~ What?! A new chapter within a week's span from the last? What is this madness? Next thing you know I'll have a proper schedule! Aheh. Heheh.
*Nervous chuckle*
(=Chapter 16=)
Most nights were dark, yet the city of Vale seemed to glow with constant activity. Human beings always had something to do, he could feel it. The hum of the dust powered street lamps. The bite of exhaust fumes. Thousands of tiny lights flickering in the dark, a vast sea of emotions vying for his attention. He stood on the roof, staring out into the thick, rolling darkness, inhaling the putrid cocktail of stale chemicals and recycled air.
The world was so overstimulating to him now. But not tonight. Tonight, the city was lifeless.
For the last few weeks, he'd been keeping an ear out for anything unusual. With Neo planted inside Beacon, his attempts to monitor Ozpin would begin to bear fruit, but the wizard was a familiar enemy to him.
The rest of the world had moved on while he'd been asleep, bringing with it a whole host of new challenges. He was surrounded by unknowns, so he'd fallen back on old routines. Watch. Listen. Probe the enemies defences.
That was what brought him out tonight.
This district of Vale was seeing a spike in underground traffic. Slowly, but still large enough to attract his interest.
Bodies were moving out, and he wanted to know what was making them so scared.
His fierce orange eyes scanned all that was below; sidewalks, roads, road crossings, parking lots, everything.
It was all… empty. Unnaturally so.
He'd have to move closer if he was going to get the answers that he sought.
He leapt over the side railing, free falling for a couple of seconds before landing into a crouch, without a sound to give him away.
A quick gaze around confirmed he was still indeed alone. But his senses could be tricked. This environment was still relatively new to him, and he couldn't get overconfident. The thought kept him weary of his surroundings, a hand firmly on the handle of his longsword hidden under his cloak.
Slowly making his way down the street, The Dreaded noted several details right away.
The few vehicles that had remained were parked unusually so. Eight or so cars were parked nearly bumper to bumper at the entrance of a nearby hotel, followed by emptiness for the next couple of blocks, rarely two or three cars in between. They had been moved, intentionally so.
All of the street lights overhead blared red, having not changed once since coming down.
And finally, the closest alleyway to him was blocked off by several large dumpsters.
Nothing here seemed normal. He closed his eyes and focused, the sounds of the world fading away into obscurity.
Then, he heard it.
His sword was up in an instant, proving to be a lifesaver, as he deflected a suppressed bullet aimed for his skull.
A sniper, he realised, already diving for cover as a second round struck the pavement.
'Another would-be assassin?'
Pressed down against a dumpster, he took note of a nearby can in the gutter. He flicked it upwards. It met with a bullet not a second later, sparking in the air before being launched away.
'Hm, perhaps not.'
As he was considering his next move, his thoughts were interrupted by another sound.
Engines, closing on his position.
The sniper proved to not be alone, as a dark grey van rounded the corner to his left. Five heavily armed men emerged, weapons drawn.
"Where did you come from?" The Dreaded growled.
He flanked to the left of the vehicle, striking the closest soldier across the chest, his armour proving worthless as the blade struck him down. The remaining four opened fire, causing him to duck behind the vehicle for cover.
He sensed more bodies moving in to fill the street. A number much larger than the deserted scene had once suggested. Despite their size, their forces kept a wide berth, they weren't underestimating him, so it seemed that, whoever they were, they had been well informed. Any closer and they would have ended up dead.
He went to rise, but two bullets pinged off the roof of his cover, dangerously close to his head. He flinched away from the sudden noise. This was much more controlled than he'd first thought. No, efficient was the better word. There weren't any unnecessary movements to his attackers actions. He was dealing with professionals.
Was it revenge? Had he killed one of their own beforehand?
He glanced around, assessing his options, when he noticed in the faint light, a sigil emblazoned on the side of the vehicle he was sheltering behind.
Below it, displayed in a bold script.
ATLAS ARMED FORCES
SPECIAL WEAPONS AND TACTICS DIVISION
This wasn't revenge. This was an organized killing.
And he had been cornered.
The thought sent something like fire burning inside of him. Back pressed against the armored vehicle, he knew his options were limited. Surrounded. Outnumbered. Disadvantaged in every sense of the word.
He could feel a smile stretching across his face.
"How exciting…"
The soldiers moved without instruction, pressing their advantage to kill with cold efficiency.
Yet he felt more alive then he had in centuries.
Now, he just needed to make some space.
He quickly grabbed the first unfortunate soul to peek by the barrel of his shotgun, sharply wrenching it out of his hands before impaling him through the chest, then kicking his body away.
Something flicked to life within him, a ravenous hatred coursing through his veins.
The second flanking soldier behind him was on him just as quick as the first, raising his rifle. The Dreaded brought forth his sword in a flash, throwing it like a javelin, the blade travelling through the man's skull with little resistance. He discharged his weapon harmlessly into the sky as his body slumped to the ground.
Knowing well that the last remaining two would be on him faster than he could retrieve his sword, he resorted to the weapon in his hands: The shotgun.
The Dreaded had taken note on how the soldiers had fired thier weapons; Taking aim, similar to a crossbow, and pulling the trigger.
It fired with a deafening crack, and The Dreaded marvelled at the sight of his foe being launched off of his feet, rolling into a nearby ditch, blood oozing out his carcass.
"Shit! Get back!" One of the two remaining soldiers said through grit teeth, both having fallen back across the street. He reached for the radio on his vest. "This is Viper 3-1, target is armed with firearm. Discrepancy is gone. Requesting heavy aerial reinforcements, over."
The Dreaded couldn't hear the reply that came over the radio, but it was likely an affirmation. He couldn't take his chances, in the open like this. They'd likely be on him in only a couple of seconds.
Time was of the essence, if he wanted to escape.
He kicked the armoured truck before him with all his might, hoping that it would either distract or kill his foes across the road. He dashed down the road at a near inhuman speed, grabbing his bloodied sword from the fallen soldier's head with a wet squelch.
He quickly approached the hotel entrance that he had passed earlier, planning on storming it and using it as a means to slip away. His plans soon changed when the wooden double doors suddenly exploded off of their hinges, and over a dozen armed men swiftly stormed through the rumble and smoke.
He fired his shotgun with a single hand until it was empty, running all the while. Three men dropped dead, and a further two injured. The remainder opened fire.
Even at his top speed, he knew dodging would only delay finding proper cover. So he braced himself as he ran, gritting his teeth when several bullets found their mark in his back. Banishing the pain, he pressed onwards.
A quick glance to his left revealed a cafe with high glass walls, filled with dozens of tables and chairs. The Dreaded skidded to the side, charging through the nearest window before leaping over the main counter to the side.
Those who had chased him arrived mere seconds later, seven men with rifles raised at the shop. They all reloaded and cocked their weapons. "Light 'em up!" One of them barked.
An impressive barrage of gunfire spewed into the cafe, destroying the walls, windows, and furniture alike. A side glance revealed they were firing at the wrong side, leaving him safe from the gunfire.
Hundreds of rounds of ammunition spewed into the cafe, empty bullet casings littering the street.
The gunfire halted suddenly. Six empty magazines clattered onto the pavement, indicating they were all empty.
Now was his chance.
Propelling himself over the counter and landing before his foes, a powerful sweep from his blade was enough to behead the closest three.
The closest one alive to him fired the remaining four rounds of his rifle into The Dreaded's chest. He in turn slashed his rifle in half with a growl, then grabbing him by the neck, now his human shield.
The last three soldiers inadvertently peppered their sidearms into their comrade, his vest unable to withstand the dozen or so rounds striking him at once.
At the sight of their dead ally, they found themselves hesitating to shoot further, which proved to be a mistake. The Dreaded threw the expired corpse at the furthest enemy, it's weight knocking his opponent down. He quickly followed up with a slash across another soldier, dying with a painful scream.
The last man standing had approached his side, practically next to him, sidearm aimed at his head. He covered the barrel with his hand, the weapon's discharge striking it. A right hook across their jaw followed, then wrapping his arm around his neck, twisting it with a satisfying snap.
As his victim's body slumped to the pavement, The Dreaded looked below to find the last one alive, unable to draw his gun from the weight of the body on top of him. He approached, slowly.
"Shit. No, no, no, no!" The man growled, struggling to move the corpse. He finally found an opening, drawing and aiming his pistol. "Fuck you," he said, firing the weapon.
The Dreaded deflected the round with ease. The pistol fired twice more, the first deflected, the other going wide. He kicked the gun out of his hands, levelling his sword at his foe's neck.
"Why are you after me?" He demanded, patience wearing shorter by the second. "Who ordered you to do this?"
"Sod off, you fucking Grimm piece of shit! How about you-!"
"Silence." The Dreaded demanded, twisting the sword through his neck. "And it's half Grimm."
As he pulled the blade out, he heard an ominous humming sound closing in from the distance. Looking towards it, an Atlesian warship was approaching.
"Hm. Someone's kicked the Lancer's nest."
A harsh white light blanketed the street, revealing the bloodied bodies that surrounded him with a sudden clarity. He looked towards its source; a militarised Bullhead, sirens blaring, side gunners fixed on his position.
"Stand down! We have you outnumbered!" The pilot yelled through the aircraft's loudspeakers.
The Dreaded smirked.
"Then it is an even fight."
He launched himself into the air with all his might, aiming squarely at the machine. The gunner's turrets fired yet hit nothing. His hand met with the windshield, piercing it for grip. The pilot starred, wide eyed, even more so when a sword met with his chest.
The cries of the crew did little to block out the increasing noise of a second Bullhead, most likely following the first. He leapt off the remains of the hull as the Bullhead spiralled towards the ground, exploding in a plume of fire on impact, sealing the fate of those onboard.
His suspicions were proven true as a second Bullhead revealed itself, spotlights set on investigating the crash site below. With a running leap, The Dreaded sailed through the air towards the starboard gunner. His sword met with the unfortunate man's torso, and then the floor, locking him onboard. The Bullhead shook as it was suddenly thrown off balance. It's engines strained, it slowly lost altitude.
"We've lost Turqe!" Cried the opposing gunner. "Evasive maneuvers!"
The aircraft tilted to the left, violently so, almost throwing The Dreaded overboard. Instead, he fell into the open cargo bay, right beside the remaining gunner. Said gunner made to pull out his sidearm, but was promptly kicked out of his seat, falling to his death.
Taking note of the engines directly above, he thrust his sword into the left set of propellers, smoke and fire engulfing it almost instantly.
"Such a stupid design," The Dreaded muttered before leaping out of the cargo bay, landing on the street below. He watched in satisfaction as the Bullhead tumbled and fell, crashing and exploding, much like the first.
The familiar whirring sound returned with a passion, seeming to approach from all directions. The situation was rapidly getting out of hand, to say nothing of the fortress that hung in the sky. He glanced to the right, noting an alleyway that descended into shadow, it led deeper into the slums, a maze of alleyways and tightly packed apartments. The perfect place to lose pursuers.
He moved with renewed purpose, enveloping himself in darkness as dozens upon dozens of spotlights lit up the city.
It was going to be a long night.
~ Looks like Atlas isn't happy with Beacon being attacked. Interesting developments indeed. See you guys next chapter.