Hello, all! I'm not gone! Life just got stupid crazy with no time to work on stories, but I'm kind of back now. So, I haven't uploaded since October, and I know how much a three month gap like that can kill a fic if you just jump right back in, so I wrote up a recap to help out. I tried to keep it as short as I could, but 24 chapters is a lot to condense, and there are some important bits I didn't want to gloss over. Enjoy!
Prior to being found in the Vacuan desert by hunters Oliver Cyprus and Laurel Tawn, Aspen Gray had no identity. Oliver and Laurel soon learned that she was an above average fighter with incredible healing ability, and decided to take her to the upcoming Vytal Festival in hopes of leading her down the path of a Huntress. After attacking Team RWBY, however, Aspen was forcefully recruited into Beacon Academy and placed on a team of underachieving students; Rhys Bauril, Carmine Embry, and Ilex Jae.
While hunting Grimm in the Emerald Forest, Aspen discovered an underground structure filled with large pods hidden at the bottom of a massive chasm. She found it familiar, but she knew that she had never been there before. While exploring the structure, Aspen encountered a man named Deirean, who revealed the truth of what they both were: Rephaim, a forgotten precursor to the Grimm with the ability to sense Aura and emotion as a physical-often painful-sensation. Despite her desire to follow him and learn more about herself, Deirean insisted that they part ways for the time being.
Concerned about the potential effects the rephaim could have on her plans, Cinder Fall attempted to recruit them to her side. Both of them refused her offers, and Deirean's encounter resulted in a vow to kill both Cinder and Emerald Sustrai, who he dubbed Decay and Wax due to their Aura signatures.
When Cinder disrupted the Vytal Festival tournament, both Deirean and Aspen were able to influence a number of Grimm to leave, sparing Vale from the devastation. Plagued by murderous impulses spurred on by intense pain caused by the negativity around her, Aspen led her team in defense of Beacon before going with Yang Xiao Long to find her partner, Blake Belladonna. After having her throat cut and being stabbed in the chest by Adam Taurus, Aspen's will finally broke and she attacked Adam with his own sword. When Laurel finally found her, Aspen had cut off Adam's arm and butchered several White Fang members, much to her own despair.
Meanwhile, Deirean tracked the new Fall Maiden Cinder to the CCT tower. Before he could get to her, however, he was confronted by Pyrrha Nikos, who saw blood on his stolen Atlesian armor. Deirean easily defeated Pyrrha, nearly killing her and paralyzing her in the process. After climbing the tower and engaging in a second fight, Deirean defeated Cinder as well, and fulfilled part of his vow by snapping her neck. As he left the tower, he encountered Ruby Rose and Weiss Schnee. Qrow Branwen arrived before Deirean could attack the two girls, but allowed him to leave after exchanging several words in the Rephaite language.
A week later, Pyrrha woke up from a medically induced coma and related information on the Rephaim to Glynda Goodwitch. Aspen, Oliver, and Laurel were taken into custody by the Atlesian military on suspicion of involvement in the attack. With the information from Pyrrha, James Ironwood questioned Aspen on the Rephaim.
(- -)
The sky over Beacon was clear and bright. A less cynical person might say it was a nice day, one filled with unity and hope for the future and other sentimental crap like that. Qrow looked at Beacon and saw a sun-bleached corpse. There were signs of life, sure, with workers sorting through the rubble and beginning the rebuilding process but, to the veteran hunter, they looked like scavengers picking through the bones of the school. It wasn't a perfect analogy, but it was the one that came to mind first, and the one that stuck.
It would be a few weeks before Beacon even came close to being up and running again. The whole place was practically a huge crime scene, with people taking notes of every little thing and logging it all somewhere. Qrow wasn't a part of that, but he'd passed through enough times that he recognized many of those people on his way. It didn't give him a good feeling.
Nor did entering the CCT Tower. Of all the places on Beacon, that had been the place to be cleaned up first. Had to keep communications with the other Kingdoms secure and all that. Even as he flashed his ID to a soldier standing guard, though, he could still picture his niece in the foyer, standing over the body of her friend. He grumbled to himself, imagining the conversation he still needed to have with her.
Pushing his way through a door, Qrow stepped into an adjunct building, Ozpin's office was still blown to hell, so "Acting Headmistress" Goodwitch had set up shop in a nearby office so that she'd have easy access to the CCT. It probably also had something to do with the fact that it had avoided having Grimm plow through its walls.
"I understand that, James, but that doesn't mean you have to rush in the instant you find him!"
Qrow frowned. By the sound of things, Glynda was in the middle of a discussion with everyone's least-favorite Atlesian General. Qrow craned his neck to get a better look into the office as he approached. Glynda was alone, leaning over a desk covered with barely organized stacks of papers. Despite the enormous amount of stress she was under, she somehow managed to keep herself looking as presentable as always. There was a scroll propped up in the middle of the desk, and Qrow could just make out Jimmy's picture on its screen. The huntsman didn't bother to announce his presence as he stepped into the office and leaned against the doorframe. Glynda barely spared him a glance. "At least tell me you'll be bringing Knights in to apprehend him?" she asked the scroll with a sigh.
"All Knights and Paladins are still offline," the scroll responded. Qrow could hear the resignation in James's voice, not something heard often. "The Council is concerned that their presence will cause a panic."
"And sending a platoon of soldiers into the city somehow won't?" Glynda snapped back, gesturing out toward the city despite not being on a video call. It just so happened to be the same direction as Qrow, and he found himself standing up just a little straighter. Glynda leaned forward again, her eyes fixing on James's portrait. "You, of all people, should know how foolish this is. He can sense Aura. He'll know you're coming and—"
"—and we'll still have the upper hand. If what we've been told about the Rephaim is true, he won't be prepared for our technology or tactics, no matter how much experience he has."
Qrow stood away from the doorframe. They know about the Rephaim?
For a moment, Glynda seemed ready to continue to argue, but she dropped her head in defeat. "I hope you know what you're doing, James."
There was a pause on the other end. "If there was any other way…"
"I know," Glynda said, with no attempt to house the bitterness in her voice. "Just… be careful."
"I will."
Glynda tapped the screen, ending the call. After a moment, she lifted her head to address her visitor, all traces of weakness buried away. "Aren't you supposed to be starting your search for the new Fall Maiden, Qrow?"
"Yeah, probably. Still wrapping up some loose ends before I head out, though. Had a favor to ask." The man stepped into the office, across to stand in front of the desk. "Before I get to that, though, maybe you could fill me in on what's going on? I mean, I get you and James are busy with the protection of Vale and all that, but I can't help but feel left out of the loop again. He said something about Rephaim?"
Glynda looked him in the eyes, but her gaze wasn't as resolute as he was accustomed to seeing. After only a few seconds, she relented, gesturing toward the door. Qrow reached over to close it. By the time he'd turned back around, Glynda had taken a seat in her chair—the only one in the room. "Miss Nikos woke up yesterday," she said, picking up her scroll. "The man you encountered calls himself Deirean. By his own account, he is impossibly old, and is one of the last members of a species called the Rephaim."
Qrow leaned against the wall opposite Glynda and scratched his jaw. "Never heard of 'em, So, there's more like him out there?"
"At least one that we know of." Turning her scroll, Glynda handed it to Qrow. "Aspen Gray. Everything we know about the Rephaim has come from her."
Qrow looked at the scroll, finding what looked to be an official report. Even scanning over the important bits, it was a curiously surreal experience. He'd heard legends of the Rephaim, passed down through generations, but seeing it all written down in such a manner made it all too real.
Known individuals:
Aspen Gray - in custody
"Deirean" - currently unaccounted for
…lifespans of tens of thousands of years… …enhanced strength, speed, and senses… …ability to sense Aura across great distances…
…characterized by black hair, red eyes, and pale skin…
Qrow looked up from the scroll, trying to ignore the crawling sensation on his skin that told him to run. "Is this as bad as I think it is?"
Glynda pursed her lips. "Worse. Keep in mind that we have yet to verify any of this information, but we also have no reason to disbelieve it either." Qrow raised an eyebrow. "The reason we've never heard of the Rephaim is because they were effectively wiped out some thousands of years ago, if not longer. The ones that were left behind…weren't quite Rephaim."
"Grimm," Qrow filled in. "The Rephaim are Grimm."
"It is more accurate to say that the Grimm are Rephaim." Glynda sighed when Qrow gave her a look. "Those are Aspen's words, not mine."
Qrow understood the distinction, though he wasn't sure which reflected better on the Rephaim. An entire species for whom it only took a few thousand years to devolve into the worst monsters imaginable? Or one of those same monsters that had gained sentience to become something more? And where did Salem favor into all of this? Questions for another day, he supposed. "Does the Council know about this?" he asked, holding up the scroll.
Glynda nodded. "Everything but the connection to the Grimm, though I'll admit it isn't difficult to make the connection even without that knowledge. Still, it was enough for them to make capturing Deirean a top priority, even above locating Cinder Fall's associates. James is currently hunting him down in the city." Her expression soured. "And he seems intent on doing it alone."
Qrow ground his teeth. He knew he should say something, that he should suggest they help James, regardless of whether or not he wanted it. What would happen if they failed, though? Deirean knew about him, and he knew about Ruby and her friends. "If they stand in my way again, I will not show them mercy." Qrow had redirected the threat to himself at the time, but that didn't take away the danger Ruby was in. As selfish as it was, he couldn't be the one to make the decision to place his friends over his family.
It was no relief to his conscience when Glynda asked, "Now, what was that favor you wanted from me?"
Qrow let out a long breath through his nose. He'd nearly forgotten about that, and now it felt all the more trivial. "Those two hunters that were with Aspen. Does James still have them in custody?"
"Oliver Cyprus and Laurel Tawn?" Glynda asked. Qrow just shrugged. It wasn't as if he had learned their names. "Last I was aware, yes. Why?"
"I want to talk with them."
Glynda narrowed her eyes. "You do understand that I am only Acting Headmistress, yes? I don't have the kind of authority Ozpin did, especially not the kind that would put you in a room with the two people closest to an ongoing investigation."
Qrow held up his hands to placate her. "I know, I know. All I'm asking for is a few minutes alone with them."
Glynda met his gaze for a few moments, and Qrow almost thought she might deny him. She shook her head however, and, sighing, said, "Can I ask what it is you wish to speak with them about?"
Qrow glanced away. "I'd rather not say. It's nothing to do with the investigation, though." It was technically true. "Just a personal matter, and I'm only asking 'cause I'm gonna be leaving soon."
Glynda took a long breath before sitting down in her chair. She sat back, raising one hand to her head to gently massage her temple. "I'll see what I can do," she said at last. Qrow nodded, feeling a gnawing guilt at using his duties to pressure a friend. A few seconds passed in silence, and Qrow decided it would be best if he left. When he wrapped his hand around the door knob, though, Glynda spoke again. "Do you think he'll be alright?"
Qrow didn't turn his head. "James?"
"Yes. You're the only one of us who's seen Deirean in person. Do you believe that James can capture him?"
Letting his hand fall away from the door knob, Qrow turned around. Glynda hadn't moved from her seat, and she looked up at with him with a clear look of worry. "Honestly?" The gnawing in his stomach grew in intensity. "Cinder half burned Deirean to a crisp and he still managed to kill her with his bare hands. I'm not sure any of us can take him on alone."
Glynda's gaze dropped to the wall opposite her as Qrow silently urged her to pick up on his hints and do what he couldn't. She furrowed her eyebrows, her face twitching with a multitude of microexpressions until, all at once, her face hardened and she stood up, crop in hand. Qrow stepped aside when she waved her hand and opened the door with her Semblance. She walked past him, her heels clicking against the hardwood floors. Cautiously, Qrow poked his head out the door, only for Glynda to turn around and fix him with a hard look. "Well, are you coming?"
(- -)
Crouched on the edge of a building, Deirean looked out at the bay the settlement called Vale was built around. It was strange to see how the havneel had deformed the land so drastically. He was certain that this bay had once been a river, too insignificant to even warrant naming. Now, it was so wide that great ships could pass by one another five at a time and not fear colliding with one another.
It did not feel so long ago that he had travelled the forests here by the sea, but he could feel the pull of time in his body. Nearly sixty thousand years on the surface before returning to the havashah. He felt twice that age. Over two-hundred-and-fifty thousand years in the havashah. Well beyond the lifespan of a rephaite on the surface. That time had taken its toll on him, and his wounds were taking longer to heal. With the magics that havneel now possessed, he felt no shame in arming himself with a kopis taken from the havashah's stockpile. With no one to tend to them, the wooden sheath and even the specially treated leather grip had rotted away long ago, but the slender blade remained as keen as ever, a testament to rephaite steel-working.
Deirean turned his gaze to the buildings along the shoreline. While it was true that his battle with Decay had taken longer for him to recover from than he had expected, he had not spent the last eight days licking his wounds. If he were to return the rephaim to power, he did not have time to sit idle. He had sworn to kill both Decay and Wax, however, and he was only halfway done. Tracking a single person in a settlement of millions was not easy to accomplish, but he had finally located her in this less-populated section.
A curious chill ran down his spine. Deirean reached out with his presence, searching for any dangers around him, but felt next to nothing. That, he realized, was what he was finding so strange. There were fewer people in this part of the settlement, yes, but there were too few now. Far too few. Deirean rose to his feet, tuning his presence even further out. There. At the edge of his range, two signatures, barely perceptible. He turned to look in their direction.
Something large slammed into the right side of Deirean's chest, piercing through his ribcage and knocking him from the roof. The rephaite landed on his back, his ribs fracturing further under the impact with the hard street. Whatever struck him whirred inside his chest before punching out through his back and digging into his flesh. Snarling in pain and rage, Deirean propped himself up on one arm and clutched at his chest.
A silver cylinder protruded almost two inches from the armor he had taken from the soldier he'd killed. It was about an inch in diameter and featureless save for several slits running its length. Growling, he wrapped his fingers around the cylinder and pulled, only to drag whatever was digging into his back even further. The moment he took his fingers away to push the cylinder through, thin slivers of metal sprang out from the slits and buried themselves into his chest, completely securing the device into his chest. Deirean roared and dug at the metal. Whatever this thing was, he would tear it out and—
Another whirring sound found Deirean's ears, though this one rapidly grew louder, approaching him. He rose to his feet, left hand coming down to grip the metal hilt by his side. There are ships coming. This had been an ambush. The havneel had sought to incapacitate him with this device and were now coming to finish him off. His breathing did not come easily, and shifting his right arm sent arcs of pain coursing through his body. He would not be able to defend himself effectively in open combat, no matter what his advantage was. Unfortunately for these havneel, however, Deirean had spent millennia hunting their kind. No matter how much time had passed, that advantage could never be taken away.
Deirean sprinted across the street to the building there. The havneel ships were very close now, and he could feel their signatures clearly now. They were remarkably impassive, but tinged by anger. Gritting his teeth, Deirean kicked the door in and stepped inside.
The building consisted of a single large room, filled with a number of vehicles in storage. Deirean had seen a wide variety of similar machines across the settlement, although few as box-like as these. He made little effort to inspect them further, instead using them for cover on his path through the building.
Outside, he sensed over two dozen havneel gathering to enter the building, and a dozen more had landed on the opposite end of the building. Deirean stopped and knelt behind one of the vehicles. Even he couldn't take on that many warriors, not like this. Reaching up to the device in his chest, he found what purchase he could and began to twist. The barbs made it so that he couldn't push or pull it through, but if he snapped those off—He instinctively pulled his hands away and hissed as electricity shot from the device throughout his body. Vrikta! The surge was not debilitatingly painful, but it would make removing the object more difficult, and time was not something he had in immediate supply.
The door Deirean had entered through reopened, and the havneel clattered in. "Spread out and search the building. Check under every truck. You two, stay outside and keep your weapons trained on this door. No one leaves without my say-so." It was not difficult to identify the man giving orders, his stony presence more powerful than any of those around.
Deirean growled. If he were going to escape this building, it would not be through open combat. That suited him fine, however; he was Hunter Commander, and it had been far too long since he had been on a proper hunt.
Standing up, Deirean examined the space above him. The building was twice as tall as was necessary to house the vehicles, and a number of steel joists supported the ceiling. Several lights hung from the joists throughout the room and windows along the upper walls allowed sunlight to filter in but, at midday, much of the building was still shrouded in shadow.
Even with only one arm to steady himself, it was a simple matter for Deirean to leap up to the joists. He watched for any indication that he had been seen, but the havneel were focused on the trucks as they had been ordered by Stone. Deirean focused his gaze on the man. He was average height by Rephaite standards, though perhaps tall for a havneel. He stood straight and carried a one-handed projectile weapon, smaller than those the others carried, but built with a bulky frame that suggested its power.
Interestingly, he dressed differently from the soldiers he commanded. While they wore darker versions of the armor that Deirean had stolen, Stone wore deliberately attention-grabbing white clothes that offered little protection aside from a pair of spaulders across his shoulders. Just like Decay. Deirean clicked his tongue in curiosity. Perhaps there was a correlation between a havneel's strength and the amount of armor they wore? It would be a difficult hypothesis to prove, as the weakest havneel also wore no armor, but it was certainly something to consider for the future.
The havneel soldiers had spread out through the building. Beneath Deirean, a pair approached the truck he had hidden behind. One nodded to the other, who activated a mechanical torch on his weapon and knelt down to look beneath the truck.
Thousands of years of hunting experience allowed Deirean to drop silently, though the same could not be said of the havneel he landed upon. Deirean's blade had pierced deep into the man's torso through a gap in his armor around his neck and, though Deirean was able to stop him from falling, the man let out a quiet wheeze in his expiration. The sound was loud enough to attract the kneeling havneel's attention, who had just lifted his knee off the ground before Deirean's sword chopped through his helmet and into his skull.
Deirean shuddered in ecstasy. These two men were weak and did little to sate his koravah, but it was enough to dull the wildfire in his chest. Easing the men down to the ground, he freed his blade and turned his attention outward. It seemed the kills had gone unnoticed, but a trio of soldiers were coming his way on a patrol route behind the trucks, on the outer edge of the building. Deirean pressed himself against the vehicle and waited for them to approach.
The first man didn't even register surprise as Deirean whirled around and cut through his neck. The two soldiers flanking him, whose weapons were at the ready but lowered, took aim at Deirean, but were too close to fire before he was upon them. The steel blade pinned the left man's arm to his chest as he was run through, and the right man's throat cracked with a hand around it. The two men were brought to the ground by Deirean's momentum, and their signatures quickly faded.
These kills had not been as quiet as the first two, however. "I think I heard something over by the entrance. Moving to check it out." Deirean heard the voice in triplicate, coming from the dead soldiers' helmets. His position was compromised, and so killing the man responsible would be futile. Better to use that to his advantage. Pulling one of the helmets loose to take with him, he climbed up onto the truck, careful to avoid smearing the blood that had splattered across the back. The metal creaked, echoing within itself. Hollow.
Deirean laid low, slowing his breathing and allowing the soldier to approach. "We've got men down. Three—no, five bodies. Looks like they were cut down by a sword." The man's signature pressed against Deirean, sharp and fearful. Deirean smiled. Fearful havneel made mistakes.
"Hold position." Stone's voice. "You three, with me. Everyone else, form a perimeter."
As one, the signatures throughout the building shifted and moved toward Deirean. From his position, they were approaching from only two directions, giving him a wide opening to act as he saw fit. Taking the helmet, he dropped it off the side of the truck, away from the havneel who had reported his position. Fear spiked in the man's signature, but Deirean didn't have to wait long for him to move toward the source of the noise.
When the soldier was below him, Deirean struck. His blade pierced through the havneel's chest, and a quick change of grip allowed Deirean to pull him back up onto the truck. Carefully positioning the body beside him to avoid notice from the ground, Deirean took the weapon the havneel had carried. He had seen these rifles used to varied success against the pech ter'al, and though he did not particularly care for firearms as weapons, they were weapons nonetheless.
Stone and the three soldiers came from the front of the trucks. Muted horror and disgust needled across Deirean's body, evidence that they had discovered the bodies of their comrades, but it was Stone's grinding rage that came through truest. "I know you're here, Deirean. You can't hide forever, so you may as well surrender now." No, Deirean couldn't hide forever, but the hunt was not about hiding. It was about power through fear. Fear of the unknown was a powerful tool, but sometimes a show of force was more effective.
Deirean shoved the dead soldier toward his compatriots, rolling off the truck in the opposite direction. The havneel shouted in alarm, and one of their signatures fell to the ground beneath the corpse. Twisting to land on his feet, Deirean raised his stolen rifle and fired out past the front of the truck. The two soldiers in the perimeter visible from his position dropped, their signatures vanishing from the space around Deirean, and four more shots through the thin walls of the truck quenched three more.
Stone's signature only dipped for a moment before flaring back in rage. A large caliber round tore through the truck from the other side, sending a vibration up Deirean's arm in passing. Growling, he threw himself against the truck. His muscles burned where the rod in his chest kept them from healing, but the cumulative lives he had taken gave him the energy he needed to push past the pain. Metal crunched and glass shattered when the vehicle collided with the one on the other side, pinning Stone in between. Remarkably, his signature was still active, though it was significantly weaker.
Deirean turned his attention to the remaining soldiers. Moving the truck had exposed his position to more of the perimeter, and these havneel wasted no time in bringing their weapons to bear on him. One of their bullets struck him in the hip before he was able to fully pull away from the vehicle, and he swiftly put down the man who had fired it. Retreating to the outer wall, Deirean tossed the rifle away in frustration. With his free hand, he pushed into the wound and extricated the slug. There were still shards of bone that would give him difficulty, but that would heal on its own.
The havneel kept their distance, fear and uncertainty sharp in their signatures. Without their commander, they were lost. Deirean steadied his breathing, still finding it difficult with the device in his chest. The room was quiet. It was time to push. "There were forty of you when this began." His voice reverberated off the metal ceiling, and the havneel's signatures bristled. "Twelve of you are dead, and your commander has been incapacitated. Two soldiers stand at each door, ready to shoot me if I attempt to flee, but I tell you this: I will not flee. I will not leave this building until I have killed every havneel within. You believe you have me trapped? I will show you how wrong you are."
The fear in the room reached a peak, and at least some of the havneel were moments away from running when the sound of creaking metal and broken glass falling to the ground filled the air. The trucks shook behind Deirean, then shifted apart toward the front. Two havneel rushed toward the gap between the trucks, and whatever fear Deirean had instilled dissipated. Stone was still conscious. "So, now you're interested in talking." His voice was strained and his breathing was audible, but the man's signature still pressed firmly against Deirean's back.
Deirean leaned against the back of the truck, considering his options. Stone's effect on his soldiers was notable, soothing their signatures with his mere presence. Clearly, if Deirean were to break the havneel, Stone would need to be eliminated. It was unlikely that Stone would expose himself to an easy attack, however. "Talking, as you say, has its purpose," Deirean said, reaching once again for the cylinder in his chest. "I find it is a useful tool for distraction and intimidation, but there is little point to it in combat. Tell me, is this a universal practice among your kind, or have I simply had the misfortune to encounter every individual who prefers to speak while they fight?" As with his last attempt, twisting the cylinder resulted in an electric current running throughout Deirean's body. His muscles tensed and breathing became nigh impossible, but he continued to apply force.
"Emotion is a powerful tool, as I'm sure you are aware," Stone said, not moving from his position. The other havneel had begun to tighten their perimeter, however. Buried in the armor and his flesh, the metal anchors in Deirean's chest creaked. "With the right words, you can manipulate someone into making a mistake or revealing their intentions. So, you tell me: what do you think you're distracting us from?"
Snap!
Deirean's laugh filled the room, and gave the havneel pause. Reaching around his back, he pulled the cylinder free. Immediately, he could feel his body begin to repair itself. The metal pins were still stuck in his chest, but those would be ejected in time. "You are smarter than Decay and her lackey, Stone. You understand your enemies strengths and weaknesses and attempt to exploit them, but you are still a fool to believe you can trap me." Crushing what was left of the cylinder, Deirean tossed it toward the front of the truck.
The metal clattered across the floor, eliciting a spike of fear from Stone, pointed and urgent. "Move in, now!" The havneel moved quickly, and a low chuckle left Deirean's throat. Gripping his sword, he prepared himself for the attack.
When the first soldier neared the corner of the truck, Deirean moved. The man's weapon fell to the ground before he did, cleft in two by the rising blade that Deirean then thrust into his chest. The soldiers had spaced themselves in an attempt to give themselves room to fire on him, but there would be no stopping him. He moved faster than them, cutting down two, three, four while their bullets cut through the air around him.
More soldiers came around the backs of the trucks, flanking on both sides. Grabbing a soldier in front of him, Deirean dragged his blade across the man's throat before pushing him into the line of havneel in front of him. He relished in the surprise crawling along his skin and down his spine before turning and attacking those behind. A push to redirect the left woman's rifle, a slash across the right man's chest, a thrust into the woman's abdomen. Stone's signature behind him, burning with the intent to kill. Deirean spun his blade around and intercepted the bullet the commander fired. For a brief moment, Deirean thought the havneel might begin speaking again, but the tensing muscles in his ungloved hand spoke otherwise. Deirean tore forward, the second bullet narrowly passing by his cheek. Weaving to the left, he leapt up and used the truck to push back off toward Stone. The man raised his right arm in a defensive posture.
Rather than cut through as it had the other soldiers, Deirean's sword struck Stone's arm with a metallic clang. The abrupt stop threw off Deirean's balance enough that he stumbled past Stone, but he recovered in time to dip out of the way of a punch from the same arm. As it passed by, Deirean caught a glimpse of metal through the torn sleeve. A false arm!
Snarling, Deirean swung his blade toward Stone's neck, only for the other man to catch the blade with his metal hand. Warm steel brushed against the uniform covering Deirean's abdomen, and he instinctively reached down with his free hand to pull the gun to the side. An explosion of superheated gas accompanying the firing of the weapon scorched his flesh, giving Stone the opening to lift his right leg and kick Deirean's. The attack was far more powerful than it should have been, fracturing the bone.
Deirean was beyond the pain. Wrenching Stone's weapon from his grip, he cast the firearm aside and grabbed the man's false arm. The physical strain was evident in Stone's face as he attempted to fight Deirean's grip but, false arm or no, he was no match for a Rephaim. When something metal gave way under his fingers, Deirean released the arm and grabbed Stone by the back of the head, dragging it down to meet his rising knee.
Stone reeled back, but Deirean's hand kept him from staggering away. Spinning the man around, Deirean pulled him against his chest and leveled his blade across his throat. The remaining soldiers had gathered around them and were pointing their weapons at them, but their fear and uncertainty dug deep. "Tell them to stand down," Deirean growled into Stone's ear.
Despite his position, Stone's signature welled up with determination. "You can kill me if you like, but my men will cut you down the instant you do."
Fury boiled inside Deirean and he pulled the blade tighter. "Make no mistake, you will die, if for nothing more than wagering the lives of those under your command on an impossible gambit." He turned his head, eyeing the soldiers. "I came here for Wax and no one else, but if they do not lower their weapons, I will mark them complicit in your actions and they will die alongside you."
Stone's resolve wavered, but did not last long. "Stand down," he said, head dipping forward against the blade. "Fall back to the exits." The soldiers' confusion rolled across Deirean's skin, but they obeyed and backed away. Deirean followed their retreat, waiting for sufficient distance before he ended Stone's life. Unfortunately, that just gave Stone more time to speak. "Aspen Gray. Is she a part of this?"
Deirean growled. "Aspen Gray is a child who has yet to realize her true place in the world." He pulled the blade tight against Stone's throat, drawing a thin bead of blood. "She will learn soon enough."
One of the windows along the ceiling shattered inward, and Deirean looked to see the shadow of a man swinging an impractically large sword toward him. In the same moment, Stone jerked his head back, loosening Deirean's hold enough to allow him to slip away. Deirean stepped to the side, maneuvering his blade to deflect the incoming sword. The newcomer's signature settled on Deirean at once, and he instantly recognized it. It was the same feathery-signatured man from the tower. The abomination.
Feather quickly positioned himself between Deirean and Stone, clearly guarding the wounded man. Growling at the inconvenience, Deirean pushed forward. Feather swung his blade in a horizontal arc, but Deirean rolled underneath it, coming up behind the man. He jerked his arm back as he stood, catching Feather in the vital organs beneath the ribcage and knocking him away.
Stone, still possessing some fight in him despite not having a proper weapon, closed the distance and punched Deirean in the face with his false hand. Bone broke, but Deirean did not lose his balance. Dipping beneath an attempted follow-up cross, he slashed his sword across Stone's abdomen. The blade bit into metal once again as it crossed the man's right side, but drew blood along his left. Both havneel were consumed by surprise and confusion, so much so that neither acted before Deirean drew forward and pushed his sword into Stone's chest. A strangled grunt escaped the man's lips before Deirean pulled his blade out and he fell to the ground.
"James!" A new voice, decidedly feminine and unfamiliar. Near the entrance stood a woman in white and black. Her signature, like strands of silk wrapping around Deirean's body and digging into his skin, was powerful and filled with fury. She raised an odd-looking stick in his direction and her signature grew even more powerful. Deirean tensed, expecting a wave of flame similar to Decay's magic when she whipped her arm to the side.
He did not anticipate one of the trucks to lift off the ground and crash into him.
(- -)
Glynda ran forward, coming to a stop next to James's fallen body. Frantically, she cupped his cheek and turned his face toward her. Half-lidded eyes stared into space past her and his breathing was shallow, but he was still alive. Glynda counted that small blessing even as she cursed herself for her earlier indecision. Looking around, it was easy to see what the cost had been.
Across the room, the truck she had thrown at the rephaim shifted. Glynda rose to her feet, her fury returning as she readied her crop. Before she she could step forward, however, Qrow put a hand on her shoulder. "Stay here and make sure James is alright. I'll deal with Deirean."
Glynda shook his hand off. "If you think I'm going to let you fight him alone after what he's done—"
"Look, I get it," Qrow snapped, eyes narrowed, "but Jimmy needs help right now and we both know I'm not the one to give it to him." He looked over to the truck, which had just been rolled back onto its wheels. "I can hold Deirean off until you get him stabilized."
Glynda's crop creaked in her grip. Qrow was right and, against her better judgement, she had to trust him. She nodded and he ran off, leaving her to kneel back down beside James. His uniform was dirty, his armor scuffed, and he had several cuts across his body, but the most serious injury was obviously the one in his chest. Using her Semblance to tear open the layers of clothing over the wound, she gave it a closer inspection.
Remarkably, it didn't appear to be a lethal blow, and James's Aura was already repairing the damage. Glynda frowned. That couldn't be right. Not that she wasn't grateful that James was already healing but, for him to have taken this kind of wound, his Aura would have to have been nearly depleted. Leaning forward, she gently placed her hands on the wound.
"Glynda…" James's head rocked side to side as he attempted to focus his eyes on her.
"Quiet now," the woman responded, internalizing her sigh of relief. "You need to save your strength."
A metallic hand rose up to brush her arm before slipping back down against James's chest. "The girl…" He coughed, blood-stained lips contorting in agony. Glynda could feel the air escaping through the hole in his chest, but she let him speak regardless. "Ozpin trusted her… We have to… trust her too…"
"Aspen? James…"
"Find… wax... Deirean… looking… her…" The last of James's energy faded, and he slipped into unconsciousness. Cursing under her breath, Glynda continued to lay her hands on his wound.
After a minute, Qrow returned, breathing hard and with several cuts across his body. "He got away," he reported grimly. "Ran out the back and cut through three of the soldiers there before jumping into the bay. I can go fly around, wait for him to surface again, but…"
Glynda shook her head. "No, let him go for now."
"Do you have a plan?"
A plan… Glynda looked down at James. Aspen… Finding wax… She would have to work out the details later but, for the time being, the general's intent seemed clear. Glynda turned her gaze toward Qrow. "It seems like you'll be getting your conversation with those hunters after all."
So, a lot's happened since I last updated. I finished my last semester of classes, got a job, moved… Oh, and we got an entire volume of RWBY. Can't forget that. I guess as ways of explanation for why it's taken so long, I'll say it was a combination of having a very writing intensive class and me not really wanting to write this chapter. I know I said I wouldn't talk about how much trouble I have writing chapters, but if this one doesn't quite land as well as others, that's why.
Yeah, I don't have anything to say on this chapter aside from pointing out that Ironwood has armor that he never wears in the show. The shoulder armor I mentioned here actually shows up in the Volume 3 opening and, as far as I know, no one has ever mentioned it. It makes sense that he didn't wear it in the show since he never got the chance to put it on, but still.
Next chapter, we'll be getting back to Aspen and co. Hopefully, it won't be anywhere near as long before you get that. Au revoir!
