AN: Had this idea around for a bit and wanted to get back to writing again. Not entirely too happy with how things in canon are portrayed or turned out, so just a fun little thing I'm going with. It's been way too long since I wrote anything, and I haven't been actively practicing. But, I wanted to do something, so here it is.
Story and events set Post Season 3, an AU where the events in Season 4 ended differently, resulting things playing out differently years down the line. Slight worldbuilding and history change. Toned down Aura.
The Black Claws
5 Years Ago
Somewhere in Mantle
In the dead of night, the winds of Mantle were gentle this time of the year. The bleak landscape, lit from reflections of the shattered moon above, was proud and bright in its flawed beauty. In the distance, small lights of the never sleeping kingdom of Atlas and Mantle blinked, a large beacon of civilization and warmth in the middle of this desolate snow waste.
It was a calm night, snow drifted gently down in a never-ending cascade. Animals hibernated, the Grimm froze, and soldiers stood guard in their eternal vigil. But tonight, the White Fang hunted for prey.
Movement.
The snow in the mountains shifted.
From the piles of white, white figures emerged from the ground, like ghosts of long-dead soldiers from battles long forgotten. Thirty men and women stepped out of their camouflaged foxholes and started to march towards the floating kingdom of Atlas.
They moved like phantoms, unseen and unheard. Each step they took was in the place of the man in front. They moved in sync as one, the last man covering their tracks with a few brushes of a dead branch.
When they reached the designated point, the snow was thinner and the air less biting. The men shed their thick coats and buried them hastily in the earth.
The leader checked his wristwatch and nodded in satisfaction. Right on time.
The march continued, this time at a much quicker pace. Previous caution and stealth abandoned, they hurried to the next point. Their timing must be perfect, and the execution flawless.
Finally, they drew close upon the edge of Mantle. This approach was not walled off from the Grimm, for it was impossible for any creature to survive the long and arduous trek through the hostile cold. The team could see the busy roads of the never sleeping kingdom, under the watchful eyes of the most powerful military force on Remnant.
They had just waltzed in.
Atlas's geographic advantage had left their people complacent. In a war against Grimm, this complacency could be forgiven. In a war against humanity, it was a weakness to be exploited.
They looked upon the mesmerizing scenery and drank in the details. They were all mentally prepared, physically trained, and willing. This operation will see to the possible annihilation of this entire team, but as long as the objective is achieved, they will make their marks on history.
The leader, a tattooed monster of a man named Bane Skyler- spoke to his brothers and sisters, "Black Claws. State your mission."
"Team 1, Huntsmen's memorial, target: Ironwood."
"Team 2, target: Jacques Schnee."
"Team 3, target: Winter Schnee."
"Team 4, target: Weiss Schnee."
"Team 5, target: Willow Schnee."
"Team 6, target: Whitley Schnee."
The leader nodded, satisfied the men knew what they were doing. They had spoken with fire and zeal. He stated their ultimate objective one final time.
"For the liberation of all Faunus kind. The White Fang has entrusted our unit, the Black Claws, will take the head of General James Ironwood and erase the entire Schnee family from history."
He did an about-face to look in the eyes of his men for possibly the last time. Bane reached into his pocket and pulled out a capsule. The men did likewise, mirroring his motions with precision. They will require this for the upcoming climb up to Atlas itself.
Yet, Bane paused, hesitation gripping him for a moment's notice as he eyed the black pill.
It radiated with unholy energies.
He swallowed it, and everyone followed suit.
The effect was immediate.
Their skin turned deathly pale and their body temperature dropped. Blood turned black with corruption and eyes reddened as delicate blood vessels popped and burst.
Then, the entire unit as one donned on their Grimm masks.
From that point onward, they ceased to be men and women.
From that point onward, they became the beasts that hunted men.
A limousine of the purest white cruised upon the highway, their path cleared of all traffic. The law enforcement of Atlas made sure that their journey was smooth and fast, at the expense of other drivers now directed to the side of the road, consigning them to hours of terrible traffic.
It was starting to snow heavily again. Weiss Schnee noticed the ever-present snowfall intensify as the car journey went on. She, like her mother, had been looking outside of the window for the entire journey, unwilling to meet the eyes of the men that sat directly opposite them.
The streets were empty, only illuminated by the cold monochrome lights of the Kingdom. It was only when the majority of Atlas's security bots were decommissioned, did Weiss notice how hollow and artificial everything was. In a few hours, the memorial event will start, marking the second anniversary of The Fall of Beacon.
…and two years since she lost her.
Two years...two long years had passed since that fateful day in Amity Arena, and two years since she had seen her team, nor even heard of their fates.
Weiss realized that she was gripping her hands so hard until her knuckles had turned white. She slowed down her breathing, forcing deep breaths in an attempt to stifle her beating heart. She could feel the cold sweat that started to gather on her forehead.
Yang, Blake, and Ruby...oh dear Ruby. How she missed them so.
"Do not smile, Whitley," Jacques admonished, "it is inappropriate for such an occasion."
"Yes father," Whitley tilted his head in apology, the smile on his face restrained slightly, "of course."
It was a command that was impossible to achieve, Weiss thought, her brother always looked like he had a snide smile permanently plastered on his face. At the same time, she was thankful for being interrupted from her thoughts.
Weiss was not as good at hiding her emotions as she used to be. Not ever since she had a taste of what it meant to freely express herself. Her emotions must have shown.
"Do try to be considerate for your sister," Jacques sighed as he eyed Weiss warily, "it is a special day for her."
"Of course." Whitley said and turned graciously towards Weiss, "I do apologize, dear sister. I did not intend any offense."
Sure. Weiss thought. She could see the glint in his eyes. She could sense his twisted satisfaction as clearly as she could sense Grimm.
It was hard to believe this man was related to her at all, much less her younger brother. Ever since her return, battered and bruised from the injuries she had sustained, while combating Grimm, Whitley had been cold to her. His attempts at talking to her usually ended up with snide remarks filled with barely concealed hostility was only held back by civil manners, a demeanour held with minimal effort.
He didn't need to say it, but she knew he never did forgive her for leaving Atlas.
In opposition, much to her surprise. Her father had mellowed out dramatically. Even now she could only read genuine wariness on her father's side. An oddity, in her experience. His usual condescending tone was absent. His gaze, slightly softer. Perhaps he is tired. Weiss would not know. The man was a mystery to her at the best of times, and Weiss did the best she could to avoid the man.
Weiss cast a glance at her mother, who was, as usual, unresponsive and aloof.
The matriarch stared out of the window, her gaze entirely focused on the passing scenery outside. Utterly detached from the happenings inside the family...as she had been for the nineteen odd years of Weiss's life.
Weiss understood her absence and didn't blame her at all. Although she still laments the lack of any meaningful interaction with her own mother.
Perhaps that is why she herself was so close to Winter.
As the car slowed to a stop, the driver got out and opened the door.
Hundreds of cameras flashed as the journalists and paparazzi lay in wait. A team carrying umbrellas stood waiting, deploying immediately to receive the Schnee family and to block out the flashing camera.
Up ahead, soldiers stood at attention, ramrod straight. Weiss felt a smile curl onto her lips for the first time of the day as she spotted Winter leading the ranks of men in ceremonial dress uniforms. Winter, to her credit, did not even cast a glance their way, fully at attention as required. They stood in the falling snow, uncovered from the elements, their white greatcoats billowing proudly in the frigid winds.
Not for the first time, Weiss was stuck at how regal her older sister looked.
General Ironwood stood at the head of the rank and file. Behind him, illuminating his statuesque figure, a fire burned brightly in the centre of a large bronze snowflake - The Eternal flame. Below the flame, illuminated by the fires, are the inscriptions, "Through Passing, Immortality. Through Immortality, Virtue. Through Virtue, Glory."
"Let's get this over and done with," Whitley muttered, and strode forwards, ignoring the scowl that appeared on Weiss's face.
By the Brothers, she hated him.
Winter Schnee stilled the pounding in her chest. Her iron discipline clamped down on the sense of unease immediately, extending into her physically and mentally. Soon she felt the edges of uncertainty bleed away. But try as she might, she could not completely eradicate the gnawing sensation of vulnerability.
It couldn't be nervousness, no. This wasn't the first time Winter was part of the ceremony or grand parade. After all, she was a Schnee. While Winter would like to think she was chosen because of her merits, she was also aware that assigning her here was also a gesture towards her family.
But tonight, Winter found herself oddly on edge and without a reason. There was an electric buzz in the air, and Winter could almost feel it course through her body. Perhaps it was the security measures, or lack thereof.
Winter had been briefed on the security measures in place, and while it was glaringly inadequate in her eyes, Ironwood had started to lean more and more towards the "hearts and minds" doctrine. An entire year of martial law and a riot to show for it, it was certainly another approach. As a certain headmaster once said, all the security measures and hardware in place only made the population uneasy. Overt security had been dismantled in the place of covert snipers and casually clothed agents that were unseen.
However, Winter cannot help but feel that something is off.
It doesn't matter now. Quickly banishing the thought, Winter sent a hand signal to the others.
The ceremony was about to start.
Hidden in the shadows, concealed by the thickening layers of snow, two figures lay prone -still as a statue- from their vantage point overlooking the memorial. The snipers of the Black Claws lay in wait, waiting for the signal that would turn the site into a massacre.
To the thermal drones flying overhead, the pair were all but invisible. Hot living blood had been corrupted and frozen into black ice that now ran through their veins to through their blackened hearts.
They did not need to move. They did not need to sleep.
They were the perfect hunters.
The Atlesians have gotten complacent. Security was lax and inexperienced. In the past, Atlesian Knights and other forms of artificial intelligence would have bolstered security. To prevent another massacre and cybersecurity breach, all forms of militarized artificial intelligence had been decommissioned.
That would now put them on the same training level as the other kingdoms. In the past, wars were not fought against each other, but against the Grimm. Humanity, divided as it is, will still stand together in the face of a common enemy.
Times have changed.
Beacon was gone. Remnant as the world knows it has been teetering on the brink. If there was a time for change, it is now.
"By I. 2 Alpha."
"Contact."
"Staircase, 2 o'clock. Approximately 10 mils."
"Contact."
"Go to glass."
Bai Bones gently shifted aim. his spotter -Emert Steele- panned his range finder around, in search of other targets.
"Ironwood, ID'ed. Leading march, ahead of two soldiers."
They watched as the civilians milled into place, a loose formation with Ironwood at the front.
"Check parallax and mil," Steele said, already sure they are looking at the same target.
Bones adjusted his scope, crisping up the image of Ironwood and canting his scope.
"1.63." Bones reported.
Steele double-checked on his range finger, "Yep. About a 1.6"
"We have a few minutes window now. Even if we miss this chance, he will still have a speech after the moment of silence." Steele said, his voice low.
"Hmmm," Bones muttered, "rather have a stationary target. Winds are picking up."
"I think I see the Schnees. At the front of the crowd. Four of them, white hair. Two O'clock, 5 meters from the General."
"There should be five."
"Other one is military. Probably in the crowd. Look for the hair."
"They are all white, dammit."
Bones panned his scope in search for the target, and soon he laid eyes on the back of four heads. Two males, two females.
"Shorter woman, braided hair, possible ID on target Willow." Bones muttered, "If that is her, then it is safe to assume the rest of the family is there."
"Make sure you don't miss."
Bones snorted at the impossibility of the comment.
He sighted back to each Schnee's skull and started to slow his breathing. All those months of training were for this mission, this moment. Bones especially.
His lips curled in disgust. These bastards were holding a memorial for the Fall of Beacon. Where was the memorial for the hundreds dead in Mantle? Where were the monuments built for that unspoken stain on Atlas history?
But he remembered.
He will always remember.
"For my family," he whispered under his breath.
At the stroke of midnight, the ceremony started.
The marching band started their sombre tune.
As one, the soldiers of Atlas marched forwards, weapons in hand and heads held high. The honour guards of the Huntsman's memorial, marched in formation, leading the General and the elected council members towards the Eternal flame. The leading soldier led with a salute, while the two other honour guards trailed behind, a large floral wreath in their hands.
Among the guests, the entire Schnee family was present. They strode forwards with the General leading, although with none of his precision and timing. Several guests carried flowers in their hands, as did Weiss. The rest of her family paid no such respect.
It was a slow march to the Eternal Flame.
Every step Weiss took, she felt her heart get heavier and heavier.
In that brief moment, she saw her team. They were still smiling, their eyes full of determination and hope.
By the next step, she saw the rest of her friends. That tight-knit group of brothers and sisters with bonds forged in fire.
She saw the final time they sat together at a table, their sincere smiles forever burned into her memory.
….and now she was all alone.
It was the same last year. Upon nearing the flame, her vision had blurred with tears. Her lips trembled but she swallowed down any attempts her body made at making her sob. The pain still hasn't faded.
A hand grabs her own, and she looks up in surprise to see that it was her mother. Despite the strict expression she wore, the contact was gentle and comforting.
It was in times as rare as this, did Weiss only remember that her mother still cared. Weiss squeezed her mother's hand lightly, continued on forwards.
When the honour guard reached the Eternal flame, they marched smartly in a circle to present the floral wreath, and upon command, set themselves in front of the inscriptions. They held the floral wreath, chin high and proud as the harsh weather assaulted them. General Ironwood stopped his advance, and so did the rest of the crowd.
They stood there as the military band stopped playing. Soon, it was just silence, save for the howling wind.
From here onwards, Weiss knew how it usually went. They will stand in silence, in respect for the Huntsmen fallen in the line of duty. They will stand there until an unseen signal was given and the General will turn to address those gathered. Then they will line up to present their flowers in front of the inscriptions, paying their respects to the dead.
That was how it usually went.
But not tonight.
There was a resounding clang, and Ironwood was sent falling onto his back. At the same time, something warm and wet splattered across her face.
Weiss's head snapped up, and she instinctively reached for her waist, only to grasp at a weapon that was not there. She's just heard a sound that she hadn't heard in years. Not since the fall of Beacon.
The snap crack of a sniper rifle. Crack bang! Crack bang!
She turned to her family, a warning half-formed in her mouth when she stopped. Jacques Schnee turned around to look at his daughter, blinking in confusion. Weiss recoiled in terror at the sight.
Half of her father's face was missing. Destroyed sinew, tendons, and shattered bone were full view, steaming into the cold night air.
The blood came, at first a slow thick trickle, then a constant stream.
"Father!" Weiss screamed, as Jacques staggered drunkenly forward, then fell face-first into the snow.
With her scream, the spell was broken.
And everything went to hell.
"Ironwood and Jacques are down," Steele reported, "Good hit, good hit."
Pandemonium erupted beneath them. Cries and screams of horror and confusion echoed into the night air, and soon the bodies of the two targets were lost among the scrambling crowd. Then immediately, gunfire cracked above the howls of terror.
Their radio channel burst to life as the teams stormed into the memorial, guns blazing indiscriminately into the panicking crowd. Unarmed civilians and responding soldiers were scythed down in the wall of lead.
"Team 1 moving in to confirm the kill."
"Team 2 covering Team 1."
"Team 3, 4, and 5, proceeding with mission."
Bones smiled. They were good. The Black Claws knew the Atlesian soldiers wouldn't risk shooting at into the civilian crowd, and used this to their advantage.
Responding soldiers were pinpointed and gunned down. Bones and Steele provided overwatch for the entire situation, calling out potential threats and eliminating anything that might harm their team.
"Weiss in sight," Steele muttered, "the Schnees are heading for their car."
"I can clip Willow's leg, I want to watch the little whore panic."
"Bones. Just go for the kill shot. Bones!"
But Bones didn't listen. In that moment, he was back in Mantle all those years ago.
The blood of his mother staining his hands as he desperately tried to stop the bleeding. The loud gunshots from the Atlesian Knights as they advanced mercilessly though the slums, a trail of unmoving protestors and rioters in their wake. The screams of the civilians down below suddenly amplified in his head, deafening and surreal.
Blood demanded blood. This is not massacre, but revenge and justice.
Bones sighted, ignoring the protests of his comrade, and fired.
Winter Schnee elbowed her way past the screaming crowd and into the gunfire. Cold fury gripped her heart at the sight of the slaughter. This was her failure, the result of her complacency.
"You two, with me!" Winter bellowed at the two closest men.
She had seen the General go down, and when the panic started, she had lost sight of her family. Drawing out her sabre –a weapon for both ceremonial and combat purposes- she stormed forwards.
"Take them!" Winter snarled.
Finally, the soldiers of Atlas began returning fire, pinning the Black Claw down as she launched herself ahead with her glyphs.
Muzzle flashes gave away the positions of the attackers, and Winter had no doubt in her mind of the identity of these men. The snarling Grimm masks that caught the light of the muzzle flashes confirmed her suspicions.
Winter allowed instinct to guide her blade. She swung her sword and deflected a stray shot, then knocked aside the immediate follow-up bullet.
She killed the speed glyph with a thought, then with her arms outstretched, the top half of a roaring white Ursa materialized.
Automatic fire chattered, and the Black Claws focused their fire on the glowing white Grimm speeding towards them. Their combined fired shredded the conjuration, yet somehow it refused to disappear.
Then, Winter was among them. Had she not been blinded by anger she would have hesitated at the inhuman tones of their skin.
Casting aside her Ursa meat shield, Winter slashed downwards, a fletching motion she had perfected over long years of continuous practice. The blade whipped the first man in the skull, stunning and breaking through his Aura. To his credit, he recovered quickly and brought his gun up to bear.
But Winter was too close. The follow-up strike hacked open his chest.
Black ichor, thick as oil, hissed and burned from the open wound. The Claws, undeterred, swept his buttstock up at his adversary's chin. Winter leaned back slightly and pirouetted back around in a decapitating strike.
She twisted behind the headless body –one hand gripping its collar- and drove herself forwards, using the dead terrorist as a shield. The body juddered as bullets buried themselves into its flesh. Puffs of cold black fluid sprayed into Winter's face. Bullet fragments, flattened and deformed, tumbled through the ruined flesh and bounced off her Aura.
Winter hurled the body away, sending it crashing into a Claw as she hammered her sword's pommel into the teeth of another.
The man staggered back, cursing. His teeth cracked, his lips bleeding, the Black Claws raised his rifle and-
There was no rifle. It was in Winter's hands.
Winter blew the terrorist back with a single burst of fire. She swung her sword back, her arm close her body, the rifle handguard on the crook of her elbow, and shot the other terrorist knocked down by the headless corpse.
Two shots struck her in the back, knocking the wind out of her and sending her tumbling into the snow. Winter rolled, twisting her body as she got up, and fired.
The rifle clicked empty.
"Bastard!" She growled, ducking back and tossing the useless firearm away.
Someone barreled into her from the side, cold steel flashing. Winter had only a moment to react when she saw a flash of a sword. Winter parried, once, twice. The man backed away, drawing out his rifle when he realized their difference in swordsmanship. She spun in low, slashing her sword across and taking the Claw by the knee. The man dropped back, cursing.
Glyphs formed around Winter's feet, and with a snarl, she barked a command. Beowolves of the purest white materialized from thin air, their fangs bared and snarling. They ripped into the prone Claw, and Winter ignored the inhuman cries as she sheathed her sword. She swept up Claw's fallen rifle and sighted down the weapon. She moved forwards, shooting as she trudged through the now red snow.
The first shot took a Claw by the chest, then the rest stitched up into his mask. It shattered along with his aura as the magazine clicked empty. With a final burst of glyph-enhanced speed, she closed the distance.
The stock of the weapon broke the man's nose with a satisfying crack, and dropped the man like a sack of stones. She tossed the spent rifle away, and wrestled the Claw's rifle out of his iron grip as he struggled to get up.
The firearm discharged, dangerously close to her face. Her hearing temporarily gave out, and she could hear nothing but a constant ring that dulled the sounds of combat.
Winter twisted and cracked the tip of her boot into the man's temple, and only then did the Claw relinquish his grip. Twisting the firearm around, she put bullets into the man's head, making sure she saw the head deform and explode before she moved on.
The soldiers were reacting, now that the majority of the civilians have either cleared away from the immediate area or lying on the ground. Gunfire was exchanged from both sides, but it was easy to tell that the Atlas soldiers lacked ammunition.
Then, she heard a voice that made her blood run cold.
"Mother!" Weiss shrieked.
Willow was dead. Still breathing, but dead anyway.
Weiss knew this, but refused to process it. They had been running to get to the car, and while Weiss would have been there infinitely faster, she could not leave Whitley and Willow behind.
When her brother screamed, she knew something bad had happened.
Her mother had fallen, leaving dark red streaks in the snow where her leg had been blown away. Her eyes were wide open as her mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. Weiss knew she was going into shock, and that did not kill, the blood loss will.
"Mother, no! Please!" Someone screamed. Weiss looked around, at the chaos, at the screaming men and women scrabbling for safety. It took her a second to process that she had screamed those words.
Whitley was on the ground, shaking Willow, pleading and begging their mother to get up. His pristine white and blue suit was stained in dark red, and his immaculately styled hair was now messy and unkempt. He had never looked so helpless.
"Weiss!" Whitley finally yelled, "Help her, please!"
Weiss knew there was nothing she could do. But-
Her instincts screamed, and her adrenaline spiked.
Threat.
Her Aura reacted instantaneously as years of training kicked in. Weiss dived in front of Whitley, and her glyphs roared to life.
Bullets sparked and ricocheted off the glowing white barrier, illuminating the night with its bright spectral glow.
"Whitley!" She yelled, "Run!"
Her brother looked up at her, dazed and confused. His eyes were wide and he was shaking in fear.
"Get up, damn you!" Weiss spat, "Or we are all dead!"
But Whitley was pointing behind her.
"Hello, princess."
The roar of a chainsaw made her blood turn to ice. Weiss jumped back as her protective glyph was demolished in a single powerful blow, shattering to glowing pieces before dissipating into the night.
Standing in front of her, Lieutenant Bane Skylar laughed, "You and I have some unfinished business."
Before Weiss could process what he said, she weaved back, narrowly avoiding the screaming chainsaw. She flipped and twirled, elusive like a butterfly in the storm, muscle memory and desperation reawakening all of her training.
But Myternaster was not at her side.
There was no way for her to-
No. There was one.
Weiss sank to one knee, sliding back. She scowled in concentration as she let her semblance manifest. Bane roared in triumph as he mistook her concentration for a misstep.
He lunged forwards, his weapon howling, thirsty for blood.
There was a thunderous crash, and Weiss winced at the shrieking scream of metal on metal. She opened her eyes and grinned.
Arma Gigas clawed and dug itself out of her glyphs and into reality, a great sword blocking the shrieking chain weapon mere inches from her face.
Her summon wore the old armor of the old Mantle knights, and it was a lot larger than Weiss had remembered. It towering over her brutish opponent when it finally drew itself to its full height, and Weiss almost laughed at the comical shock her opponent displayed.
With a single thought command, Weiss sent Arma Gigas storming forth. Her spectral knight's visor split at the jaw in parody of a mouth, and it bellowed. The sound was guttural and inhuman, and the vibrations took Weiss to the bone.
Bane leapt back, slipping in the snow as a glowing greatsword almost took his head. He rolled back, drawing out a pistol and fired shot after shot at this new threat. Full metal-jacketed ammunition punched holes into armor, leaving wisps of blue smoke trailing in its wake.
Bullets pinged and ricocheted off Arma Gigas, as more Black Claw appeared, focusing their fire on this new threat like a well oiled machine.
Arma Gigas battered aside an enemy, and split another in two with a single stroke of its heavy blade. Bane was already on his feet, howling in rage at the death of his brothers in arms.
Weiss turned to her brother, and yelled, "Now Whitley, follow me!"
Bane growled as he tossed aside his wrecked chainsaw. It sparked and sputtered, useless now that it had been battered to hell.
That little bitch was good, he will give her that much. Their little encounter on the train that breached Vale was still fresh in his mind. She wasn't able to summon creatures before, but such is the nature of evolving semblances.
He needed to keep his distance from that ghost knight, but he couldn't let his prey get away. Bane scrabbled back, firing his pistol at the giant armor. He might as well have been spitting at it.
The damn thing looked like cheese now with the amount of holes his men had put into it. Blue light bled through the holes like blood, and it screeched and bellowed like a Grimm monster with each hit it took. Yet it showed no signs of slowing down. It will kill and keep killing his men until the bitch Schnee ran out of Aura.
But how do you kill a hollow suit of armor?
"Bones!" he snarled into his radio, "Target the joints! We need to get a clear shot on the Schnees!"
"Copy"
Whitley was staring slacked-jawed and in awe but soon sprang to action at his sister's command. He scrambled to his feet, grabbed Weiss's hand, and ran as fast as his legs could carry him. They were so close to the car, he could see the damned vehicle.
When this is over, he needed to apologize to Weiss, to make everything up to her. He could forgive her for abandoning him, he could forgive her for running away. Weiss protecting him from these animals was more than enough. Heck, she had been protecting them all when she was in Beacon. Why had he not seen this earlier? Please, Brothers, just let them survive.
He ignored the screams and cries of the men and women around him as he bolted. He gripped onto Weiss's hands for dear life, like he used to when he still a toddler.
Weiss had held his hands every time there was a thunderstorm, and he suddenly remembered why it had hurt so much when she flew away to Vale.
"Down!" Weiss pulled him into her embrace as something screamed overhead. Whitley watched in horror as the SDC limousine detonated in a fireball.
Something whistled by his ear, and he heard Weiss gasp in pain. Her Aura shimmered. She was now as vulnerable as he was.
Gunfire followed, kicking up the snow around them. Another guttural roar from the summoned knight, and the gunfire stopped, redirected somewhere else.
"Are you okay, Whitley?" Weiss asked, still in the snow.
Whitley's heart ached suddenly as she visibly winced. A piece of metal was embedded on the back of her hands, the hand she had wrapped around the top of his head when the car blew up. But then he realized she wasn't getting up either. He watched in horror the snow around his sister started turning red. A thick worm of blood dribbled down her face.
"Weiss? Weiss!"
"Whitley, you have to run. Please."
"Please, sister! Where are you hurt? You have to-"
Pain exploded in his body, and his world went white. He had never felt such intense agony, like someone had shoved a red hot piece of metal through his body. He heard Weiss scream his name. He collapsed, arms flailing as his lower body suddenly refused to obey his commands.
He tried to move his legs, to get up and run. To do anything.
But as he looked down at the blossoming red in his stomach, he realized he had been shot.
"Whitley…" Weiss couldn't even yell his name. Strength had suddenly left her. Her body was cold and numb. She did not even know where she had been shot.
Her brother was much more vocal. He was not struggling, kicking about in agony. His arms flailed as he clawed at the wound in his stomach. With the last of her strength, she crawled towards her struggling brother.
She pressed both hands to his wound, eliciting a howl of agony from the boy. She had already lost her parents, she'd be damned if her brother dies too.
"We need to keep the pressure there, I know it hurts, but please bear with me." Weiss's voice cracked, now barely a whisper, "I'm sorry, Whitley. I'm so sorry."
"My legs," he whimpered, "I can't move my legs."
His spine. They had hit his spine.
Rage bubbled within her stomach. Anger and wrath from her younger years that she had buried during her Beacon years emerged again like a roiling sea of hatred. She will not let these bastards take away another one of her family.
But her body refused to move, to get up and fight to the bitter end.
"Weiss?"
"Hush now," she did her best to smile. Her vision was blurring, "whatever you do, don't move."
With a final burst of strength, Weiss rolled on top of Whitley, shielding him with her body.
"Weiss, please." Whitley choked down, "Listen, dear sister. I'm sorry. I never –"
Weiss pressed her forehead against Whitley's and closed her eyes.
"I know. I'm sorry too." She whispered back, stroking his hair. "My, my. I've never noticed how tall you've gotten."
"Weiss…Weiss?"
Bane sank to his knees, his right arm completely severed from his body. He howled in agony as the pistol he used to kill Weiss Schnee was destroyed in a final vicious attack. He was going to die here, but that did not matter. He had completed the mission.
Arma Gigas turned, blade sweeping in a massive arc to decapitate the man.
Accurate high caliber bullets detonated against its gauntlet, and Arma Gigas bellowed its rage as his weapon disintegrated. Follow-up shots blew out a knee. It stumbled and crashed.
But Arma Gigas didn't stop. It crawled like a spider, crushing and hammering aside debris and Black Claw too slow to get out of the way. It reached its massive clawed gauntlets intend to crush the worm that dared to harm its master.
Bane closed his eyes, a smile on his face.
But death never came. He opened his eyes, to see Arma Gigas fade away, disintegrating along with the snow that swirled in the howling winter winds.
"Reloading," Bones announced, stopping to exchange a new magazine, "Think the little Schnees are dead."
"By the Brothers!" Steele swore. Bones slammed in a fresh round and looked quizzically at his spotter. The man was looking up, but only for a second. He returned his attention to the chaos below.
"What is it?"
"Nothing. Fucking crow flew in front of my rangefinder."
"Huh," Bones shrugged, "didn't know crows flew this high up. Or this far north. "
"They don't." A voice growled behind them.
Bones snapped around, pistol already halfway drawn. But it wasn't fast enough. Not even close.
A sweeping scythe was the last thing he saw.
"Weiss! Whitley!" Winter screamed. She saw Weiss's summon disappear. That could only mean one thing.
She needed to get to the, to-
Winter ducked as a bullet snapped past her head, taking a lock of her hair with it. More enemies appeared, and Winter was forced to seek cover behind the stone statues of the memorial.
Bullets began to hit the stone, sending fragments and dust into the air. Winter shrank deeper into the meagre cover. They had a fix on her position.
She popped out, to snap a few shots, but was forced back in when the incoming rounds intensified. Winter looked around desperately, trying to find a way to relocate. She wished she had more than half a magazine left.
Panic started to creep into the edges of her consciousness. What happened to Weiss? What will happened to Whitley? She did not see father or mother, what happened to them?
Was she the only one left alive?
"Fuck!" She swore. Winter checked how many bullets she had left, and counted fourteen bullets before the rifle was turned into a useless club.
Fourteen shots. That was the measure of her life left if things kept up the way it was.
The incoming fire became heavier, and Winter could feel the statue shake and crumble under the intensity of the attacks. Winter risked another burst, and shrieked as a stone fragment tore into her arm.
Five shots left.
She gulped and drew out the ceremonial bayonet on her hip. Like the sabre, it was for ceremonial purposes, but sharpened nonetheless. With a clack, she fixed it upon the front of the near-empty rifle.
Taking in a deep breath, she reflected on herself, on what kind of person she had been. She thought of her regrets and realized that she only had one. Perhaps she should have been kinder to Weiss and Whitley, and showed more affection to them both in her younger days.
All she had wanted was for Weiss to become strong, and for Whitley to become independent. But in the end, it didn't matter. They were all going to die here.
Winter crushed those regrets to oblivion with a single thought.
She will not die cowering.
Glyphs formed beneath her.
"Hakkaa paalle!" She bellowed an echo of the old Mantle warrior's cry, "Cut them down!"
She charged, firing and emptying the magazine at the enemy. Her glyph barrier took the burn of the attack as her semblance propelled her across the snow, draining the final reservations of her Aura in a final suicidal attack.
Winter skewered a reeling man straight through the sternum, ramming him into the snow. Her ears rang as the man's rifle barked in his death spasm. She ripped the bayonet from the gurgling corpse, screaming her fury at the top of her lungs, and plunged down again, piercing his heart. She tore the rifle out of the body, and twisted around, batting aside the second man's firearm aside before lunging forwards in a textbook bayonet thrust straight into his exposed neck.
Winter's felt her body jolt once, twice. Bullets kicked up the snow around her. Those bastards knew their two friends were dead and acted accordingly.
Just one more, just one more, Winter thought. Just let me kill one more.
The enemy positions exploded. Bullets and missiles rained into their positions throwing Black Claw soldiers into the air like broken dolls.
A Paladin walker stormed into view, heavy calibre machine guns blazing. Behind the armoured walker, squads of soldiers appeared, bearing the insignia of the Atlas Ace Ops. They began firing as soon as they had a visual on the enemy.
Winter threw herself onto the ground to avoid being caught in the crossfire. Tracers screamed overhead and Dust weapons lit up the night.
She could suddenly see everything with perfect clarity. The blood in the snow twinkled like stars in the fiery night. Beams of multi-coloured light from Dust weapons entranced her as she witnessed falling snow turned into vapour within close proximity. A rocket passed, and she watched in fascination as it left billows of twirling smoke in its wake.
Everything seemed...
...to slow...
...down...
Her legs suddenly felt weak, and she found that she could not stand up.
Strong hands rolled her over, and Winter saw familiar blood-red eyes. Eyes that were so usually carefree were now filled with anger and worry. The gaunt disheveled man was the last person she expected to see here.
"Qrow?" Her own voice seemed dull and distant.
"Thank the Brothers you are still alive," he breathed, his gruff and husky voice sounded like he was underwater. With a jerk, he tossed her rifle sideways and pulled her into an embrace.
Then, as if shocked, he pulled back.
"Oh no. Please no."
"What are you on about?"
The older man pulled her closer, his arms shaking. He pressed a hand into her chest, "Just, keep pressure on it. Help is on the way."
"W-wha?"
It was only then she realized she had been shot. Red blossomed on her uniform, shockingly contrasted with her white uniform. It seemed only then did Winter's brain process the full extent of the damage.
"Well, this is….annoying," Winter mumbled as she leaned into Qrow, suddenly uncaring for whatever will happen. Qrow pulled her closer into his chest, and Winter sighed as her vision began to fade.
She wanted to ask if Weiss and Whitley are alright if they are unharmed. But the thought slipped through the mental grasps as her vision darkened.
For some odd reason, she knew that everything would be okay.