A bit of a surprise happy announcement today.
As people may or may not know, I offer lessons and advice to some of my supporters who want to learn to write, usually in the form of lessons online over Skype and whatnot. I have quite a few students, some of whom are fanfiction writers themselves, some in RWBY and some even in other fandoms.
But I'm happy to announce one of my students has just self-published the novel we've been working on together on Amazon, which is available in both paperback and digital format.
It's written by him with me helping with lessons, advice and the likes, so please be aware that if you read it, it's his work, not mine. But I'm proud of it nonetheless, and proud of him for taking the step.
If you'd like to read or purchase it, you can find it on Amazon (be sure to use com or co uk or whatever it is depending on your region). The author's name is Charles Cackler and the book is called "The Mage Trials (Path of the Magi)". You can easily find it by going to amazon and typing his name in the search bar.
If you have Kindle Unlimited, you can read it for free, otherwise it's obviously free to read the first chapter or so. I'd be happy if you'd check it out and see if it's something any of you might be interested in reading. I will say it's different to RWBY obviously. It's an original novel. I'd love to provide a link, but the site doesn't allow it.
Chapter 12
Slow and deep breaths.
It was the only way to calm his nerves before the attack. His feet would tap on the floor otherwise, his body moving to some unknown beat, eyes darting left and right as the sun slowly set. Late evening, the perfect time for a faunus attack. His fingers curled and uncurled around the grip of Mors, the newest heirloom weapon of the Arc family.
Leaves rustled beside them as Adam knelt, one hand gripped to his own weapon as he peered out through his grisly mask. Where the flickering light of the LED had been hard to spot in the midday sun, the unnatural red glow now gave away the location of the entrance. It mattered little. This was lost territory, inhabited only by wild animals and Grimm.
"I've planted a team at the only possible exit point. They have heavy weapons and gun teams. If the hangar doors open, they'll focus on shooting the cockpits to disable the pilots," he explained. "If all goes well, we'll ground them before they can even take off, preventing the need for a rough landing."
The better to protect his sisters of course. Jaune nodded, grateful Adam had them in mind.
"Fitch has a medical tent set up nearby. He's asked for a chance to enter the facility – mostly to steal what medical supplies he can. Depending what state they're in, they may need it. I've given him the all clear. We may as well salvage what we can before we burn the facility down."
"They're bound to signal an alarm once we breach," Blake warned. "We can't stay too long."
"It'll take time for reinforcements to mobilise even if they do. This isn't Atlas. My bigger concern is them expecting us."
"They know we're in Menagerie," Jaune whispered.
"Not exactly hard to pin us as aiming for this place. Even if they're wrong, the assets they want to defend are here so an increased garrison only makes sense. We caught them by surprise the last time. They probably expected you to run and hide. Or if not that, not be able to storm and destroy a testing facility on your own."
He wouldn't have been able to, but then none of this would have happened anyway without the White Fang. It was they who saved him in the first place.
"Keep your wits about you," Adam said. "We could be looking at more men, combat droids or even huntsmen. Don't take any risks. And don't rush," he added. "We've cut off their escape routes. Better we clear the base slowly than run into trouble trying to set a world record."
"Maybe we should stick together this time," Blake said.
"Maybe. Depends on the internal layout." Adam sighed and pushed himself up, motioning for them to do the same. Several White Fang settled into the spot they'd occupied, levelling rifles and other medium-range weaponry on the entryway. With their night vision, they'd have a perfect shot on anyone who tried to leave. "Come. It's time."
Adam, Blake and Jaune skirted around the large boulders toward the entrance. There was no knowing where the cameras were or what they saw – speed was key. Ducking into the crevasse, the metal door became visible, another key card variant like the first. This time, they lacked a guard to steal one from, but Adam knelt by the door, pulling out some sticky foam and a vial of dust.
Dust was the achieve-all product by which the Kingdoms ran. Energy, ammunition and even food spice in some recipes. Its potential was limitless, or so the SDC liked to remind everyone. One thing it was known for however, was its volatility. Refined samples could be made safe for consumers but even that was warned to stay away from fire or sudden shock. Adam tipped unrefined crystals into a glass chamber, stuck it into the foam and placed a small charge beneath it with a remote trigger.
"Back," he warned, suiting action to words and ducking behind the largest rock. Blake and Jaune joined him, Jaune tensing as Adam held out the trigger and pushed the button.
There's a misconception about explosions perpetrated by cinema.
They don't go boom. Or rather, the small ones don't. It's more of a ripping sound, like the sound a match makes when struck but a thousand times louder. Combined with the thump of metal giving way, a screech and a clang not unlike a metal ball being tossed in a washing machine, the door erupted inward, slamming and crashing down a flight of stairs.
All of that in a fraction of a second.
"We're in!" Adam rounded the rock. "Move!"
The smoking doorway led immediately to ten steps moving underground. The corridor was narrow, single-file, and Adam took the lead, Blake behind and him in the rear. The moment it levelled out, it widened too, moving to two people wide and heading straight on until a larger, oval, room. The whirr and clink of machinery was the first warning, Adam's shout the second, and finally the hail of gunfire from a bipedal robot some six feet tall with glossy white metal for skin.
It was a man-shaped and sized machine. It even had hands and arms rather than guns mounted for those, and it grasped an assault rifle that looked for all intents and purposes to be useable by any soldier. As they scattered about the room, it turned to track Adam, while a second appeared and trained its own gun on Blake.
Jaune took the shot given to him.
Sparks flew off the shoulder of the one targeting Adam. He'd been aiming for the head, but it all looked to be the same armour. Shit. And my Semblance doesn't do jack against robots, does it? No aura for him to remove. These guys had planned ahead! He squeezed off two more shots for good measure before giving up on Mors entirely. He could have used the explosives but only had three.
Instead, he charged in.
For anyone, that was a messy proposition, but he banked on his blood and that proved true. The closest robot turned to aim at him but didn't fire. Instead, it raised its weapon up like a club. Of course those bastards wanted him alive. They couldn't experiment on him otherwise! The android slammed the rifle's butt down and Jaune caught it in both hands, grunting as the inhuman strength pushed harder and harder, easily forcing his hands back.
That was fine. "Adam!"
Red metal speared through the thing's faceplate, showering electronics and sparks over him as the android went limp, dropping the rifle. Adam wrenched his blade out from the back of its head and lunged for the second, cutting its legs off at the knees while it continued to try and shoot Blake. It didn't see him coming and came crashing down, dropping its gun in the process. Planting a foot on its back, Adam stabbed down, twisting Wilt to the side to silence it.
"I've not seen those droids before!" Blake said.
"They're better than the standard SDC fare we've faced," Adam replied. "More advanced, too. I'd bet dust they're prototypes from Atlas. Likely what we'll be facing next in the field." He kicked the ruined head of the first away. "I'll have someone collect what we can before we leave but I don't expect we'll get much from it."
"Next-gen Atlas tech not even in use. They're not even trying to pretend they don't have access to every part of the military. Atlas is rotten to the core."
"To the surprise of no one," Adam gritted out. "Keep moving. I doubt this is all we have to face."
The room washed red as a siren began to play.
"Facility breach. Facility breach. All combat units move to intercept in Sector A."
The message repeated, interspersed by long wails and flashing red light. Shaking his head, Adam stabbed Wilt through the locked door ahead and ignited his dust, causing the blade to catch on fire and burn bright. It wasn't enough to melt metal, but it easily fried the circuitry on the other side, letting him jimmy the lock open with a few careful twists. The door slid open as he and Jaune pulled it aside. Past it, two corridors split off.
"Same as last time," Adam said. "Are the facilities identical? It would make sense. Standardised layout and building, plus less time letting transfers get lost."
"If so, both routes lead to the hangar eventually."
"But both don't lead to testing lab and cells. We follow what worked last time. I take left, you two right. This time, they won't be able to escape. Better we clear the whole place top to bottom. Go."
/-/
The stool beside his dragged back with a loud scrape. "I thought I'd find you here."
Snooty voice. Arrogant scowl. Sharp eyes. Qrow took them in while his grin widened. Leaning his elbow on the counter, he raised his hand and called out to the barkeep. "Your most pretentious cocktail. Don't skimp on the gold dust either."
"I'm not here to drink."
"Then are you here to strip? I'll be honest. I'd pay." He drew his hand back before hers could spike down on it. Grinning and hiding the motion as sweeping his hair back, he sat up straight and eyed the door. Two goons there. Winter couldn't come to a place like this without guards. "Well, what brings the esteemed and oh so wonderful Winter Schnee out to a shithole like this? Daddy Ironwood not giving you the attention you deserve? Is this your rebellious period?"
"You know why I'm here, Qrow." Winter stopped talking as the barkeep slid a small glass toward her. The cocktail was neon green and flaked with little bits of gold. Qrow almost burst out laughing. Winter dismissively tossed him a wad of lien and sipped at it.
Even her grimace was refined.
"Too strong for you?" he teased.
Glaring, Winter tipped the glass back and downed it all. It wasn't like he hadn't seen a hundred other people do the same, but the fact she could earned a raised eyebrow. He'd half-expected her to be teetotal.
"I'm looking for someone. The same someone you are."
"Now that's a big assumption to make, little miss military."
"Don't play games with me, Qrow."
"Then don't play with fire," he whispered back. "Especially when we don't know who's listening." His hand snatched his own drink, downed it and tossed out some lien. "Your place or mine?"
"I dread to imagine what dive you've found. My place."
"Heh. I'm easy."
Winter snorted as she stood. "I can certainly believe that."
Heh. Walked right into that one. As revenge, he grinned and winked at a few other patrons as he followed Winter out, letting them guffaw and make up their own minds as to what they'd be doing. A few catcalls and whistles chased them out. She did a good job at pretending she had no idea what those meant but the stony mask cracked a little. Beneath it, he saw fury.
The two soldiers fell in beside and flanked him, escorting him back to a fancy hotel he wouldn't be caught dead wasting money on. The bellboys looked at him dismissively and had he not been with Winter, they'd have tried to escort him out. The golden elevator whirred as they went up to the penthouse.
"Nice place. Real homey…"
"The room has been checked and cleared of listening devices."
"Goodie. Guess that means you can scream my name as loud as you want, princess."
The doors dinged open and Winter stormed out with an indignant huff. The butt of a rifle touched his back to urge him on. Qrow shot a look back over one shoulder, the message clear. If he really wanted to, they couldn't push him anywhere.
"Well, it's nice to see that taxpayer money being spent wisely," he said, running a hand over the mahogany furniture. The room was big. Big enough to fit six typical hotel rooms in.
"This isn't taxpayer funded. Nor is the trip. I am on holiday."
"Huh." So that was how Ironwood got around this. Clever. "Got to say, princess, your idea of a fun holiday needs work."
"I agree completely. After all, I'm standing in your presence."
Ooh. Snipe. Someone wasn't in a good mood today, not that she ever was when it came to him. Ozpin called it flirting but it was more her being an overprotective goon to Ironwood, who Qrow liked to mock at every given opportunity. The man himself never rose to it but Winter had a short fuse where the General was concerned.
"Let's get down to business."
Qrow's jacket hit the floor. He popped his belt buckle.
"I will stab you, Branwen."
Chuckling, he fell back on a chair, dropping the charade. Mockery was fun unto a point, but his heart wasn't really in it. He'd been playing along to distract himself. "Alright. Alright. The kid, huh? Didn't expect Jimmy to send you out here on your own. You realise he's dangerous, right?"
Winter frowned. "I'm capable."
"No. You're not." Leaning forward, he pointed a finger at her. "You're not. I'm not. And Samsara's team certainly wasn't. Professional huntsmen, Winter. Bounty hunters. Even I'd not want to tangle with all four of them at once and the kid took out two like spiders on a bedroom floor. Fifteen years of training and combat experience." He snapped his fingers. "Gone in the blink of an eye."
"You sound scared."
"I am." He leant an elbow on the armrest and his chin atop his hand. "You would be too if you'd seen what he can do. I felt it. I experienced it."
"You approached him!? Why didn't you try and arrest him?"
"And what? Bring him back to Atlas?"
"No. To me. To Ironwood. We're hunting those responsible-"
"And you're still beholden to them. Let's not waste words, Winter. You capture Arc and he's disappearing within a week. Either dead or back to the facility that held him. You and Jimmy may have your hearts in the right place, but you're soldiers. You follow orders. It's what you do."
"We're not mindless drones."
"No. But you're part of a greater whole. And last I checked, Ironwood holds two seats on the Council. How many do you think these guys will have bribed, blackmailed or forced under their control? More than two, that's for sure." If their reach went as far as Ozpin suspected, they'd have everyone else under their sway. Or at least enough to force a vote whichever way they wanted. "These people don't play by the rules. Long as you and Jimmy do, you'll never best them."
"Those rules are laws, Qrow. And in breaking them we would become just as bad as those we aim to stop!"
"Then don't." He waved a hand. "Sit on your high horse. Follow the laws. Try, but don't change anything. Fail, but tell yourself it's fine because you gave it your all. Because you kept your hands clean and didn't fall to their level, even if by doing that you condemn however many innocent people to being nothing more than lab rats."
Winter's hands clenched into fists. Her teeth flashed as she snarled out, "I am not in the mood for your banter. I will find him with or without your assistance."
"And when you do…?"
"I will…" Winter closed her eyes. "I will talk to him. I will explain our side of the argument and what I and General Ironwood have been doing to make amends. I will inform him that we have saved one of his sisters and are protecting his other. I will offer him the chance to join us in locating and freeing the others."
Huh. It was a good offer. The best the kid could get.
Sadly, it wouldn't be enough.
"I think you're forgetting one thing, princess."
Winter's eyes narrowed at the name. "And that is?"
"Atlas killed his father, kidnapped his family, tore them apart and experimented on them." Qrow leaned forward. "And it took the White Fang to save him. As far as he's concerned your word is worth shit. You go in dressed like that-" He nodded to her Atlas uniform. "-and he won't wait to hear what you say. He'll kill you. And trust me, it wouldn't be a difficult task for him. He could have killed me back then."
The silence dragged. Qrow stared down at the floor, more haunted than he cared to admit.
"What was it like?" she eventually asked in a quiet voice.
"Like a ghost walked over my grave. That's the best way I can describe it. You don't realise aura is there because we're all used to it, but you can sure as hell feel it being pulled away. It's a chill. A shiver. You can't pinpoint it, but you feel your stomach drop and you just know you're in trouble. It's not something I'd have noticed in the middle of a battle, but just sitting there…? I've never felt so weak." He hunched on the chair, hands linking between his knees. "I don't want to experience that again."
"He's just a boy, Qrow…"
"Is he? Children are only children so long as they're given the chance to be. I didn't see a boy when I spoke to him. I saw a cornered animal, one that would rather go down fighting than be put in a cage again."
"Does that mean you won't help me?"
"No." Oz wouldn't forgive him if he did, and Qrow wasn't sure he'd forgive himself. Besides, it wasn't the first time he'd done something he didn't want to. That was what being a huntsman meant. The kid also had missing family in Vale, and he didn't want the girls anywhere near him. "I'll help. I'm just making it clear because you and Ironwood seem to be living in a fantasy world where he realises the error of his ways and joins you in overthrowing the big, bad villains."
"That's not a fantasy," she said slowly. "We're trying our best."
"I know. That's the fantasy." Qrow stood. His smile was lopsided. "That `your best` will be enough to stop these people willing of breaking every law in existence. Or maybe the fantasy is that it's your best at all, when you're not willing to bend the rules. He is, and that's gonna be a problem. Especially if he keeps getting better at it."
"Laws exist for a reason, Qrow."
And that reasoning was why he knew this was going to be a disaster.
/-/
A bullet pinged off Jaune's aura. He shot back, eyes flickering through multiple colours as the man fell screaming, clutching his shoulder and the hole ripped through it. Stepping past him, he kicked the man's weapon away and left him behind.
It was the best he could do.
The first enemy he'd come across, he'd tried to disable as kindly as he could. He wasn't sure why. Maybe it was to prove to Blake he could, or to himself, or even to try and hold onto some part of his humanity.
Either way, it hadn't worked.
The soldiers were trained better than he was. He'd closed the distance and almost been overpowered for it, grappled down and pinned until he managed to surprise the bastard and press the butt of Mors against his leg, slicing into it and crippling the soldier. Even then, they'd grappled and wrestled until he'd gotten the barrel against his stomach and fired twice to kill him. Huntsmen could afford to disarm people. It had become painfully apparent he was no huntsman and likely never would be.
That encounter stole minutes from him. Since then, he shot first.
Ironically, it left more living people behind than trying to disarm them did. "Patch yourself up," he muttered to the soldier gasping on the floor. "Surrender to the White Fang and you'll be spared."
"F-Fuck you," the man rasped.
What right did he have to be the indignant one? This wasn't some military base he'd been sent to without reason. These were hidden facilities and every guard here would know that. They knew they weren't working for Atlas but for the group who took him prisoner, which also meant they knew what was happening to the subjects here. The victims.
Monsters. All of them.
Jaune moved on, eyes burning. The red glow of the alarms washed over him, casting bright light on the bloodstains spattered up and down his White Fang uniform. Without stopping, he reloaded Mors, sliding rounds into the discharged magazine one at a time. Like the last time, Blake had split for the cell block. The base was almost identical. Standard design, most likely.
He could have made for the labs himself, but the memory of the hangar still haunted him. Amber screaming his name and him failing to save her. Cut off their escape first and then come back. They can't escape this time.
The white-metal floor clanged underfoot. Turning another corridor, he came onto a second open room, this one converted into an office. Cubicles and desks filled it, pushed aside from a central walkway. Chairs were overturned, suggesting they'd been working the second he and the White Fang attacked.
They must have a bunker down here. Unless they're running to the hangar.
Knowing they were trapped anyway, he moved over to one of the desks and peered over the low cubicle. There was a desk with a computer terminal on it, along with several plastic files filled with paper. Picking one out at random didn't yield much. It was medical information he couldn't really make out with any certainty.
There was a logo at the top however, the symbol of Atlas – but now that he looked closer, it had another symbol on top of it, a sword and shield on either side of the vertical staff, inside the cogwheel. Beneath the altered logo was a name.
Chivalric Arms.
"Is that their name?" he asked aloud. It didn't ring any bells, but it wasn't like he knew anything about companies in Atlas. "A lead for later. I'll tell Adam once we're done here."
Pushing the paper into his pocket, he drew back from the desk and pushed on, down the next corridor and through another pass. In the distance, he could hear gunshots and the occasional explosion over the repeating message and the siren. Adam and Blake were busy.
The second he turned the next corner, he found himself looking down a corridor toward a man knelt in the centre of a round room flanked by soldiers.
They didn't open fire.
Jaune held no such compunction and fired twice. The first missed but the second hit the man dead on, sparking off aura. He looked up, smiled and cocked his head to the side challengingly.
A huntsman.
The man had short greying hair cut into curtains, a narrow face and a cocky smile. Dressed in the same uniform as the other soldiers in the facility but with no helmet, he also wore a lab coat over the top. Cracking his neck to the side, he drew a long metal rod. Lightning crackled over it.
"Welcome Subject 000. It's always good to see a specimen come home."
The soldiers raised their weapons, but the man stood, holding up a hand. They stopped suddenly, exchanging nervous looks but not firing.
"Shooting him won't do much." His hand flicked to the side. "Back up to the walls."
The soldiers moved back, creating a wide space between Jaune and the huntsman. He also stepped back, welcoming Jaune into the room with open arms. It was empty but for them, no furniture in place. A killing zone. From memory, this ought to be the last room before the hangar. He's buying time for them to escape with my sisters.
He either didn't know the place was surrounded or assumed the soldiers could break out. They might be able to if they had more huntsmen. With that in mind, he couldn't retreat lest this guy clear out the White Fang.
Jaune stepped slowly into the room, keeping Mors trained on the huntsman.
"Surrender and you'll be taken alive," he said. "The White Fang will spare your lives and we can go our merry way. I just want my sisters."
He didn't expect the huntsman to give up, but he thought the soldiers might. They were regular people and they knew what he could do. They knew their lives could be snuffed out with a single instance of his Semblance. They didn't flinch, though. They stood stock still, weapons trained on him but not firing.
Something was wrong.
"I'll offer that back to you, Subject 000. Surrender and re-join us and all this unpleasantness shall be forgotten."
Bitter rage tore through him. "I have a name!"
"No. You were given a name. A parent picks it but not always, and that's all it is – a moniker given at birth by someone who feels they have the authority to make it. It can be changed just as easily. As your new guardians, we have chosen to rename you along with your siblings. You are Subject 000. That is your name now, your designation, and all you need know."
"I'm not going back."
The man's smile faded. "No, you are," he replied. "The only difference is whether you do so willingly…" His form shimmered. Jaune gasped as the man – without taking a step – appeared behind him. "Or through force."
The baton touched his back and electricity arched down it. Jaune screamed as his muscles locked up, only just forcing himself to roll forward and onto one knee. Tearing the gun behind him, he found himself looking back down the empty corridor.
"Behind you."
A foot caught his jaw and sent him reeling. Mid-fall, he snapped Mors out and shot, but the man was already gone. It wasn't speed or an illusion. The man hadn't moved his feet or a muscle, and both times he'd interacted with something.
A teleporter? It must be his Semblance. Short range by the looks of it.
This time, he threw himself left, rolling away as the huntsman swung the baton down on the spot he'd occupied. Behind, he thought. He always comes from behind. Either that was the limitation, or just a choice on the huntsman's part. Either was possible. And deadly. It was a scary Semblance that would always let him have the edge, always let him get the drop.
But his was scarier.
Colour flooded his eyes.
"NOW!" the huntsman roared.
The soldiers opened fire. It was the warning that saved him. The second the huntsman shouted, Jaune panicked and let go – aura flooding back in time to prevent the sharp needles of the tranquiliser darts piercing flesh. They bent and snapped over his body, tinkling down in a rain of glass. The soldiers quickly reloaded, snapping fresh darts in but holding fire.
They knew it wouldn't pierce.
A shock baton struck the back of his knees, driving him down onto one. "Arghhh!"
Mors swept around and fired. The Huntsman blocked each short with his aura, hopping back with his smile in place once again. "So arrogant of you, Subject 000. We're the ones who know you best. We tested you quite thoroughly. Did you think we wouldn't have a way around your Semblance?"
Jaune gasped and panted for air, pushing himself up shakily. The muscles in his right leg kept cramping and spasming as the last traces of electricity trickled through him. The exterior damage was low thanks to his aura but the shock, that still dug deep. Aura doesn't prevent the electricity affecting me, he realised. And I can't use Null or the soldiers open fire.
The droids weren't the trap for him. This was.
"What will you do now, Subject? You cannot use Null without opening your body to our darts, and you cannot best a trained huntsman in combat. I offer you the chance again to surrender. Once we've located your absent siblings again, we can begin testing anew."
"Never! They're safe." He snarled at the man. "Safe from all of you."
"Hmm. Is that so? We'll have to test that theory. Our reach isn't limited only to Atlas. It's been a while since I went on a proper hunt..."
Menagerie was an independent Kingdom but a small one. The White Fang would never willingly allow these people there, but who was to say some couldn't be bribed? A kidnapping. Ilia would try her best, but could she be everywhere?
It doesn't matter. Groaning, he stood again. Because I won't let it happen.
"You're inhuman. A monster. Huntsmen hunt Grimm, not people!"
"Do they?" The man chuckled. "First I've heard. You must remember though that you are not `people`. You are assets. You belong to us, and through us, Atlas. Am I inhuman for enabling this? No less so than a soldier who kills in defence of his Kingdom." He whipped the baton out to the side, making it extend and spark with blue lightning. "A huntsman defends humanity. Atlas is the pinnacle, the height, of humanity. Nothing great is earned without sacrifice, Subject 000. Remember that."
Spitting on the floor, Jaune rose to one knee. "I'll keep it in mind when I kill you."
"Still going to fight? Ah. I suppose you can't comprehend your own defeat. Very well. Let's end this farce."
"Yes." Jaune clicked the second trigger, listening to the faint mechanical whirr and clink as a single round was forced into Mors' chamber. "Let's do so." He aimed the gun at the man, not even flinching when he disappeared in a flash. The barrel rose upward, aiming at the centre of the room as he pulled the trigger.
The dust round looked like any other Felt like it too. It shot out and impacted the ceiling at an angle, but instead of ricocheting off, it exploded with a furious roar of flame. The metal ceiling was torn open, and all the soil, rock and dirt piled up high atop it pushed down, causing the rip to balloon further open and spill rubble everywhere. The whole room shook as the heavy rocks slammed down, kicking up a huge cloud of dust and soil. With more raining down and blown in every direction, the wall of brown soil washed over them like a tidal wave.
The soldiers coughed and hacked, flinching back and turning their faces away, some even knocked to their feet by the impact. For the barest of moments, they flinched from shock or to avoid the blast, taking cover as the ceiling collapsed.
"NO!" the huntsman roared. "GUNS ON HIM! DON'T TAKE YOUR EYES OFF HIM!"
"Too late."
Colours rushed up to his eyes as he snapped his hand back and fired without looking. He knew where the man was, and since he'd placed his back to the narrow corridor, there was no dodging, no misjudging. Two bullets impacted flesh and those told him to unload more. He kept firing until he heard the bullets ping against metal, telling him his quarry was no longer standing.
Only then did he look back, feeling oddly satisfied to see the smug man flat out on his back, hands clutched to his stomach in a futile effort to stifle all the blood rushing out of him. They hadn't been accurate shots by any means. They did the job. He wasn't a medic like Fitch, but that many holes in a person had to be fatal. As Null slid back and his blue eyes returned, the huntsman's aura did as well. Far, far too late to save him.
He heard weaponry being placed on the ground. The soldiers were disarming themselves, some falling to their knees with hands over their heads and others standing still, hands out and empty. With no chance of his aura dropping now, their tranquiliser rifles were useless.
"Ack!" The huntsman choked on blood. "Do – Do you think this changes anything, Subject? I'm but one man. O-One cog in the machine. They know who you are, where you are, what you can do." He laughed, blood running down his lips. "And they're watching this. They can see everything and you – you are nothing more than a specimen! You're nothing! Atlas – Atlas is eternal. And your blood will b-become a part of that." The huntsman sneered, anger burning in his eyes. "You have no idea what you are challenging."
His eyes rose to the camera in the corner of the room. Those far away in Atlas would be watching if the huntsman was to be believed. Watching and learning. The little light on the side of it blinked red as he stood before the surrendered soldiers and the dead huntsman.
"Neither do you," Jaune replied, both to the huntsman and his employers. Jaune pointed the gun down, face resolute. "And my name isn't Subject."
Mors barked once. The man's legs kicked, and then he went still.
"It's Null."
Killing becoming easier and easier for Jaune, especially when his enemies do such a good job of playing the bad guys.
If you're interested in checking out the book my student made, I can't write the link here. I can't even do it with spaces, etc, because it's not a simple link but one with tonnes of random code and letters in it, etc.
THAT SAID, if you go directly to Amazon and type "Charles Cackler" in the search bar, it comes up straight away. I hope you'll give the first chapter (the free one) a look through, but you should buy or not depending on whether you like it, not because I say so.
Next Chapter: 4th May
P a treon . com (slash) Coeur
