I am the storm that is aproooooaching! Provoooooking!
So hey, you know when you think something will be over with quickly but you keep writing and it keeps getting bigger and bigger? And perhaps it could be shorter but you're physically incapable of writing a short chapter? Yeah, my neither.
Here's part 2!
"Get up already!"
Linens cloaking him, faltering sunlight slipping through the ruddy panes of grass, his bed creaked beneath him. With a huff and scowl Qrow rolled over in bed and dragged his blanket up higher to block out the sound and light.
It might have worked had a pair of hands not tore his blanket off entirely. Naked as a babe save for his undershorts he gasped at the sudden chilled air, hissing and dragging the pillow over his head. That too vanished and he let out a low, rumbling growl before blindly swatting behind himself. A tittering laugh, the scuffle of shoots on the floor, and a bright smile when he finally cracked one eye open to glare.
"It's my day off. I'm sleepin' in…"
"It's our day to get food, which means you're helping me!"
If it were Raven, he'd probably have thrown his pillow and rolled back over. Had it been Taiyang stirring him from slumber he'd share a few choice words, a vulgar gesture, and tried to get back to sleep.
Summer's brilliant smile brought him into a sitting position, fatigue making him slump over. The light made his eyes squint shut and he yawned, running his hands over his stubbled face and raking them through unkempt hair. Hair which until recently had been full and black as his namesake. Now stricken with slivers of silver - a look that Summer claimed made him look more refined' - he tried not to grimace as he wondered how long until his whole head went stark white.
"Rise and shine, sleepy bird!" A clump of clothing thudded in his lap. "Don't you know that it's the early bird that gets the worm?"
"Ya know, Sum," Qrow grumbled, shirt halfway over his face as he spoke. "Just because Raven and I are named after birds doesn't mean we are ones."
"I know! Your name is spelled totally wrong, after all." His bed creaked and Qrow's head popped out, eyes opening a bit more as silver ones bore into them. Summer tilted her head, her pink lips pursed before she giggled. "Why is your name spelled with a Q?"
Snorting, Qrow waved her off and dragged his legs out of bed, fighting with the crumpled trousers to slip them on. At first he put them on backwards and he cursed as he wrangled them off again, shaking them out before slipping them on the right way. Hopping foot to foot he stood and pulled them up, fastening his belt to keep them in place.
"Our tribe are idiots, half of them don't know how to read, let alone spell. Maybe they thought it had a 'Q' in it?"
"I don't know, they did spell 'Raven' right."
They did, the bastards. He tried not to let his annoyance over such a trivial thing show. And failed a low huff and scowl found their way out.
"Aw, is somebody jealous?" Summer cooed, her smile spreading as she skipped back from a halfhearted swat. Her cloak swished behind her and she laughed, backing towards the door slowly. "It's okay stilts, I like your name just the way it is! It's unique, like you!"
Qrow swayed from standing too quickly, and gripped the nightstand for support. Sunlight had already begun to heat his back and he took a minute to let his vision settle. The darkness around the corners faded and he took in the room before him. A small space with room for little more than his bed, the nightstand, a dresser and a wash basin. With floorboards well worn and streaked from dragging furniture across them, a window that never opened the whole way, hinges rusted over and creaking any time they were used. Wind washed in from the small opening and the yellow curtains fluttered with a soft hiss.
Summer giggled from the threshold of the room, light spilling out from behind her. The hearth room laid just beyond that where he knew Taiyang would already be at work preparing breakfast. Raven wouldn't be helping, his sister would be more likely to set fire to water than successfully cook anything, but she'd be near him somewhere, lingering and pretending like she had better things to do.
It still felt surreal. That he and Raven had settled down somewhere, left the tribe and found a better, more honest line of work. That they were both happy. The Qrow of old would have been up before daybreak and ready to train by sunrise; nowadays he couldn't be arsed to get up before nine if it could be helped.
Indolence had once seemed like a terrifying thing to him. Now he reveled in it.
"Qrow? Don't tell me you fell asleep on your feet!"
Brandishing a wry grin he shook his head, sauntering towards the door, placing a hand on the frame and leaning down. "Not a chance, brat. Just thinking about how much more I'm gonna bring back than you."
"Oh? Big talk for a man with his shirt on backwards."
Qrow glanced down and hissed as a finger flicked his nose. Hissed, then grinned and grabbed for Summer as she danced backwards, delightful laughter filling the house. She danced back into the light of the hearth room, the strange whiteness not even registering as odd.
"Come on, before we run out of daylight!"
"Someone's mouthy today, aren'tcha?" Qrow slurred. "When I get my hands on you…"
"Have to catch me first!" Summer challenged, grinning as whiteness enveloped her. Her soft features, almost cherubic face, slowly vanished as she eased back into the blinding void. Qrow took steps towards it, his own face split with a smile, hand outstretched as he reached for her.
Catch her? Easy. Shehad always allowed him to find her, always waited for him to catch up. Wherever she went he inevitably followed, for better or worse. An idiot led by the nose to a flower's whims.
Not that Qrow had any qualms about that. Wherever Summer went he'd follow, one way or another.
Always.
/+/+/+/+/+/
Gravel made for a shit bed. And as Qrow's back ached, head throbbing, it occurred to him that it had been a while since he'd fallen asleep in a street somewhere.
Except he hadn't fallen asleep. The shifting of chain and greaves, the sound of metal clopping against stone, reminded him of that. The discomfort blossoming along his entire body prodded at him, screaming at him to move as he coughed and sputtered, spitting out dust and bits of stone that somehow ended up in his mouth.
His arm tensed as he groped for his greatsword. Where had it gone? His vision swam again and through blurred eyes he spotted it a way off. Too far to grab, too far to hope to wield in defense. His angry growl came as little more than a winded sigh as Greyson kicked it aside.
"Is that all then?"
Qrow would like to say no. He'd also have liked to leap to his feet and take the Hunter before him by surprise. Maybe crack his jaw with a good jab, or throw the bastard into a wall to see how he liked it.
Coughing didn't make for a glorious rebuttal but it was all he managed.
Well, at least he had not lost consciousness; he could still fight back. The particulars of how he hadn't worked out, not when his arms shook, back howling as he tried and failed to haul himself up. No nausea which meant no concussion. Or maybe he did have one. His ankles rolled on command and he gave his head a shake, hissing against the slight tightness in his neck. Full range of motion, albeit sore, meant he could fight back.
Being hauled up by the scruff of his neck like a kitten made that a little difficult. His teeth clamped down on a wince as his aching back struck the wall again, forcing his eyes open to meet Greyson's stare.
"I have no desire to spill blood tonight, sir. So, answer my questions and I will take you to a holding cell. We can stop this farce."
A wise man might have obliged. Qrow chuckled, tasting blood on a split lip as he flicked his tongue across them. "Already bleedin', pal. Guess it's more throwing for you."
"Why do you seek Calavera, and who are you? Who is that girl you travel with, and why do you align yourself with those traitors?"
"Dunno the answers, sorry. Some jackass flung me into a wall and -"
His breath caught in his throat courtesy of the hand around it. Wheezing, he grabbed Greyson's armored wrist and tried to pull at it, wrench, break it. When the man didn't so much as budge, he settled for something different entirely. His thumbs didn't manage to push Greyson's eyeballs in but as his hands latched onto the weathered face of the Hunter he felt them give. Drank in a mighty gulp of air as his body became weightless, wobbling as his feet hit stone and he regained some measure of composure.
Qrow cocked his leg back with a grin and threw it forward with as much might as he could muster, shin connecting with Greyson's groin…
His leg throbbed and he cursed as his bones bounced off the plating. "Fuck!" He kicked again and was rewarded with a grunt. Smaller than his own groan of pain, and a third blow did not fare much better. Enough to make the older man stumble back but not enough to drop him like Qrow had hoped. "That usually works!"
"This isn't a godsdamned bar brawl!" Greyson barked. His hand glowed again and Qrow felt his body turn weightless. "Have some class!"
"No you don't!"
His feet found the wall and Qrow pushed himself forward. In his mind he would have struck Greyson mid-flight, taken him completely by surprise and delivered a blow hard enough to land the man on his ass. Armored or not, physically intimidating or no, a few solid punches to the head should do the trick. Qrow even cooked up a snarky remark about armor being a burden.
In reality he floundered the moment his legs sprung him forward. By sheer luck his fist collided with Greyson's head before the rest of him slammed into the man. On pure reflex he grabbed hold before he could be thrown away again and the two of them tumbled to the ground, Qrow landing on top.
The plan had worked. Kind of.
A fist cracked against the bridge of his nose, and he yelped, striking blindly and delivering a punch right back. A fist against his ribs, another against Greyson's jaw.
Strike after strike until their heads snapped from the blows, bodies shuddering and recoiling. Qrow pushed through the aching in his ribs and felt his knuckles split, throb, as his punch sent Greyson's head bouncing off the cobbles, blood trickling from a gash on his temple. He wouldn't kill the man, not over a misunderstanding, but he'd make damn certain they couldn't be pursued. With Greyson dazed he clasped his hands together and lifted them over his head.
Greyson's right hand flickered, and he felt it as the punch crashed into his side. Felt his body lose its mass and the simple blow that sent him spiraling off. Towards his sword, thankfully, although the new agony pulsating with every breath made grabbing for it difficult.
"You," Greyson spat, wiping his bloodied face with a gloved hand. "Are one of the most bothersome men I've ever fought."
He would take that as a compliment. A shame though he couldn't offer a reply beyond coughing. His hand found the cool, steadfast familiarity of his sword and he dragged it closer, positioning it to haul himself to his feet. Gods above he ached. Every breath made his chest seize, sent a tremble down his arms and legs. Not concussed, he reminded himself, although shaken from the impact earlier.
Figured you out, you wrinkly bastard. Where his voice failed him Qrow sneered instead, lifting his sword with concerted effort, and swaying on his feet.
Magic exploded to the point of impact every time Greyson struck. That had to be the explanation for the man's titanic strength, how he managed to keep pace with a man several years his junior. It explained too how he moved with such ease despite the armor; ingenious, so long as you didn't figure out the trick.
Even worse if you had a way to stop it.
They began to circle one another as each of them tried to catch their breath. Still no audience. Beyond their labored breathing not a sound disturbed Pradalia. Except for the faint crackling of lightning, Qrow realized, allowing himself a moment to follow the sound. To see the sky several hundred yards away glow purple, flash, and settle into still darkness again. At least Weiss was still fighting; he had never known her to use lightning magic. As much as he would like to go help her though…
"When we're finished here I intend to assist Nike." Greyson spat blood at his feet.
"Sharing your plans now, pops?"
"You won't be able to move when I'm through with you. I'll have time."
Qrow rolled his shoulders, winced as they barked in protest. Put on a swaggering smile even as he stumbled a bit. "Funny. Say, what do you suppose Cinder and her goons are up to right now?" Not that he had a damned clue, nor did he care. But seeing Greyson's face tighten was all the reaction he needed. "You sure that the girl and I aren't just a distraction? That there ain't more going on?"
Greyson stopped moving, lowered his sword and took in their environment. The empty, broken plaza they'd moved into, the sea of stars spread out above them providing minimal light. "I shall consider that when it comes to pass."
"Could just have your buddies from the Church search for 'em, ya know. Divide and conquer."
"There is no one else here."
Oh? Qrow rolled his neck and smirked. Maybe a truth, maybe a lie, either way he had gotten what he was after from the exchange.
Lowering his sword, Qrow leaned against it and yawned, rubbing at the soreness in his neck. "Well, that'll make our job here easier then, won't it? If it's just you and the Faunus girl."
"Underestimate us at your own peril, rogue. We are perfectly capable of handling you."
"That right? Well shucks, guess I may as well give up then."
The same weapon he'd just claimed went tumbling aside, clattering boisterously off the ground. In the same second Greyson's eyes followed it, Qrow raised the broken piece of wall he'd tucked away and lobbed it square at the Hunter's head.
It bounced harmlessly off Greyson's forearm.
And Qrow dipped into the man's view, grinning and making a stab into Greyson's side.
Except he had no blade. Nothing but a closed fist, wrist angled downward to give the illusion of it. Greyson's magic flared as he caught Qrow's wrist and Qrow in turn grabbed onto it, grinning as he sank his teeth into that magic and pulled. Hard. Where Greyson's grip went lax his own tightened to the point the older man winced, bones straining beneath Qrow's ironclad grip. The magic he stole offered only a small boost but he made the most of it. Twisting and pulling he wrenched Greyson's arm and dropped the man to one knee, then brought his own up and into Greyson's chin.
With his stolen strength flagging Qrow buried his fist into Greyson's gut and hissed as chainlink dug into his skin, tearing skin from his knuckles and leaving them bloody.
The punch left the old man doubled over and clutching his gut, wheezing before lifting his head up enough to glower, lips trembling in anger.
And even as Qrow stumbled back to keep away from the man's sword he couldn't help but grin and waggle his brows. "Gotcha."
/+/+/+/+/+/
Hiss. Pop. Sizzle.
Serpents of lightning nipped at her heels. Hissing. Crashing and obliterating stone. Behind her the air heated. Before her the humid wind ushered her forwards, down the winding streets and Weiss hoped, towards safety. Chest constricting, she drove her legs faster and ignored the burning protest. Her rapier remained cold to the touch, wisps of ice caressing her hand, a lone saving grace, a reminder that despite her frantic running she was not powerless. Forcing her fingers to steady themselves she wove a rune, then another. Dumped her magic into them and unleashed along with a prayer.
Strikes of lightning struck at her heels, serpents of pure energy coiling along the ground and giving chase. Weiss' legs burned as she ran, her lungs threatening to collapse. Another drop loomed ahead and she forced her fingers to cooperate, staving trembling off as she wove one rune after another.
A wall of stone at her back. A sheet of ice before her.
Electricity shattered her defenses as her feet struck the slippery slope and wind howled as she raced down, closing on the lower streets in a streak of white. To her right a shadow darted from between buildings, and she crouched, lowering her head and diving into a window just as Nike's spear sliced through the air behind her.
She did not take a moment to catch her breath as she rolled into a dim kitchen, knocked over chairs and raced into the common room. Bade no mind to the confused man stumbling from his bedroom as she threw open another door and bolted back into Pradalia's sleeping cityscape.
Blood trickled down her throat and seeped into her collar. Shallow, not life threatening, but it still stung.
Sheer luck had kept Nike's spear from killing her on that hillside. Pure desperation propelled her across the sparse yard and into an adjacent street.
That, and a foolhardy plan.
A vacuum of air exploded beside her and she raised her arms to shield herself, sputtering as dirt caked her side. Spitting, she wove another rune and turned on her heel to fire a volley of ice that flew wide of Nike and buried themselves in a tree.
No, she had been on target, it was the Hunter's damn mobility in flight that made hitting her impossible. She needed to limit that mobility somehow; fighting indoors might work but then she would be forced to fight close quarters with a reach disadvantage. Not to mention nothing would keep Nike from casting magic, and with less room to react or dodge…
Her knees ached as she landed hard, vaulting over another wall and bolting down a major road. By now the city had woken, and how couldn't it? A veritable storm tore through their streets. Weiss had to marvel at how reckless Nike's attacks were, how carelessly she flung magic, destroying property and marring otherwise pristine streets and buildings. If any of them had pulled such a thing back home Goodwitch would have taken their heads. If they were lucky.
Snap.
Not a branch, nothing so mundane. A cypress tree before her cracked and tumbled into the road, its trunk blackened and smoldering from a lightning strike. Weiss prepared to catapult over it, testing her already sore knees and gauging if she should slow her speed…
The tree ignited and she skidded to a halt instead. From feet away the heat ebbed around her, shadows dancing and retreating with the crackle and hiss of the flames.
"You're insane!" she howled, whirling around and raising her rapier as Nike's spearhead jettisoned towards her chest.
"And you're dead."
She might have been, had a sudden gale not thrown the spear off course. Metal grazed her right arm but it missed her breast and embedded itself into the trunk behind her. They both gawked, confused as to how she had managed to carve a rune so swiftly without realizing it.
Her rapier cooled in her hand, a comforting chill against the heat licking at her back.
What's more she felt magic. A burst of energy that left her hand trembling, something inside of her coiling in anticipation. Her eyes flicked down to the blade, to Nike, and she raised it with a furrowed brow and a silent prayer.
A burst of icy wind swallowed Nike and forced her to land. Weiss stepped into her spell and flicked her wrist, sending a path of ice across the ground between them, jagged spires threatening to swallow Nike up if they reached her.
And they might have if the spear didn't come hurtling through the smoke, shattering ice as it slammed into Nike's hand.
Weiss wasted no time and sent a deluge of water into the tree. Through steam she jumped, sputtering and coughing as she emerged from the other side and took off again down the road.
Cold wind coiled around her left hand, clinging to her even as she pumped her arms and ran. Cold but not harmful. Magic pulsated from the sword and she noted the mist trailing along the slender blade, small patches of frost and ice clinging to it. Spells ready to be cast on a whim, with or without runes. Weiss turned a corner and pressed against a wall, staring at her weapon in awe.
Well, that is new. She had never had her weapon react like that, and as she turned it over to examine it, eyes tracing the pale blue steel, the basket guard caked in a thin layer of ice, she pondered what on Remnant had changed.
Everfrost! The ore her rapier, her version of Myrtenaster, had been forged with. A gift courtesy of that scoundrel Roman no less. A blade that conducted magic and, evidently, sped up the process of casting as well.
The particulars could wait. As an airburst rattled around her Weiss stepped out from behind the house and leveled her weapon at Nike, staring down the blade like an archer preparing to fire. Lightning crackled around the Faunus…
And Weiss unleashed a blizzard to engulf them both.
/+/+/+/+/+/
Steel crashed into steel, ringing out along with a chorus of curses, the shuffling of leathers and chains, and the faint rustling of linens in the wind. Flashes of light illuminated the dark plaza where their blades met.
Qrow's satisfaction in figuring out Greyson's trick had been brief.
Sure, he knew now that the elder Hunter used his magic to ease the burden on his body. And yes, if he timed his own magic right, he could erase the surges in strength, leaving Greyson staggering and struggling where Qrow himself enjoyed a boost of strength. But just as Greyson's flashes of magic were near instantaneous so too were Qrow's boosts. Evidently it did not take much magic to lessen the weight of Greyson's weapon. A mere second, less even, and the flare of magic came and vanished with hardly a whimper.
Drawing in a breath Qrow flicked his head, sending his bangs from his eyes and droplets of sweat sailing away. Raised his arms, one hand against the flat of his blade, and clenched his jaw as an impact made his entire being rattle.
And while they danced across the plaza his mind worked harder than the aching muscles in his arms, faster than the feet propelling him forwards and back, evading strikes and maintaining enough distance between him and the Hunter.
Greyson had a pattern. Any Hunter did, but especially those who used magic to bolster physical ability. On a strike his magic flared to reinforce the blow or weaken Qrow's own. Magic flared to help dodge, to ease the burden of his armor. The latter required a steadier stream of energy but still insignificant enough that getting a firm grip on it proved elusive. The man knew his craft, Qrow had to admit, and it made landing a decisive blow difficult. Even then, he'd managed to hobble Greyson's arsenal somewhat. Keeping close enough to reach out and catch Greyson prevented him from using enough magic to throw Qrow again. If he could leech away that much energy all at once it would be enough to tip the scales in his favor; he knew it, Greyson knew it, and so the silver-haired bastard refrained from doing so.
To an outsider their battle was one of broad, sweeping swings and brief moments of grappling and unarmed blows, of two men whose strength had begun to wane but neither yielding an inch to the other.
A smaller battle waged between them too. Unseen, their magic prodded at one another, sneaking in past defenses and searching for any openings it could find.
Qrow, to sap away strength and make it his own.
Greyson, to throw Qrow to the wayside or crush him under an invisible force.
Sooner or later one of them would succeed. One of them would make a mistake, had to make a mistake. All the training in the world couldn't make you invincible; Qrow had seen plenty of seasoned Hunters fall to Grimm and blade alike to know that. Fortunately for him he had fought more people than Grimm over the years, had enough experience with and against the sword that he could hold his own even against a man twenty years his senior.
Unfortunately, that twenty years all but erased whatever advantage that might afford him.
The exchange went on.
Using Greyson's own magic as a means of getting a second wind both pulled at fraying energy to replenish themselves. In one moment, the older man swung his zweihander as though it were a fencing sword and the next, he labored to move it at all. Qrow enjoyed brief spurts, used them to dent armor protecting Greyson's vitals, or to drive the man back across the plaza.
Not much. Never enough for a decisive blow, but with Greyson's secret figured out, his tempo uncovered, he could put the man on the backfoot.
On and on their tug of war went. As sweat left his clothing sticking to him, arms burning as his muscles strained, back barking in protest, Qrow kept pressing. Continued to steal the other man's energy and use it as his own.
One of them had to make a mistake. Even the most seasoned soldier could panic when pressed. A desperate bid to end a lengthy fight, a self-destructive attack with the sliver of a chance for success. Neither of them would refuse a chance to end this dance between them.
Qrow saw it in an instant: a wide lunge that left Greyson's right side entirely open, arms lifted to expose his ribs. He did not need to kill the man to win. Would not. Killing a Hunter here and now would only make their trek across Mistral all the more difficult, and so he would refrain. When his sword lifted and he thrust it, edge hissing through the air, he leaned into the attack, leaving himself wholly exposed.
And unable to deflect the upward slash of Greyson's blade.
The gleaming steel raced up towards him, poised to bury itself in his left flank, possibly sever his arm if Greyson gained enough momentum.
Qrow let his thrust pull him forward and pushed off his back foot, out of the way of Greyson's attack and into the man's peripherals. Magic flared between them as the Hunter tried to ward him off, realizing no doubt the overreach he had made. Magic that Qrow promptly latched onto and tugged, ripping it free and instilling himself with a second, third, or fourth wind. His sword clattered to the ground, fingers curled into fists, and with a roar he drove his hand into Greyson's ribs.
He heard the crack before his sword ever hit the ground. Felt the Hunter's chest cave slightly, his fist pressed into the chain and pushed past it. No protection against bludgeoning, Qrow knew, and sending all of his stolen energy to his arm had turned it into a veritable battering ram.
The pain of his knuckles rupturing was pittance compared to what Greyson must have felt.
Qrow felt a jolt of giddiness as he watched Greyson not stumble from his attack but topple over, and after sliding several feet at that. Watched as the man's feet scrambled to keep planted before they left the ground, sending the rest of him tumbling unceremoniously to the ground. Armor and man struck the street and Greyson's back arched in pain, sword clanging. In an instant he rolled onto his uninjured side and curled in on himself, rasping wet, ragged breaths as he clutched his ribs.
Just as well too. What slivers of strength he'd stolen just then left with a whimper and Qrow's shoulders slumped, chest heaving, lungs burning. Mustering as much vigor as he could he sauntered towards Greyson, a weary smile on his haggard face.
As much as he'd like to join Greyson on the ground and let exhaustion pull him under, he swaggered to the man, putting a hand on his hip and chuckling. "Well… We done now?" An answer by way of a choked cough and scowl. "Look pal, I didn't wanna fight you. Hells," Qrow coughed, rubbing at his chest as if to abate the lingering tightness. "Would've left Pradalia without a word if you'd just told us what we wanna know."
His legs wobbled but he made himself remain upright. Forced the visage of a cool, calm, collected man, one that he certainly didn't feel like. Although he didn't suffer from spellcast sickness in the same way others did - his own magic didn't have the same side effects - the sensation of it left him haggard all the same.
Empowerment followed by normalcy. Staggering highs followed by humbling, mundane lows. He supposed it was not unlike his bouts of drinking; blinding drunkenness and sobering sobriety. His return to regularity always left him feeling drained even when he'd only returned to his normal state.
Qrow didn't let the disorientation show as he squatted down, smiling as Greyson opened his mouth to speak only to be wracked by coughs that twisted his aged face in a mask of pain.
"I'll send for a healer, since I doubt you're gonna be talking much right now." Gravity magic wouldn't mend wounds, wouldn't heal the potential punctured lung. "And we aren't gonna hurt the girl you're with either, I promise. Once we know what we need we'll be out of your hair. You've got my word on that."
Rasping, Greyson lifted his head and spat bloody phlegm in his direction. "Kalom take you…"
God of death, huh? Well, it's a refreshing change from the usual 'Fuck you'. Injured or not, Qrow made it a point to throw Greyson's sword aside. Push it, considering he couldn't muster the arm strength. Feeling the slight spark of magic in the air he clicked his tongue and shook his head. "You know that's a bad idea, pops. Put too much strain on your body and you'll make your wounds worse."
Back to his feet he made for his sword, dragging it up and using it to brace himself. A ways off he could still feel magic crackling, hear the not-so-distant sounds of howling winds, crackling lightning, and the shattering of ice. Thunder in the otherwise empty night.
He could still make it and lend a hand. If Greyson wouldn't talk, couldn't thanks to what had been done, maybe they'd have more luck with the Faunus girl. Sighing, he rolled his shoulders, grunted against the strain, and turned to leave the plaza…
And stopped, a pair of familiar brats walked into his path.
/+/+/+/+/+/
Pradalia had turned stark white.
Around her the blizzard raged. Wind slicing frozen daggers into her skin, chilled air nipping at exposed skin. Howling wind, flakes gathering on her clothes, and grating air that scraped along her lungs with every breath.
Weiss raised one arm to shield her face and leaned into the wind. Winds she realized she hadn't created but Nike, an effort to dispel her blizzard no doubt.
Her rapier continued to radiate the essence of winter itself. Where she walked the eye of the storm seemed to follow, coalescing around her in a suffocating dome of frost. A burst of wind parted the storm for a moment and Weiss caught a glimpse of the Faunus before her. Grounded, finally, and trembling. Wings tucked to her sides with slabs of ice clinging to her feathers, her armor. A javelin of compressed air rocketed towards her and Weiss let three layers of ice take the brunt of the impact, gritting her teeth as shards pelted her.
More. She needed to force Nike to submit. Even as Weiss felt her grasp on magic begin to falter, her reserves dwindling even with her rapier's help, she pushed through the encroaching burnout. Filtered more energy into her weapon as a foci and out, feeding the maelstrom.
With numbing fingertips - she could barely move them - she wove runes. Earth softened at Nike's feet and a burst of air propelled her out of the quicksand trap. Flames melted through the icy drifts, leaving puddles on the ground that turned to sheets in seconds. Lightning from Nike missed wide right, pelting her with shattered stone. Hair standing on end Weiss raised her rapier again and leveled it at Nike, took aim, and unleashed another burst.
Ice gathered at Nike's legs and grew, feeding off Weiss' magic. Crept up one leg and solidified, forcing the woman to stumble. Her spear raised only to fall back to her side as ice made it too heavy to lift.
Weiss advanced, spear aloft even as her body began to grow heavier, the metal of her rapier biting into her palm and rending skin raw. Plumes of hot breath caressed chilled lips on their way out, eyelashes crusted with flakes. Her ears stung, cheeks hissed as wind slapped against them, and her entire being rattled. She moved closer still, willing the final remnants of her magic, what she deemed safe to expend, through her rapier. Nike's wings became too heavy for her and she fell forward, straining to lift herself under the added weight.
Only then did Weiss stop feeding the blizzard. What little she had left of her energy she drew within herself and cut off her weapon's access to it. The metal still thrummed hungrily but went quiet in her hand, the gnawing chill ebbing slightly.
Breathing became unpleasant and her teeth chattered but Weiss still managed to speak through it. Lift her chin in defiance even as her shoulders curled inward, arm wavering and struggling to hold her weapon up. "Do you surrender?"
Not exactly the picture of complete dominance, not even close, but she hoped it was enough. Nike seemed inclined to defy her as her lips curled back, hand reaching for her spear.
Then she stopped. The look of contempt turned to one of bewilderment and green eyes seemed fixated on her, widening slowly. Thinking the woman had spotted something else Weiss turned enough to glance over her shoulder but found only the fading walls of the wintry storm at her back, the outline of Pradalia barely visible still.
"Lummiare…"
"What?"
Nike shook her head slowly, dragged herself forward on her elbows. "It's you… How? The gods … Are gone."
Weiss' brow furrowed harder; had she struck Nike in the head? Or perhaps spellcast sickness had her hallucinating. She lowered her rapier at last and released a shuddering breath. "Do you surrender?" she repeated, voice hoarse.
"Why? Why did you abandon us?" Nike groaned and collapsed, arms failing to lift her. Her wings tried and failed to flutter, her encased leg dead weight behind her. Red hair flecked white shook with her head and the Faunus whined. "We're your faithful, we've served you. Why?"
Delusional then. Weiss did not know how to answer the earnest look of betrayal on Nike's face, how to reply to such a ludicrous question.
"My name is Weiss. I'm no goddess, and you're sorely mistaken." Defeated and beyond confused she saw no need to fight Nike further. Hells, she was beginning to wonder if questioning the woman would even help.
The blizzard dispersed around them with a whimper. Flakes danced on the wind and melted before her eyes as humid coastal air claimed its rightful place. Above them the night sky spread wide, stars and the moon showering them with pale light. Enough that Weiss could notice the tears on Nike's face. Watch as the woman tried and failed to speak to her, any signs of hostility gone with her magic.
"Lummi- "
"Weiss," she interrupted, gritting her teeth. "My name is Weiss, not Lummiare. I am no goddess of ice; I am no deity. Stop whatever nonsense this is!"
"Oh? But I've heard you're called 'Ice Queen'."
Weiss' whirled around and forced her weapon to rise again, one eye shutting as a headache began to blossom. Managed to keep steady even as her legs wobbled beneath her and ignored the pain in her left hand, trying to work feeling back into her frozen digits without releasing her weapon.
"No words of greeting for me, goddess?" Cinder's lips curled as she sashayed forward. Unarmed, unassuming, unfazed by the weapon pointed at her.
"What do you want?"
"Is that any way to greet an ally? And here I'd thought we were beginning to form a relationship."
Weiss prepared a wind spell and held it ready. "We're leaving Pradalia. Our association with you is through."
Cinder stopped, quirking her eyebrow as she tilted her head. "Is that right? And here I thought you wanted information about Maria." Her eye wandered past Weiss, smiling toothily as he gestured to Nike. "I see you have that covered though. Well done, Weiss."
"Indeed. Now leave, if you'd be so kind. I need to speak with her. Alone."
"Ah, there's a small problem with that. I have a few questions of my own that I need to ask, and as it turns out Hunters are difficult to find in this city. Since you and Branwen seem to have found the only two…" Cinder curled a finger at them and chuckled. "You may come with me and ask your questions when I'm done with her."
"Or, you can leave me be and run back to Rhodes. Ask him your questions." Weiss smiled warily. "He may know more than you think."
A brief glimpse of curiosity flashed across Cinder's face only to be replaced by a mask of aloofness. She took another step towards Weiss, then another, grinning as Weiss' rune flickered and faded.
"All out of energy, Weiss? And yet you still intend to oppose me?"
She intended to speak to Nike, nothing more. The fight between them had been unfortunate but she would leave once they had shared words. Cinder on the other hand… Weiss couldn't know what the woman might be after. What she might do to try and glean the information she sought. Despite what had just transpired then she stepped to the side and barred Cinder's path, wincing as a pulse of pain shot along her neck.
"Hm. As much as I would love to play this game with you I don't have the time. The city guard will be here soon, and potentially with more Hunters. If you intend to get in my way, then so be it." Cinder flexed her fingers and flame grew in her palm, grew and stretched and formed. A thin, long object that expanded before contracting, forming a long haft half Cinder's own height and a wicked curved spearhead. A weapon of pure fire with flames dancing along its edge. "I'll give you one chance to reconsider, Weiss. A courtesy, seeing as we are friends."
"Don't you dare hurt her!" Nike hissed and dragged herself onto her elbows, fought to rise on her hands and knees. Red hair framed her face and she groaned as she tried to stand, collapsing back on all fours. "To harm a goddess -"
"It seems your wings aren't the only thing that are damaged, little bird. We'll have time to talk soon." Cinder grasped her spear in both hands and smiled sweetly at Weiss. The spear rippled with energy, giving off enough heat that Weiss could feel it from -
Cinder lunged. The spearhead, aimed right for her heart, flew straight as an arrow.
Weiss tried to raise her arms and braced, readied to deflect or block the spear, if such a feat were possible. Her legs buckled beneath her and her head throbbed, vision darkening for an instant.
The lethal heat came barreling towards her chest…
And collided with metal, deflected by a burst of wind that sent Cinder darting backwards.
Nike had saved her. A last-ditch spell to prevent Cinder from striking true. Weiss had been about to thank her when she saw the cloak before her. Caught the gleam of a curved blade in the moonlight. Her breath caught at the pair of silver eyes that glistened back at her.
"Thank me later," Ruby teased, flashing a small smile before turning back to face Cinder.
Magic? From Ruby? She shouldn't be capable of that still, and she wasn't. Ruby twirled her scythe and positioned herself before Weiss, and there she caught the green crystal fixed to the haft of her weapon.
Dust.
/+/+/+/+/+/
Qrow covered his head on reflex as fire exploded before him. Even wrapped behind a shield as he was he couldn't help but cringe at the intensity of them, the flames spilling out. Behind the wispy, shadowy barrier before him he peered through the smoke and frowned.
"Firecracker, I -"
"You bastards thought you'd pull a quick one on us, didn't ya?" Yang rolled her neck, her shoulders, then cracked her knuckles and smirked. "Did you think you were the only ones who noticed the fighting?"
Mercury lifted a leg and fired another burst of air. A spell that dissipated harmlessly as it struck a wall of shadow.
"Sun and the Fang have the guard distracted." Blake stepped out of Yang's shadow, face obscured by her scarf. Amber eyes flickered to Qrow and he nodded once, one she returned. "So, how do we want to do this?"
"I'm thinkin' knock them around until they're seeing stars."
"Won't be hard considering it's night, Yang."
"You know what I mean!" Yang pouted. "Don't be a killjoy."
"Hey! Don't treat us like a joke!" Emerald shouted, flashing twin curved daggers.
Yang laughed. "A joke? Oh no, jokes are funny, Em. You two are just sad." Yang shook out her arms and grinned. "And in a world of trouble."
Oh right, before I forget for my Murican friends, happy 4th of July! For the entire rest of the world, happy Sunday! May your children be watered and your crops grow healthy, or whatever.