The Random Hand of Fate

by TheMightyTeaRex

"Destiny is not set in stone. It only takes one grain of rice to tip a scale, one pebble falling into the sea to start a tidal wave; Every action, no matter how small has an effect on the future. So, tell me... do you believe in destiny?" Real-world SI. First-time fanfic. Rated M for violence, gore, swearing, smut (later on) and alcohol. Warhammer 40K characters in Remnant.

34. The Storm's Wake

Okay, this chapter took way too long on my part and I apologize. I admit I've kinda lost some steam between writing this and finishing up classes, but hopefully that will change with the next chapter.

Anyways, on with the show.

---

Chapter 34: The Storm's Wake

---

"Certain is it that there is no kind of affection so purely angelic as of a father to a daughter." —Joseph Addison

---

Light and yet darkness. Pain. The beeping of a heart monitor.

Wind. No, a breeze, tickling his nose. A soft sound of a wind chime, cut out by footsteps echoing on a hard, tile floor. Again, pain.

A distant, antiseptic smell... rubbing alcohol; no, weaker and easier on his nose. A simple towelette like every one of his high school teachers had, that was his second guess.

Again, pain. This time he could actually note where it was. It was a sharp pain, one that ran from his shoulder to his neck and back down again, less like a pulse and more like a burn.

Jacob felt a grimace form on his face as he slowly came to. He could feel himself lying in something soft and warm, but he felt no sheets like he usually did. He was definitely in a room of some kind, but outside of that he couldn't really tell.

Slowly, the gears in his mind began to thunder to life. Pain... tired... there was... battle? Right, the Breach...

He dared to open his eyes. For once, though, he wasn't bombarded by white-hot light directly in his eyes.

He only let out a grunt of relief, feeling like any motor function of his mouth was at best weak at the moment. No blinding headache to deal with. That's a nice change of pace. About then, he noticed what he was looking up at; the familiar sight of a pure white roof that frankly towered well over his head, as if he was resting inside of a church or something along those lines. His first instinct to let his confusion be voiced silently as he slowly blinked in thought, letting the view process in his mind.

What am I doing in... wait a minute, I know that ceiling anywhere...

He looked down towards the windows and spotted the looming form of the CCT Tower, casting a shadow over the building he was now in. He was in the Beacon Infirmary, and judging by how he felt and how everything seemed, he had been there for a least a little while.

His eye noticed another tidbit to himself, drawing his attention down to the rest of his body. He noticed he wasn't entirely in his regular clothes; his jacket and shirt were missing, and though his pants remained on his legs, they were sporting scuffs and tears and several holes in them, no doubt from debris and shrapnel from the fighting. His shoes miraculously seemed to avoid damage, bearing dust and some scuffs but otherwise they remained alright.

He turned his head to the left, wondering if he'd see what he expected to see. At first, he spotted the separating curtains one would expect from a medical facility, a pale blue, practically white color that was warm but felt off to him. But another form caught his eye, forcing his attention on it. Sure enough, a small, off-white wooden table sat to his left side, bearing a bulbous lamp and a few of his personal possessions tucked up right beside it. He saw Cadia resting against the table, his stomach dropping in his groggy stupor as he noticed the dried splotches of rust-brown streaked across its blue frame and golden features. He didn't need to ponder long about what that was; after all, he remembered well that blood, when dried, turned a rusty brown color.

He swallowed a dry gulp in his mouth. He wasn't particularly anxious to know just how many he had exactly killed in those tunnels. Just how many of those curs he had sent to the grave for their transgressions...

Groggily, he shook the thought from his head as he paid mind to the rest of the items present. Titan sat on the top of the table beside the lamp, covered in grime and filth and a few visible splatters of that same rust brown on its silver frame. The longer he stared at it, the more he noticed some visible scars on it, more than just the few knife scars he put into the barrel. He grimaced as he realized in his waking stupor that he didn't know how to remove scrapes on a gun's casing.

But the other thing he noticed grabbed his attention like it were trying to kiss him square on the lips. Then again, with what he was seeing, that might have been the intention.

It was a bouquet of yellow, red and white roses sitting on the table, wrapped together with a black and purple bow, sitting in a greenish-blue vase the color of the sea. They seemed to be fresh, though Jacob was suddenly worried how he couldn't smell them from where he was sitting. Then again, they were several feet away at the most, he probably wouldn't have been able to smell them to begin with.

He blinked in confusion as he studied the roses. As far as he was concerned, you didn't send flowers to someone hospitalized unless they are fully conscious and almost done recovering, or you've been passed out for some time. A part of him began to worry.

He deigned to shift in his bed as he tried to get up. "What... what's the time," he said to no one, the silence his only friend here. He looked down at his watch on instinct, hoping to see.

He was blessed with an unobscured and uncracked view of the time, at least by his watch's standards. 11:07, August 29th.

He hummed in groggy thought. "We left on the 27th... The Breach was... only yesterday..."

He looked up through the windows again. This time, he noticed the distant wispy clouds of dark smoke, carried off in the distance by a weak wind that he presumed was eastbound from the ocean.

"A day..."

A flash of a pale skull with demon horns flashed in his mind, phantom pain screaming in his shoulder. He suddenly noticed his arms go rigid and his heart begin to pick up its pace. Why was his chest suddenly tight? Why was his shoulder screaming with pain? The hiss of pain that left his mouth came without him even trying to make a sound to begin with.

"Easy, son," came a voice like honeyed wine. "You had a busy day yesterday."

Jacob blinked in confusion. "Who... who's there?" He looked around, blinking the grogginess away as much as he could, though he still failed tremendously at the task. He knew he heard that voice a moment ago, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out where it had come from... Had he imagined it? Had he taken enough hits to be worthy of the funny farm?

"Perhaps it's the fact you are in recovery from your blood loss," said the voice again, "but you are surprisingly inattentive, consider what I heard about you."

Jacob blinked again as his mind rattled and whirred over the voice's choice of words. He stopped moving about so panickily as he searched around, wondering if that was part of the problem.

The corner of his eye spotted movement by the windows. He turned to look there, having to squint a smidge as the white walls reflected the sunlight into his eyes.

Sitting in the comfy, plush visitor's chair was a rather tall but lithe man, reclined back a bit but still carrying a poise that felt... in all honesty, like it was second nature to him. He was wearing what seemed to be a pair of black overalls over a red button up shirt with a chest pocket, black loafers on his feet, giving him a look that to Jacob reminded of both the average farmer and a casual businessman, but lacking any sense of snootiness. His head was topped with long, flowing, golden hair that rivaled Yang in its color and vibrancy, as amber eyes with the ferocity a hawk's and yet the calm of a beach at low tide stared at Jacob casually. His face was sharp but patricianly, giving him an air of cunning and magnanimousness that made Jacob feel like he was in the presence of a great leader of men.

Jacob didn't even need to ask who this was. He was good enough of a guess to know who this was. "My Lord Dante," he said, shakily taking a knee.

"I see my status transcends even the confines of space and time," said Dante, his voice stolen right from the throat of Hugo Weaving. "Forgive me if I am not as enthusiastic about being called that."

Jacob winced, both in pain and in embarrassment. "My apologies," Jacob said, shifting back onto his feet cautiously. He found himself to be struggling as he did so, his legs shaky and his head swimming each time he tried to rise.

"Easy, Muller," said Dante with a simple chuckle. "Here, let me help you."

Before Jacob could reply, he felt a strong hand grab hold of his arm and pull up. Surprisingly, though, it was a gentle tug, lifting him up gently enough that he could return to his feet and not topple over. Jacob looked up and was met with those same amber eyes and those strong, sharp features. This time, though, they were enwrapped in a warm smile that made the Lord of the Blood Angels feel like a kindly patriarch rather than the ironclad warrior of a thousand years of warfare.

For a moment, Jacob felt a strange instinct to hug him, only to shake it off in tandem with the stars he began to see. "Uh... th-thank you, sir," he said nervously, the Blood Angel's presence making him feel far smaller than he had ever felt around the rest of them.

"Not a problem at all, Mr. Muller," he said with a genuine chuckle. Jacob felt the tension practically melt from his mind, though he still felt a small hint of trepidation in his own mind.

Jacob blanched. "How... wait... right, right, the other Imperials have been in contact with you. Right..."

Dante nodded sagely. "As I said, you had a rather busy day yesterday. I'm frankly quite amazed you can stand at all with that scar still in your shoulder."

"...Scar?"

Dante's left index finger poked Jacob's shoulder gently, tracing a line to a hole that only now Jacob noticed. Searing pain roared down Jacob's arm, forcing a wince and a hiss of pain.

"Jesus fuck..."

"Ah, an adherent of the old Catheric faith," said Dante. "Interesting."

"Where did... wait... The Carnotaurus Grimm," Jacob said in slow-dawning revelation.

Blinding white teeth snapped in his mind. He flinched.

He felt his shoulder be gently braced. "Easy there," Dante said. "You might keep having some flashbacks to that. They should pass in time."

Echoes of other memories began to flash more and more in Jacob's mind as he steadied himself. "Trust me, Sir," he said as he leaned back into a support column, "This isn't my first rodeo with bad memories."

The Blood Angel nodded. "Indeed, if what my daughter says about you is true."

Jacob blinked away the images of a boy bleeding out in his arms at the sentence. Another memory was shoving itself forwards at Dante's comment. "Your... daughter..." For a brief moment in his mind's eye, he could remember Dante standing in the light of a late morning sun amidst the rubble of a damaged store. He remembered the Lord Commander holding something in his arms... a person, but his memory was fuzzy to...

A flutter of crimson hair, weak and limp like its own was. Gold and leather clad atop the body of an angel.

"Oh my God..."

He turned to stare at the Blood Angel for a hearty minute, looking for some sign of deceit, that it was only a joke and nothing more.

Nothing spoke to him of deceit for the minute that he sat staring at the Blood Angel, the Astartes giving him a look halfway between bemused and annoyed.

The words left Jacob's mouth like they were made of lead weights. "Pyrrha... she's your... and you're her..."

Dante nodded quietly.

Jacob felt his legs begin to waver as context and implications flooded his mind. "She's... she's the... granddaughter of... The Great Angel..." He was forced to lean back against the table, the water sloshing in the vase as the roses shook and threatened to lose petals.

Dante seemed to tense at his choice of words, though there was no visible change in the Blood Angel's posture. "I would advise caution speaking of that at the moment," he said in a quiet, calm but faintly-warning tone. "The curtains have ears that don't know of our world."

Jacob didn't need to ponder the comment for more than a second before he paled. He turned and didn't even hesitate to pull back the white curtains. His heart skipped a beat for a second.

Laying on a medical bed just like the one he had been lying on, bandaged and sporting visible bruises, was the girl in question. Pyrrha was unconscious, her emerald eyes hidden behind her eyelids as she was resting. She had been dressed down, her tunic and skirt now replaced by a blue and white hospital gown that covered all but her ankles, feet and calves. On an offhand note to himself, he realized that his eyes had stopped for a few moments longer on her Achilles heel before his eyes moved on to other notations. Her circlet had also been removed, replaced by a gauze bandage around the base of her hairline as the bronze accessory sat on a similar table to the one that was carrying his stuff. What made his stomach roll was the fact that there was a solid line of dark red about the width of a screwdriver head that traced a line from her brow down to her left eye; a blood trail, though definitely not as fresh as he had first been worried about. Still, it unnerved him.

Seated in a chair on the far side of her bed from Jacob sat a sleeping Jaune, his right arm wrapped in a stark white cast and a matching bandage to Pyrrha's over his brow. He was seated close to her, head tilted towards her as he mumbled in his sleep, his blonde hair a little more unkempt than usual.

For a moment, he scanned his memory to figure out what happened. About then, he remembered her and Jaune's collision with the wall of the store after the Carnotaurus Grimm—the Matador, that was its name—sent them flying.

Jacob watched them for a few more seconds, letting out a breath he didn't know he had been holding in as he saw the steady rise and fall of Pyrrha's chest. "They're okay... Oh, thank God, they're okay."

"She was awake a few hours ago," Dante added quietly, "but otherwise she's been resting. Claiborne said she would make a full recovery, though not quite as quickly as Mr. Arc will."

Jacob nodded absently as he watched the two, noting Jaune shift slightly so he was closer to Pyrrha. For a brief moment, Jacob began to hope that Jaune was clueing in for a change before the thought was banished from his mind with a shake of his head. Again, his eyes turned to Pyrrha, watching her sleep serenely in recovery. This time, however, he suddenly felt like he was staring at a completely different person than the girl he had promised to save all those months ago. His mind wasn't playing tricks on him, at least as far as he knew, but he could swear that she... looked different. Maybe he was imagining things, but she looked more... realistic was the first word that came to mind; the ghosts of features truer to life, not perceived by the naked eye but still just there... ghosts of things his animation-addled eyes couldn't make out. Yet, he glanced at Jaune and saw nothing quite the same.

He suppressed the confused shudder that crawled up his spine.

"Are you alright, Muller," asked Dante.

"...Yeah," he replied after a second of thought. "I just... found myself thinking about something."

"Considering what you are gazing at—or rather who—forgive my suspicions and my worry," he replied. "Especially if it pertains to my daughter."

"He's not the only one," came another voice that chilled Jacob's blood. He looked up from Pyrrha and was met with... Pyrrha 2.0. Jacob would have jolted in surprise had he not recognized her; the woman that had attacked the Matador first. Pyrrha's mom, and by extension...

Pandora Nikos, wife of Dante.

Pandora...

I am such a fucking idiot.

When he last saw her, he presumed she was in some manner of combat wear, considering the armor plates she had been wearing. Now, however, she looked like a civilian, albeit dressed a lot like her daughter was. She wore a long sleeved red and gold sweater and dark blue jeans, so dark that Jacob didn't even recognize that there was blue there to begin with at a first glance. She hadn't changed the poofy bob that she had worn before, the amassed strands bearing the same bright red as her daughter had. Her face was slightly rounder to his eyes, and speaking of which, he found himself staring into bright green eyes slightly different from Pyrrha's own; where Pyrrha's were a deep emerald color, these were almost the colors of a jungle, darker but still as vivid as Pyrrha's were. Jacob had to assume her father's amber eyes had lightened them into the color of an emerald.

To Jacob, she was almost an older clone of Pyrrha; hell, under other circumstances he would have mistaken her for an older sister with how youthful she looked in comparison to some of the older women he had met in Remnant.

She wore a gentle look on her face, but she seemed to still be hiding an essence of worry behind her eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

Jacob held up a hand in reassurance. "It's... it's alright, Ma'am," he said. "I just... after what happened, I was worried about both of them."

"You should tell them the truth before I go and tell it."

Jacob whipped around at the familiar voice. He was met with the sight of Captain Titus and Mira watching him with stolid faces, both of them bandaged up mildly.

"Captain Titus," Jacob said with a look and tone of surprise. "You're okay! Oh my God, I thought..."

Titus nodded and smirked. "It isn't an easy task to kill an Astartes Captain," he said, "even when he's long been stripped of his armor and geneseed."

Mira walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, her arm noticeably wrapped in gauze though not sporting a cast. "We're alright, but we both nearly had a panic attack when we heard about what happened with you three," she said, motioning at the duo behind Jacob.

Jacob nodded in response, biting back a wince from her hand's touch. "It was... something I'm probably going to have nightmares about for a while," he replied, a shiver crawling down his back as he remembered the red glowing eyes that stared back hungrily at him and Pyrrha. "How'd you guys get away from Nemeroth?"

Now it was Mira's turn to smirk. "We managed to fool the bastard down a dead-end tunnel and used a few of your IEDs you had dropped to seal him in. He's going to be stuck in there for a few weeks at best."

"A few days, honestly, considering how strong Terminator armor is," Jacob replied as he winced from her grip. "I was wondering why my jacket was lighter all of a sudden when I had been running for the train. When did I drop them?"

"The cultist slaughter," Titus replied.

Jacob's stomach sank as the sea or red and pained screams came back to him. "Right... I... I forgot..."

Out of the corner of his vision, he noticed Dante's face soften a smidge. He didn't know exactly how to take that.

Jacob swallowed as he attempted to drown the images of gore in the moment. "R-regardless," he said, "that's... how many were there again, forty or something? Whatever, that's less worshippers of Chaos to worry about."

The Imperials present gave him a look of trepidation that made his confidence practically faceplant. In the back of his mind, even he knew that such an idea was a false equivalence. After all, Chaos Cults tended to number not in the dozens, but the hundreds... if not the thousands...

The silence was deafening to him.

Titus groaned painfully as he stepped forwards, a wince on his face as he approached. "Don't focus on that," he said. "Remember what they were."

"I know," he said, "But I can't help but wonder if they really knew what they were worshipping... Did Eliphas sell them only the 'good parts' so to speak? The power, the pleasure, the knowledge, all that shit without telling them about the likelihood of becoming a mutated, psychopathic fuck?"

Mira and Titus shared a look between one another, tinged with understanding mixed with a dourness. Jacob was quick to understand that he was not broaching them with an unasked question.

Jacob sighed as he noticed Dante and Mrs. Nikos—Pandora, he reminded himself, but I should still call her Mrs. Nikos—staring at them intently. Dante's look was one tinged with that same edge he was getting used to seeing in Astartes, that look of a hunter gathering information on his prey. Beside him, Mrs. Nikos watched with an expression soaked in concern, the look in her eyes like she was just learning about something she had missed.

"The Eightfold Path is back," she said with a tone of realization. "Well, you're right in one respect, Honey. They are like roaches; they refuse to die."

Dante nodded as he leaned closer to his wife. "That is their nature," he said. "And all the more reason we should be worried. We caught one group out, who's to say there aren't more?"

Jacob nodded in agreement. As he braced himself back against his night stand, he felt the tickle of cold steel teeth against his calf. He suppressed a shudder. "I don't think they'll be a problem for a few weeks," he said. "Considering the timeline and all that."

Titus and Mira both grimaced as he said that. Dante seemed to go rigid. "Beg pardon?"

Jacob blinked in confusion as he stared at the Blood Angel and his Spartan wife. "Wait..." he turned to look at Titus. "...Do they... do they not know?"

Titus and Mira suddenly seemed to look a little more wounded, and it was wounds that were deeper than flesh. "...No," Titus said with a resigned sigh. "They do not."

The blood in Jacob's face began to drain as he assessed the situation. Dante very clearly noticed this as his voice dropped a note or two in pitch and rose a couple decibels in volume. "What don't we know," he asked calmly, now carrying a dangerous edge to his voice.

Jacob grimaced as he felt his grip on the table increase. "It's... it's about Pyrrha... and other, more macrocosmic-scale matters."

Mrs. Nikos stepped forwards. "What about our daughter," she said with a voice halfway to a threat.

Jacob felt like he had shrunk in on himself, his blood like ice in his veins. He never once imagined having to tell this to Pyrrha's parents, no less that they were both here and that one of them was the Blood Angels' Chapter Master of all things. Even now, his mind was reeling with other questions; Though the geneseed was stripped from him, did the blood of Sanguinius still flow in his veins? And through that, did Pyrrha have blood ties to the 9th Primarch and by extension The Emperor of Mankind himself? Did that make her a demigoddess? Hell, why hadn't it occurred to him to ask the same of Rey and the blood of Rogal Dorn? Was this only a quandary for this world or for other possible alternate realities?

Jacob's brain almost seemed to short circuit as he tried to spit it out. "Well... I... Jesus Christ, how do I... hmmm..."

There was a tired moan across the way. Jacob felt his stomach lurch.

Dante and Mrs. Nikos seemed to have the same reaction. They darted back around the side of the curtains while Jacob elected to cut straight through. He was met with the sight of Pyrrha moving, shifting like she was trying to wake up. Her brow was scrunched as she began to open her eyes, her eyelids fluttering slightly. Another tired moan sounded off.

Jacob was at the side of the bed instantly, quickly joined by Dante across the way. "Pyrrha," he said quietly, worry tinging his tone. "Talk to me, P-Money."

"Easy," Dante warned gently, "she's still waking up."

Emerald jewels appeared from behind her eyelids, first a tiny peak, interrupted by tired blinks. "Mmmmh... hey, Dad... hey... Jacob?"

Jacob let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in. "Hey, champ," he said with relieved laugh. "You doing okay?"

She was still caught in a tired haze if the mild scrunch to her brow was any indicator. "Much better than I was. I... I don't remember much of what happened after the Matador... caught up with us. The last thing I remember was... flying... then pain."

Jacob swallowed hard as the image of her flying through the brick wall flashed in his head. "Yeah... you went through the front of a store when it attacked. Never took you for one dense enough to be able to punch a hole through a brick wall with your body."

She smiled sleepily. "Remember who can press bench... sorry, bench press one hundred and fifty pounds and who can bench press eighty."

Jacob rolled his eyes as his attention turned to other things. "How's your head feel?"

Pyrrha's smile became tinged with a grimace. A shaky hand reached up to the bandage. "Like someone is using it for ringing a bell," she said with a serious but humored tone, "but I'll live. But no one's been able to tell me what happened after I blacked out. The last thing I remember seeing was... a splintered support beam, I think?"

Jacob grimaced. "Your... your dad," he said, the word rolling with aggravating difficulty off his tongue. "Your dad saved all three of us."

Pyrrha blinked and turned her head. "Dad... is he telling the truth?"

Dante looked over to Jacob, a look of uncertainty painted across his amber eyes. "Yes... and no," he said after a second, a ghost of a smile on his features. "He failed to mention that he was the one to protect you from the Matador while we were on our way. Took a hole in his shoulder for his troubles."

Pyrrha's gaze turned back to Jacob, a look of tired shock on her face. "You... you took it on all on your own?"

Jacob grimaced hesitantly. "I would say more along the lines of 'desperately held it off and almost fucked up,' in my opinion," he said.

Dante shook his head. "On the contrary. The Xiao Long-Rose sisters said that from what they could see, he was regularly swatting back at it with enough force to make it recoil, all the while hoisting you up on his shoulder."

"Yeah, but we would have been mulched meat piles if you hadn't shown up," Jacob replied.

Dante looked over at him. "Don't downplay yourself, Mr. Muller," he said. "Very few first-years could fight a beast like that and live to tell of it."

Jacob grimaced. "Uh... 'fight' is not the word I would use, though I appreciate your attempts to make me cocky about something," he deadpanned.

Pyrrha giggled, a sound that eased his nerves a smidge. "One of these days, someone needs to teach you how to take a compliment," she said quietly.

Jacob smiled. "When they do, I fear for their sanity; they'll awaken a child's ego that's been buried for a very long time, and for very good reason," he said.

Mrs. Nikos walked up beside her husband, gently taking Pyrrha's hand in hers. At that angle, their physical similarities were all the more evident just by being right next to one another; minus the fact that Pyrrha's hair was brighter and her eyes were green rather than blue, Pandora and Pyrrha looked practically like siblings, with very few traces of Dante's blood evident in her.

Wait a minute, he thought to himself, isn't blonde hair supposed to override red hair in the Punnett Squares? Right then, a flash of lilac eyes born from bright blue and bright red eyes answered his question in his mind. Right, right, mixed genes.

"Hey, Honey," Mrs. Nikos said gently. "Did we wake you?"

Pyrrha shook her head and smiled warmly. "No, Mom," she said. "Although... I think I've slept long enough as is."

Jacob suppressed a shudder at just how close their voices were to one another's.

Another series of mumbles started from behind Mrs. Nikos. Jacob saw a blue eye slowly blink awake. "H-huh... ugh... my neck..."

Pyrrha slowly looked over, blinking in surprise. "J... Jaune?" Her cheeks began to turn a bright scarlet color.

Jaune's eyes groggily opened. "Pyrrha... oh my god, Pyrrha!"

He tried to stand up from his chair, only to stop as he righted himself, clutching his head and stumbling a bit. Jacob recognized it all too well as his blood pressure failing to adjust to his sudden change in posture. Dante moved to catch his arm, stopping any chance of falling over. "Easy," he said to Jaune. "You were sleeping with a cocked neck."

"Aughh... explains the pain," Jaune said quietly. "Thank you, sir."

Dante beamed a good-natured smile.

Pyrrha beamed blinked. "Were... were you there... all night?"

Jaune turned to look at her. "Of course," he said hesitantly. "You think I'd let my partner be all alone?"

Jacob smiled and cleared his throat. "Phrasing," he muttered under his breath, only for there to be another feminine moan the next bed over. Jacob straightened himself and began to walk over, his shoulder making him wince with each jabbing twinge that shot through the offending body part. "Wonder who we'll see behind Curtain Number Two..."

He was met with a bandaged and very bruised-looking raven-haired girl with amber-gold eyes being tended to by a tanned, tall man with a handlebar mustache.

For a brief flicker of a moment, Jacob tensed up, His brain flashing the image of a certain Fall Maiden and her ally Watts. Then, the image disappeared as reality came back to him, a pair of flicking cat ears atop her head and the man built like a gangly linebacker with a buzzcut.

"Blake," Jacob breathed as he walked up to her, only to be stopped by an outstretched hand from the man, adorned in a pair of black latex gloves.

"Stand back, young man," he said, looking to him with a pair of hazel eyes. "She's got a broken rib and I am in the middle of a checkup on it."

Jacob obliged, stepping back as he continued to work, only gently waving to Blake. She returned it from a distance, smiling just a smidge. "Hey," she said in a quiet croak.

"Hey, Kitty-Cat," he returned worriedly. "How are you holding up?"

She nodded her head as she replied. "Alright. Aura's already setting a lot of my wounds, I guess. Just these—aaah! Sonuva—!"

"Language, my dear," said the main, his dark grey coat fluttering in the gentle flow of air through the room. "Now... looks like everything's in place now. I'd give you a prognosis of 3 days till you can move again."

Blake sighed. "At least it isn't anything too serious," she said, turning to Jacob. He returned the smile, only for his mind to flash him the image of Adam stabbing her in the gut during the Battle of Beacon.

"Yes, yes," he said quickly and dismissively as he stood back up, Jacob now wondering if he was an Astartes too as he now towered over them. "Until then, you cannot move anything below your shoulders; doctor's orders," he said, "or otherwise the rib might become agitated during your Aura's healing acceleration. After that, take it easy but you should be able to walk around again; you'll be perfectly fine just in time for the Vytal Festival."

She nodded. "Okay... Thank you, Dr. Umbara."

"Not a problem, my dear," he said with a small and polite smile. He turned to where he was facing Jacob, revealing his outfit in full. He was basically dressed not unlike the Medic from Team Fortress 2, albeit the coat in dark grey and the undershirt a bright red color... that was stained with brown splotches that denoted blood.

But what really caught his attention was the bolo tie broach that bore the symbol of the Red Scorpions Chapter.

Jacob blinked hard. So, he's the Codex Nazi, he thought to himself, using his nickname for the Red Scorpions. He was already uptight just from what I've seen here; I shudder to think of what he generally is like.

"You shouldn't be moving that shoulder," he said with a mild tone of impatience, pointing to Jacob's wound.

Jacob grimaced. "Won't stop me from getting up to check on everyone."

He grimaced slightly and nodded. "Good man. Foolish, but noble." He began to walk past, leaning down to Jacob's side and whispering, "The Emperor would be proud to see a mortal man harbor Astartes diligence."

Jacob looked aside at the Red Scorpion before he rounded the curtain and began speaking to someone else. Another voice, though this one he didn't recognize.

Jacob felt his blood run a smidge colder as he started to realize just how many people were here, wounded in battle by the Breach...

Something he could have prevented.

"Jacob? You okay," Blake asked.

He turned to look at her. "Uh... yeah," he said. "Just thinking about things."

The curtain behind him pulled back, revealing the rest of the group. "Hey, Blake," Jaune said as he wore his usual dopey smile.

"Hey, Vomit Boy," she mumbled. "How are you and Pyrrha doing? Had fun while I was asleep?"

Pyrrha giggled as Jaune snidely and dryly chuckled. "Funny," he said, a bright blush on his face as Dante and Pandora watched him with a look of mild alarm and confusion.

Jacob chuckled as he leaned back and let them talk, watching them talk as he stepped back into the hallway across from Titus and Mira. He shared a smile with them before he found himself looking over the scene...

And then he immediately found himself locking eyes with Mrs. Nikos, who despite sporting a smile of relief was wearing a look of worry in her eyes that even in Volume 2 animation was practically palpable.

I guess it's time someone told her, he thought to himself. But... maybe in a little bit.

"Oh, Jacob," Blake said with a giggle, "You might owe your 'Blonde Angels' an apology."

Jacob blinked in confusion as he turned to meet Blake's bemused beaming. Jaune looked over at him with a similar look while Pyrrha joined him in confusion. "Huh?"

Neither said anything, only continuing to stare at him.

It took a few seconds, but Jacob was quick to jump to a conclusion. "Was I on morphine?"

She nodded. "A new dosage right when Yang, Ruby and Weiss were stopping by."

Jacob paled. "Oh, Christ..."

---

Even so early in the afternoon as half-past midday, it never hurt to have a cup of coffee on standby. Normally, he would have had cocoa by this point, but he needed as much caffeine as he could afford in his system to keep himself running at full speed. Already his desk was piling up with files and reports, obituaries and letters half-way to completion, schedules being shuffled, motion scans and Atlesian troop reports of their own. In the green glow of his office, the files had a sickly pale color to them that made his stomach turn just enough to be noticeable but not urgent.

He peaked out from behind his glasses at the new feed. Lisa Lavender's report on the attack was confirming the three student fatalities that had transpired. Two from Haven, one from Beacon, all first-years.

Ozpin let out a hollow sigh. "It never gets easier," he said as he overlooked the student's file. He was a good man, young at heart and was an admirable fighter. It was a shame that he got caught out like that, away from the rest of his team when the Raptors found him. What they found remaining made the letter hurt all the more to write, especially considering the glowing recommendations he had been given by his teachers at Signal Academy.

He had left a premiere student at Signal, his parents and little brother throwing him a graduation party in pride. Now, he was returning to them in a sealed casket too small for a whole body... for good reason.

Ozpin sat quietly with the letter in front of him, unsure of what he could say. Considering everything, there had been amazingly few casualties from both law enforcement and Huntsmen, both in-training and actual field agents. But that only made the deaths that did happen sting all the worse.

Nothing to say of the city's population. 106 deaths, 725 casualties in total with 200 more sitting in critical condition in hospitals across the city of Vale.

He pushed his glasses back up his face with a tired sigh. "Our work is never done," he hummed to himself.

The elevator toned.

Ozpin looked up. "Come in."

The door opened to reveal a tall, lithe man with spiky black hair and a dress outfit of a grey shirt, black pants and shoes and—though strange to some—a dark red, tattered cape. He was wobbling just slightly on his feet while he clutched his nose bridge, like he was fighting with an awful smell that was burning his sinuses.

Ozpin suppressed his grimace. "Qrow," he said calmly, though he failed to hide his contempt for the situation at hand. "It's good to see you again."

"Yeah, yeah," Qrow replied with a tone that screamed he had already hit a few drops of whiskey this morning. "Good to see you too, Oz. Sorry I was late, was checking in on my nieces." He stepped inside, a slight stagger to his every step.

Ozpin nodded. "Of course. Are they alright?"

"Yang's hurtin' a bit from one of their claws," he said, "but it's at worst a flesh wound. Ruby's fine... at at least on the surface."

Ozpin's brow rose. "Is she hurt?"

Qrow shot him a look. "Didn't I just say—"

"I mean 'is she emotionally alright,' Qrow."

The dusty birdbrain stared at him for a second with a blank stare before the sentence fully processed in his head. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

Ozpin wasn't buying it. After what Mira and Titus had reported yesterday evening, there were things that she probably would need to discuss with someone in due time.

His Scroll buzzed, alerting him to more breaking news. He looked down to see a news report that stole his thoughts back to the original matter. Another three civilians had been confirmed dead at the Healing Light Hospital in the Residential District. He didn't block the sigh that escaped him.

"More dead," Qrow asked, walking closer.

"Three more. It was the Raptors."

"Fuck... That's what now, over a hundred?"

Ozpin didn't deign to reply. Qrow responded by pulling his flask out and taking a tiny sip from it.

"Right," he finally said as he closed the flask. "Go figure that I come back from my mission in time for a fucking invasion of the city."

"Impeccable timing seems to be a common theme around here as of late," he replied.

"Do we know who all was behind this?"

"Roman Torchwick was confirmed by your niece and her partner to be at the head of the operation, but they have also confirmed that the Eightfold Path had a heavy hand in this."

Qrow visibly blanched. "The Psychopath Brigade? I thought we wiped them out."

"Not as well as we thought," Ozpin said as he sipped from his mug in turn. "We've confirmed some familiar faces. Eliphas the Inheritor is indeed very much alive, for one."

The dusty Huntsman visibly paled. "Gabriel killed him. I saw the blood on his gear..."

"Considering what we face every day," Ozpin replied. "I'm sure it has something to do with magic. Perhaps his sermons caught someone's ear when our backs were turned..."

"Salem."

Ozpin felt a dreadful chill in his bones at that name. Oh, how the emotions behind it were the tempest on a raging, beautiful sea to him. "We can't be sure, but I do have a hunch."

"How do you know it's him? Not some other crazy warrior that snatched up his gear?"

Ozpin grimaced as he activated the holo-projector on his desk. The center of the room was suddenly illuminated by pale blue light that quickly coalesced into a full-color scene that most were familiar with; the entrance lobby of the CCT Tower. There were four figures present in the image; three were Atlesian soldiers, of that there was no doubt by their armor. But the fourth was shrouded in a black, skintight suit, long, black hair cascading down her back. Ozpin hit the play button on the recording and watched as a dark crimson-armored behemoth flew in from the right side of the hologram, slamming into one security guard, ripping apart another and then blasting the upper half of the last one with a large, cylindrical gun with a vented extension to the barrel. The fight lasted all of a few seconds.

Qrow winced on each kill. "Jeez," he said as the legs of the last guard toppled lifelessly to the floor. "It really is him."

"And that's not all," he said, motioning to the woman as she walked up to the crumpled one lying against the wall. She raised her hand and placed it to his brow, looking like she was concentrating on something.

The guard flashed with orange light before his body began to disintegrate into ash.

Qrow's jaw dropped subtly, though still his eyes were wider than dinner plates. "No..."

Ozpin sighed. "It is exactly as I feared," he said with a dreary, almost- exhausted tone. "Amber's attacker is working with them."

Qrow stepped forwards through the hologram of Eliphas. "What were they doing at the Tower," he asked, his voice low with tension and a bone-chilling worry etched into every syllable. "Do they know about—"

"No," Ozpin replied as he stood up carefully and walked towards Qrow, the tire from the day's events still lingering on him. "They took the elevator upstairs to the main CCT lobby. They would have killed many more had Ironwood's protégé not been there to stop their advance."

Qrow cocked a brow in confusion. "Hell of a student to be able to fight both of them off."

Ozpin nodded as his mind thought back to the footage. The girl he had met on one or two occasions in the last few months, and she seemed to carry the emotional maturity of a young child. Yet she had fought both of them off with the precision and skill belonging to a veteran Huntress, her strange weaponry deftly maneuvered as if a marionette moving her own strings. It was almost mechanical in her efficiency.

Ozpin grimaced at that thought. I sincerely hope he didn't go that way with his robotics division, he thought to himself. Too many ethical questions to consider for a time like this.

"Okay then," Qrow said as he flopped down on the couch off to the side. "Now considering the fact I've been out in the field for the last four months, and there have clearly been some lineup changes... let's start from the beginning. The older kid."

"Right. Mr. Muller."

"Yeah. My nieces seem pretty attached to him; all things considered." He swung his feet around and lounged back, his shoes just missing the edge of the armrest and hanging over, sparing the antique Mantlean felt from the dirt on his shoes. "Still, that begs the question; why in the Menagerie-fried hell is he in this school when he's almost senior age... and pretty obviously not even trained in basics?"

"Because he is aware of Salem's existence."

Qrow paled and spat a sip of his drink onto the glass window. "Sa—cough—ay that again, Oz," he choked out through a fit of coughing.

"According to him," Ozpin began, offering the Huntsman a handkerchief, "He met Amber a while back during her travels, and he earned her trust enough to get her to spill our secret."

Qrow blanched. "That sounds nothing like Amber," he replied. "He's lying to you guys."

"Exactly my thoughts," he said, "Though Glynda has spent enough time with him now that she thinks he could possibly be telling the truth; he has that kind of personality that makes it easy for lips to be loosened, according to her."

"Amber could get drunk and never spill a single syllable," Qrow replied, jumping to his feet. "I should know!"

Ozpin rose his eyebrow in dry and silent judgement. Qrow never took it back.

"Your point is valid," he said with a nod and another sip of his drink. "Amber's lips were—for lack of a better phrase—welded shut to any outsiders. And yet, I can't help but feel he is telling the truth... and yet not."

The elevator dinged and opened, revealing Ironwood and Glynda standing at the ready. Ozpin noticed a few stray hairs off-kilter on Glynda's brow and Ironwood's collar was a bit ruffled, though they quickly straightened them out. "That isn't a comforting observation, Oz," said Ironwood as he stepped forwards.

Good to see the old embers refusing to die, Ozpin thought to himself. "James, Glynda. I take it you heard us?"

"It's not hard," she said, considering Qrow accidentally pushed 'Conference call' on his Scroll."

Qrow blinked in confusion before he reached into his back pocket and looked down at his Scroll. Sure enough, he had been broadcasting to them for several minutes; it probably had been activated when Qrow flopped down on the couch.

"Remind me to turn this thing off when I come up here," Qrow groaned as he waggled the machine in front of himself in emphasis.

"As much as I hate to admit it," Glynda said with a sigh, "He seems... too knowledgeable about things. He's been at the docks, the overpass and the bomb attack... and now he was on the train that opened up the crater."

"Regardless of the fact Team RWBY has also frequently been a part of these incidents," James added, "He has been there four out of four times. It raises some alarms, suffice it to say."

"You're not wrong, James. But I think the reason is less malicious than our first instinct," Ozpin replied. "I think he's just habitually... in the wrong place at the right time."

Qrow folded his arms in unison with Ironwood. "And yet...?"

Ozpin sighed dejectedly. "...and yet I can't rule it out. But regardless... we should focus on more important things than one boy with an uncanny sense of timing. James," he asked, "Have you heard any more from the Council—either of our national Councils, that is?"

"I have," he said with a grimace. "The Atlesian Council and the Council of Vale has given me clearance to deploy martial forces from the 14th, 29th, 33rd and 407th Battalions along the border of Vale, as well as bring in the 5th, 6th, 7th and 9th Aeronautics Wings to patrol the skies over the region."

Glynda's pallor became like bed sheets. "That's over two-thousand Atlesian soldiers deployed," she calculated.

"Two thousand, one-hundred and seventy-six Atlesian soldiers and airmen ready to serve and keep the people safe."

Qrow's brows knit together angrily. "You really are going crazy," he said quietly.

Ironwood turned to look at him. "After what happened today, we can't take risks."

"And that entails bringing in an army the size of the one that conquered Icewrack in a single week?"

"If it keeps the people safe... then we have no choice, Qrow."

Ozpin grimaced. I've heard that bravado far too often... how many wars has it started since I began this war of my own?

"Jimmy," Qrow said, "Nothing we have compares to the stuff I've been scouting out over the last few months; oh yeah, remember that? I didn't hear a peep out of you guys for the better half of three months."

"You were supposed to be the one to radio in in the first place," Ironwood retaliated.

"Communications a two-way street, Jimmy!" He lifted his Scroll up to Ironwood's face. "See this? That's the 'send' button!"

Glynda stepped in between them. "Enough out of both of you! Qrow, you need to back off."

"Oh, back off, huh?! Glynda, if you saw half the things I saw out there, you'd be with me on this one without question. See, out there... she's been building her forces... in more ways than one."

"New Grimm?"

"More than that. You've probably noticed her little alliance she's made with those freaks."

"We've noticed," Ironwood deadpanned. "The Eightfold Path has been telegraphing it vehemently."

"We were dead wrong about it being just now, or at the very least she's been working with another sect of theirs more frequently" he said. "I had a couple choice encounters with some crazies out there... some packing some crazy gear and skills that make most of us here look like chumps." He pulled his sleeve up, revealing a long and jagged cut up his arm, now healing but still looking angry and deep.

Glynda gasped. "What happened!?"

"One of them in black and gold armor had a big-ass sword that they swiped at me with. They managed to carve my Aura away entirely on more than one occasion."

Ozpin felt the blood rush from his face. Qrow was the owner of a Level Seven Aura, only coming just shy of the likes of himself, Mr. Xiao Long, Mr. Grimnar and both Nikoses. Coupled with his time in the field... just what kind of foe was he facing from the Eightfold Path to carve his Aura away with such ease?

But another sword user, he thought to himself. Those are becoming far too common for my taste.

Ironwood stepped forwards. "This is why I'm stepping up defenses so much," he said, pointing to the scar.

"Well, it won't be enough. She's been working with them long enough now that I actively saw several of them commanding Grimm out in the frontier territories in Mistral."

Ozpin's brow shot up in surprise. "You're certain?"

Qrow nodded. "Big ones, lots of Saurians too. And the guys leading them aren't showing any sense of fear around the Grimm, either. It was enough to give me the goosebumps."

All three of the other Inquisition members shared looks with one another, Ironwood's dripping with a fierceness that Ozpin recognized too well.

"Then this threat is greater than I could have imagined," James said quietly. "My first instinct would have been to cancel the Festival if this had been happening earlier. Now... we don't have much of a choice."

Ozpin nodded in quiet contemplation. "Indeed," he said, "To cancel it would incite too much fear; and we all know what that will draw."

All three of them nodded.

There was a tense silence before Ozpin eventually sighed. "Even now, there is a rising tension in the air," he said quietly as he turned to return to his desk. "The city will reel from this, there can be no doubt about it; and neither can there be any doubt that we will see a resurgence of cooperation and unity in the aftermath. But what will the arrival of such a force do to such a rising unity?"

None of them gave him an answer. Even Ironwood he figured would have stood up for his original idea, but now he was uncharacteristically mute.

Ozpin sighed again. He felt so tired of this all at times... how he wished he could take it all back at some times. How often had his bones ached and his body feel less than useful; how often had he noticed the encroachment of white hair on his head; how long had he watched the rise and fall of nations? All of it began to blend at times, and no small comfort could be taken from that.

"Dismissed," he said tiredly. "There is a city that needs our help. We should tend to it."

Ironwood and Glynda nodded before they turned to the elevators. Qrow remained where he was, his eyes trained on Ozpin with worry.

"Something else you wanted to talk about, Qrow?"

He grimaced. Ozpin had a good idea what it was on his mind. "It's... I hate to ask, but... how's Amber."

Ozpin nodded quietly. "She's been stable as of late," he said as he returned to his desk, tenting his fingers in quiet contemplation. "But her overall status has continued to drop off. It's only a matter of time."

Qrow looked as if he was a scolded schoolboy, his gaze drawn to the floor beneath him. "How long are we thinking?"

Ozpin sighed. "Qrow—"

"How long," he said, his voice hard with a frustration that tinged his every syllable.

Ozpin sighed as he looked down at his desk for a moment, trying to come up with the best way to answer. Finally, he looked up.

"With how she is right now," he said, every word heavy with caution and tinted in melancholy, "We need to find her successor... in the next two months."

He stood again, reaching down beneath his desk to reveal several large folders in his hand before he gently placed them on his desk.

"And I think I have some candidates in mind."

---

The silence was colder than the grave. It chilled his very heart just to not hear anything as he sat in quiet contemplation.

He looked up into the light of the Mira and Titus' hotel room, squinting as his eyes ached from the sudden light input. It was a miracle he was even here, now that he thought about it, considering he had woken up in the infirmary that morning. He honestly didn't know if he was being stupidly lucky or he was slowly becoming more hell-for-stout than he had been when he had first arrived, but he wouldn't deny the trip back here of all places would make him hurt so much. Fortunately, this part of Vale hadn't been hit hard by the Breach, Atlesian soldiers and more veteran Huntsmen quelling the fighting with ease as the rest of the city slowly fought them back. A few Grimm had escaped into the city but by now had been killed and the city made secure again, with hodge-podge construction crews desperately filling in the craters to block any other Grimm from entering. Cops and soldiers had surged forwards with what could basically amount to SWAT gear on top of their robotic aides. But still that initial terror hung in the air above the city like a thick blanket, threatening to smother it in a sea of black skin, red eyes and white bone... as well as other things beyond the comprehension of the average citizen of Vale.

The room was dead silent around them as over a dozen people sat in various states of contemplation, terror, anger and resolve. Many of them had their eyes glued to a large TV screen in the room, while others had taken to their feet, pacing in worry and fury as they watched in stony silence. The TV—technically a Holo-screen, but Jacob wasn't going to argue semantics—hidden inside of a cabinet like most hotel rooms seemed to do. The screen showed only stationary credits at the moment, though there was a blue bar on the side that showed the pause sign also in white.

He drew his gaze aside to the others in the room, slowly watching them as they processed what he had seen many times over now for the first time in their lives. The Lysanders were sitting on the couch in front of the screen a fuming kettle waiting to go off at the slightest touch, outrage burnt across their faces with white-hot scowls; Cain stared into the wall in morbid thought from his spot next to the table, his face downcast and macabre in its tone; Gabriel's face was contorted into an angry snarl, his finger drumming on his arm as he leaned on one of the support columns of the room. Vulkan had turned his back on the screen, his eyes scanning the carpet below him as he paced in front of the loveseat next to the Lysanders' couch, a seething Titus and Mira sitting across from him in the loveseat on the other flank. The Great Wolf sat beside Jacob, a glass of gin in his hand as he gently swished it about in his hand, letting the clinking of glass act as his voice. At his side, the great axe Morkai glowed an angry, Khornate magma-red.

SLAM!

Jacob felt himself jump on instinct, the sensation of a seat under his ass leaving him as he found himself getting a few inches off the barstool he was sitting on. He was already fighting a sickly stomach ache and and a throbbing shoulder, but the sudden startle made his belly feel like it was about to leave his mouth and do the Can-Can on the table in front of him. His mug of tea sloshed in his hands and dropped a good-sized dollop on his arm that scalded and stung with angry heat. The stool underneath him wobbled worryingly as he rocked a bit on it before he managed to right himself, gripping his left arm where the spill had made impact as he moved to gently set the cup down with his left hand. Shakily, he drew his gaze upwards, already predicting what he would see.

A crack began to form in the wooden table where the fist had made impact. Jacob found himself swallowing hard, the crack tracing a scattered and sharp line all the way back to its origin beneath a fist the size of both of his combined. Said fist was attached to the arm of a very angry and very powerful Space Marine, his whole arm tensed and looking as if the musculature inside would burst loose and shred anything close to ribbons. He followed it up towards his face, terror gripping him in worry. He dared to make eye contact.

He was met with amber eyes full of a rage that burned just to stare at. Jacob felt the blood rush from his face, his brow now feeling cold with terror. Yet despite this, his face was not contorted in a vicious and bloodthirsty sneer worthy of the Black Rage; rather it was calm but furious, his face showing the ghost of an angry scowl beneath a face showing a mind running and a hundred miles an hour.

Next to his other hand sat the Steelbox, finally seeing use after 6 months of collecting dust inside Jacob's safe.

The disk that held Volume 3 wasn't inside.

"...Chapter Master?"

Dante made no remark, his breathing labored with fury. Beside him, Pandora looked on, her pallor like the dead and her eyes wide with the terror only a mother could know. It made Jacob's bones feel like ice.

"...Sir?"

The Blood Angel's gaze turned to Jacob, his anger palpable. The anger did not seem focused on Jacob, so much as Jacob was in the path of the glare. "Please tell me this is a lie," he whispered angrily, a tone of fury and worry to his every syllable that made Jacob's stomach flip in terror.

"...I want to make it a lie," Jacob said cautiously, dropping his voice low in solemnness.

Pandora seemed to be at a loss as she stood beside Dante, her face seeming to vacillate between horror and anger, her eyes darting about with the speed of a jumping bean on crack-cocaine. "Pyrrha," she croaked out, her voice brimming with some mixture of emotions.

"That was... more harrowing than I thought it could be," Vulkan said as he stopped pacing for a few moments. "I wasn't as ready to view that as I had assumed I would be."

"Considering this is someone we know to be alive at the moment," Cain added as he scratched his 5-o'-clock shadow, "That would explain the cognitive dissonance we're experiencing right now."

Titus and Mira sat in stony quiet as the Lysanders slowly began to boil over. Rey stood up and turned, vaulting over the couch and walking to Pandora. The two embraced in a worry-fueled hug that only made Jacob feel all the worse.

Dante slowly rose back to his full height, the moniker of "Angel of Death" feeling more and more apt with each passing moment. "We need to speak to Ozpin about all of this. Right now."

Jacob felt his heart clench in worry. "We can't," he said quietly. "Not without risking other things father down the road."

Dante eyed him like he had said 'Fuck Sanguinius' directly to his face. "I will not condemn my daughter to death," he growled angrily, his voice making Jacob think of Elrond again.

"An neither will I," Jacob said, "but we threaten everybody else's lives too by way of contingents."

Dante glared menacingly at him.

"Hear him out, Dante," Titus added. "His reasoning is... not the absolute most sound, but it does come from a reasonable place."

The Blood Angel's head snapped aside to stare at the Ultramarine in bewilderment as his wife continued to embrace Delia. "Titus, you can't be serious."

"I am," he said as he stood upright, a hand reaching down to take Mira's as she quickly joined him.

Jacob swallowed hard in worry as he prepared to talk. "Please, Chapter Master," he said, quietly, "just... listen."

The Blood Angel seemed to seethe internally, only to let out a hard breath as he turned back. "Very well, then; why shouldn't we go to Ozpin this very moment?"

"Because we don't know if there were—or frankly still are—any additional contingents that they may pull... and the consequences of it," he said. "And the more we can predict what's about to happen, the more we can change things in our favor; not necessarily big changes, but slights of hand to load the dice in our favor."

Dante glared at the floor in contemplation, eyes like burning coals. "I do not consider that a worthwhile exchange considering the threat on my daughter's life."

Jacob grimaced in annoyance. "If we tell Ozpin," he added, "that element of premonition becomes moot and useless, and we stumble blindly towards what happens from there. And you know as well as I do that there are other threats to Pyrrha... far more esoteric dangers."

Dante looked up at the same time as Pandora did. "The transfer, you mean," he said. "I doubt it would do as they were afraid it would."

"And what happens if it does? What happens if Pyrrha is erased as Amber basically possesses her like some... some accidental facsimile of a Warp daemon?"

That sentence made Dante bristle, as well as several of the Imperials as well; Jacob had to assume it was the comment about the daemon.

"And what if you fail?"

Jacob winced at Pandora's comment, so full of contempt and fear at the same time as she broke from Delia's hold and turned to face him with furrowed brows.

"What if my baby girl doesn't... doesn't come out with the rest of them?" The hurt in her voice was palpable, a fury and urgency rising to it that sounded almost exactly like her husband's. Jacob's heart panged angrily at her glare. "What then?"

Jacob stood up with slow urgency. "That won't happen," he said. "I'd sooner put myself in front of the arrow."

Cain stepped up beside the two other Imperials. "Let's not jump the gorge just yet," he said to all three of them. "We still have until the Vytal Festival to prepare ourselves and be ready to make every move we can."

"Yes, but we're forgetting," added Gabriel as he righted himself from leaning on the wall, "who wasn't present in that version of this reality? Who can throw a monkey-wrench in everything just by being there?"

Jacob sighed. "Chaos."

Gabriel grimaced and nodded.

Cain shrugged. "So? We've dealt with them at their worst countless times before; all of us! It is the traitors who should fear us!"

"That means little if we don't know if their plan is the exact same as we saw on that disc to be Salem's and Cinder's," Vulkan replied. "Too many new variables to consider, including ourselves and what effect we'll have on the outcome."

"But we know enough now to make an effective counterstrike," replied Luce. "I suggest we form one and put it into action immediately."

"I agree, a proactive method will yield the best results," Logan added as he downed the last bit of gin and with his other hand lightly tapped Morkai on the floor in solidarity.

From his corner opposite to all of them, The Storm Warden Anders nodded in agreement. "Litanies of Battle, verse 20-5; 'Yield not to the enemy's movement, but make them quail and submit to your force's advances. Then your victory is all but assured.'"

The two other newcomers only nodded quietly, though the Red Scorpion continued to jot down notes quietly.

Titus sighed. "So it seems... we're all in agreement, then."

Dante looked around the room, the confusion and outrage practically palpable on his face. "You cannot be serious..."

"Refresh my memory, Dante," said Sugodai as he brushed his fu manchu with his fingers, "Who again kept his habits of Premonition?"

Jacob blanched at that. Premonition? But... Dante wasn't psychic... was he?

He watched as the Blood Angel seemed to stop, a sigh escaping him. "Do not go there, Librarian. This is different."

"How? This is no different, frankly," added Cain.

Dante attempted to rebut this, but the sentence never even seemed to leave his mind. His brow dropped in thought. "You know as well as I that Ozpin can keep secrets... he is far better at playing the long game than even the eldest of us."

Jacob cocked his brow in confusion. "By that you mean you, right, Mr. 'Millennium and a Half Years Old'?"

The annoyed glance from Dante was met with Jacob shrugging defensively. "Sorry," he replied to the Blood Angel.

Dante turned to begin pacing, only for Titus to walk up and grab him by the shoulder. "Dante," he said firmly. "Listen... I didn't like this idea when I first heard it myself. Frankly, part of me still doesn't entirely like this sneaking about when Pyrrha's life and the life of others as well are at stake. And yet... isn't that already what we decided we would do the moment we took the oath of the Inquisition?"

Jacob watched the two titans with a mild elation and terror in his veins, one that was only enhanced as a mass of muscle on his left stood up and joined them. "Aye," said Logan, "And as much as I am not a father, I get your panic. But... maybe we would be all the wiser playing this to our advantage."

Dante stared at the Great Wolf for a good minute before he turned to look back at his wife. Jacob sat in quiet worry as he watched the two seemingly speak without a single syllable being uttered, tiny changes in their eyes and their expressions that for a brief moment made Jacob double take as they were still rendered in Volume 2 animation. Surreal didn't begin to describe it.

After a good long minute, the two seemed to break the spell they had cast over one another, the rest of the room in steely silence.

"Alright," Dante said in a tone so quiet a whisper was like a hurricane by comparison. The two parents of Pyrrha Nikos looked slowly towards him, their eyes alight with a fire that Jacob could only describe as 'warlike' as far as he was concerned. "What do we need to do to ensure my daughter's safety?"

Jacob felt his chest depress as a breath left his lungs. "For now, we should focus on counteracting Cinder's upcoming plans, or at the very least cushioning their blows; Slowly leak information to the parties directly at the center of battle for one thing, I.E. give Yang a five-alarm 'heads up' in the event things go as they did in the show and she duels Mercury. Obviously, we can't say it outright, but since I'm so close to them I can negate that and keep Cinder's Team engaged in the festival. If they pull the trigger early, they'll be off-kilter, so I doubt they would do so, but there is that chance. But she'll also have a harder time getting free without security or other Huntsmen—us, rather—giving her a Dust shell colonoscopy."

A couple chuckles from the other Astartes in the room retorted. Dante and Pandora nodded in unison, the Huntress' face still tinged with worry.

"But the more important part for a lot of us is Pyrrha herself," Jacob added as he stood up and began pacing. "She's a big key in all of this; When and if the Invasion begins, she'll be on the front line before Ozpin needs her to do the transfer; question is, can we risk Amber's powers getting transferred?"

Dante stepped forwards instinctively. "The Fall Maiden's powers cannot be allowed to fall into Cinder's hands," he said, "but I cannot willingly risk our daughter's safety. It will paint too big of a target on her back."

"But... it has to be her decision too," Jacob said. "We are too vehement about her not doing it and we risk being found out if Ironwood or Oz get suspicious."

"Okay, let's skip that hypothetical," said Logan, raising his hand to stop their conversation. "What is our actual plan if she does take the powers?"

Jacob grimaced as he stopped pacing. "If she remains the same, we rush her out of here before Cinder can even say 'halt!' and we... I don't know, carpet-bomb the structure if we can with the Valkyrie. It will kill international communications, but it will halt any of their operations. Besides, with some effort I can imagine we could jerry-rig something together as a proxy for the tower."

"And the Dragon," Vulkan asked.

"Again, I refer you back to the Valkyrie Gunship. It's no Stormraven or Thunderhawk, but I'd wager it can get the job done."

Cain rose his eyebrow. "I hate to break it to you, but outside of against other vehicles, the Valkyrie is not as good as you many think; it's meant to be more of a flying bus for Guardsmen than anything else. Now, if it was a Vendetta, then we'd be in business, though we'd also have the problem of the fact that the guns are retrofitted for Dust ammunition now."

Jacob swallowed hard. "The lascannon?"

"That's the exception," Mira added, "but it only has a few charges left in it. We've been hesitant to use it."

"Now would be the time to start getting it ready," Jacob said. "Heavy bolters?"

Titus shook his head. "Destroyed about ten years ago when we were sent to hunt down a murder of Nervermores raiding the coastline east of Argus. We've yet to have them fixed out of fear of the Machine Spirits acting out against us."

"Damn. What's the missile options for it?"

"Rocket pods."

Jacob smiled. "I thought those looked like multi-rocket salvos on the underside of the wings. What kind of missiles now?"

"Fire and Electricity Dust missiles, make the best explosions."

Jacob nodded. "Perfect, options for swarms and then something for the big guy."

"What about the Silver Eyes," Vulkan added. "We know it will contain the Grimm; could we perhaps put that to use?"

Jacob grimaced and shook his head. "It would only put Ruby in more danger—Pyrrha's death triggered it, remember? If we're stopping that, then her Silver Eyes won't trigger and do... whatever the fuck they do. Seriously, even I'm lost on the Sliver Eyes thing and what they do." About then a thought peaked out from his mind. "You guys know anything about that, considering at least some of you knew Summer?"

Jacob was surprised to see all of them shake their heads, even Vulkan. Though, as he did it, Jacob seemed to notice an unusual hesitance to the action...

"I would still agree with Dante," came the Mongolian-accented voice of the White Scar Stormseer. "It is the best course of action that we inform the rest of the Inquisition about what is to happen; we can prepare far better, and prevent the school from falling to ruin! If anything, that is more important!"

Jacob wheeled on the spot, though he wasn't contemptuous about the matter. "The school is our secondary objective when compared to Pyrrha and the Maidens," he said, "at least as far as I'm concerned. I know there's the fact of the CCT Tower—which I still lament is an incredibly short-sighted idea on Remnant's part—but I'm more concerned with Cinder going after Amber, and by extension Pyrrha. Besides... it's their Call to Action."

All of the Imperials turned to look at him in confusion, with even Pandora giving him a cocked eyebrow of confusion.

Jacob sighed. "It didn't occur to you guys that the fact that they're the center focus of the show would indicate their importance in the long game, right?"

Dante and TItus' gazes turned to look at one another while the rest of the Imperials continued to watch.

A grimaced covered Jacob's face. "The fact that they—or at the very least that Ruby—is the show's protagonist means the long game, if one considers how most show plots of this magnitude go, ends with, at bare minimum, Ruby facing off against Salem, right?"

Silence held for a few moments. "Well, he's not wrong," Cain said under his breath.

"But the Tower's destruction and... and Pyrrha's death send her off with Pyrrha's team to find out the truth."

"But I have to be the one to say it, this is real life; how do we know that would stay the case here," Gabriel added as he joined them, the walking wall of muscle giving Jacob a look that was less contemptuous and more contemplatively angry.

Jacob shrugged. "The fact that events have stayed almost exact barring some changes in the sequence of events and the severity of events is definitely something I'm counting on," he said. "The Breach, the fight with Roman; hell, everything up to me realizing who you guys were, well, was spot-on with the original timeline, like as if things were staying homogenous; ergo, I have to presume that at least some aspects will remain the case if we stick to our guns and play all of the other cards."

Silence filled the room as his words sunk in, most of the Imperials giving him sideways glances that screamed of hesitation. For a brief moment, Jacob wondered if his story would come to an end with him dying at the hands of The Emperor's finest.

"You... want us... to forsake the city and potentially the people in it," the Red Scorpion said quietly near the back of the room.

Dante and Pandora's gazes met the hardwood floor in downtrodden contemplation. Jacob didn't deny that there was good reason for that reaction, considering the oaths they had taken. Hell, in all honesty all of them were now seemingly contemplating this same issue, gazes now lost a hundred yards away and small pacing paths now being made.

"No," Jacob said quietly. "Perhaps not all of us, now that I think more about it."

"Meaning," asked Logan.

"Divide and conquer comes to mind. The Fall of Beacon is the key event to get the ball rolling on Salem's defeat—at least if we follow the conventions of the usual 'save the world' routine and all of that—but that doesn't mean that we have to forsake everyone for it."

"What he's suggestin' is we focus on damage control as well as the rescue operation," said Anders as he walked past the group and into the kitchen, pulling out a glass bottle filled with a reddish-brown drink. He began to pour into a juice glass as he continued. "The half of us what care about Ms. Nikos and the Fall Maiden focus on keepin' them safe, whilst the rest of us put our efforts into shoring up the defenses around the city and be ready to strike the moment the shit goes sky-bound."

Jacob nodded. "Exactly as the good Chaplain said."

The contemplative silence returned, only this time the room felt far less downtrodden.

Anders chuckled under his breath. "Well, I'd say that kills two birds with one stone, doesn't it? We can put things on the right path and still cushion the blow, as it were. Almost Tzeentchian in its manipulation, but I can't pretend that it isn't a good idea."

"I agree with that sentiment," Vulkan said as he looked up and nodded. "We have taken our oaths as Huntsmen to protect the people of Remnant at all costs, and our oaths as Astartes, Guardsmen and Inquisitors means the very same to us."

Jacob nodded. "We should probably divvy up teams in that case," he said he began to pace. "I'm thinking... well, we should be honest with ourselves here on who finds what more important."

All three Lysanders stood up in unison, Luce tapping her crozius on the floor, no doubt to the annoyance of the people below their room. "We would be remiss to not aid in both operations," she said, "But I don't know if we are of any help towards her protection."

Delia stepped forwards. "I want to help on that end," she said, pulling her shield from her back and beating her fist against it. She turned to her parents and said, "You guys can focus on gearing up for the city."

Jacob nodded and smirked. "I doubt anyone will be able to stop you, so by proxy I predict success on our end," he said with a tone of dry humor.

Titus and Mira walked up beside him. "We've come this far," the Ultramarine said, "We're not going anywhere without our goddaughter's safety assured."

Jacob again nodded thankfully. "Courage and honor, Captain."

Slowly, the teams began to form, though ultimately it was clear how lop-sided it would be; Most of the Imperials present opted to focus on protecting the people rather than Pyrrha, a choice that Jacob was happy to see being picked so frequently despite his own goals. The ones who ultimately joined the "Save Pyrrha" group, though, did not hesitate to make it their priority; by the end, Delia, Titus, Mira and Anders stood firmly beside him, already drawing up ideas to go about their hodge-podge plan. Across the way, the rest of the Imperials were already drumming up full plans, drawing out maps and assessing districts of Vale to identify where best to form contingencies and safe havens for citizens caught out in the ensuing chaos.

Jacob grimaced in self-aggravation. I am such an asshole, he thought to himself, his mind conjuring the images of fleeing citizens that he could spare just by opening his mouth. Or perhaps they weren't able to be saved in the long-run; perhaps fate would kill them with another invasion

A feeling of being watched prickled the back of his mind. He turned and was met with the gaze of The Nikoses, watching him carefully.

He swallowed hard and stepped closer to them. "I know it's a lot to take in," he said quietly, "and you guys don't have the month's advantage of everyone else to get accustomed to this. But I swear—"

Pandora stepped closer, grabbing his hands tightly as only a mother would; her grip practically crushed his hands with palpable worry. "Please," she said, a concerned fury to her voice. "Don't bother with platitudes for our sake. Just save our baby girl..."

Dante stood in stony silence, the millennia-old man staring at him with the eyes of a desperate and angry man. It seared Jacob's soul just to make eye contact.

Jacob swallowed a hard lump in the back of his throat. "I'll die in her place if I must," he said, his mouth acting before his brain got the chance. "Pyrrha's walking away from Beacon, even if I have to die in her place. I swear it."

---

"I swear, it has to be here somewhere..."

"Calm down, Em. They're bound to come through any minute now."

"I know, but... we've been waiting to crack these codes all day. I'm just worried someone's going to be on to us if we stick around in this system for too long."

A smirk across her lips. "Have faith in Dr. Watts' toy, Emerald. He was quite meticulous in its creation, after all."

As if on cue, a series of mechanical chirps. A light flashed green as Emerald's hair.

"Just as I predicted," Cinder said.

Okay then, we're actually in...Let's see... command codes... weapons schematics... combat orders... where is the top-secret stuff?"

Cinder chuckled under her breath as she watched Emerald greedily file through the information streaming to them. From over her ebony-skinned agent's shoulder, she could see a myriad of data files stream onto her tablet Scroll, filing through as override codes broke firewalls like a bull in a china shop. The brightness of the files shone with stark contrast against the dimness of the night. It was almost overwhelming to her eyes.

What light did shine outside proudly displayed the unintentional handiwork of the previous day, bathing the night sky in tints of orange and yellow as gas lines continued to burn despite the best efforts of the Vale Fire Department. Sirens wailed like ghosts on the wind, hauling White Fang members and Chaos Cultists away in chains, reports already coming in that the main Police Department jails had filled up and were forcing new arrests to other auxiliary stations.

To anyone else, this was a crushing defeat. But to Cinder, it was taking a cut across the arm so she might split her opponent's skull; a wound to ensure a victory.

"Come on, Em," groaned Mercury from his bed, "that stuff can wait. I'd rather not have Atlas find us out and be banging on the door a minute later."

Emerald scoffed loudly. "You can sleep all you want," she said, "But I wanna know every juicy bit of intelligence I can get my hands on."

Cinder smiled as she watched them bicker, sauntering up to Emerald's side. "Anything juicy yet?"

"A couple things. That girl that fought you? She's a prototype Atlesian Combat AI," she said as she leaned over to let Cinder see. Sure enough, there was what looked like a cross-section of the girl, revealing cybernetics across her whole body. From head to toe she bore metal and wires rather than flesh and bone, not organs not even of a facsimile to anything real people had.

"A pretend Huntress," Cinder hummed quietly to herself. "How quaint."

"And here's the best part," she said. "She's got a separate security network, but she's working off a similar program to the Paladins. It's all from this 'Project Dreadnought' mainframe."

Cinder smiled bemusedly. "How intriguing. Can it be accessed?"

"No idea," Emerald said, "but I think it's worth a try."

Cinder nodded. "Then do it."

A nod set Emerald to work as Cinder's Scroll buzzed at her side. She picked it up. The number was an unlisted number, though she recognized it too well.

She walked towards the back wall and answered with a sigh. "This had better be good, Tyrian."

A psychotic cackle answered her on the other side. "Oh? You sound so delighted to hear from me," he replied.

"Watts' virus is working as he projected it to," she said with a smile. "Despite the hiccup in the plan."

"So we noticed. That was too risky for Her Grace's plans, Cinder."

"Don't worry your pretty little head over it," she said sarcastically. "We have a backup plan already in the works. Not to mention our chaff in the White Fang are now safely in our camp."

"Be that as it may," the psychopath replied, "I am not calling on my behalf," he said, his voice taking a reverent tone.

Cinder's smile dropped. "Oh?"

"I call on His Lordship's behalf."

"Indeed."

Cinder's throat caught the next words before they could even form. "My Liege," she said with the tiniest falter to her tone, feeling the urge already to drop to a knee despite him not even being present. She noticed Emerald and Mercury turn to look at her.

Even through the pathetic speaker on the Scroll, she could hear the gravelly tone he gave off, rough and powerful like a mountain and yet bearing a sharpened edge like so many razor blades. Even after so long, it made her feel his might. "You sound so nervous to speak to me, Cinder. Has your failure with the initial plan shaken you that much beneath your mask your heart quakes with cowardice?"

That set something off in the back of her mind; he always knew just what to say. "No, sir," she reaffirmed harshly. "The plan was never a certainty... as are all plans made by mortals."

A bemused chuckle that sounded like a revving engine. "And you made that change work to your designs. Excellent; I see my training has rubbed off on you."

She smiled, only faintly but enough that she could feel it on her cheeks.

"And yet... you hesitate."

Cinder's smile dropped off. "Yes... it was the same brats who stopped Roman's heist that instigated this. As well as that one member of Ozpin's little cabal."

A low rumble, this one contemplative. "Curious. They seem to be a regular thorn in your side... What forces consipre against us, I must wonder." A brief pause, though she could imagine his face, etched with thought and age. "No matter. Our work is almost ready to begin."

She nodded and hummed in agreement. "Our associates in the Eightfold Path have been quite a boon for our operations," she said as she thought back to Eliphas' massacre of the guards.

"They all have their uses," he replied, "And I have worked with some of them in the past. Do they know yet who I am?"

"No," she replied. "I don't think so. None of them seem to have had an inkling of revelation."

"Good. The less they know for now, the better."

Cinder blinked in surprise. "Your Grace?"

"I must say, Cinder," came the sultry voice of her other mentor, "You have done an excellent job so far. But don't rest on your laurels yet; our greatest work is yet to be done."

Cinder grimaced in understanding. "Watts' virus will find her soon enough," she replied.

"Don't let your ambitions cloud your judgement," Salem replied. "Remember what it is that we are truly after. The Maiden powers are but the key."

"I understand," she said. "We'll find it soon enough, and the White Fang's activities will draw Ozpin's eye away from us long enough for us to crack their cyphers."

"Do not underestimate Ozpin, Cinder," warned Salem. "He is more powerful than you give him credit for... and far more knowledgeable than you would expect."

Cinder smiled as she rattled that sentence around in her head. "I doubt he will ever see us coming," she said as she reached deep into her soul and dragged the Maiden powers forth, the energy kicking and screaming in futile but ferocious resistance. She felt the flames dance from her palm as they slowly formed a pyre, only for the flame to levitate and begin to shift in form. Soon, an eight-pointed star of fire danced mesmerizingly in her palm.

"From shame and shadow, are we recast..."

---

And the ever-present sense of dread continues to build. Ain't I a stinker?

Next time, we meet Taiyang, Ruby and Pyrrha hang out, Weiss slaps while Yang kisses, and Khârn the Betrayer inducts some White Fang into the ranks of Khorne.

Wait, what was that last part?

As usual, reviews and critiques are always appreciated, follow and favorite if you want to keep reading this story and as always, I will see you in the next chapter. Bye~!