Disclaimer: HARQ is a fanwork of the Rooster Teeth Animated Production RWBY. All characters from the original cast of RWBY are owned by Rooster Teeth.

Special thanks to eliort on for their artwork contributions. Thanks to Hector for editing.

xxx

Glynda's teacher, the late Huntress Elphaba Viridescent, had warned her that few plans survive contact with Grimm. As she watched the Overkill, Beacon's armored assault airship, suddenly bank backwards from a rising cloud of Furies, she considered an addendum to the rule.

Few plans survive contact with Grimm. None survive contact with teenaged Hunters-in-training.

She didn't have a chance to curse, question, or call a warning to Ozpin before the red light of an explosion swallowed half of the flock. She'd almost have been proud if not for her sheer terror.

Dakka proved every bit the pilot one could hope and managed not to get caught in the blast. She proved herself twice the pilot when the Furies

started to attack with almost instant ferocity.

The Grimm were disoriented and disorganized by the sudden loss of so many of their numbers. But enough remained bunched together, and, she thought with a shudder, commanded by the Wechuge, to keep an attack pattern.

Next to her, Ozpin was calmly speaking into the headset she'd brought over from the hangar.

"Lead them back," Ozpin said, "as we planned. Yes, I can hear Oakley objecting. Remind her that two Hunters might survive a fall of several hundred feet but one pilot and her airship will not. We're ready." The vehicle dipped towards them, trailing the snaking shape of the flock.

"Ammunition?" Ozpin asked. Glynda shoved over a metal tray, one borrowed from Beacon's hangar, and spilled out hundreds of small, round objects. They twinkled in the sunlight.

"Ball bearings," she said, "it was that or steal some glassware from the cafeteria."

"Fantastic," Ozpin replied. He drew a deep breath inward and began to form an image of his own hands in his mind. He tapped into a semblance he'd not used in some time. A brilliantly emerald aura rose around him, radiating immense power.

"Hey!" An unwelcome voice snapped. Ozpin was inside his own world. Glynda turned to face York Duchy.

"Just what in the blue-sky, bug-eyed, bat-winged hell is going on now?" Glynda bit back her instinctual reaction and spoke to him Hunter-to-Hunter.

"Trouble," she said, "as you can see clearly, York. Stand with us. Ozpin has told me you were fearsome in your day." York sneered.

"'In my day'. I'm no biscuit, Doc, so don't try buttering me up. Ozzie has screwed up in a big way and that," he pointed at the fleeing airship, "just gave me about fifty new questions I expect to get answers for." York glared at his old schoolmate and, to Glynda's shock, his face wrinkled with concern.

"He'll overtax himself," he said, "just like when we were kids. Ozzie's got raw power but no common sense. If he comes unglued...it'll be worse than losing his aura." He fished in his coat and pulled out a small metal object. It elongated into a marching baton.

York's sour look was briefly hidden by a curtain of blindingly alabaster light. Glynda could not hide her awe as the old Hunter's semblance worked its particular wonders.

To either side of the thin, badly dressed man were lines of faceless soldiers armed with muskets. A rifle regiment of ghosts.

"Incredible," Glynda gasped. York gave Ozpin a final, half-hearted glare.

"Yeah," York mumbled, "I learned a long time ago it pays to watch your own back."

Ozpin extended one arm outward, still utterly oblivious to their words, and Glynda watched a shimmering recreation of his hand, green as his aura, slowly fazing into existence.

The fwip-fwip-fwip of the airship blades became audible. A second later so did the cackling cries of the chasing Furies.

"Run and Jump?" York asked, his rifle-men phantoms kneeling into firing position. Glynda's aura flared to life and the ball bearings floated upwards like a swarm of bugs.

"She'll circle around the tower," Glynda said, "we'll have a clear field of fire for maybe-"

"Teach your grandad to suck eggs, doc," York's eyes flashed, "I learned this one when you were still in kindergarten." The senior Hunters tensed as they prepared to spring their trap.

Hesh was the first one down to Rhod's side. He ran his hands along his friend's broad torso. He counted the right number of limbs. He checked, with shaking fingers, the thickly muscled neck for a pulse.

Unbelievably, the Atlasian lived. Not for the first time, Hesh felt utterly flummoxed.

Hesh's day had been filled with violations of every standard hammered into his head by drill instructors and military professors.

Procedure. Policy. Ifs. Ands. Buts. The ceaseless preparations that underscored the very tempo of war were shredded and tossed in his face like confetti.

He'd been certain they would all die in the courtyard. Certainly, he had no plan for fighting a flock of birds. That simply wasn't covered in Officer Training. Here lay unconscious the one person who'd seemed to have any clear idea what to do, even if it was just a desperate gambit.

Hesh had been relying on others all day. It ate at him constantly and drove in the icy spike of fear that everything his father had said to him was right.

You will not be a Hunter, Hessian Krane. hose words had stung like rock-salt. The idea had lingered in his head like an oracle's dire warning. It had grown more deafening with every failure and false start. Yet, at every turn, there had been someone there to catch him.

"Hesh," Rip's voice was edged with worry as he ran up. There was a dreadful, unspoken question on his mind.

"He's alive," Hesh said. He sounded strangely calm to his own ears. Rhod had just survived, nearly unscathed, a blast of dynamite. His aura had held and kept him safe.

The Grimm were capering around the field. The Wechuge watched them with evil glee. The Beowolves themselves bared their fangs like grotesque grins.

Good, they seemed to be thinking, we can kill him ourselves. Hessian's insides threatened to come up into his throat as he watched them. Such rage was beyond normal human endeavor. Rhod hadn't been able to turn it back with all his strength and cunning. Hesh figured he had zero hope.

Azeban didn't bother asking any questions. She checked Rhod for herself and worked her jaw in silent fury.

The bridge was in shambles. The Beowolves would need to piece together a new way onto their little island if they could jump the gap. It was a more lateral problem than the beasts were used to solving.

Hesh had precious few minutes to act. But everything he'd ever learned howled at him to run, even if that was a death sentence in and of itself. This wasn't how a modern military fought. They didn't charge into the woods with spears, swords, a few measly firearms, and hope their courage made up the difference.

His lessons in school were all about hanging back and taking as few risks as possible. Wear the enemy down by starving them, destroying their supply lines, bombing them with impartial machines, and flooding their institutions with the right kind of agents.

All of it was one big engine of pain and suffering. Whatever the cause or intention, Hesh could not shake the feeling that the army, or any army, was little better than a giant monster meant to serve man's worst impulses.

Battlefield tactics, perennial as they might be, entered into the equation only in the direst sense. Honor, discipline, and a sense of purpose, all those things Hesh had hoped would fulfill him, were not a requirement for it to function.

His indecision turned to rage as he remembered that last, horrendous night he'd spent in the barracks. The failed leader of a squad that hated him. The one bit of solace he'd had was old stories of Hunters that Corvo had told him. They'd come flooding back out of the mist of his childhood, cloaked in new glory.

Orion the Hunter, who united warriors, without concepts of nation and status, to stand against a foe no mere army could defeat, loomed like a giant over the dead dreams of a life in the military.

He insisted to his father, and as much to himself, that being a Hunter had always been his dream. Because to do otherwise would give voice to his worst fear.

The army that his father, whom he loved, had devoted his life to was little better than the Grimm.

He'd seen Grimm now and he understood there was a world of difference between himself and something as fierce as the Wechuge. That knowledge gave rise to a new epiphany.

There was no conflict in human history that mattered more than this fight.

Maybe I'm not meant to be a Hunter. He thought. But I'm certainly never going to be a soldier. He stopped looking at their situation like a trooper and tried to think like a doom-driven warrior of legend. Anything was possible and no limits were acceptable.

He gave voice to a terrible plan.

"Get Rhod back into the courtyard, Azeban," he said, a crisp order entering his tone, "I'm going to get their attention."

"You're what?" Rip squawked. "Hey! Don't go crazy, Hesh. We need to run!"

"I need to run," Hesh said, falling into calisthenics with practiced ease. He went on as he limbered up. "You need to get Ohlone and Xan down here, right away. They've got range. Maya and Percy might help Azeban get Rhod somewhere safe."

"But-" Rip was looking at him like one or both of them had gone completely insane.

"I'm not finished," Hesh said, "you need to use whatever lightning dust you have left and fire on that big bastard with the antlers." Hesh smiled.

"Save the day again."

"Can we talk about-"

"No." Hesh unclipped his docker's clutch and handed Rip his gun. "Keep that if things get desperate. I won't have much use for it unless I want to weigh myself down." He idly took off his sword belt, ready to hand that away as well.

No normal person would think a sword could help here. But a Hunter might think that way. He unsheathed the Finalword, tossing the fine sheath and belt to the dirt.

"Why are you stripping?" Rip asked.

"Honestly," Hesh said, giving him an uncertain smile, "I don't want to question anything too much. I might lose confidence. I'm going to run left as far as the treeline. Then I'll throw myself into the riverbed. If I make it that far, cover me as you all can." He got right in Rip's face, gray eyes flickering like thunderheads. "Not before! Understand me, very clearly, do not do it before! And not until Azeban gets Rhod to safety. And, Rip, you fire on the Wechuge, not anything chasing me. Got it?"

"Hesh, listen to yourself!" Rip was scared.

"No time, Rip," Hesh said, "you still have Thunder Dust?" Rip nodded.

"Yeah, but, Hesh, I'm not as good with it as Lightning Dust." Hesh shot him a confused look as he shortened the blade to a few, manageable inches and held it in a reverse grip.

"So?" To Hesh's mind Rip might as well have said he was better at working miracles with his left hand instead of his right.

Rip, for once, had nothing to say.

The Wechuge wailed and the remaining Beowolves, about fifteen now, began to move in on them once more. Hesh took a few steps back and crouched down. He needed to yell something or he'd never move, so great was the fear inside him. The old military war-cry, 'Vale and King Simon', didn't seem quite right to him anymore.

An idea popped into his head. It brought a smile to his face, foolish as he thought it might sound. Briefly, he pictured a small earthquake in the cemetery behind Crane Manor as generations of his ancestors all rolled over in their graves.

"Beacon!" He yelled and as he propelled himself forward he cried out, "Orion!" He leaped.

The shattered bridge was a long jump, though not nearly as long as the riverbed itself. He cleared the lip of broken stone with an inch to spare and nearly slid through a long, black stain the exploded Beowolves had left.

He turned it into somersault that made his aura flare as he rolled over uneven stonework. He popped up, always mindful of where his sword pointed, and found himself faced with an approaching Beowolf.

It lunged for him. Hesh dogged to its right flank and brought his weapon to bear. Before that day, Corvo's trick blade had been little more than an impressive idea to him. A cunning weapon in a duel, where a few inches could sneak around an unwary opponent's guard. He never saw its use otherwise. Azeban's dexterous precise use of her own collapsible weapon had gotten Hesh thinking.

He compressed a button and let the saber extend to its full length. It speared the Beowolf under its arm. The monster's own momentum ripped itself nearly in-half as the metal passed through meat and bone. The creature didn't even make a noise as it tumbled into the riverbed.

"Damn!" Hesh heard Rip exclaim. He spared a glance back at his partner and tried to grin like he knew what he was doing. Rip's eyes bugged.

"Run, Hesh! What are you doing? Run!" Hesh's feet obeyed before he turned around fully. Another Beowolf had closed the distance to the bridge, with five brothers on its heels. Hesh squeaked as he ducked a catching claw.

The hardest part of the plan was trusting himself not to try looking back at the Mausoleum. To do so would be death. Another cry from the Wechuge gave him some hope that his plan was working. It sounded like a high whine of frustration.

Certainly, the sound of many panting, barking creatures roughly ten yards behind him was not his imagination.

Won't listen to you, Hesh thought with a mean, breathless laugh, it's a special kind of hell when nobody listens to you, isn't it?

Dark shapes in the corner of his eye killed even the maddest spark of laughter. His stomach dropped as he realized his plan was working very well.

He didn't dare try to read the battlefield at this point, but three of the creatures, those furthest back from the Mausoleum, had abandoned all order to chase him. The Wechuge was glaring at him from its spot, but otherwise motionless.

They'd catch him at a diagonal before he reached the tree-line.

A gunshot sounded behind him. One of the three Beowolves dropped out of the corner of his eye. He wanted to scream in frustration as he failed to control his own pack of monsters.

If it all fell apart they would be swarmed. His ears were pricked for the more shots but all he heard was raised voices. Rip's and Xan's.

Outstanding work, Rip. Rip might hem and haw before the danger hits but Hesh had him somewhat figured all his self-deprecation and doubt, Hesh had caught on that Rip was a warrior at heart.

Xan probably simply didn't like being told what to do. Especially when that order was not to kill Grimm.

The treeline was coming up. All this was for nothing if Azeban hadn't gotten Rhod inside. His hopes were pinned on them all and, he realized, he trusted them far more deeply than anyone he'd met before.

Corvo and his father were living examples of what Hesh was feeling now. The bonds of those in combat are forged of iron.

There was a crackle of lightning and an indignant cry of pain. The Beowolves yelped. He spared a glance. His heart soared.

The stupid things had all followed him, true to form, and now there were tumbling into each other in a way so cartoonish Hesh felt the urge to laugh rise up once more.

They rolled into each other, biting and swiping, unable to do anything other than flop around in confusion. The Wechuge was not dead, but Hesh could tell it was thoroughly stunned.

On the Mausoleum's embankment, Rip was hopping up and down, waving his arms and shouting. Hesh had slowed down and his partner was saying every variation of 'move your ass'. Rhod and Azeban were gone. Ohlone and Xan stood in their place, trying to parcel out what was happening.

Amazing. Every single one of them was incredible. Unlike him. His best contribution to this was to run like a maniac and lean on others to do the hard part.

He'd needed someone else to find his sword for him. Azeban had.

He'd needed saving. Rip had done it twice now. While making time to help him come down from a panic attack.

Rhod had stepped in with the plan and the action, all without his input.

As each of them grew taller in his mind Hesh realized how small he really stood. A useless trunk that needed to be carried half the time. He extended his blade out to its full length.

He turned right and abandoned the embankment.

"What?!" he heard Rip shriek. Hesh made a beeline for the Wechuge. It kept leaning on a different leg at variables. The lightning had really knocked it off balance.

I've got it. He wanted to say to them. I won't let you down anymore. I can't be as good as any of you but I can at least not be useless.

The Wechuge's head hung down, like its antlers were about to pull it straight to the dirt, and Hesh raised his blade. It was an emaciated and brittle thing begging to be put down.

An orange eye caught him and the antlered head moved faster than Hesh could ever have feared.

A dozen spearpoints of pain bloomed all over him, pushing his aura nearly to its breaking point. His sword flipped away from him as he was hurtled over the creature and onto the ground.

The gray light that protected him shattered as he landed on his back. Alike a meat-tenderizer slammed next to his head, unevenly.

It's still stunned. And I couldn't even hit. Hesh felt shame mixed with the horror of his situation.

A maw of jagged teeth roared in his face. The smell of rotting plants filled his nostrils and drove him to his feet.

He feinted right, then jolted left to get by. Sharp pain in his rear-end sent him hurtling to his hands and knees. Tears of fury trickled down Hesh's face.

Worse then the bruising, shallow ache was the sheer humiliation of getting kicked in the behind. He shuffled through the grass and managed to catch sight of his sword. Its gleam was hidden in the clovers of late summer.

Like its hiding from me. Hesh thought bitterly.

He snatched it up and swung wildly as he turned around. The Wechuge had not advanced, it was having too much trouble staying balanced. His sword whistled through the air and Hesh followed its weight back to the ground.

He scrambled to his feet and tried to make a break for the Mausoleum. He'd never make it. A heavy droning noise was becoming clear and it made him fear that he'd hit his head on something. He didn't have the wherewithal to question what or how. He was too scared.

And far, far too flooded with shame. There was a chasm of difference between him and the worst Hunter in the world.

The Wechuge wanted him bad. He heard it start to prance after him, giving little yelps that sounded like mocking laughter. From his right, the Beowolves answered with howls of delight.

He pushed himself to the limit, barely maintaining a sprint in favor of a flat-out, gutless run.

You will not be a Hunter.

Hooves filled his head and he had the horrible little thought that he did not want to die.

The world dropped from under him and he fell forward.

The daze that followed was like waking from a nightmare. His legs and hips recognized the movements under him before he even saw the flowing mane on a thick, equine neck.

A spectral horse, made of rosy-pink light, was suddenly galloping under him. His instincts kicked in. He wrapped his arms around its neck and squeezed his thighs about its back. Thud-thud. Thud-thud. The rocking motion of its body carried him forward like the unleashed wind.

Two things occurred to him. The first was a large, bird-like shape slowly ascending from the Mausoleum. The second was a dull ache forming in his stomach from riding bareback.

The horse reached the riverbed and jumped it. Hesh squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in the phantom mane. Smells hit him. Hay, heat, and gunpowder. A woman's laughter, the kind that ends with a snort that only draws another giggle, filled his ears from nowhere. Warmth flooded him and soothed him.

The horse landed and he nearly lost his breakfast at the impact. The ghost-steed folded gently to the ground before it vanished. Hesh came to the earth of the graveyard with a gentle descent as it disappeared. He curled up around himself weakly, trying to stomach the pain welling up from his groin.

Someone threw their body on top of him.

"Hessian, lay still!" He barely had time to register Huntress Oakley's voice before the resounding percussion of guns filled the world.

Ratta-tat-ratta-tat-ratta-tat-tat. The earth danced to the tempo of heavy Gatling guns.

Oakley lifted herself off of him. She crouched next to him and he wished with all his might she'd go away and leave him with his misery. A hand pressed between his shoulder blades and rubbed in a small circle.

"Easy," Huntress Oakley said, "easy, there. It's alright, son. It's alright." He hated how much her words soothed him. He was being patronized, of that he was certain, but he still let himself swallow it.

"Dakka Rooivalk!" Feral's voice cracked with joy. Hesh heard him race over from the Mausoleum. "You bloody, goddamn ace! Oakley, how's...oh, sod, is it bad?"

"He's alright," Oakley said, "get the others across the bridge...or y'know don't cuz its all wired." Feral snorted.

"There but for the grace of Percy Bronze would've gone I. His team wants to see him, Oakley." The Hunter hesitated. "Is that ok?"

"No!" Hesh said into the grass, ears burning at the very idea. He couldn't summon the strength to stand. Oakley's hand started rubbing into his back with more force.

"Tell them he's fine and get them across."

"Roger," Feral sighed, "take a few breathes, Hessian."

"Exactly," Oakley said, "a few breaths. It's alright."

He lost himself in a memory. He'd left military school on a night of horrific, turbulent weather. He had sat in the foyer of his family's manor, miserably uncertain what to do with himself.

A hand on between his shoulder blades. His father's voice in his ear.

Everything's alright. You're alright.

It hadn't been when Hesh finally told him what he wanted to do though. After that, he was a foolish, naive boy who didn't know what he was getting into. Nothing was alright or ever would be again. His father hated him. His mother probably hated him now too. Corvo would lose everything for him. All for a stupid dream that wouldn't go anywhere.

His hands brushed his pocket and the speartip of the little pawn figurine poked him. A dim hope slowly dawned in his mind. He had the relic. After all of it, he still had the relic, whole and unbroken in his pocket. Curled up on the ground, Hesh sobbed. A part of him rebelled. It insisted that Hunters did not cry.

"There you go," Huntress Oakley said, "let it out." Hesh did not feel so certain she was just trying to make him feel better anymore.

"Th-thank you," Hesh sniffled. She held out the Finalword to him. Hesh realized he hadn't even remembered dropping it. He took it in hand, his fingers aching as they curled around the hilt.

"I can't begin to condone your method, Hessian Krane," she said, "but what you just did took real grit. Regardless of how it came out." Hesh looked away, hiding how flushed his face was, and stared in awe at the field before them.

Soil had been scattered in every direction like a giant had come along to till the earth. Smoke was still wisping into the sky. The Grimm, it seemed, had been atomized utterly.

"What happened?" he asked. Oakley guided him down into the riverbed then up into the graveyard. Hesh smiled weakly when he saw Rhod, awake but clearly groggy, leaning heavily on Hunter Feral Greystoke's left side. The Hunter pontificated at Rip and Azeban.

"...to say nothing of leaving yourself with no clear exit. I might've stepped on that bridge myself! Xanthus Sabbatarian is getting a stern lecture when we get back to the school."

"Are you still on about that?" Rip whirled and before Hesh could react, raced up to him. Hesh nearly recoiled at the look of rage tensing Rip's face.

"Why!" His voice cracked as he yelled in Hesh's face. "Why did you do that? You idiot! Do you think I want to see you die?"Rip's thin chest heaved with the force of his breathing. He looked terrified and Hesh felt shame rush over him once more.

"Rip!" Azeban snapped. She left Rhod reluctantly and tried to place her hand on Rip's shoulder.

"No!" Rip thundered. "What was that out there? What happened? Why would you try to throw your life away?! After everything we've done this morning! After all the crap we went through to get here, why would take such a stupid risk?!" Hesh stammered a response.

"The Wechuge was stunned, I saw a chance to kill. It…" Rip pulled at his own hair and growled.

"That's not good enough! What about us? What if it killed you? What would we do?"

"Rip," Azeban's voice was heavy with emotion, "Rip go easy. Hesh didn't mean-"

"No," Hesh said. His teammates stared at him. He felt like an utter fool once again. He thought he knew shame when a few moments ago, cradling himself and nursing a kick to the behind. The terror and betrayal in Rip's eyes filled him with the first real shame of his entire life. And unlike a bruised ego, there was no pride at stake in trying to deny it.

"I'm sorry," Hesh said, managing to keep his voice level. "I thought...no. I'm just sorry. I acted without thinking...no, I thought too much...that was the problem." Rip looked him over suspiciously.

"Never again," he said, his voice was quieter but lacked none of its intensity. "You never do something like that again. You promise me right now." Hesh couldn't help smiling.

"I promise."

"Don't smirk when you say it," Rip groaned, "just… say 'I Hessian Crane will never do something that stupid again.'" Rip crossed his arms.

"I, Hessian Crane, will never do something that stupid again." Azeban smiled at him from over Rip's shoulder. "I swear." Rip's shoulders sagged and rubbed his face.

"Good." He said. "Thank you." He sat on the ground and let out a loud snarl of frustration.

"Rip?" Hesh asked.

"I just want to go home." Rip said in a dead tone. Oakley tried to soothe him.

"The airship will be back in-"

A tortured, hideous wail made Hesh's blood turn to ice. Rip and Azeban looked up in horror at Huntress Oakley. There was a far-off look on her face.

"Hey!" Feral snapped. "Someone come get this guy off me!" Azeban raced over to obey and gave a little yelp when Rhod's whole weight nearly brought her to the ground.

"Oaks lets get round and...and…" the veteran Hunter's voice trailed away. Hesh turned around and saw the Wechuge. It had leaped onto the Mausoleum island and now stood just across the riverbed from them.

Its antlers had been shattered. The left side of its face mask had cracked away, revealing oozing, oily meat around a popped orange eyeball. Its maw hung open, broken, like an imitation of disbelief.

The body was near ruin. One leg limped badly and another held on by a few tendons. Meat and insides dangled down under its belly. A rare few spikes and spines remained intact.

"No," Rip whimpered, "c'mon. Give us a break, already."

Feral shushed him without taking his eyes off the monster.

Hesh understood the Hunter's caution. He now knew better than to underestimate it, even maimed as it was. The two Hunters slowly prepared their weapons, trying not to excite the creature into action.

If it stayed there until the airship came, things might go alright. The risk was in its ability to shake off even fatal wounds in favor of a final, deadly attack.

Hesh was spent. His team was spent. The Hunters, for all their ability, looked spent as well.

Stalemate. He thought. It brought an image into his mind. The little pawn that rested securely in his pocket.

Forward to the boundary. From there all roads are open.

The Wechuge's one remaining eye seemed to spark with fire, its busted jaw began to work around another wail.

"Oh, sod." Feral groaned. He drew a knife. Oakley took aim. Hesh knew it wouldn't be enough to stop it before someone died.

Hesh knew it was too fast. He grinned, despite his rising fear.

He raced forward, sword held high and screaming at the top of his lungs. He made for the little bridge that Xan had booby-trapped. Rhod was the only person who didn't scream at him, largely because he was still too out of it to comprehend anything.

The Wechuge's brain fired up every instinct still intact. It answered the challenge and, where it might have simply scrambled in a straight line across the riverbed, it made a break for the bridge. Limping and half-formed it still put on a terrifying burst of speed.

Hesh could've laughed. Of course, the monster had tossed him around. He'd tried to match suicidal rage with a thing that was its living embodiment.

Hesh waited until he saw it incline its head, eager to skewer him with non-existent horns before he made his move. His heel dug into the earth and his ankle flared with pain as he pivoted. He cast himself down behind a collection of headstones, shielding his face with both arms.

There was the single clop of a hoof meeting stonework. The whole world exploded.

Cold air buffeted Hesh and almost immediately a belch of fire licked it away. His hair stood up as lightning crackled and then flattened beneath a gale of wind.

He pulled himself to his feet, ginger with his ankle, and observed the final scar of their battlefield.

There was nothing left of the Wechuge. Scorch marks and frostbite blanketed the wall of the Mausoleum, breaking his inner historian's heart. The Ankou statue remained intact, he was happy to see, and still pressed a finger sternly to its hooded mouth.

A bit late for that. Hesh thought.

When he limped back over to his comrades, all of whom had thrown themselves into cover just in time, he was confronted first by Huntress Oakley. She gave him a hurried once-over, frowning with worry when she saw how he favored his ankle, and then scowled.

"Detention," she said, "three weeks. I'm going to explain, very clearly, the difference between grit and being stupid.."

"I wager he might be learning that already, Oaks," Feral was careful not to smile too wide at Hesh. Oakley rolled her eyes.

"Fine," she said, "one week."

Azeban simply hugged him with her free arm. A second later Rhod managed to join in though he confessed he wasn't quite sure what the trouble had been.

Rip gave him a long look, arms folded over his chest. He shook his head, sighed, and gave Hesh flick on the ear.

"Less than a . That has to be a record." Hesh managed a smile, eyes flicking over to the approaching silhouette of the airship.

"I do try, Rip," he said. "Hate to ask but...I twisted my ankle breaking my promise. Can I get a hand?"

"You'll might get a couple hands," Rip grumbled, moving to assist him, "upside your head." Hesh grinned.

"Thanks, partner."

"Shut-up, sap." Rip said against a smirk of his own.

xxx

Editor Note:

All forms of feedback are welcome, so please leave a review if you like. This story will upload new chapters on a weekly basis, so check back next Sunday for an update. Thank you for reading!