7-X: Mistakes
Things were supposed to be simple.
They were just supposed to be a collection of cells, each operating within a small area as they worked towards their ultimate goal. They were just supposed to be independent cells, large enough to further their cause without a need for oversight, but small enough that their loss wouldn't impact the White Fang as a whole. That's why they relied on their unique communication web, after all; a group of select individuals, with Semblances or skills needed to act as liaisons between the smaller groups of their international cause.
So how did it change? How did one cell manage to find enough strength and influence to drag the rest of the organization into the public eye? The woman didn't know, a fact that caused her no small amount of irritation. What had made it worse was that she hadn't even learned about how precarious their situation was until yesterday, when she had finally returned from her... duties.
And while the importance of her duties took her far beyond the reach of Vale, the Fang, and even the Kingdoms, there simply was no excuse for her lapse in judgement. Not with abilities like hers.
That particular fact was just one more reason behind why she needed to resolve this issue. Failure was not something she suffered lightly, especially not when in the face of necessity, and especially not when it was herself who failed. Which was why she now stood in complete silence, arms crossed around her form as she stared at the White Fang Commander before her, her piercing red eyes visible through her ominous mask.
"... And that's all we could get out of him."
The Commander's voice was low, almost respectful as the man finished his report, as he stood at attention. A useless gesture, since she was fully aware of how Operatives like her were perceived. Well, not like her, exactly, since her particular skillset differed a bit from the rest of the White Fang's elite, but the sentiment remained. She knew full well that every gesture and act of good will presented towards her was just that; an act.
So she paid the man's words, rather than actions, her attention shifting to the table as she slowly examined the various documents. Transcripts of the interrogation, time and length of each administered method, even the interrogator's personal notes... Everything was there. And unfortunately, everything seemed to point to one worrying fact. The woman's voice was firm as she settled her gaze back to the Commander.
"And you're certain that this all he had to say on the matter? He didn't say anything else?"
"That was all, I'm afraid. The man who arrived before you did had been quite thorough with his interrogation, and even he had been unable to glean more than that admission from our little Captain." There was a slight pause, and the Commander kept his gaze pointed straight ahead, never looking directly at her. "But, if you wish to conduct your own interrogation, we can retrieve the man in question."
She ignored the thinly veiled jab, not even bothering to give it another moment's thought as she processed the important parts of his useless prattling: they knew nothing. The man in question, the highest-ranking Officer that survived Fort Stratum, knew absolutely nothing.
It didn't make sense.
From all the reports she had seen, from all the rumours she had heard, Fort Stratum had been the center of everything. Someone from the White Fang's upper echelon had chosen that specific stronghold to act as a base of operations, and no small amount of weaponry had been smuggled to that otherwise insignificant site. Not only that, but they had also delivered a seemingly unique piece of equipment to Fort Stratum, and the Captain in charge of the place had somehow kept that piece of information hidden from everyone.
A piece of equipment that was now in the hands of the most foolish people Vale had to offer.
What worried the woman most about these events was how this Captain had hidden the artifact. Every single one of the survivors, from the lowest recruit to the sharpest sentry, had been adamant about the presence of a humanoid grimm. The thing was, she had far more information about the grimm than the rest of these people, and from what she knew about grimm...
Well, the fact that Vale was still in peacetime, she sincerely doubted the sighting.
So what did that leave? Her first suspicions were that of a Semblance, something so potent that it could deceive an entire encampment of White Fang soldiers. Of course, she had never heard of something like that before, but given the nature of such a Semblance, it'd be more surprising if she did. Not only that, but the presence of such an ability could explain many of the things she had heard from her investigation. Everything from the alleged humanoid grimm, to the outlandish rumours that involved grimm being frozen in the skies.
But was that really the answer? Illusions were one thing, but the Fort was almost certainly the victim of a grimm attack... An outrageous grimm attack, ultimately led by a beast that had brought the Kingdoms' deepest pockets to their knees.
The woman was not ignorant to the Beast of Fire; that thing, moreso than anything else, had been the topic of nearly every discussion involved during her investigations into Fort Stratum. There was no shortage of Scroll footage from mercenary soldiers, nor was there a lack of testimonies from the sentries of distant White Fang outposts... Even people who lived just on the edge of Vale's Wall seemed to have noticed some scrap of that terrify beast of grimm, whether it was the creature's distant echoing roars, or the sight of ominous fire.
No. A Semblance was not capable of anything like that. From the sheer amount of resources lost in that little mercenary war, to the the actions that the Kingdom's had taken since then, there was no doubt that the beast had to have been real. That particular thought only brought more worries to the woman's mind, as the woman could only think of two reasons why such a massive creature of grimm could use Dust.
Either someone deliberately infused the Ancient Grimm with Dust, or the Ancient Grimm had figured out how to harness that power itself. Both were worrying prospects, but at the very least, only one of them had historic precedence. Not only that, but she was in no position to wait for a second beast of grimm to appear, wreathed in Dust or worse, so the woman had no choice in the matter.
Her attention snapped back to the White Fang Commander, no longer caring about his particular report as the woman gave him a single glance. "You are to keep an eye on the subject, as well as anyone who he interacts with. Even if he knows nothing, his proximity to the events at Stratum means that he will be a point of interest. Keep a concise report, but ensure that, unless an Operative explicitly asks for the man's name, it remains secure."
Without wasting another moment, the Operative turned away from the man, her narrow eyes and slight frown completely obscured by her ivory mask.
It was time she paid someone a visit. After all, the person in charge of the region of Mountain Glenn had a lot to answer for.
For the first time in ages, Sacrier was at ease.
Not completely of course; it was only a tiny part of herself, a single thought in a sea of thousands, and one that could easily be overwhelmed by the numerous worries that had plagued her mind. Still, that singular thought persisted, and for an irreplaceable moment, the Goddess of Sacrifice felt a weight lift from her shoulders.
How couldn't she? For the first time in centuries, she had seen proof that the man who existed in the Shadow of Nox still lived. The Wakfu mirror was clear, showing Sacrier the sight and sounds of giggling children clamouring around a disguised Xelor, cheering him on in their foreign tongue as he burned the Stasis inside him to forge a single wisp of Wakfu, all to create a metallic bird to show the children.
It was... hard to believe this was the same man as the husk who had been twisted by the Eliacube months ago. That it was this man who had brought ruin to World of Twelve for countless years, all for the sake of his deranged ambitions.
But what wasn't hard to believe was the fact that this was the man who, in spite of all his actions, the Primardial Dragon Grougaloragran had judged to be not mad, but misguided. Not evil or corrupt, but pure. Of all the things the Angel of Compassion learned, it was that that ancient dragon knew more about the man named Noximilien Coxen than she could ever hope to.
But was that truly surprising? She never knew the man before he was Nox. She, like the rest of the Gods, had been consumed by necessity during the days that led up to Ogrest's chaos, so how could they afford to observe the denizens of the World of Twelve, let alone a simple Watchmaker?
Ogrest... That name alone was enough to quell the brief moment of happiness inside Sacrier's thoughts. Her expression fell as she turned away from the pristine Wakfu mirror, that pitiful monster slowly returning to her mind. Even now, she remembered with absolute clarity what had happened on Mount Zinit, where that child of fate had made his stand against the heavens. Yes... Child of fate. Fitting, wasn't it? That a simple child of a simple soul, born from nothing but Wakfu itself, had fought and won against the flawed Gods that stood above.
Were the Gods simply misguided? Did they make some sort of mistake during their station, and required retribution? Or had they simply grown complacent in their celestial throne? Honestly, Sacrier did not know the answer... only that she was just as guilty of failing her duties as the rest of them.
She hadn't known it at the time—no one had—but Ogrest was the first and only creature that had entered life through pure Wakfu alone. Unlike the rest of the denizens in the World of Twelve, Ogrest had not been born from elements that merely contained Wakfu. Rather, his birth into the world had been heralded by nothing but pure Wakfu itself, the first and only spark of life that had ever been formed in such a manner.
That singular fact weighed heavily on the Angel of Compassion's mind; When Wakfu itself was the very force of creation, did that mean that Ogrest was the purest soul who had ever walked the World the World of Twelve? It didn't matter. The gods certainly didn't care, and passed their judgement on the child regardless. And what heinous crime had this child committed that required the intervention of the gods?
Sacrier almost scoffed at the question, but stayed silent as she fixed her eyes into the distant stars.
Ogrest had found a person named Dathura... No, not a person. Rather, Dathura was a doll, one who had been created, then cast aside, by Sadida himself after he had tired of his creation. So what did Ogrest do when he stumbled upon poor creature, lost and destitute without a place to call her own? What did he do when he found a fragment of godly power, discarded by a foolish deity?
He fell in love, and vowed to do whatever was necessary to fulfill her wish of becoming more than a forgotten toy. It was childish declaration, one that could easily be seen as short-sighted and impossible, as even Dathura herself told him not to waste his time. But Ogrest did not relent... Instead, he succeeded.
He found the six primordial fonts of power that lay dormant within the World of Twelve, and brought them all in one place, just so he could fulfill her wish. And the gods, foolish as they were, believed that such power could not—should not—ever be contained in one place. So, for the sake of stopping a simple wish, made by a simple soul, the Gods descended.
They failed. And worst of all, during their short-sighted conflict, the doll named Dathura had been lost in the battle, cast aside during the conflict down as she was sent down from the peak of Zinit. It was that simple casualty that truly marked the beginning of Ogrest's Chaos.
The child of Wakfu cried, and whether it was due to the primordial powers that he had taken, or by virtue of the fact that he had been born from Wakfu itself, the tears he wept were unending. It was not wrath, but sorrow, that had ultimately flooded and destroyed the World of Twelve.
...Sacrier stirred herself from her thoughts. Just why had her thoughts taken this particular turn? After all, wasn't it more important to figure out what Nox was planning? Or identify what Xelor had done that caused the Wakfu mirror to split into two distinct windows? There must've been some significance to the action, as one remained fixed on Nox, while the other stood focused on the man's Dial.
Or, perhaps, they should finally start looking into Wakfu itself. It was the Force of Creation, but it was also the single tool of fate that had been responsible for Ogrest's birth. Did Wakfu play a similar role when it cast Nox away from the Krosmoz? She didn't know for sure, but one thing was certain.
"Damnit Sacrier, are you listening? If you're not going help us, then at the very least, lend us some of your Wakfu so we can fix the problem your favourite maniac is about to create."
Sacrier turned to the source of the voice, the God of Masks himself, glaring towards her as he stood before the second Mirror with Feca in hand. Perhaps that was why her thoughts returned to Ogrest.
"There is no need to shout, Sadida. While I do not agree with her, I can still understand Sacrier's position. If she does not wish to assist us, then so be it."
Feca's voice rose above Sadida's, and the God immediately turned his attention away from the Angel of compassion to face his fellow deity. His mask shifted to match his expression, the wooden visage curled in an indignant frown as he stared at the Goddess of Protection. "So be it? How can you accept that? We know what Nox is capable of, and the sooner we figure out how this mirror works, the better! We need all the help we can get!"
"No." Sacrier watched in silence as the other goddess shook her head, a simple gesture of disapproval as Feca threw a glance towards the God of Dolls. "What we need is to come up with a plan of action. Uncovering the secret of this Mirror is an important part of that plan, certainly, but it is also just one part. What's most important at the moment is that you need to calm down, and not lash out at our fellow Gods."
There was a moment of silence, as the frustrated deity turned his gaze towards the Goddess of Sacrifice, before shifting back to the broken mirror in front of him. There was a subtle twitch in the air, the god's voice steely and hardened as he glared at the cracked pane in front of him. "... What's most important is our fellow Gods remember the fact that Nox openly declared war on us."
"Yes, which is why most of them had agreed to lent us their Wakfu in the first place. But we both know that's not enough, which is why we need to spend more time thinking through this logically, not blinded by anger, so as to ensure nothing is unaccounted for. That is the only way we'll be prepared for whatever it is Nox intends to do."
"... I guess you're right. Let's just... get back to figuring this stupid thing out." And with that, the two gods settled back into their actions, their eyes fixed on the mirror which carried a path to the Dial, ignoring the rest of the Deities gathered in the room.
Sacrier frowned, but kept her thoughts to herself, slowly turning her attention away from the two as she settled back to the pristine mirror before her, holding back the urge to release a tired sigh. They were committed to their decision, just as she had been to hers.
So, she sat alone. The Angel of Compassion sat in silence, simply watching the mysterious Wakfu artifact as the Xelor finally pulled himself away from the children. Sacrier simply watched as Nox rose to his feet with a chuckle, his steps lighter as he threw a friendly wave to a passing guard, before making his way further into the settlement. And as she watched, with the background chattering of her fellow gods in mind, she couldn't help but feel a pang of dread take her.
Were they making another mistake?
The Beowolf Alpha stood.
From the trees, it watched as its Leader entered the den of the prey, and it did so in complete silence. Behind the beast, lesser creatures stirred, impatient and overeager as it heard the snarls from its fellow pack.
...Pack? No. To call it such would be an insult to its Leader.
It released a low snarl of its own, its growl a tone that commanded obedience, and the lesser whelps that followed it quickly fell in line. Slowly, the Beowolf Alpha turned away from the prey's self-made cage, its crimson eyes falling on each of the creatures it had mustered over the past few moons. Predators, both small and large, stood behind the Alpha, staring back at it as the beasts lowered themselves to towards the ground. It was a gesture of obedience, and in all the time the Beowolf Alpha had existed, it was none that it had ever received.
Until now.
Rather than a pack, the Beowolf Alpha now commanded a herd of its lesser brethren, a group of animals all set on rending their quarry to nothing in one unified swarm. And while it paled in comparison to the Leader's original brood, the group still exceeded any single pack the Alpha had ever led in the past.
Of course it did. Before it had met its Leader, the had been foolish. But after? The Alpha had learned.
Its crimson eyes carefully shifted from beast to beast, an action it remembered from before the Inferno had occurred. Back before the prey had used their accursed Dust and Light to break their den, their Leader would always stalk its halls and assess its brood, fixing its dominating gaze on each of the pack. That chilling stare was the single most important action that the Alpha had committed to memory, and while it could not match the sheer intensity of its Leader, it was enough to bring the smaller beasts in line.
The larger ones? They were destroyed, not by the Alpha, but by the Leader itself. And, at first, the Alpha couldn't understand what its Leader was doing.
The beast of grimm simply could not see why the Leader had chosen to approach the prey, and left them alive whenever he returned to his den. It could not see why the Leader demanded their inaction, rending apart each of the beasts that had tried to take initiative. But at the same time, the Alpha could not ask, for the Leader never taught through anything but demonstration and action.
So, for the first time, the Beowolf Alpha had been forced to remember; And this act of remembrance was not a fleeting reflex, or an instinctual resurgence born from combat... but a deliberate attempt to retrieve a single memory in its mind.
It had been a successful attempt.
What the Alpha remembered placated its confusion. Thinking back, it was clear why its Leader dwelt in the den of the prey. Never once did its Leader end its captives' existence; Instead, it kept them caged, under constant watch, letting them suffer and act as bait while slowly claiming more members to add to its pack. Then, when the cries of their quarry had reached the ears of its fellow whelps, the Leader would strike. Not only that, but as the Leader kept the prey captive, it stole their tools, claiming the Dust of its quarry for its own, and sharing the spoils with the rest of the pack.
It was a cunning ploy, and while the Alpha could not hope to follow the leader's second actions, it had been fully capable of attempting the first. So, it had listened the unspoken will of its Leader, and spent the past moons gathering a brood of its own while its Leader kept its victims placated.
Soon, it would be time to rejoin the leader's pack. The Beowolf Alpha bared its teeth, letting out a single hiss as it settled its eyes back to the distant colony.
Soon, it would be time to hunt.