written in the stars
There is something about Mantle which never agrees with Qrow, no matter how many times he has been here in the past. The performance halls here are numerous, so each street is honestly far more familiar than he would like; amidst the eternal red glow which seems to emanate off of the city's neon lights and roaring hearths at the center of the dark, grungy town, he always finds himself getting lost, getting swallowed up by shadows.
Clover has always been able to hold his hand, to keep his path through alight. Now, all Qrow can do is tighten his grip upon the corded handle of the Harbinger as the vehicle rips down the road, a trail of smoke rising in his wake.
At last, they arrive at the gates of the city, the bridge leading them into the main grid of streets and avenues clear of all destruction. Qrow winces as he realizes just how little of this area has been attacked, the Tar's clear markings nowhere to be seen. That discomfort quickly turns to a roiling in his gut, a wave of nausea washing over him as he looks down, only able to catch the briefest glimpse of oozing black liquid drowning the outskirts of the lower levels of the city. There is a river, quickly turning into a full-on moat, of Tar pooling below the bridge, lapping up the sides of the wall surrounding Mantle. From within its murky, glassy waters, Qrow can see hints of white bone and glowing red eyes, ready to spring forth at a moment's notice.
This place is doomed. We've gotta go.
He parks the car haphazardly just inside the wide-open gates, grimacing as he looks up towards the path. Whilst the outskirts of the city had appeared relatively unscathed by the night's assaults, it is clear from the moment Qrow turns their getaway vehicle onto the main roads that the civilians have not gotten through the first few waves of Grimm unscathed. Everywhere he looks, fires sprout from the tops of buildings, storefronts shattered and lampposts toppled. Cars are overturned left and right, the ground littered with half-processed bodies left behind to rot amidst the crumbling world.
There is no longer any room left to drive through the rubble, so Qrow slips out of the car and begins to run. He needs to get to the central gondola station; once he arrives there, he'll be able to methodically make his way up to Atlas. The high rises in Mantle are plentiful, though, the city almost as multi-tiered as Mistral, leaving him little choice but to take small steps of progress each time.
As long as they can make it up there to hunt down James Ironwood, that's all that matters. It has to be.
Suddenly, Clover whispers, "Qrow, watch it!"
Qrow skids to a halt, glancing down the street. Blocked by a barrier of overturned, burning vehicles is a Grimm watching them from a distance, its almost feline mouth curled lasciviously upwards below the mask covering its eyes. Qrow gulps as the creature spreads out large, wide wings, coming to attention as it straightens out its back, watching him carefully.
It does not attack. Clover begins to hum, finally muttering, "It's a Manticore." Louder, he calls out, "Hey there, buddy. You all alone?"
The feline shadow monster does not respond, simply leaving its glowing eyes trained upon the singer. Qrow lifts up the Harbinger carefully, raising the barrel upon the blade straight and true.
Then, they are off again before the Grimm is even able to hit the ground, dead.
A few streets down, they are offered another insight into the town. Originally, Qrow only approaches it hoping to see if there are updates on out-of-order gondolas- It'll save us a hell of a lot of time if we know which ones are canned; there's always something not working, even on good days, he thinks bitterly- but as he taps his Scroll upon the scanner, his hopes are dashed in an instant. I guess they don't need to give any real updates with the login count this small, he thinks in a daze as his eyes land upon the dwindling numbers at the top right of the screen. There's less than five hundred left.
There had been millions logged in twelve hours earlier.
…he only hopes that they were able to escape- to Patch, or to reality, or to anywhere. He hopes with all his heart that they have not all been processed. However, with the amount of bodies covering the streets with obsidian and horror, he has little choice but to squash that hope into nothing.
The screen lights up with the terminal's newest command. 'Your vote matters to us! How would you like to see the upcoming eclipse scheduled in 47 days? Tell us what colour sky you would like as the backdrop to this gorgeous event!'
Qrow closes his eyes and hums in order to catch Clover's attention, his warbling voice cutting through the crackling smoke surrounding them from above. Clover murmurs, "You always liked looking at the moon with a clear sky, right?"
Nodding, he presses the option for a deep indigo sky, rolling his eyes as the classic, "Thank you for your response! You and 33% of Remnant have voted. Only 47 days left!" alights across the holoscreen before he is logged out automatically.
Somberly, Clover comments, "The skies look blue because we want it to."
The words make his skin crawl. He does not know if Clover truly recalls, for he has been in Remnant for so, so long- but Qrow does. Qrow remembers when the colour of the sky meant something, when it wasn't just a choice to be made like what they were ordering for dinner.
He lets out a long, shaky breath. He misses that sky- the real one.
There is no time to wax philosophical on the benefits (or lack thereof) of the votes regarding a sky he'll never get to see, however, so Qrow begins to run once again. The city of Mantle is large, but he refuses to give up- not when they are so close.
As they draw closer to the gondola station, the wreckage is far less noticeable. The gardens in community squares and the small recreational parks which surround this wealthier district are relatively untouched by the Grimm, causing Qrow and Clover to both sigh in relief, Qrow's footsteps slowing to a stop upon the cobblestone.
Clover says quietly, "It looks like there might still be civilians here… do you think some of them haven't evacuated yet?"
No way to know, Qrow thinks wearily. They might have hid out in their homes, since this place hasn't been hit that hard.
He does not need to speak. Clover understands, immediately replying as if he had heard Qrow's thoughts, "Hey, I want to try something." Clearing his throat, he yells loudly, his voice filling up the square, echoing between the tall building surrounding them, "Hey! Is anyone out there?"
No response. "Well," Clover chuckles wearily, "it was worth a shot."
Qrow's blood runs cold the moment they turn the corner, however. As they clear a large wall, Qrow is suddenly able to see a few intersecting streets all leading to this central park- each one of the dark alleyways shrouded by shadow is filled to the brim with glowing red eyes through bone-white masks, wings spreading, dripping maws falling agape to reveal Tar and something glowing-
"Qrow, run!" Clover screams.
He does not need to be warned twice. Before Clover's words even fully permeate in the air, he is sprinting towards the end of the square, his legs pumping faster than his brain can even comprehend. Behind him, the sound of explosions and shattering glass and wood echo in his brain, but he does not turn back; he closes his eyes, focusing on channelling the strength which Blake's data is able to instill into his bones, gifting him the speed he needs to escape. He climbs emergency stairs and fire exits, leaping across low rooftops and rushing up each ramp he can find.
Finally, the explosions stop. He pauses, gasping for air, staggering over to the edge of the small overlook upon which he stands; he is midway up the city, drawing closer and closer to the gondola station that shall bring him to the lower levels of Atlas' floating body above them all.
"There were probably fifty of those things," Clover says once Qrow can finally breathe again. "I cannot believe they're all just… waiting."
Qrow does not share this sentiment, however, for he is immediately distracted by the view from this overlook; although the city has never looked good, it is downright apocalyptic now, the fires tearing the city to embers more sickeningly brilliant than neon glows could ever be. What catches his eye the most, however, is the fact that the skyline is not only burning, but also… different. Changed.
As if something has been outright… deleted.
"Whatever this is," Clover murmurs, still focused on the herd of Manticores that had been blasting fire at him all the way here, "its spreading. This city is falling apart."
Qrow lifts the Harbinger up so that the clock face rises above the waist-high railing, then points into the distance, humming quietly until the other man stops talking, his words swallowed up by his shock.
After a minute of silence, Clover finally voices what has been haunting Qrow all this time. "Shade Towers is gone, huh? I guess it's been completely deleted… or maybe the Tar got to it too much." He pauses, sucking in a haggard breath, the noise slightly tinny from the clock face. "Plus, the statue of the Wyvern… the one that used to sit atop Mount Glenn? That… It's not just me, right? It's gone, too."
The foreboding in Qrow's gut doubles in strength, Clover's observation only highlighting it. This doesn't make sense. Deleting Shade Towers- fine, that works, there's a lot of people who live there. Prime location for an attack. But why the statue?
A part of him begs him to leave as soon as possible- so, he does. He does not want to know what this unease truly spells out for them. This journey is already too painful.