Howdy everyone!
No no… that intro sucks. Let me try again.
Greetings mortals!
Nope, arrogant and pompous. Hate it, let's try again.
Salutatio- Gods damn it what am I doing?
Screw it, you know who I am, I don't need to keep doing this intro bullshit so let's cut to the chase, shall we? I am starting to write this not even half a week after I posted the third chapter, and as some of you might note; I am naming these chapters. The first two I pulled names out of my ass for, but the next few will have meaning behind them. I don't know WHEN it will go out, just know I have been writing it on and off on occasion.
That being said, time to acknowledge the public, and those that commented and whatever.
The Dark Revan: Hush, chattering monkey. Service to the Bright Lord can come by force if you are loyal to our enemies, or it can be willing. We do have pamphlets for those who are willing, if you don't mind the fact they were written out with crayon, or blood.
Fyr Rednight: Thanks for enjoying the story thus far! Here's your cookie. Also, thanks for noting how I tried to tie in a lot of Talion's gameplay features with how Jaune's new Semblance works. As for you looking for another installment, look no further!
Emoryjmorrill: Another thanks, and cookie!
Anywho, that about does it for the people. I have said enough, so get going…
…
…
What, you thought I had a fancy exposition into the chapter? No, just start reading the chapter and not my bullshit.
Jaune's Pov:
Let's just say that how the ex prisoners reacted was… more than a bit embarrassing. I'd rather have them curb stomp me into the pavement or something that the literal Grimm Shit I'm dealing with.
"I pledge myself to you, O' Bright Lord, Redeemer of the White Fang and Lord Commander of the White Crusade." Comes the voice of the previous White Fang Lieutenant in a weird formal display that he orchestrated, by the way. I just showed up and now he is bowing and shit.
The older huntsman, who said his name is Qrow, has long since departed, saying something about having to alert allies and see his nieces. I wasn't about to stop him, family is important and even if I wanted to I don't think I can take on a fully trained and seasoned Huntsman even with an army of White Fang rejects and Turned Grimm at my back. His response was the normalist of the bunch, besides the fact he was on the hunt for booze before he left, which I am thankful for.
Neapolitan however...
"By my blade, I will serve you honorably, my liege." Edward Almond, the Lieutenant, continues, breaking me out of my thoughts.
"Uh… mate… we don't do that here. So, get off the ground and stop acting like a buffoon, please." I state, trying to not get flustered.
"Be thankful he is even pledging his loyalty. Edward was my right hand, as well as a powerful warrior and spokesman. He will do well as a Captain, along with Quint and the Neopolitan Girl." Declares Adam, who materializes next to me in his ghostly form.
"Agreed. If you are to raise an army, you will need those who can support you, Captains who are loyal to you that can help issue orders and lead charges without your direct interference, as well as several other things of greater note that can be explained… when we have a base of operations to work in." Ozpin informs me, walking out from behind Adam in his own ghostly form, looking like a shadow of the man I had seen on stage and who had helped me get into Beacon. "On that note, Miss Neopolitan seems to want your attention."
I turn to the girl who snapped her fingers for the fourth time, looking slightly annoyed.
'You look like death. And smell like it too. I couldn't take that whole 'Pledging my loyalty to you' thing seriously while you look like a homeless man in rags and scrap who smells like he has one foot in the grave' Was the message that was thrust into my face. I look down, and force out a sigh of defeat. She isn't wrong...
My armor is all but non-existent now, just slivers of white and gray metal. My Pumpkin Pete's limited edition hoodie is in shreds… I needed 50 box tops for this thing! My shoes are but cloth and rubber scraps that barely act as soles. My pants are torn, but remain the most functional of my clothes… despite the breeze I feel down below from a hole in my crotch..
"Right, which of you two idiots that forced me to fight a Graug a couple of hours ago is gonna cough up their bank account. I need clothes, and I am NOT stripping a corpse of their own. I'd rather have the dead keep their dignity, their clothes probably won't fit me, and I know they shit themselves when they die. Adam and myself moved a dead body at that gas station, so I figured it out." I grumble inside my head, looking at the bull Ronin who looks away, whistling softly. Roman has yet to make an appearance, which probably either means he is asleep within my head, or is hiding.
"If I might," Comes the calm voice of Professor Ozpin, who crosses his arms behind his back and looks me up and down. "I do have a few different accounts and funds stashed away, as I do have the habit of reincarnating and I hate to start off with nothing. While this is only a fragment of my soul, it is still my soul, and I feel now that I am in two places at once."
"Hold on, this isn't all you?" I declare within my head, almost stepping forward but refraining… cause we have living company in the room.
"Certainly. I am split between two people, however, my soul isn't fragmented. It's more like… How should I put this…" He paces a bit, cupping his chin with one hand as the other remains folded behind his back. "I am at a computer, so to speak, and I can see and interact with two very different monitors that have different programs running on them, independent of one another. In a sense, you have another ally out there who happens to be in a very similar situation as yourself, without all the dying and coming back to life." Ozpin finishes, turning with a soft smile on his face. "Now, with that said, I have several banking accounts, seven to be exact. I think you should have two, for now. Three are to fund Beacon, indefinitely. The other two I leave to my other host."
"Well well, we got a pair of egg baskets. One we can act upon immediately, and one we should hold off on using. I say we use the first to not only get you a new wardrobe, but upgrade your weapons as well." Roman's voice echos out, as he shimmers into my vision, leaning on the backrest of an unoccupied chair. "And whatever we have left, let's invest it into our Captains. As backwards as this sounds; we will need them to be calling shots in our ranks. Better gear, armor, skills, troops, and more. The more we put into them, the more we gain their loyalty and support."
"I do agree… but there also comes another matter entirely with that; your arsonal." States Ozpin. He turns, and motions to the two canes, shattered sword, full sword, and shotgun sheathe I possess. "I have seen huntsmen with varied kits before, even one of my old teammates, one Geralt Rivia, but yours is at the point of impracticality. You are at the point where all of these things will lack your mobility and be rather cumbersome."
I pause, knowing he is right, but I have one objection. "I guess, but… What of you three? I can afford to reforge Crocea's Mors, but I am not sure if I can… well, reforge or dismantle any part of your weapons." I voice my concerns, trying not to betray my emotions to the living. "I don't wish to lose any of you at the moment. Your advice, and admittedly your company, are valued by me."
While two of them may be criminals, one was a leader of the army I am forging, and the other also helped lead it as well, so their advice was invaluable at the moment. Not to mention, I still had Ozpin in my head, and I didn't want to lose him either, at least… not until he gave me some answers. It's not entirely sympathy that is telling me to keep them alive this way, it's also pragmatic for me to have the permanent advice of both my enemy and teacher in my head.
"I have been looking at your Semblance, and how our souls are tied to our weapons. It is true, while our souls' main catalyst into your own Aura was our weapons, after a sufficient bond was made, via you using one of our semblances, the bond is forged, thus you can reforge the weapons as you like, without fearing our ultimate demise in the void." States Ozpin, who walks to the front and center of my vision, seeming to either not hear or just ignored my internal monologue. I pause, thinking about this only for a minute.
"Alright… Ed, gather up Quint and the men. We are going on the move, and hopefully get us some better gear, and a base of operations. Neo, find some medical supplies, the cut on your face doesn't look healthy." I declare, looking at the living beings before me. Ed pounds a fist into his chest and turns to dart as fast as his lumbering form can out the door, while Neo curtsies and shatters like a mirror, leaving me to my own thoughts, and the wraiths within me.
I fold my arms, and close my eyes, pondering on where I should go to obtain my new wardrobe, and improve my gear. It's not like just anywhere will just let in some Ex-White Fang and a dead man.
Third Person Pov:
The Lower Districts have seen worse nights than this one, that's for sure. It's one of the few nights that some stores open till the Huntsman imposed curfew comes about, closing everything around 1 AM. While the blizzard stopped a few hours ago, the winds haven't. The few White Fang skirmishers that wandered here and the couple dozen Huntsmen of various skill levels all have opted to take cover against their common enemies; the Grimm and the elements. Thankfully, few Grimm seem to be roaming the streets, only a small pack of Beowolves or the occasional lone Alpha Beowolf seem to be on the streets.
But, sadly, this isn't the case for a couple of stores. They are about to get an array of the most random customers ever. Such as the clothing store; "Giants and Beanpoles'", which catered to those who couldn't buy regular clothes due to physical restrictions or for Huntsmen who were looking for quality over quantity, or more recently it has expanded its business to the common man as well who just need some clothes that will last for a while.
The tailor and clerk, one Morado Jackson, kept his shop open late due to the Adel family owning 70% of the fashion industry in Vale, and he'd be damned if they went and bought him out because of competition. That, and he could help people more in the evening, especially those who were afraid to show either their Faunas traits in broad daylight, or had jobs that ran late into the evening.
However, Morado didn't expect to see what basically amounted to a huntsman team of varying age to enter his store and make him work overtime on a massive order. Nor did he expect to be paid double for his services, even after he slightly inflated the price because it was two hours till close and it was a rush order. Never more had he been thankful for his semblance, Needle Eye, which helped him make the order as fast as possible up to his quality standards.
Most of the order was thankfully easy; a couple dozen black cargo pants and black long shirts, which he had in bulk due to winter demands. However, the four that did enter had each a few custom bits they ordered, some more than others. The faunas and large male asked for similar outfits, the larger one asking for shorter sleeves and for a fur lined vest, while the older Faunas asked for a bucket hat with holes in it for his ears. Doable, and reasonable. He had material lying around and could edit some clothes to their request within a half hour.
The female of the quartet was a bit more taxing, asking for a white corset, a pink blouse, a black light overcoat with a white fur trip around the collar with a pink interior, white skin tight pants, and pink laced thigh high black leather boots. Again, some of that he had similar items lying around that he could edit to her specifications, but the coat and corset he had to make from scratch. Total time now, an hour and a half.
Doable, but exhausting. The blonde, however, had to ask for a completely custom outfit, and was the one paying. He had a few of the items lying around for the outfit, but most of it he had to make from scratch, leading him to having the most profitable business transaction to date, and having to stay up and 'Open' another two hours after curfew. But with the lien he made, he could safely take a vacation when everything died down a bit for a solid month and not worry about the Adels trying to take over his shop.
Next shop to be confused by this strange group with their nigh impossible orders backed by wealth that they probably shouldn't have, would be Svarog's Metallurgy, founded, owned, and solely run by one Svarog Roux, who has been asked for a rather… peculiar order.
See, he runs his forge late due to two reasons; One, Huntsmen need ammo and sharpenings all the time, and should his shop be closed before a major raid, it could result in the death of a wonderful man, woman, or person on the line of duty. Second reason… He's just a workaholic. It's eat, sleep and work for the bushy bearded man.
But… to reforge almost a half dozen different weapons, combining some into others… that was a tall order; especially since it was late at night. But, for a huntsman, he couldn't refuse… that and he liked a challenge, and to work. Extra money was a bonus. But, to be safe, he did ask for the kid's huntsman's license, only to be provided with one for a In-Training provisional license. This would have had him chewing out the kid if it were two months ago… but with what happened with the Vytal Festival and how dangerous it was nowadays… Couldn't hurt to keep the kid alive by giving him the upgrade.
The two canes were the easiest to combine, reforging them into one weapon with several fun gizmos, with only minimal mechashifting. It was fun just adding in a few extra features to it, such as the blade from the broken sword that looked like it was forged from an alloy made from pure Fire Dust. All in all, the new cane was no longer a staff looking object or a C cane, but rather a Functional Grip cane mixed with a fancy walking stick with the original shaft of the staff canes so that it was collapsible but also could hold all the mecha features. The orb that was on the original cane was to not be used, per the boy's instructions. Fun features of this cane include; Single shot rifle with scope on the ferrule, grapple hook that utilizes the handgrip as the hook, the blade of the broken blade made into a dagger that was hidden inside the cane, able to be removed by twisting the cane around the collar and pulling it out of the thicker portion of the cane above the grip that is used as a loading chamber for the rifle and the mechashift to collapse it. The rest of the cane's materials was given back to the boy, upon request, for some other project.
The sword was also easy, just sharpen it and give it a bit of love, along with adding in some magnetic functions for the new sheathe and a small mechashifting function that would split the blade to reveal the rest of the metal from the old broken sword, forming its new fuller, shifting it from Arming Sword to Bastard Sword. Speaking of sheathe, the one that was handed to him with the broken sword now acted as the arming sword's sheath, which only required a couple adjustments and tweaks in order to fit it. A bit tricky in practice, but nothing mind bogglingly complicated, unlike a certain scythe sniper rifle that also could turn into a war scythe or glaive and collapse into a flat box. That, and he adjusted it to be back drawn instead of hip drawn, per the request of the boy.
The most time consuming part, however, was making armor for the kid. The metal scraps and threads of leather suggested he wore two half pauldrons and a breastplate of sorts… But the kid needed not only a new suit of armor, but an upgrade. Thankfully, he had a black full breastplate, along with two pauldrons and some gauntlets that matched, along with some grieves and tassets. Unfortunately, he had to resize the breastplate to the kid's size, and put new straps on everything; leather and magnetic ones. The color, once he was done with it, was black, but when he asked what the kid wanted it's actual color to be, he was surprised to see he wanted the surface of it to be roughly painted with white, leaving bits of the original black in there, and to finely pain the trim of all the armor a brass like gold; Nordic Gold was the color Svarog went with. The most odd request about it was another part he added on, a black mask with the same gold trim as the rest of his gear but with only a smear of white over the eye slits.
For his efforts, and the two hours he spent working on the gear; he was paid handsomely with both several thousand lien, and a well earned nap. His only regret was that he didn't recognize the kid as one who was assumed to be dead well past two weeks after his purchase.
The last place that this group went to was closed, with an IOU where they took the stuff, along with a sizable amount of lien, almost covering the entire cost of what was taken. The Vale Stables had no idea why a couple dozen saddles were stolen, but it was a mystery that would solve itself in almost two weeks.
Unknown Pov.
I hate the period between winter and spring. Colder than the Schnee's glare and wetter than a river bed. Not to mention it's dreary and depressing, which makes for bad morale.
Speaking of, nearly seventy percent of the entire compound is feeling like morale has been low for months. Ever since the Fall of Beacon, shit's been hitting the fan. First off, we had to butcher our own stand into a Vale district, and are holed up here till we can either take the entire Kingdom, or get the hell out. Both are suicide missions, and we know it. Vale's Huntsmen are all back home, guarding the Lower Districts, not to mention the Upper Districts are nigh impenetrable, and the Dead Lands are a massive no man's land of Grimm and non stop war. Gungam had made a speech about taking Beacon, and has rallied the rest of us to storm the infested fortress of a school, but…
I turn, hearing it before seeing it. A faint blue and white streak of light fades away as I turn, training my gun on it with drilled precision. I hear a startled yelp, whipping around to see someone stumbling for a moment before just shaking their head, resuming their rounds.
Normally, this wouldn't be something of concern, it's slippery after all… but that blue light reminds me too much of a semblance or something.
Another startled gasp breaks me out of my musing as turn, seeing someone else staggering, before standing back up and going back to their post. Again, wouldn't normally be cause for alarm, except they look like they had someone knock them aside.
I wheel around as I hear a third and fourth gasp, seeing two other gunners grabbing the catwalk rails as they try to right themselves once more, before resuming their route. As they walk by me, one with a gerbil tail waves at me, and I catch a glimpse of glowing blue behind her mask.
I grip my rifle tighter, and spin to aim at another flash of blue light, a Brute wobbling for a moment before righting himself again.
Something's not right… my Captain's gotta know.
I sling my rifle over my shoulder and vault the railing of my post, running to the tent where my Captain's paperwork is set up so he can go through our supply list and keep an eye on us at the same time. All the while I am running towards it, the blue light flashes and someone else stumbles before resuming as if nothing has happened.
My feet pound on the pavement, but they're not as fast as my heart. My lungs clench in my throat as I see someone outside the tent shutter, their eyes glowing blue for a second as their mouth opens for a wordless scream, before stumbling forward showing a hand emerging from the tent that soon retracts back within.
I don't have time to contemplate, I don't have time to think. I need to inform Captain Sterling of what's developing, immediately.
I slam past the guard outside the tent, and rip open the flap, "CAPTAIN! We got a situation out here!" I declare, as my eyes adjust to the dim light of the tent, hoping to not find the worst.
To my relief, the captain gets up from the table and turns to me. He stands up straight, his African Wild Dog ears twitching as he grabs his Hard Light Edge Sword, which from what I heard is in the shape of a type of sword called an Ida.
"What seems to be the issue, soldier?" Declares Captain Ọcha, as he advances towards the gap in his tent, exiting with me.
"There's been a strange light flashing about. It's been going to each and every member in the area. It almost looks like it's a ghost choking someone!" I declare.
"Pardon?" My commanding officer asked.
"I don't know how else to describe it other than some sort of semblance or wraith darting about!" I growl, pointing to another flash of the light.
"Oh. That."
I whip around to look at my captain, his bored and uninterested face shocking me to the core. "'Oh. That.' OH THAT?! Captain, that's not normal! We got to do something about it! Investigate, contain it or even just call it in!" I declare, motioning with my rifle.
"No need, soldier. It's just the Bright Lord." He shrugs, turning away.
"The who-what? Captain, do you even know the madness escaping your lips? Who or what the hell is the bright lo-" I bark out, turning back to the light, only to scream out as a glowing hand grabs my face, thumb digging into my cheek and fingers into my mask as I feel a burning sensation for a moment. Everything goes white as the figure attached to the hand roars out…
"KNEEL!"
You know… I got a lot more that I have planned after this… but I feel like a cliff hanger is best to end this chapter. I have put off finishing and posting this for too long, I might as well cut it a bit shorter than I'd like and at least post it instead of procrastinating. Anywho, yeah, chapters done, and I am free… Wooh. Also, I'll name a captain after someone who guesses a theme with my titles. See ya'll next time on the next episode of DRAGON BALL Z- wait… that's not my exit? Then what is my exit?! That? Ok fine...
- DSoNaH
