Author's Note: I own these creations like a brick can fly.
Escalation: Where the Plot Got Lost and Needed to Find a Map
There are somethings that even the greatest masterminds fail to foresee. For the great thieves of the Lupin Thirds, it was that stealing raw dust, though valuable, is a great way to obliterate yourself, especially when driving with it down a bumpy road. Other great minds found folly elsewhere, the legendary gunslinger Wayatt Tombstone realizing that he wasn't all that great against an endless sea of monsters after the bullets run empty; Groundy Anteaues the Terrason whom was known for being all but invincible due to his connection learning that he was less impressive while in the water before finally graduating to a full disappointment after he finished drowning; even Yue Zi, the greatest strategist Remnant had ever known, renown for boasting of her unsurpassed brilliance found her end after one too many cakes in quick succession.
Then there is Salem. Salem, a being whose nature may be beyond understanding for all of Remnant, who's mind grasped the fibers of reality better than anyone else in this universe, who could weave any plot and break any will with the barest of ease, found herself beset with annoyance for the first time in a millennium when that sorry excuse for a great beast returned all too prematurely.
"You got lost." This was more of a statement than a question. Salem just wanted to hear the humiliating details.
The looming shadow once trapped in the moon lower its head as it began to sweat hives of off wasp-like horrors out every pore under the looming gaze of its master. A few water-rippling grumbles confirmed the Salem's shame.
"Atlas occupies an entire continent. Continents are large. Large things are hard to miss. You shouldn't miss a continent. I shouldn't need to be telling this to you with a syllogism, dear."
The Moonspawn whined. It sounded like a storm was crying.
Salem's irises grew dangerously bright in indigence. "So the fact that you realized you were flying in circles makes this acceptable."
It stopped whining and lowered its head to the ground; it much liked being able to fly around—being trapped in the moon again would be a real pain. Salem wiggled a single finger as a Nevermore landed next to her. With a tap of her finger, the monochrome colors shifted on the avian to paint the image of a map on its back with the presence of the Moonspawn glowing dark amidst the white bone. "Follow the path on this one's back. Get to Atlas. Go on then. Off with you."
Shooing the sky-covering shadow like it was but a flea, Salem shook her head as a grandmother would to children on a playground. Entering her domain, walking down that long empty stone hall lighted only by the pale purple veins of corrupted dust, Salem fought down a sigh. It wasn't as if she wanted her residence to resemble the front page of hypothetical magazine titled 'Evil Bastards Weekly' but the hollow had to spread, had to hollow out everything to draw more power into the dust. She succeeded to well for that.
Trudging back into the meeting room, only slightly less spartan than the hallway leading two it, Salem made her way to the seat at the end of the table.
"Gentlem—" Salem bashed her shin against a table leg interrupting herself. "Gentlemen," she said without any interruption, "I apologize for the interruption."
"No apology needed," Tyrion said, nearly foaming. He foamed out several more sentences that likely mad sense to an asylum patient somewhere. Salem wasn't actually listening. She never did with Tyrion; he never had anything of merit to say most the time anyway. Truth be told, a major reason she kept him around was just for the amusement of watching him sting foolhardy adventurers who had a tendency to invade her abode. Their death-convulses gave her endless glee for whatever reason. Perhaps she was just bored.
As Tyrion finally ended his long diatribe on her glory, Salem's mind turned back on in anticipation for the proper discussion to begin. "Forgive me for my prying and perhaps this may only be my impatience getting the better of me," began one Dr. Arthur Watts, brilliant omnidisciplinary doctor, master maintainer of a grand mustache, masterful torturer and connoisseur of exotic teas, "but it has been far too long since you've informed of us of any…progress the attempt to procure the rest of the maiden essence."
"Yes," said a mountain of muscle known to few as Hazel Reinhart and even fewer as Hazel Pec-hard during his powerlifting days. Yes was usually the only word he said. People usually thought Hazel was the strong silent type. Salem, on the other hand, realized that where Hazel was diligent in working his body, he was inversely averse to working his mouth. As such, his indolence in speech had him use Arthur as a bulwark to speak for him. Even Salem could appreciate that kind of laziness.
"That's because I have no news to bring," Salem said. "I've heard nothing since the last time Cinder had contacted me. The plan is, indeed, behind schedule."
"Should the tournament be proceeding along now?" asked Arthur, mustache bouncing to the beat of his words; he would never know how much Salem enjoyed watch his facial hard wabble in the air like a large brush.
"Delayed," said Hazel, swiping his scroll to project a series of news articles in a holographic-display format so that all in the room mays see. Between the White Fang attacks, the damages recently sustained by Beacon and a heightened security situation between Vale and Atlas due to recent terrorism, the event had indeed been postponed.
"So, it seems that our wayward little agent has been neglectful in more duties than one," said Arthur.
"Perhaps," Salem replied. "Or perhaps she is adapting to potential complications and adjusting her plan accordingly."
Arthur huffed. "I do sincerely hope your faith is well-placed madam."
"Oh could there be any doubt that it is." Salem's smile was sweet and sharp, like a sword coated in honey that would still doubtless cut to the quick. "After all, and above all, she has a vested self-interest in making this venture…a successful one."
"Yes," said Hazel, flexing under his shirt in agreement.
"Mistress," Tyrion said with stinger flailing about behind him, "I could go. Pose as a student as she did—keep a close on her—persuade her to hurry yes!"
Silence. In the absence of crickets, the wind cooed along the empty outside. Six eyes were upon Tyrion, considering his statement.
The vigil then broke apart with Dr. Watts mocking laughter, who cawed in short condescending bursts of three. Hazel, who could remain taciturn in most situations found his weakness in that absurd laughter of his colleagues. Unlike how most people laughed, Hazel's began with the hardening of his abs, followed by the straightening of his back. "Ha. Yes." Hazel unleashed his mirth in a dull laugh releasing months of stone-faced tension.
Course the one shaking the hardest was Salem herself, hiding her lips under a single hand as she tried to imagine Tyrion attempting to blend in with the student population. Murder, like most thoughts associated with Tyrion quickly filled her mind. Oh those poor students. "Oh Tyrion. You're absolutely precious."
"Hehehehe," Tyrion began laughing along. As long as the mistress was happy, he was doing his job. It doesn't matter what the other fools thought of him, he made the mistress happy and that was good enough. That was what he kept telling himself anyway.
"Give Cinder her due time," Salem said. "I will make adjustments of my own should the need arise. Regardless, I am certain that she is doing everything she can to further the completion of our task, even at this very moment."
…
Cinder continued to choke Cardin's surprisingly durable head against the rapidly parting wooden flooring. "He's never above me. You're wrong. I will be above him. I will be above all of you," Cinder hissed to the purple faced artist of lewd as hellish fire crawled out of her eyes.
"Cinder," Emerald whispered trying to get her attention. "Cinder. There's a bit of problem."
"I'll be done soon," Cinder said redoubling her strangling efforts.
Outside a long line of broken walls, Glynda stood trying to translate the words in her mind to the real world. "De-detttennn…"
The broken word repeated in her throat like a bad remix of a popular song done by an overenthusiastic amateur trying to impress their friends who just wanted to leave. "De-de-de-de-deten—deten…." said Glynda, all but gargling each syllable in broken segments.
Then, like fixing an old-fashioned television through percussive maintenance, Oobleck lightly tapped Glynda twice on her shoulder. "Detention!" the words broke free like she was possessed by the spirit of emancipation, far louder than anyone expected. She cleared her throat. "Thank you Professor Oobleck."
"Hmmm yes of course, faculty must look after each other in times of..eh..crisis."
Holding those before her with severe contempt in her eyes, Glynda glared at all the trouble-makers before like they were the usual suspects in a line-up. She reserved a special amount of venom for Saitama and Qrow, still trying to find his way back to his feet. "Would anyone like to explain. No." She telekinetically pushed down on her pulsing vein on the side of her forehead conspiring with her facial muscles to tear loose from the prison that was Glynda's resting frown. "I don't want to hear this from you. Specialist Schnee, I didn't realize you were coming today. Welcome to Beacon."
Emerging from behind the curtain just in time to get away for a spew of bird feces to spray upwards against the outer window from the outside. Winter decided it was best that she didn't acknowledge that for now and focus on the task at hand. "Beacon has an interesting way of welcoming people," Winter said, words bearing a chill rivalling her name.
"Would you like to explain the events that transpired to bring you to wear that ill-fitting shirt."
Winter contemplated her answer. "It resembled something between an assault, harassment, kidnapping, and a rescue. At once. Simultaneously."
"Master was trying to hel—" Genos, and by proxy the rest of the room was taken by surprise when Winter all but rammed her index and middle finger down into his throat. "Phflll afflllaal," said Genos still trying to talk.
"Specialist Schnee? What are you doing?" asked Glynda
Slowly, Winter retracted her fingers from Genos's open mouth and met the cyborg unblinkingly. "I was returning a favor owed."
Glynda narrowed her eyes in confusion. "What?"
"The circumstances don't entirely match," said Genos. "I did not have any obstructions in my throat for you to take out."
"I wouldn't have needed you to take it out if it didn't get thrown into my mouth."
"Thrown into your mouth?" Genos asked. "Who would do that?"
"It wasn't intentional," Qrow muttered. It took him a few seconds to realize that all the eyes in the room were on him. "Dammit people. It was an accident."
Glynda's eyes grew narrower. "You accidentally threw a…."
"Listening bug," said Saitama, trying to be helpful.
"You accidentally threw a bug into her throat?" Glynda's eyes became slants and all but disappeared sweat came down her forehead like a curtain as she struggled, physically, to piece together the information coming her way. "Why? Where did you get the bug? How did you accidentally throw it? How did you get here? And what is this—" Glynda impaled a piece of paper nearest to her and brought up to her eyes for further scrutiny and scowling.
The scrutiny continued but scowl all but dissolved. Those gathered that day would bring vastly differing stories and tales to life later in life on the day that the stars turned to ice, of the day that the Grimm fled from humanity, of the day when atoms became popcorn and the seas turned to lemonade; the day the beheld a blush manifest upon the cheeks of the dread-witch Glynda. "Th—this…" the temporary panic made her lose hold of the paper and the winds took hold her shame like a hook would a fish. Across the room fate led the papers as Glynda made a half-yelp as she gave chase; into the palm of one Ruby Rose it was bestowed like a gift.
The young huntress's head tilted, and then straightened. Her youthful light darkened momentarily in her eyes as she took in the truth of humanity, of man's inhumanity to man, of an incarnation of Glynda restrained with lust and pleasure with tight leather and riding crops a plenty, and Saitama wearing not nearly enough. Ruby huffed slightly. "THIS IS FILTH!" The scream exploded out from her so loud it jolted Cinder out of her quest to finish strangling Cardin. A burst of flower petals were left in her wake momentarily before Ruby reappeared with Crescent Rose in one hand and the filth-scribbles in the other. She brought her scythe through the paper a thousand times in a blink, and fired her gun at the fluttering pieces and then shot the ashes some more. "And that handles that—" the winds of fate turned the many pieces of paper carpeting the floor to reveal their own devilish inscriptions and tortures for Ruby's youthful innocence. "No…no! Lewd! Lewd everywhere! Yang help me! It's like I'm in Blake's dreams!"
In place of Blake, a shadow-clone was erect so that the original could escape off to hide from her shame. Yang patted her sister across the head with an ostentatious shake of her head, waiting for Ruby to bury her head into her bosom for the opportunity to mouth the words "Very nice. How much?" while pointing towards a particularly raunchy illustration at Cardin, downed, bleeding slightly from the neck but surprisingly still conscious. Unfortunately, conscious does not equal lucid.
"That one's easy, I can draw that in seconds," Cardin said, drunk on air entering his lungs again. "Ten lien is all." He stopped in his words. "Did I just say that out loud."
"Yep." Weiss replied, summing up just how likely he was about to ride the pain train. "You just admitted that you were the one drawing all this smut."
"Shit," Cardin said, summing up his fate just in time to a flock of birds flying away from campus.
Like a meat-seeking missile, Cinder tackled him down to ground again and began to burn at his throat. Cardin couldn't even scream as he felt fire began to build a residence of agony across the front of his neck. But, beyond the brightness from Cinder's burning palm and the shadows masking her face, Cardin could see a savior rise from behind his abuser. Cardin reached out, pleading for absolution from this searing fate. As if heeding his call, the figure approached, with flask in hand and purpose in stride.
The figure then promptly jerked Cinder off Cardin, and before the lewd-artist could give his thanks, began bashing his head into the ground with his flask. "Here. Let. Me. Help. You. Up." Qrow grunted the words out with every single blow, bouncing Cardin's skull from flask into wood then back into flask. "Whoops. Real. Drunk. Right. Now. Hands. Keep. Slipping."
It was pretty clear to everyone that Qrow was just beating him.
"Qrow," Ironwood said, finally shaking off the concussion from earlier, "Stop. You…I….I need to help him too."
"General," Cardin said with a tearful smile, happy that someone was still willing to fight for him, even now.
"Don't thank me yet, kid!" Ironwood shoved Qrow aside and began scrubbing the wood on the floor apart with the side of Cardin's face. "You're real slippery to help up." Ironwood was also clearly lying as he was very visibly pushing Cardin's face down into the ground. Not to be outdone, Qrow returned to pour the contents from his flask into Cardin's eyes. "This'll wake you up."
The rest of the room was uncertain what to do. On some level, they were sure this was brutality and grounds for a case in court. On another, this was Cardin. To say that no one helped Cardin in any way beyond watch is a statement as accurate as a wheel being rather round. Repeatedly, concurrently, brutally the two wronged men bounced Cardin's head against the ground while belting out salvos of ostensible apologies about how their hands keep slipping while trying to help him.
"C-can they do that?" Weiss asked.
Winter looked around the room. "I don't see any cameras."
"Not in that way, Winter."
"James! Qrow! Enough." Glynda commanded pulling the two off Cardin's pounded form as they continued apologizing angrily, outright slapping him a few times before they gave in to the pull. A flask sailed through the air and planted itself on Cardin's forehead. "Lecturer Saitama, why didn't you stop your fellow teachers?"
"Well," Saitama said rubbing his chin, "I thought that I should, but I remembered that he drew all this…weird gross stuff about me. So that doesn't make him innocent. But if I beat him up that would be definitely not be heroic. So I decided that I would do nothing. Since that would make the most sense." Genos scribbled every word of what his master said down for later reference.
"What are you writing?" asked Robin.
"A journal to be a better hero, by the words of master."
The young girl looked dubiously at Saitama and back at Genos. "Can I see."
"Of course. After I'm done." As he finished his final few strokes, he lowered the book slowly into Robin's hands for the young girl to scan. A very visible frown grew over her face as she went over the words with some difficulty from reading the cursive.
"Are you displeased?" Penny asked her.
"No," Robin said honestly, Saitama being scolded by Glynda along with Qrow, Cinder, and Ironwood. "Mommy said that everyone has their own problems."
"Alright. Everyone go back to your dorms." Glynda looked ready to collapse.
"There're holes in our walls," complained some students.
"I paid four Lien for no drawing," whined another.
"There's weird crap coming out the shower," cursed Mercury in but a towel as filth chased him out from the room.
With a flicker of her crop, the wall reconstructed themselves under her meticulous glare, no piece missing, wounds unmade. The papers were draw into the air and ordered into stacks of evidence that she floated over into Port's arms for safe keeping. Finally, she shut the door and blocked the flow of filth from Cinder's room. She was a woman of many talents but that was a task best suited for a plumber.
"You," she pointed at Saitama, "you," Qrow, "you" Cinder, "you," Ironwood, "you," Cardin, "you," Winter, "and all of you," she directed her gaze at teams RWBY and JNPR along with Genos, Penny, and Robin. "Come with me. Now."
In a universe where people could weaponized tones, hers would empty the stars of life and hope. They followed her without another word.
Out the building into the open they left, Glynda at the front, flanked by Port and Oobleck along with their suspects. "My word," Port said, gasping in horror at the series of spray eruptions of bird excrement currently sullying the grounds across the campus. All mouths except one dropped open in disgust and quickly closed to not get any of said disgust down their throats. Glynda took no notice of that nonsense in favor of dealing with the one at hand; she was a woman possessed by one desire and one only: to get through the day without another mental breakdown.
Along the way, she stormed past an awkward looking Ozpin trying to seem natural amid the chaos. "Professor Goodwitch—ah—this was a peculiar incident—a flock of birds—"
"Not now Headmaster," she said tersely before leading her group off. As the convoy drifted past the Headmasters of Beacon, he made eye contact with Ironwood and Qrow and lifted his mug in acknowledgment of their sacrifice.
"Saitama," Ozpin said, causing Saitama to stop of a moment. "She's not that bad. You will all be fine."
The bald hero just nodded. "I know. She just stressed. We're probably not helping."
Ozpin took a deep gulp of his coffee as the fountains of feces showed no signs of stopping. "No. We probably aren't."
…
Author's Babbles:
So I understand that I have been on and off on the schedule recently, but I am finally getting back into the swing of things after a long campaign of work and schooling. Work right now has been a real pain recently as I got to get up whenever they call me to chase after the happenings around town. It's a weird gig. I do weird gigs. I like em'. Anyway, you'll probably be getting the 3-4k nightly updates format soon as I get my spare time back from the debt office. Just want to say that I have to thank you all for reading. Over a 1K of likes and interests. Glad I could make that many of you happy, if just for a bit. World's been going through a rough patch recently, and things might suck and sting of a bit but if it hurts, it's probably a good sign; pain means your still in the fight and it isn't over yet. Just keep going, and have as much fun as you can. You owe it to yourselves. Also, I have to thank my beta YUIOP10 for sticking around as long as he did. He helped edit a lot of the better, less mistake ridden chapters. Till we meet again.