Awkward conversation with my brother-in-law yesterday. He wants, for some bizarre reason, me to write an autobiography of him. Like, what? He isn't famous. Not at all. I'm probably more famous than he is, and I don't consider myself as such either, and I'd never be so narcissistic as to think someone would want to read about my life. I tell funny snippets here and there, but an autobiography? No. I had to kindly turn him down, but it got me thinking – why do some people (and I've heard of more asking for this online) genuinely think their lives are so important and exciting that other people would want to read about it? I get celebrities. I don't read theirs either, but I understand celebrity culture is weird and that some crazy fans would buy mud if a celeb had walked on it, but non-celebrities? How much do you have to think the world revolves around you…?


Cover Art: Curbizzle

Chapter 14


Team RWBY and JNPR were granted space on the same Bullhead, an Atlas-military variant that was far more heavily armed and armoured than what they were used to. They were strapped in five-a-piece on either side, with no extra room, meaning Warchief would ride with Winter. To hear them say it, it sounded like he would be in charge of this once they arrived.

Good, Blake thought viciously. That way when it blows up in their faces there will be no one else to blame.

Ironwood's decision to attack first and ask identities later only served to confirm all the negative bias she had about them from her time in the White Fang. Little wonder peaceful protestation hadn't worked when people like him were in charge. It seemed so painfully obvious that they were about to go and make enemies, and that if these people really were enemies from the first, then they'd also be running into them without information or preparation. The disaster of the docks played all over again.

This time, at least, she would keep a closer eye on her teammates. There was nothing quite like watching Yang suffer and being able to do nothing about it to make a girl feel helpless. It was neither the first nor the last time she imagined she'd feel such, but Blake had promised to change on coming to Beacon, and so far she'd accomplished little, both before and after this war started.

Not that there was much she could do, seeing as how she'd somehow failed to have a Jaune summoned to her side. That meant a whole lot less risk and responsibility on her shoulders, but she couldn't deny that a little part of her was disappointed. Not jealous of Yang and Ruby, not after witnessing the hard parts of this conflict, but more upset at the missed opportunity. Weiss was the same, and Blake expected she felt a little miffed as well. For Weiss, it was probably the feeling of being passed up for Ruby yet again like she had the team leader role, while for Blake it was more that small part of herself that had grown up loving adventure stories and was finally seeing one play out in real time, only to realise she was at best a side character. And that at worst, she wasn't even a very useful side character.

What kind of Jaune would she have summoned? It was impossible not to lay awake as the others slipped off and ask that question. Would she have gotten a Jaune who was a faunus and who joined the White Fang? Or maybe he'd be a ninja like her stories, and they would connect over that. He could have been a revolutionary, a noble scion of change or someone far grander still.

She closed her eyes and smiled to herself. If anyone had told her she'd be staying awake dreaming of Jaune Arc, she'd have asked them if they weren't mistaking her for Pyrrha. Though, apparently, based on the relationships of half the bloody Jaune Arcs summoned, they might as well expect her to jump his bones – seeing as how her alternate selves had done just that!

What did they see in him? Blake's eyes drifted to Jaune, narrowing as she looked him up and down. He's not ugly by any means, but he's not handsome either. Complete middle-ground. He's friendly and polite, I guess, but he doesn't have much exciting to him.

Excitement and edge hadn't done her much good with Adam, but even moving on from him she felt she'd prefer someone with something going on. Jaune was more akin to Ruby, an innocent and bumbling soul, and not at all what she'd normally look for. She read mature romance for a reason, and the men who featured in those were not as Jaune was. Which still raised the question of why exactly she, in so many other worlds, had decided that Pyrrha had the right idea. Unbidden, and rather unwelcomely, her thoughts took a southern turn.

Is he the world's best lover…? His clothing doesn't exactly show off his body well but Pyrrha has probably caught a glance at some point. Is that why she's so into him when no one else is? Is he some sculpted god beneath that tacky hoodie and ripped jeans? Is he THAT big?

Blake's eyes remained locked onto Jaune's crotch for longer than she was wholly comfortable with, and she tore them away with a dusting of pink to her cheeks. No. Just no. She wasn't going to let curiosity as to what her other selves saw in him lead her to sneak into his bed. For one, Pyrrha would kill her. Two, her team would never let her live it down.

Though Weiss would probably love her forever for distracting him.

Besides, her treacherous brain pointed out, If we wanted a one-night stand to test it then Fate would obviously be best. He's the most experienced man on Remnant and he's had us before, so he knows exactly what to do.

Okay. No. End of mental conversation. Blake shook her head. She'd rather have a fumble with Jaune than Fate, for at least he wasn't a raging asshole. Plus, she was almost certain Fate would let it slip in public just to humiliate her. Jaune would too, but his slip would be unintentional, likely him blushing and staring at her and setting off every alarm bell in Yang's head. It doesn't matter anyway, she told herself, because I am not, and never will, be screwing Jaune Arc. In any form!

If only someone would say something and give her a chance to forget she'd ever though such things, or that she'd started undressing Jaune with her eyes. Yuck. Sadly, the atmosphere was tense, the mood low, and Fate was napping off to the side, his upper body and head drooped forward in the harness as he gently snored. Had that been the real Jaune, she could imagine Pyrrha trying to subtly lean his head on her shoulder. As it was, Fate got to risk his neck muscles alone. At least until a speaker crackled and projected Winter's voice through into their Bullhead.

"We are approaching the landing zone. I repeat, we are approaching the landing zone. Squads A and B will dispatch first and secure the drop zone, at which point Squad C – that is Teams RWBY and JNPR – will land. Squads A and B will then encircle the village and blockade any and all entrances, allowing Squad C to enter, locate and engage the targets. Your orders are to neutralise and capture them, or, failing that, lure them out into the open where we will coordinate a concerted strike to bring them down. You are not to engage with or negotiate with them as we have no idea their loyalties and you are not trained to assess such. Winter out."

The call ended with a crackle and a snort from Fate, who sat back up and rubbed at his shadowed eyes, stifling a yawn as he did. He'd been granted the run of the armoury and had elected to take out a sub-machine gun, a stun baton and several grenades of all things. No sword and shield.

"Ugh, she's such a bitch." Yang growled of Winter. "No offence," she added to a rather offended Weiss. "Whatever happened to Ironwood saying he wasn't going to be taking over? It sure as hell feels like we have been."

"Every adult ever." Nora joked.

"They are more experienced in matters of war than us." Pyrrha said.

"Yeah, but they can get that across without being bastards about it. Yang is right." Nora high-fived the blonde across the short space between them. The Bullheads began to descend, treetops appearing out the windows as the other two pulled ahead and theirs came to a slow halt in the air.

"This is going to suck." Jaune said. "I can feel it."

"Finally, some good instincts out of you." Fate snarled. "Of course this is going to fucking fail; we have no information on who we're against, what they can do or whose side they're on. Yet we're being thrown in anyway."

"Why?" Blake asked. The question burned away inside her. "If we're all as important to the preservation of Remnant as Ironwood says, why risk us so recklessly?"

"Might be for experience." Fate replied. "I mean, this'll suck but we have his majesty over there, so the chances of us losing is actually slim."

"I would not suggest placing all hopes and dreams upon my shoulders." Knight said. "I cannot be everywhere at once and would not have you lower your guard in expectation of it."

"Tell that to Ironwood." Yang said. "You're the strongest here and I've got a feeling he's going to use you hard."

That was probably it. Say all they might about how important they were, but what they really meant was Ruby. Maybe Yang once, but with Leviathan gone she wasn't nearly as big a deal anymore. The same went for Ren, with Pyrrha's value being lessened because Fate was not as overpowering as Knight was. I bet Winter has orders to sacrifice everyone if it means keeping Ruby and Knight alive. Blake chose not to share that thought for Ruby's sake.

"We need a plan." Pyrrha said. "If it's going to be just our teams going in. There are two Jaune Arcs. One is probably the anchor."

"Only probably." Weiss said. "They could well be two iterations working independently of their anchors."

"If so, that's much more dangerous." Blake said. "I think the big question is whether we split them apart or not, and by extension ourselves. Personally, I think we have to."

"We do." Ren said. "Obviously, we're stronger as ten, but we're not used to working together on this kind of scale."

Meaning they would get in one another's ways. RWBY and JNPR were close friends, mostly due to Ruby and Jaune being such and linking the teams, but friendship didn't mean seamless teamwork. Not yet. Nora's wide-range explosives were something her team were used to dealing with, but not their own. Ruby could be knocked around and Weiss would struggle to use glyphs if large clouds of dust were being kicked up. The same went for JNPR freaking out if Weiss used a glyph beneath them and they didn't expect the sudden burst to speed or loss of gravitational force, or didn't know how to react to Blake's clones, or Ruby's blurring speed.

Knight and Fate would already struggle to fit into either team as it was, but with both at the same time, and them having to account for each other, it would be a mess. Then there was the chance that these two iterations, or iteration and anchor, might actually have good synergy.

"We'll take the first we come across and try to draw them away." Pyrrha said. "You take the second."

It was the best kind of planning they could manage as the soldiers touched down and they were called to do the same. The small, undisclosed village of some four hundred residents lay ahead, its wooden and brick walls lit up from dust-powered streetlights just turning on in the early evening. Blake dismounted with her team, checked her magazine and took a deep breath.

This, as Jaune had said, was going to suck.

/-/

Emerald hated Ashari.

She hated the way he looked at her, the way he talked like he knew anything about her, and she hated the way he ignored her hatred and anger and kept working diligently while she glared bloody murder at his back. The tall and ragged old man looked hunched as he inspected some tracks on the ground, something so small she didn't even notice it. He would hum every now and then, stand and move deeper through the bushes of the Emerald Forest, as uncaring for the cold as he was the risk of Beacon coming crashing down on their heads.

"You know," he said conversationally, "If you spent more time working and less glaring at my back, we might get this finished sooner."

He was right. That didn't stop Emerald hating him. "And if you spent more time following Cinder's orders and less whining like a child, we wouldn't be in this situation in the first place!"

"Is that what you think? Do you imagine complete obedience will have her tolerating us any better?" He chuckled to himself – that damn laugh that made her feel like she was an idiot missing the point of the joke. "You'd still be competition, Em. The very second you became an anchor, you became a threat to her."

"I would never turn on Cinder!"

"But you could. And that is all she cares about. Ash would have never betrayed her either, he loved her just as much as you do, and look what happened to him."

Emerald winced. Ash had… she hadn't known him long, and she'd hated him for his claims of having loved and been loved by Cinder. Hatred born of jealousy, and yet she had felt no jealousy for his end, murdered by Null on what even she suspected were Cinder's orders.

"D-Don't bring him up. I'm nothing like Ash."

"You're not. You're still alive."

For now, he silently seemed to add. Emerald had convinced herself her situation was different to Ash's, that she was real, and had served Cinder loyally for years now. Ash had been an unknown and could have been lying. Even if he obviously wasn't. Plus, he'd belonged to Tyrian technically, and she'd heard from Cinder how unpredictably violent he could be.

For once, Ashari didn't push her buttons in further by insulting Cinder. Instead, he said, "Look here." He raised a piece of string in his hand, at the end of which was a loop with a dead squirrel in it.

"Oh goodie," she snarked. "More evidence of pollution's effects on wildlife. Is that what you wanted to show me?"

Ashari laughed. "No, girl. It's a snare trap, and with fresh food caught." He placed the squirrel down once more. "This is the proof we need. Hunter yet lives. Furthermore, he's still here, in the Emerald Forest."

"Why here? The city is close by."

"The city contains Cinder. Beacon contains Ozpin. The Emerald Forest has neither."

Emerald allowed the comforting touch of her aura to flow through her body, protecting her from any sudden arrows loosed from the wilderness. Given what she'd seen of Ashari's strength at the docks, it would be a suicidal attack, but that didn't mean she wanted to experience Hunter's swansong. "Is he nearby? Do you think he's watching us?"

"He could be." Ashari cleared his throat and spoke loudly. "Hunter. We mean you no harm if you will but show yourself and speak with us for a few moments."

Silence. Human silence anyway. Crickets chirped and leaves rustled in the breeze – the forest was as alive as it had ever been, but of Hunter there was no sign. Emerald could hardly blame him. Of course they meant him harm. Cinder would kill him if she had the chance, and he was always going to be against them because like it or not, his anchor was in Beacon.

This is pointless, she realised, and the fact had her stomach sinking. This was only ever expected to be a longshot to confirm his survival, and no one expected them to succeed. Not Cinder and not that new bastard taking all her attention. That she could be pushed away so easily, sent out here to waste her time, while Cinder drank wine with Headmaster and shared stories of his world, hurt. It hurt more than she thought it would, and the creeping cold felt all the worse for it.

Heavy cloth settled over her. Emerald looked to the left and up, into Ashari's smiling face, creased by wrinkles and stress lines, as he settled his heavy Atlesian coat around her shoulders.

"You looked cold," he said simply, as if that explained everything.

"I'm fine!" she snapped and pulled away from him, shook her shoulders and let his stupid coat fall to the mud. Emerald stalked away from it and him, trembling with rage. How dare he try and comfort her. This was all his fault in the first place. If he hadn't come and made her a rival, if he hadn't come and put ideas in her head.

He was making her doubt things she'd taken for granted, doubt Cinder, doubt her place in the world and the love Cinder had for her. Of course Cinder loves me – she took me from the streets. She gave me everything I have. Why am I letting this moron call that into question? I'm loyal. I love her.

Just as Ash had, as he died on the floor while Cinder watched.

/-/

With a quiet click, the electronic lock fractured and broke, sparking faintly and dying. No alarm was tripped, the wire that would have signalled such pinched between two black-gloved fingers. The work done, the metal outer case was replaced, and an armoured shoulder nudged at the door, creaking it open. Slipping inside, the black and mottled-grey armoured figure closed the door and let it click again.

Before him lay six beds cramped into a room too small for that many. The occupants had not had time to unpack properly, and belongings were kept to suitcases or bags strewn either at the side, or tucked beneath, the beds. A few symbolic or sentimental artefacts had been unpacked and laid out in a small semblance of living space. A framed picture on one table of Nora with her arm around Ren, both younger and smiling at the camera. A white stuffed rabbit plushie on another, its eyes black crosses and its smile missing a few stitches. A packet of cigarettes, a spare lighter and an opened pack of condoms.

It was the latter the figure moved to, crouching and picking the cigarettes up, spilling them out and rolling them over with gloved fingers. The thin, rolled up sticks of tobacco were uniform, manufactured, and he picked one up and rubbed it between finger and thumb, crushing it to let the lead fall out. Satisfied, a lighter was taken next, inspected and then lit, then cracked open and the dust allowed to spill harmlessly out. Dextrous fingers worked to pull the rest of it apart, until it had been reduced to its constituent components.

Touching the dust, the figure dabbed some onto his finger and brought it up to the mask. His other hand touched a panel to the side and the reinforced, curved glass swished open to expose the lower half of a face, a jaw and mouth. The man held the dust to his nose, sniffed, and then dabbed some onto his tongue and sampled it.

His head jerked up. A second later, the heavy stomp of boots racing down the corridor reached his ears, augmented by the sensors on the helmet. Scowling, he tapped the control panel again and sealed it up, stood and approached the door. The cameras outside had been altered to show nothing, and yet so fast a response indicated further sensors in the room. Impressive, and not at all part of Beacon's original infrastructure, which meant this was Atlas' work. It would be amusing to see the ASF again, but he doubted they were involved. Rat considered the window and then dismissed it, moving instead to stand with his back to the wall, just to the left of the door.

It smashed open a moment later. The lock was still compromised, so the three soldiers burst into the room with weapons drawn, fanning out left and right as they had been trained. Checking corners, the closets, the window.

A muffled grunt had them twisting around, but it was too late for the first, who shook and twitches as the current ran through him, then collapsed in a boneless heap. "Shit!" one shouted. Guns came up, but Rat was already among them. He grabbed the barrel of the closest and pushed it down toward the unconscious soldier, forcing the man to hold fire. The second, he dodged by pulling the one he had in the way of the shot, placing them both in the way of one another. His free hand caught the fist that came his way with a combat knife grasped in it. He twisted it to an unnatural angle, pushed and drove the man back into his fellow, wrenching the gun out of his hands in the same motion.

They each stumbled back – and one caught their legs on what would have been Hunter's bed, tripping with a startled cry, only to land on the mattress and cushions. The other managed to stay upright barely, swore again and lashed out with the knife. He was good, Rat thought, better than most soldiers would have been. Special forces then – one of General Ironwood's finest. Few others were able to trade blows with an esteemed member of the VSS. The soldier kept the knife in a reverse grip and his other hand free and on the defensive, slashing in short, tight swings.

Rat caught the man's wrist on his own, blade inches from his fingers, locked them around and twisted the handle out. He caught the other fist coming in for his jaw and turned away at the last second, stepped past and looped an arm around the man's neck. The soldier ducked, predicting the chokehold, but was left unprepared for the boot in his back that sent him crashing into the dresser opposite.

The other, the one on the bed, wasted no time in trying to stand and reach for his own gun. Rat had not forgotten him, however. As the other recovered from the dresser, he leapt on the downed man and clasped his right hand over his mouth, leaning in so close that the man's face was reflected in the black mask. The man's eyes widened, then further still as Rat clicked the finger of his left hand against his right bracer. A faint hiss sounded along with a cloud of smoke directly into the soldier's nose and mouth.

He struggled against it, eyes clenched shut, but within a matter of seconds his body began to slow. Rat released him to fight the other, knowing that the few seconds of freedom would avail the man none. The drug was already doing its job.

"Rargh!" the specialist came in with a full body tackle, slamming into Rat and carrying them both over the drugged soldier. They struck the wall and Rat brought both hands down on the man's back. Like him, the soldier was armoured, however. The impact drew a grunt but didn't jolt his spine into releasing him.

A knee to the face did a better job, but even then, the specialist continued to hold. Reinforcements must have been coming, for the position was not a winning one otherwise. Rat sighed and allowed himself to be pulled from the wall and down to the floor, even to let the man mount him and latch two hands around his throat. His collar was reinforced and part of his helmet, so while it had some give the man would need a vice to choke him. His free hands instead reached under his bulletproof coat, gripped a familiar handle and brought it around. The barrel touched into the man's side, right on his neck and in a crook of the Atlesian armour.

A hiss, a chunk noise, and the soldier reeled back and clapped a hand to his bleeding neck. A small puncture hole, non-lethal, but the tranquiliser did its work and had him slumping over Rat in a dead faint. Three Atlesian Specialists draped across the floor of Team JNPR's dorm. Rat rolled the most combat-effective off and stood, approached the one on the bed and removed his helmet, holding it up by his ear.

"-Ironwood himself en route! Hold a little longer! Two minutes!"

The helmet was set down on the bedside table among the cigarettes, and Rat brought his hand up to his own masked helmet and touched the side. "I've been compromised," he said softly. Calmly. "Further security measures than we anticipated."

"Retreat. Did you accomplish what I asked?"

"Yes."

"And…?"

"It's as you expected."

"That fills me with little joy. Very well. Return to base, Rat. Avoid any and all confrontation. You are not to engage with or be seen by General Ironwood at this time. That is a direct order."

Rat nodded in the gloom and approached the door, stepping over one of Atlas' finest as he did. "Understood, sir. Rat out."

/-/

If there was one thing to say about Atlas, it was that they could well and truly take over a small and defenceless village. Within the space of fifteen minutes, they owned the walls and controlled who came in and out, and without many inside being any the wiser. Blake had to wonder if they hadn't practiced before, and what that said about Winter Schnee.

As the soldiers spread out and reinforced the gates, Teams RWBY and JNPR assembled in what might be called the village square. It was more a large, dirty stretch of land used primarily for vehicles containing supplies to park and unload. One such lorry was parked off to the side, the logo on the side indicating it had brought fresh food. A few smaller vehicles, modified for rough terrain, were parked in a row near it. As the news of Atlas' occupation slowly spread, houses closed their windows and locked their doors. No reasons were given, and Blake had to wonder what the people thought was happening. Did they think this an actual invasion? Winter's plan seemed to be that it was better to ask forgiveness than seek permission.

"They're in the tavern there," the woman in question said, striding forward. "One of the gate guards recognised them. They were let in without so much as any questions," she added angrily. "No discipline."

"Why wouldn't they?" Yang felt brave enough to ask. "As long as they're not Grimm, there's no reason for people here to keep them out."

Winter did not appreciate the question and so ignored her. "Prepare yourselves," she said. "We will give them a chance to surrender to us peacefully first. Once they realise they are surrounded, they may decide against fighting."

"And how are we going to do that?" Knight asked.

Winter's answer was a megaphone. Blake clapped a hand to her face.

"Jaune Arc!" Winter spoke into it, blasting the name out at the pub-slash-tavern. It was funny to see the actual Jaune jump at hearing his name so suddenly. "We have you surrounded. Come out immediately with your hands in the air or we shall be forced to enter and take you in person. For the sake of innocents inside, come out and surrender yourself to us."

Winter repeated it two more times, all the while soldiers took positions on the walls and angled guns at the entrance. In the space of a minute, Winter had turned this into a hostage situation. Blake wasn't sure if she should have been horrified at the stupidity or at the very real possibility all those innocents inside were about to be considered necessary sacrifices to protect Remnant. This war was bigger than one village after all. If they could guarantee victory, how far was too far for Atlas? For any of them?

"For the sake of the innocents inside, come out and surrender-"

The door burst open as if kicked. It swung back and crashed against the walls, making Ruby jump and Blake flinch. Out came a man, striding purposefully. No hostage did he bring with him, only a sword and a shield, both drawn, the sword held toward the ground, but drawn, steel glinting in the moonlight.

He was big. Older. Not like Ashari, though. That man had been older and worn, strong but wiry, with rough features that spoke of a rougher life. This Jaune – this man – was different. He was broad, strong of shoulder and with corded muscle showing from a tight-fitting grey top that stretched over powerful pectorals that Blake was fairly certain could have withstood an anti-tank missile.

He was Jaune, that much could be seen from his face, but by everything she held dear, he was Jaune to the extreme. Chiselled face, neatly trimmed beard, steely blue eyes and hair just a little longer than his younger self, drawn back from a handsome face and allowed to flow down behind his ears. There was a faint scar running down the left side of his face, angling perfectly along his jawline. That was the only blemish on an otherwise smooth and sculpted face.

Now THAT is a Jaune I could get behind, an annoying part of her brain suggested lewdly. Or beneath. Wow.

This time, Blake didn't really have the presence of mind to tell that stupid, curious part of her brain to choke on a fish and die. She'd thought before that Jaune lacked any hardness, any edge, but looking at this Jaune she couldn't help but wonder if Pyrrha hadn't foreseen the future. That was a person worth investing a few training sessions into.

"Winter Schnee," the Jaune said firmly. Powerfully. He let his gaze wander over the numerous soldiers aiming down at him and showed them a remarkable lack of concern. "And Team RWBY and JNPR. I'm sure there's a story as to why you're here, invading these people's homes and now supposedly trying to arrest me." His eyes narrowed, and Blake felt a thrill of fear. "I would love to hear it."

"Jaune Arc." Winter said. "You and your companion are to surrender to us immediately, whereupon you will be taken to General Ironwood and Headmaster Ozpin for questioning. Refusal to comply will constitute resistance to arrest, and result in immediate action upon our parts."

"Immediate action? Well, this isn't the welcome we expected."

"Place your weapon on the ground." Winter ordered. "And have your companion surrender himself unto us."

"Without knowing your motives?" the Jaune asked. "I have a counter-proposal. Let us go and await us at Beacon, which we will come to at our leisure. I do not, nor have I ever, answered to Atlas. You are on Valean soil, and you have no authority here."

Winter bristled. "My soldiers would disagree. Furthermore, we have been granted authority by Headmaster Ozpin."

"Who also has no authority here. He can decide what happens at Beacon and can influence Vale, but he cannot allow or grant permission for Atlas to take a village as you have here."

As he said it, Blake realised he was right, and so did the rest of their teams if their nervous expressions were any indication. It hadn't occurred to them at all to ask if this was legal, and even a cursory reflection proved it was not. Ozpin may have granted General Ironwood freedom to fight this war, but he couldn't legally grant permission to do this. They were all of them attacking innocent people and taking a village hostage.

"Sister…" Weiss said softly. "He has a point. We should try and calm this down before-"

"No!" Winter snapped. "General Ironwood's orders are clear. You will surrender or you will be taken prisoner. These are your only options. Choose now!"

The handsome Jaune snorted, spat on the ground and brought his shield and sword up. The message was clear, and Blake wished it wasn't. The last meeting with an older Jaune, Ashari, still rang clear in her mind.

"Team JNPR with me and against this one!" Winter spat. "Team RWBY, you are to run past and enter the building – engage the other target and take them down as quickly as you can. If they are an anchor as we believe, they will be far weaker than their iteration, and it will force this one to surrender."

The Jaune heard. He was close enough that he couldn't have missed it. "I'll let Team RWBY pass," he said casually. His eyes met hers and Blake felt there was a familiarness to them that had her blushing. The way he smiled even bolder at that reaction told her a counterpart of herself had scored yet again, and maybe this time the jackpot. "In fact, I'd be willing to let you all pass if you will consent to talking this through like mature adults."

"The fate of Remnant is at stake." Winter snapped. "You know this as well as we do. There can be no chances taken, no quarter given. Your allegiance can be determined after the fact. Surrender."

"It's the same from my point of view. Remnant's future is at stake, and I have no proof of your allegiance, Winter Schnee. Atlas has ever had its own agenda." He flourished his weapon and raced forward. Guns fired, but dust rounds ricocheted off an aura so powerful it visibly shimmered a pristine white. "Ready yourselves!" he roared. "I am Magnis! And this will not be the first town I prevent falling to a hostile army!"


Magnis, for those who don't catch it, is from my first ever story, One Good Turn Deserves Another, and who is the OG-Blake lover. At least across my works. Meanwhile, our boy, Rat, skulking around in Beacon with his own orders.


Next Chapter: 26th February

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