So Atlas is a floating city, and that's fucking cool, and I wish I'd known in advance so I could incorporate it into this fic. The issue is that there was a whole WoR on Atlas where this should have come up, not to mention that Weiss was there for all of V4.

The winged beringals look silly, not menacing.

Still, overall V6 was excellent. It's just a shame that it highlights the weaknesses of the previous volumes.


"Welcome back."

Ilia groaned and pushed herself upright. Yuma lay still on the ground close by. Artorias leaned against the wall across the alley, while his partner—Ana, she recalled—paced near the alley's entrance. She glanced back when Artorias spoke.

"We tried to wake you sooner, but you were out pretty cold. How're you feeling?"

Ilia could tell as much. Her back hurt and her head pounded. "Not great," she said.

"Sorry to hear that." He fished a scroll out of his pocket. "I'm either going to need you to tell us everything you know about Adam and the Albain's plans, or just give us the password to your scroll. Preferably both, because—let's be real—I'm not just going to take you at face value."

Ilia made to stand. He levelled her own weapon at her, and Ana toyed with a burn dust crystal.

Ilia stayed put.

"And if I don't cooperate?"

"How old are you, Ilia?"

She frowned, confused. "I turned eighteen in fall."

"Well, first of all, congratulations. Secondly, I owe Ana some lien, because I bet her you'd be at least nineteen. Thirdly, it's one thing to smack you three ways to Sunday when you attacked first, but I'd prefer not to resort to—let's call it, say… torture—with a kid whose aura is down. That's just mean."

"Ethically questionable," Ana corrected.

"Mean."

"I'm not a kid," Ilia said. "I can't be that much younger than you."

"Actually, I'm turning twenty-one in two weeks. Thanks for asking, by the way. Anyway, I thought I'd go down the 'positive reinforcement' route. If you tell us what we want to know, I'll buy you a drink sometime. Celebrate your eighteenth."

"It was three months ago."

"Yeah, but eighteen's a big milestone, and I really doubt you celebrated properly with the White Fang, of all people. They don't seem like the type to party."

Ilia shrugged. He'd guessed right. Trifa had given her a card with twenty lien. That was all she'd received.

"And if you don't tell us… you know what? I guess I will just break your fingers."

Ilia peered at them. Artorias seemed nonchalant, unbothered, but Ana was clearly uncomfortable with the idea.

It was a ruse.

"You don't have what it takes," Ilia said. She'd done her fair share of interrogations, and some of them had gotten physical. It got results, but it wasn't an easy thing to do. They weighed on her. He wouldn't have the guts.

Artorias kicked off from the wall. Ana averted her eyes. "Are you really going to test me?" he asked, stepping closer.

Ilia's gaze was defiant.

Before she could react, his knee met the side of her face. She fell, sideways and reached out to steady herself, and his boot came down on her left hand with a sickening crunch.

"Fuck!"

"Look, Ilia, I gave you an option. Hell, I'm still down to buy you that drink, if you like."

"What is wrong with you?" Ilia gasped, clutching her hand.

"Don't act high and mighty with me, Ilia, the people you work with unleashed Grimm on unarmed civilians at Amity. This is nothing next to that."

She backed away, glaring up at him despite her watering eyes. "Everyone starts somewhere," she growled.

"Are you really going to provoke him again?" Ana asked. "I really don't want to have your other hand on my conscience."

"Oh, no, I'd go for a leg next time."

"I haven't spoken to Adam for almost a year," Ilia said, wincing as her hand shifted. "He gives his orders to the Albains. They had me watching the Belladonnas for about a year before you showed up. They switched me out for Trifa to lure you here."

"What intel were you gathering on the Belladonnas?"

"Guard shifts, meeting times, correspondence to or from the kingdoms… and, more recently, whether Blake returned. The password is one-three-one-two. You can check it if you want, my reports are all on there."

"Why Blake? Why is she important to them?" Artorias asked.

"She's important to Adam."

Artorias waved a dismissive hand, then unlocked her scroll.

"What's their next move?" Ana asked.

"I don't know." Artorias glanced up, an eyebrow raised, and Ilia cursed and pressed her back against a building. "I don't know!" she repeated. "They don't trust me. Not completely."

"The Belladonna estate." Yuma pushed himself upright groggily.

"What?"

"Adam sent orders. They're attacking the Belladonnas."

Ilia's eyes were wide with horror. "Yuma?"

"When?" Ana's voice was low and urgent.

Yuma chuckled, though it soon turned into a cough. "Tonight."

/-/

"You can heal her, right?" Flynt asked. "With your semblance?"

Hawkwood shrugged.

"What's your semblance?" Jaune asked.

"I can read the auras of others, and transfer the energy of my aura to people I touch." He held his hand over Winter's forehead for a moment, then withdrew it. "But I shouldn't."

"Why not?" Nora asked.

"It's like a floodgate. If I start, I can't stop until either her aura is at maximum capacity or my own aura is completely drained. The only time it's stopped prematurely…" He trailed off, shaking his head.

"I think you should do it," Nora said. "She looks like she needs it."

Jaune shook his head. "No, I see where you're going. Even with her aura at capacity, a wound like that would take days to heal. But that'd leave you without aura. We'd be down two rather than one."

Hawkwood nodded. "I don't think we have anything to worry about from the populace—at least until the blizzard clears."

"Wouldn't the Legion start sending search parties out soon?" Jaune asked. "We can't stay here."

"She's stable, for now, and it's warm in here. If we move her through the cold, she could get worse," Hawkwood said. "Solaire and Winter have fought them before. Very few are well-trained, but Farron is a skilled huntress."

"Then we should be able to defend this place, at least against the early search parties. How many do they have?" Jaune asked.

"Hard to say for sure. Our lowest estimate was a hundred. I reckon we've got two days here before we ought to move on."

"Where, though?" Flynt asked.

"I don't know. With any luck, Specialist Schnee'll be awake by then."

"I don't think we can risk waiting two days," Jaune said. "Farron never said how long she'd wait for Winter to show up, but they're planning something in the siege tunnels. We can't afford to sit around and wait."

"So you mentioned. Where's the map?"

"Ren had it," Nora said. "He said he was going to check on your partner."

Hawkwood cursed. "Solaire. I almost forgot." He sighed. "I should talk to him."

He turned to leave. Flynt raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you're the pillar of support he needs?" he asked.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hawkwood said.

"Just because you're partners doesn't mean—"

"You shut your mouth, Coal, or I'll—"

"Alright, alright, shut it!" Jaune said. "I'll talk to him. Nora, Flynt, see if you can find something to board up that front window. Hawkwood, stay with Winter. If she gets worse—"

"I know. Semblance. I know."

/-/

In the end, all Artorias and Quelana had been able to do to restrain Ilia and Yuma had been to call the police. They'd have knocked them out again too, to make sure they didn't run, but Ana had rightfully voiced the concern that they may have already had concussions. To knock them out again would risk a more permanent injury.

It was almost a guarantee they'd be long gone by the time the police arrived, but at the very least they would be fugitives now, limiting their movements.

Artorias and Ana had more urgent matters to attend to.

They rode through the night. The path through the tropical 'green belt' ringing Menagerie's coast skirted along the desert, and they heard the occasional cackling of Howlers in the distance. But any Grimm aware of their passing were too slow to catch them.

Kuo Kuana came into view as they crested a hill. To the east, the sky was turning pink and purple and orange. Dawn was coming.

The bike would have been little use in the streets of Kuo Kuana anyway—often windy, sometimes narrow, and never free of pedestrians by day. The dealership from which they'd rented it was not yet open, but they left it outside with a wad of lien and ran for the Belladonna's house, excusing themselves as they barrelled through the town's early risers.

The door to the Belladonna's house was ajar, and many of the windows had been shattered, scattering shards of glass everywhere. The place was unguarded, and they entered loudly, not caring who heard them.

"Ghira? Kali?" Artorias called. No response. In some rooms they found the bodies of guards, in others bodies in White Fang uniform. Saber Rodentia was there, in the tea room where he'd told Mrs Belladonna about Blake's life at Beacon; Sean, Quelana's old neighbour, was in the meeting room, a room full of plant-life but where otherwise there was nothing but death. In one of the halls they found Trifa, whom they'd handed into Ghira's custody—claw marks ran across her chest, and there was a gunshot wound just below her right knee. Neither should have been lethal wounds, but she'd been left to bleed out. Near the back door, there was blood everywhere, mostly-dried by now, splatters of it on the walls and thick drops leading out the door, where they abruptly stopped.

They found Ghira dead on the floor of his study. Of Kali, they'd found no sign.

"Shit." Artorias leaned against the back of the couch and rubbed his eyes. It had been a long night.

"No time to rest," Ana said. "We need to find Kali."

"She's not here."

"Then we look for her. Do you have her number?"

Artorias shook his head. "We need to be out of here before somebody else comes and discovers the bodies. The Albains have already targeted us—we can't afford to be slowed down by questions, and they might even try to frame us."

Ana nodded. "We'll slip out the back, then. I doubt Kali's left Kuo Kuana—if the White Fang attack her in broad daylight, they'd ruin their image. We'll circle around back to my place, take an hour's rest each—two maximum, then head out to look for her before nightfall."

/-/

Solaire had moved upstairs since everybody else had arrived, and was now sat inside Lily's bedroom. Ren was just leaving when Jaune came up.

"How is he?" Jaune asked quietly.

"Shaken. I didn't want to push him, but I think my semblance helped calm him a little."

Jaune nodded. "Hawkwood wants to see the maps of the siege tunnels. He's with Winter."

"Alright." Ren made to step past and head down the stairs, but Jaune held him lightly by the arm.

"Hey," Jaune said. "You know that if you're ever… shaken, I guess… you can talk to me, right? You know we're here for each other?"

Ren nodded. "Of course. Is everything alright?"

"Yeah. Yeah. I just… it's something Flynt said. I just wanted to make sure you knew."

"I appreciate it."

Jaune let go and watched his teammate head downstairs.

He sighed and turned towards Solaire.

Solaire was fiddling with a crystal that hung from a piece of twine around his neck. It looked like dust, drained of energy. His eyes were fixed on a point on the wall, unmoving, unblinking.

Jaune knocked lightly on the door and stepped in. "Hey," he said, rather uselessly.

Solaire nodded listlessly.

Jaune sat next to him. "What's that?" he asked. "Dust?"

"Soapstone. I… I've had more and more reason to use it these past few months."

Jaune nodded, not really understanding. "Look, I can't pretend to know what you're going through. It can't be easy to take a life."

"It isn't," Solaire agreed. "It's weird. I know she has no living family. She seemed… scared of her old leader. I don't know if anyone will miss her. That should make it easy, right?"

"I think it's better that it doesn't."

"Small comfort."

"I guess."

Solaire sighed. "I feel like I should cry for her. That someone should cry for her. But I can't." He shook his head. "I knew her before all this. Sort of. I've wanted to be a huntsman for as long as I can remember. Managed to nab a job as civilian staff at the academy when I was twelve. Janitorial stuff."

"That young?"

"I'm a child of the state. They're always looking for ways to make us pay back our 'debt'."

"Did it help you become a huntsman?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. They weren't going to let some kid into the lessons, that's for sure. But some of the teams… adopted me, I guess is the right word. I picked up a few tricks. Enough to pass initiation, when I was old enough."

"Lily's team?"

He shook his head. "No. No, I don't think I'd have been able to… to…" he trailed off, his eyes shut, his fist clenched around the soapstone.

Jaune sighed. "I'm sure someone will miss her."

"I don't know if that's better or worse," Solaire said. "I feel like someone should mourn her, but that I don't have the right. But, if anybody mourns her, it means that I took her from them."

"People would have mourned Winter."

"I know. Maybe that made it easier. It was still the hardest thing I've ever done."

"I can only imagine, and I'd rather not," Jaune said. "Look, we need to decide on our next move. I won't ask you to fight if you're not ready, but we could use your input. Hawkwood says you've fought these guys before."

Solaire nodded. "I'll be down in a minute. I just... give me a little more time?"

"Of course." Jaune stood and made to leave.

Solaire called out as he passed through the doorway. "Hey. Your name's Jaune, right?"

Jaune turned back, a half-smile on his face. "Yeah."

"Thanks, Jaune."

/-/

"I'll take first watch." Artorias stepped into the house and stretched, yawning. "I'll wake you in an hour."

Ana groaned. "It's going to be so hard to wake up."

"It's better than nothing." If they fell asleep, it'd be hard to get moving again, but if they didn't sleep at all, they'd start to get sloppy. They'd miss little (or big) details, they'd slow down in battle, and eventually, they'd collapse from exhaustion. Even an hour's sleep at a time would help with that.

They'd miss little (or, as it turned out, very big) details, like, for example, the bloody handprint on the open windowsill, and the thin trail of blood that led from the kitchen, down the hall, and into Quelana's room.

Artorias did a doubletake.

"Ana!" He followed her down the hall as she opened the bedroom door to see Kali Belladonna, slumped face-up on the bed. She was unconscious, pale, and dirty. Her breathing was shallow, and a scrap torn from her dress covered her chest. It—and the bed beneath her—were soaked with blood.

They blinked, confused, as the image took a moment to process in their minds, then jumped into action.

Ana moved closer, lifting the dressing to check the wound. "Gunshot," she said. "Lucky it missed the heart."

"Cleaned?"

"Poorly." She held a hand to Kali's forehead. "She's got a fever. It's infected."

Artorias swore. "Do we have any alcohol?"

"You did the grocery shopping!"

Artorias pursed his lips. He'd not bought anything they could use to sterilise such a wound. He tore a scrap from his own cloak and passed it to Ana to redress the wound.

"She's lost a lot of blood. It won't help much."

He swore again, then dashed down the hall, flipping open the pouch he'd left on the kitchen counter and grabbing some freeze dust to keep the fever down. He ran back and gave the dust to Ana.

"How's her aura?" he asked.

"Locked."

"What?"

"It's locked."

"Can you unlock it?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I… I tried once. It didn't work."

"Then I'll do it."

"Do you know what you're doing?"

"Vaguely."

He put his hands on her forehead and closed his eyes. His aura had been unlocked by his father before he could remember, but he'd seen Winter activate an aura to stop someone from bleeding out, once. He echoed her words:

"For it is in our burdens that we find our freedom. Through this, we become a paragon of duty and justice to protect all. Infinite in potential and unbound by the past, I release your soul, and by my service, bind thee."

He opened his eyes.

Nothing had changed. When Winter had done it, it had left her exhausted. Perhaps he was too drained already to do it. Perhaps he didn't have it in him. Kali's skin felt burning hot.

"I don't think there's anything we can do," Ana said quietly.

He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes again, reaching deeper this time, drawing up every dreg of his aura.

He hadn't slept for twenty-six hours, and for a moment he thought himself delusional. In his mind's eye, he saw the sands of Vacuo. Gilderoy stood before him, his arms crossed, a scowl marring his features.

"Are you really going to buy her a drink?" he asked.

Of all the many, many things Gilderoy could have said, Artorias hadn't expected that.

"What am I supposed to do?" Artorias asked. "I broke her hand. It's the least I could do."

"Everything is about you, isn't it? This isn't about showing her kindness. You just want to assuage your guilt, because you broke her hand and you feel bad about it."

"First of all, she's eighteen, so, you know, she's basically a kid. Of course I'd feel bad about that," Artorias said.

"She's not a kid, and you know it. She's the same age as Jaune, Weiss, Yang—"

"Shush. Secondly…" Artorias trailed off.

"Secondly?"

"I thought if I said it, it'd prompt me to come up with a good point, but I've got nothing."

"Never a dull moment with you, is there?"

"Never," Artorias agreed.

Gilderoy shook his head, then turned to leave, disappearing behind the dunes.

Artorias reached out for his partner, and saw that his right hand was on fire. With a surprised yelp, he shook it, trying to extinguish the flames.

His copper signet ring slipped from his finger. Fire spread from the band outwards, coating the desert with a sheet of flame. But within the ring, all was dark. All was quiet. Empty.

Terrifying.

Artorias opened his eyes, breathed deeply, and spoke.

"For it is in falsehood that we present ourselves. Through this, we become an embodiment of joy and laughter to inspire all. Infinite in sorrow but masked by will, I condemn your soul, but by my smile uplift thee."

Kali's aura surged.


I'm sure every writer sees in their most bathos-spouting angst-ridden creation a truly deep character.

I'd like to think I've done it right with Artorias.

From his smallest vices (mild gambling) to his dumb jokes to his constant search for adventure to his 'rampant alcoholism' (as Glynda put it) to his efforts to make friends with almost everybody he meets, regardless of whether or not he should befriend them (see again: Glynda, but also Neo, Roman, and now Ilia), Artorias is always trying to fill a hole inside of himself.

You see, Artorias is broken. And, subconsciously, he sees this as permission to break others. He threatens to break Junior's arms for a scrap of intel, he actually breaks Ilia's hand, he crushes Smough's body and dreams both for what he did to Quelaan, he kills his own father in a fit of anger. And then he steps back to say, "I meant to do that. I was in control," because he can buy Ilia a drink and he could, if he so chose, reconcile with Smough, but he can never take back a killing blow. The best he can do is tell himself that it was what he wanted all along.

Artorias has been broken since before the fic began, and he desperately tries to tell himself he is whole. This is the first time he's been forced to confront himself.

Knight Artorias, the hero with "nary a murmur of Dark," as Elizabeth put it, has never existed.

This story has always been about the Abysswalker.