entire unwilling audience, and Kirk violently ripped his sword out of the Forossan warrior's torso, bringing chunks of gore with it. Without waiting for a response, the Knight of Thorns turned around and left Vengarl bleeding to death in the dirt, as the fear and anger welling up from the guards and students called out to the Grimm, and hundreds of creatures began making their way towards Fort Alcova.
Sage felt shame overcome him as he remembered how he had completely frozen up as Coco, Sun, Neptune, Mercury, and Scarlet had all leapt from their spots on the wall and sprinted out to Vengarl, determined to save his life. Gods damn it, sir. I'm sorry I didn't try to help, I just…I just couldn't move. Sage had seen fully-fledged Huntsmen fight in tournaments before, but that was all very clean and proper. Vengarl didn't have Aura, and neither had this "Kirk" warrior. Every attack bit through armor, blood was all over the field where they fought, and the grass around Vengarl's slumped form was stained red as the teacher lay dying. Even as Mercury dashed past Vengarl, eyes scanning for any Grimm, and Coco and Sun frantically raced to bandage the giant's wounds, Sage stood there—Like a damn moron, the boy thought to himself. He stood there as Neptune and Scarlet called his name and begged for his help moving Vengarl, staring off into the distance without looking at anything. He stood there as Mercury, Sun, Neptune, and Scarlet heaved Vengarl onto their shoulders and began to slowly move back into town. Sage had stood there as Grimm started to descend on the village and Coco stood alone, mowing the monsters down by the hundreds with her minigun, screaming incoherently. And Sage still stood there as the town guardsmen opened the gates for Vengarl. In fact, Sage had kept standing there until a guardsman by the name of Clayton Cherry had shoved him out of the way, taking Sage's place on the wall and opening fire on the Grimm.
No tears came to Sage's eyes as he looked at the young guardsmen and the massive teacher, both equally unconscious, both severely wounded. Instead, Sage felt a crushing weight settle on his chest. Crunch time had come, and he had failed. If I had moved, maybe we could've gotten Ven inside the gates faster, maybe we could've closed them in time. Now hundreds of people are dead and it's all my fault. Sage roughly ran his hands through his dark green hair, eyes squeezed tight as the young Huntsman-in-training felt the weight of responsibility and failure begin to crush him.
Across the room, Neptune was faring better, but not by much. He looked at the young girl, Susan, and the blue-haired boy recalled how he had found her and her beloved uncle in the ruins of their family hotel, the same place he had slept in the night before.
"Uncle Norman, please don't leave! You just can't leave! It's gonna be okay Uncle!" There was a single dead Beowulf—a youngling, by the size—dissolving nearby, and Norman held a smoking shotgun in shaky hands. His clothes were shredded and torn, and blood was gushing out from his torso and legs. Neptune would've been impressed if he had had the spare space in his mind for anything but adrenaline.
But it was Norman's face that Neptune would remember until the day he died. It was the face of a man who knew his life was measured in hours, at best. "Susan, go hide in the bathroom, Uncle Norman has something he needs to talk about with Neptune." Norman's eyes were nearly vacant, nothing in his mind left except the desire to protect his niece. Neptune knew what had to happen. Norman didn't even bother asking, he just took a small gold ring with a large sapphire set in it from his hand. His voice was ragged and labored. "Give this t-to Susan when she's…" The man was interrupted by a wracking cough, what little blood remained in his body spraying out in time with the coughs.
"I understand. I'll make sure to give it to her." Neptune had replied without realizing it, his brain on autopilot. He switched his weapon from its halberd form into its rifle form and pressed the barrel to Norman's forehead. "I'm sorry." Neptune shook his head, trying to stop himself from reliving that gruesome scene for the hundredth time. He looked across the room to see Sage staring at him, and the two partners silently commiserated in the wake of their trauma.
By morning, Azrael had returned to his dormitory, where he found Yang and Ruby, both still by Summer's side. The sisters looked at their teacher, curious about his outburst—and also why he was holding a stack of books as big as Ruby herself—but unwilling to broach the issue.
Keeping an eye on Summer, Azrael cracked open Remnant, A History, and began reading. As he struggled with the extremely dry writing style, Azrael thought about the shard of a Lord Soul in his possession, deeply concerned about its presence. If Izalith is here, then so too are Nito, Seath, and the Four Kings…and potentially others. Even just one was problematic, but all four of them was an unmitigated disaster.
Another problem that concerned Azrael was his Darksign. Something was interfering with it, and over the last several hours he felt it begin to dim as another strange feeling started to surface. Azrael couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it felt like the Darksign was fighting some force in his body, and losing. The strangest part of all was that while it was a concerning phenomenon, the feeling was not at all unpleasant—as though he was having years of dirt and grime wiped from his soul.
Nevertheless, the feeling was costing him his ability to sense other Undead, an unacceptable trade.
Rubbing his eyes as he attempted to parse a particularly hard sentence, and Azrael decided that he did not like this book. It was bad enough that he had the reading ability of a ten-year-old, but whoever had decided the best way to reach students was by overloading them with words that contained no less than 12 letters and five syllables each deserved to burn in the deepest hells imaginable. Azrael sighed. There was nothing useful to him in here. He needed information on civilization pre-Dust, and pre-Ozpin. Nonetheless, there might be a hint buried somewhere in the archaic tome that tempted Azrael's wrath and brought forth a great desire to invoke his pyromancy. The Undead soldiered forward as Yang and Ruby eventually both fell into a troubled sleep. As he finally finished the book, Azrael noticed Summer stirring slightly in her slumber. Azrael decided he was jealous. He didn't need to sleep, but he still missed being able to do it.