written in the stars
He can scarcely breathe by the time he makes it to the top of this stairwell. He needs to rest- his Aura is completely shot, his body protesting the mere act of breathing. It is a bittersweet realization; theoretically, he understands why in Remnant he cannot simply remain invisible forever, but it doesn't change his irritation at the fragility of the human brain, of its inability to tolerate perceived pain, that which is just a fabrication of his mind.
He crouches down in the shadow of a small rooftop generator, laying his head onto the stucco wall as he gasps for air. There is little he can do but rest- he is too old for any of this, and years of the barest activity have robbed him of the stamina he used to boast as a soldier. So, his allows his eyes to scan the sky, nose crinkling at the smell and sound of fires continuing to burn in the distance, of Grimm ash and smoke colouring the formerly-snowy sky a putrid, bloody red.
While his heartrate calms down, Clover murmurs words of praise, of awe. "You're doing so well, Qrow," he whispers lovingly, proudly. "You're so amazing. I'm so proud of you."
Qrow does not have the energy to respond, nor does he have the energy to block out from his ears the tinge of shame colouring Clover's voice. He knows Clover hates feeling helpless, but… this is where they are, and they have no choice but to accept their fate.
Once he is able to get back to his feet at last, Clover says, "Hey, Songbird. Wanna hear a funny joke?"
Qrow takes a few stumbling steps out of the shadow, humming softly. Why not? he thinks humourlessly.
He hears Clover take in a breath- why he always does so without a body, Qrow still does not understand- but his words are cut short by another sound- another roar ripping through the air, raising every hair on his body, sending shivers down his spine as he realizes just how frightfully close it begins, drawing closer and closer and closer-
"…nevermind."
One moment, and the space at the edge of the rooftop is empty; the next, there is a giant figure hovering at the side of the complex, giant claws sinking into stucco and tile, transforming it into obsidian at a mere touch. A grim, disgusting visage bares white fangs dripping with Tar, golden-red eyes glowing like two miniature suns as they focus their heated attention upon Qrow, the lone figure upon this space.
Qrow finally recognizes it. This visage- he has seen it so many times rendered in beautiful stone, perched atop its former monument. It never used to have this mask of bone, these watchful eyes, this stench of death lingering off its skin.
This is the wyvern- the statue which has disappeared alongside Shade Towers. It's… more alive than I remember.
He does not ask questions. All he can do is fight.
The battle is fierce. Violent. A war of attrition, of hiding behind patio chairs and the generator room atop the complex in an attempt to hide from giant, gnashing teeth and wrenching claws each time he manages to strike it with his bullets, with his blade. His entire body screams for rest, but there is none to be had unless he is able to defeat this monster; so, he carries onwards, desperate and frantic and broken, slashing wounds so deep that Tar drips down the sides of this complex in rivulets thick enough to turn the cityscape below him into shimmering, reflective black glass.
All battles must come to an end, though. Clover screams with every strike, so Qrow finishes it off. The two glowing eyes of the dragon bleed tears of Tar as he leaps onto its muzzle, stabbing the Harbinger deep and without remorse into shadowy eye sockets. Those final strikes are enough; as he extracts the blade and falls back down on his bottom onto the rooftop, the creature collapses, the only thing keeping it locked in place being the human-length claws dug in so inextricably from the side of the building itself.
He flicks the blade to remove the Tar. The beast is dead; yet, the clock face is still red. Clover still does not talk.
Without a word, Qrow staggers to his feet. He steps forward. He looks up at the visage of this monster which has stalked them across the floating city without remorse; for some reason, it does not yet dissolve as all other Grimm do. So, he walks to the edge of the rooftop, firing bullet after bullet clear into the side of its neck until there is a hole clean enough for him to wedge his blade into; then, in two quick motions, the Wyvern's head is cut clean off.
It is inviting, the tunnel leading down into its innards, left behind after the head falls off the rooftop and into the city below without ceremony. So, Qrow walks, the red light of Clover's crumbling identity lighting his way. He cannot run anymore- so, he shall stop the assault here and now.