written in the stars
More Creeps appear right before he can turn the corner. "Just gotta get past these," Clover says. "Then we can hit Main Street. We'll get to the next district- I think I know where we are. East of the docks. We can get out of here, Qrow." In response, Qrow closes his eyes, bringing the clock face of the Harbinger up to his forehead, pressing hair streaked with sweat and pomade and dust against the green shimmer; Clover whispers, "I know, Qrow, I know."
Shadowy beings materialize in front of him. He doesn't want to have to fight anymore, but what choice does he have-
The moment his eyes close and his forehead connects to the blade, however, he gasps, feeling the entire world slow down, stilling- all except the Harbinger, at least. It is as if the air is silent, not a whisper of the wind brushing through his hair. The neon crackle of shopfronts and the flicker of dimming streetlights freezes, the world captured in a snapshot of time, frozen in frame.
He can still see everything in his mind's eye, though, almost as if his eyes were still open.
It is not only the world which is still. The Grimm are also utterly motionless, as if locked in space and time, the darkness of Qrow's vision allowing him to look at their shapes in the shadows beneath his eyelids. They do not move. They do not snarl. They do not attack.
And yet, the thrumming blade in his hand continues to glow and shine.
Qrow raises his hand experimentally, brushing his hair out of closed eyes. He is able to move, but these things, nor the very air they breathe… nothing else can move.
Clover lets out a long, haggard breath from within, the clock face flashing at the sound. "You… you're seeing this, right?"
He nods.
"…kill them."
He nods. Clover knows that he will not give in.
Within moments, he has planned out his attack, using this slight reprieve before the storm to understand exactly where he must go. He does not know what is going on- how the Harbinger is interrupting the flow of code and time itself, there is no way to truly understand, if even Clover cannot find the answer hidden within the code of the blade- but he shall not dally. There is work to be done.
A few seconds after opening his eyes, and his blade has already passed clean through every single Grimm, cleaving their white bone masks in two. The screams and roars of pain they unleash upon the world are terrifying, but Qrow pays it no mind as he fights, his body moving almost independently of his heart now that his plan of action is set. His heart is focused on the melodies in his head, air passing through his lips as if to sing. No sound comes out, but he supports each theoretical note as if there is a husky baritone slipping through the gap between his lips, as if his concert had never been interrupted.
It is but a fleeting thought.
Soon, all that remains are three Tar pools bubbling, processing the surfaces upon which they landed to remove any form of texture or life. Qrow shudders at the sight. It is not natural.
He does not waste any time, though. The moment Clover whispers, "You're safe. Let's keep going. No more of those Creeps are nearby," Qrow folds the Harbinger away and hooks the blade guard onto his belt, rushing down the street.
Those words are barely spoken before the air seems to vibrate with energy once again, and Clover lets out another long, haggard sigh. "Never mind," he mutters bitterly.
The next Grimm who appear, ripping open the fabric of time and space and data so easily that shivers rush down Qrow's spine without ceasing at the sight, are even more horrifying than the Creeps. It take a long time for Clover to find a name for the monsters which appear- "Salem," Clover whispers, looking up at the two humanoid, almost feminine silhouettes which skulk and teleport through the square, leaving behind trails of Tar and wearing bony, red-lined masks that protrude behind their heads like demonic crowns- but Qrow can feel his old experience, his old practice, rushing through his veins. His body remembers these movements.
Before he can forget, however, he raises the Harbinger back up to his forehead, feeling cool metal press against his hair and skin, chilling him to the bone. He does not mind it, though, for as these figures notice him at last, raising clawed hands, ready to strike, he merely closes his eyes, and the world falls still.
It is eerie, just how silent the world can become.
He had thought he had forgotten, but as he uses the silence to his advantage to plan his attack, he realizes that despite the years of solace he had found in his music, in his life here on Remnant- in Clover- he can never truly be free of his past. His memories are engrained deeper than anything else ever could be in his soul, and nothing will ever be able to take away that experience. As he cleaves the second Salem apart, an ear-splitting screech ringing through the air as it crumbles to an acrid pool of Tar ringing through the air, he knows that he is more than capable of fighting off these Grimm, whatever they are.
Whether he wants to fight is a different story, though.
I need to fight. I need to figure out what's going on.
Clover keeps giving him directions to get out of town. For now, Qrow shall listen.