I wonder when people will notice the subtle note to John's home name. Come on, Amirokal? That was pulled out from in-between, and lightly polished to make it glitter. The fact that it's been six chapters in already, and THAT just so happened to avoid analysis is impressive enough for me to do this:

The first USER to review or PM me what that world notes towards, you get to ask of me to include ONE THING after the first Arc is done. And it can be of anything that is NOT smut or pairings of any kind. I will allow friendly fluff, though, because pillows are awesome. It can be canon to this story, or a one-shot that is canon up to that point.

The winner will be announced next chapter, and I will message them an hour BEFORE the posting of said chapter. That being said, if NO ONE wins, I will say what it noted towards, and that offer will not appear again. UNLESS! I find something that people didn't make a connection towards yet, and remake the offer. Always watch the halfway mark of each Arc, as the chapter after that has the chance to have that offer.

It was a well-known fact that Hei Xiong was a veritable pool of knowledge on the GrimmNet. He gained his clientele through less-than-honorable means, and solidified it with kept promises, deals, and trades in the Underground. Needed a hitman? Junior could offer either one of his henchmen, or point you in the direction of a professional. Equipment for a robbery? He'd give you a slip of a marked dead-drop to get the job done. Martial strife? The Malachite Twins would be more than happy to assist in that regard.

John was here for equipment.

When he walked in, the dark walls of the establishment counteracted the glass dance floor in the center; four pillars changed colors as the beats of the song rippled through the club. Peeking at his phone, he counted 37 possible threats; two behind him, near the door. The rest were walking around, blending in. Or so they thought: Red sunglasses, ties, and weapons?

Fashion police would have a field day with this.

To his left was the man he was looking for: Junior. He was cleaning a few glasses while two others poured drinks. John walked towards the bar, a few Lien cards out already.

"What's your specialty?" he asked one of them, taking a seat on one of the stools.

The guy responded, but he barely heard him; he just nodded and handed him one of the cards. The tender went to the service station, and began working.

He took one of his platinum coins out, and slid it over to where Junior was at. He took notice upon seeing the bright coin shining at him, and walked over to the disguised Champion.

"What do you want?" the man asked.

"I've been told you own a library, correct?" John said. He knew how to deal with brokers, and using code was key when operating underground.

It appeared to work; the man blinked once, clearly in surprise. "That I do; are you looking for anything in particular?" Junior replied.

"I am, actually. You see, a few friends of mine were researching aeronautical devices, but the material they had was...outdated," the Champion said. "I was hoping you had something more recent."

"I'm not certain if I have any in storage; the place is lighter than usual, after all." John found his drink next to his left hand. When did it get here?

'Code for, "I'll need to see some payment first." Alright, I'll play along.' Fifteen platinum coins changed hands.

"Alright, I have something a few aisles down," the broker stated, handing the Champion a paper slip; an address written on it. "It's on the top shelf. Do you need a ladder?"

John took the cup, drank it's contents in one sitting, and slammed it back down. "I'll manage. Thank you for your time today." He threw two Lien cards onto the table, spun around, and left the establishment. Two minutes before Yang and Neptune arrive to obtain information, but neither party noticed.

Two hours later…

Airfield 6, Hanger 13, SVTOL Bulkhead #2, Christened SHADOWFALL. Quad omni-directional thrusters with 12 stability engines able to carry 150 tons, Dust-infused steel plates to reflect projectiles, automated countermeasures in cases of heavy artillery, and a maximum height of 120,000 feet.

In other words, the perfect aircraft for the Champion to use.

Currently, there were fifteen guards outside the hanger, thirty-nine inside, with thirteen engineers maintaining the Bulkhead. Around the base were sixteen anti-air batteries, ready to destroy whatever is foolish enough to fly overhead that isn't perceived as a friendly.

John wasn't an idiot; flying in there with what he had would end badly. And if they tracked heat, even worse. That in mind, he began plotting out his next course of action, a few options already in mind.

First was to disable the electricity, decimate everyone near the hanger, and fly off with the aircraft. Straightforward, simple, and incredibly risky. Someone could easily take down the aircraft if their aim is on-point, or his abilities could be recognized if they notice him in town; it was an endless sea of risk that just could not be handled.

Second was to imitate a pilot taking the aircraft to a specified location. That was shot down almost immediately; too much suspicion, confusion, and all could end in his death.

Third would require a diversion, and then proceed with the first option, all without the mindless slaughter on his end. It would work, if the diversion ends up doing their job and takes out the base's power for at least a few minutes. Then again, relying on a hope that a team could do something to ensure his success is quite the gamble.

Fourth option would be impersonation. It would take too much time, but it was the most secure one he could take without a river of blood flooding the base.

Now, John was a person that could easily act like anyone he so chose, even going as far as changing his gender and name. How he does that is a trade secret; only those that have created the potion and drank it know of it's potency.

It goes without saying, then, that the Champion sighed to himself with the implications of option 4; first getting a disguise of a Fang member, then one of Vale's military?

'I swear, by the time I get done with this, my new nickname will be The Man of a Million Faces, I shit you not.'

He got up from his perch on one of the hanger roofs, and began scanning over the populace for any potential targets. John leaped from roof to roof, looking over each soldier, and taking note of their profession. Upon reaching the ninth roof, he found his target; second floor, fifth window from the right. Perfect.

John took out an orange hatchet; it had a curse upon it that would track an enemy until it struck them, and return to the wielder. In normal circumstances, he would use a gun, but stealth was necessary. He raised the hatchet above his head, marking the target as an enemy, and threw -

*BOOM*

And threw it yards off-course from an explosion behind him, shaking the earth violently. It targeted the man, and veered onto him, but bounced off the roof harmlessly. The Champion looked around as the lights began flickering out, and shook his head as his target ran out of his room, free to live another day.

"Damnit...whoever did this, their timing is impeccable, but foolish," he muttered. "I now have to improvise."

Back on Amirokal, plans are everything. There were the basis of creation, and destruction; if something goes awry based upon a plan, 90% of the time, it would end in a bloody mess. In some cases, however, planning doesn't account for everything. During a battle against two giant robotic eyes, John fell into a pit, and was almost fried in his armor. Upon getting out, a star fell, destroying both at the same time. The Champion didn't know what to think of it, and was still confused by the time he returned to base with the Omniscient Souls.

The only other time he had to improvise was during a pirate invasion. As he did battle against a flying ship, slime began falling from the sky, catching him off-guard. In panic, he caused meteors to rain down. The resulting damage was...disconcerting, to say the least.

Luckily, it wasn't that hectic this time around, but he knew it was about to be. Taking out his binoculars, he checked the hanger once more, and found it empty, save for the Bulkhead.

"Good, free for the taking."

En-route to the warehouse, he changed into his White Fang disguise. Now he was Henry Calcite, a Snake Faunas that specialized in stealth operations; 80% of the time, the Leader picked him to steal intel, kill important targets, or capture powerful figures. Unfortunately, upon encountering the Champion, he fell to a blade that swung faster than any sword he could imagine, and was cut to pieces without uttering a single sound.

Midway into the flight, he copied the military frequency onto his phone, and then deleted it from the records. Then, he entered the Fang Warehouse's frequency, and began messaging them.

"Base Ipsilon, this is Calcite; I'm bringing in a Specialized VTOL from Vale Airfield Six; requesting permission to land, over." One...two...three...four...five...si-

"Pilot Calcite, this is Ipsilon; you are clear for landing; proceed to Dock 9, and await further instructions, over."

"Wilco." Activating the VTOL's stabilizers, he descended towards the dock, and landed safely. Looking out the window, he took note of a few things:

'Fourteen cameras; two by the doors, one on each lamppost nearby, marking twelve; possible thermal detection. Six Fang troopers, armed with SMGs; capacity at 52 bullets per magazine; no specialties or oddities noted.'

'The plan goes like this; we allow them to inspect the Bulkhead for anything off, all while 'reporting' to the supervisor of the warehouse. En-route, we take down the camera's at the joint, which is only a sect of wiring at the wall of the warehouse; clipping it would not only cut the power, but the camera feeds as well. The troopers have night-vision, but lack thermal detection; this can be used to my advantage. An invisibility potion will be enough to take down the entire warehouse. Next...we allow a few allies to stretch their limbs…'

Plan is set, pawns are moving, the hatchet is hungry. Let the games begin…

"Calcite! As happy as I am to see you here with a hefty payoff, I'm not pleased by the fact you vanished for a few days," the middle pawn stated. "Where were you?!"

Alright, let's make this worthwhile. "Sorry, sir; boss asked me to grab this baby when the raid on Airfield 6 commenced. I cleaned it up before taking off, and removed any trackers the military might have placed on it," 'Calcite' replied, stepping out of the airship.

"...alright, you five; look over the SVTOL, make sure nothing was overlooked," he directed, sending the other five pawns to the aircraft. "Calcite, debrief with Lester; he's in his office."

"Yes sir," he replied, moving towards the warehouse. Looking through it, there were over fifty soldiers inside, each armed with either a rifle, a sword, or both. The first floor were racks of storage crates, filled with Dust; the second appeared to be an office space. Seven were inside a room, closest to the stairs.

Calcite took out his wire cutters, and found the sect of wiring. A single clip later, and the feeds cut out immediately. Acting quickly, he ran towards the generator, which was left unguarded, and destroyed the capacitor inside. The lights flickered and died, with some bursting outright.

Taking out a flask, the Fang trooper popped the cork off, and began chugging the contents. A familiar feeling of vanishing took over, and soon, he was invisible. Hearing movement, the Champion took cover as nine men ran towards the destroyed generator. One began looking it over as the other eight began scouring the place for the intruder.

The Champion had to be quick; guns were the fastest way to dispatch of the pawns, but it would bring forth the rest of the cell onto his location, not to mention local authorities, and Hunters, if he was unfortunate. Looking over his weapon collection, he found an old weapon; a gold-hilt double-faced hammer. Peeking over some boxes, one of the soldiers were about to wander towards his location; deciding on the hammer, he raised it overhead, and waited.

The moment he saw the black hood and gray mask, he threw it at incredible speeds. It slammed directly into the man's skull, and flung him into the crates to his left, becoming embedded into the metal. An instant kill. But the sound of the impact alerted the others nearby; the sound of running feet were confirmation of this thought.

He clambered on top of the boxes; risky, considering that seven would converge on their fallen comrade's position, and could sniff him out, but he needed to position himself to slaughter them.

'I believe it's time I used the PML.'

The Proximity Mine Layer was a device that fired encased rockets that burrowed themselves into the ground, and wait for enemies to enter their designated radius. If one enemy entered it's 'Killzone,' it would spell disaster for them, but anyone nearby would be seriously injured, with the possibility of death approaching fast.

Especially when the rockets were large enough to demolish the world before them.

He placed two mines in front of the body, and waited. The troopers did not disappoint; upon turning the corner, one spotted the leg of their comrade, and pointed it out towards the other six. They all ran over, one grabbing some massive pliers from a metal table, while another pulled out a radio.

*CLICK*

One of them stepped onto the mine, and comically looked down and back up again in the span of two seconds.

*BOOM!*

Five down, one severely injured, will bleed out, the other disoriented. The last one dropped the radio: Taking the opportunity, the hidden Fang trooper threw the hammer at the fallen Faunas, and the concrete took the man's head in milliseconds. He hopped down, next to the bloody trooper, and slammed his fist into their head, knocking them out. Looking up, the one that was working on the generator was running to the front of the warehouse. One shot of the Phantasm stopped the soldier in their tracks for good.

"Alright..." the Champion said, a large figure materializing behind him. "My pets; hunting season is now open..."

"In other news, the reports of a massive attack on a warehouse near one of Vale's docks proved to house a heavy concentration of a White Fang cell," Lisa Lavender reported. "It appeared as though it once held numerous stores of stolen Dust, from both local distributors in Vale to secure Schnee Dust Company shipments to our city. One of our correspondents, Cyril, is at the scene with the VPD; Cyril?"

"Thanks, Lisa: As you can see behind me, the warehouse in question has experienced fire damage all across its frame; however, it appears to be in a controlled fashion, as it trails all across many walls, and leaves numerous spots undamaged. Inside the warehouse, it's completely empty of all shipments, which isn't unheard of, as the terrorist group is known to keep the stores safe in case of possible attack. Also inside are the bodies of fallen White Fang soldiers, and it's quite the gruesome display. Whoever attacked this cell...it's possible that they had a vendetta against them."

Large spiders crawled throughout the warehouse, tearing apart the trooper's limbs, as a small group continued to fire onto a horde of them, to no avail.

"Unfortunately, there were no survivors, and reports of a stolen Bulkhead was reported last night by the Vale military, even though a raid by the Fang was repelled by our forces against them. The possible suspect points towards Roman Torchwick, though rumors state that the thief was on the other side of Vale during this time."

"WHO ASSAULTED THEM?!" a man yelled out, smashing a table into pieces.

"Whoa, now! Let's not get too hasty; I wasn't there during the attack! I was after the brats of Beacon," a man in a bowler hat exclaimed, hands in the air.

"Firemen have gathered a few samples from the warehouse, all while preserving what remains of it's integrity." A fireman held up a square of of the warehouse, half of it burned. "Now, as you can see, it clearly has the texture of embers still within the material. But, as I graze my hand over it, it's not even warm to the touch. It has the exact same temperature as the clean part of the stone here."

An orange chain of fire penetrated through the walls, scorching them as screams of pain resonated throughout the building.

"Is...is that from the roof?!" Cyril exclaimed, clearly worried.

Another fireman was holding a piece from the roof that fell through; it was scorched as well, but it was far more spotty, and the embers were emerald in color.

"Indeed; from what we can tell, someone managed to burn both sides of the roof thoroughly, with the entry point being the outside of the building itself," the man said.

"Do we have any evidence of this phenomena?"

Bright, green stars fell from the sky, piercing through the warehouse and exploding a few soldiers inside, screaming in agony.

Another one came out, holding a halved piece of the roof; blackened stone and embers lie within the sample.

"I believe that answers your question…" the fireman snarked. "From a short analysis, residue of the substance appeared on the flooring of the warehouse, with a large impact radius of ten feet."

"Is there any confirmation on whether this is a Dust-based attack or some form of advanced Semblance?" the reporter asked.

"We've done numerous tests to extract any Dust that remained within the marked tiles; unfortunately, they came up negative, and Aura appeared to be nonexistent upon scanning."

"DEMON!"

"No...I'm what Demons fear above all else..."

"Thank you for your time: Police have found only one insurgent still alive, but close to passing. I'm standing with the officer that found him."

"Thank you, Cyril; the place was covered in bloodstains, almost as though a butcher waltzed through the place and had a field day..."

Seven insurgents fired upon a massive construct, tearing apart three others in it's hands. It roared, and savagely tore into another two in front of it.

"...as we approached the dying Faunas, he grabbed my shirt, looked me in the eye, total fear washing over his face, and said..."

"FEAR...THE...REAPER..."

"Thank you, officer," Cyril said, shivering slightly. "Back to you, Lisa."

*BEEP*

The TV was shut off, Ozpin looking at the three silhouetted figures on his screen.

"Ozpin! This is dire news; you had a team overseeing the location!" the top-left silhouette exclaimed.

"I did, and yet I have no idea how they didn't spot this disaster, and prevent it in the first place," the headmaster replied calmly.

"Incompetence! You need to restrict their activities; make them learn responsibility," the figure stated.

"And what of the students themselves?" the bottom silhouette said. "They're still children, after all."

"They are the defenders of this world," the first one snapped back. "They need to grow up and actually do their job!"

"Councilman, I advise you to reconsider your words," Ozpin said. "Otherwise, I'm beginning to think that you're trying to do MY job."

"So what if I'm trying to? Someone has to do something!" the man said.

"Councilman...watch your tongue," the headmaster coldly stated.

"Or what, Ozpin?"

"Or I'll take your job and give it to a bright optimist," the second silhouette stated. "At least then I'll have some entertainment, peace, and quiet without your antagonistic arrogance plaguing this Council."

"...my apologies," the first one mumbled. "I...wasn't thinking straight."

"Headmaster Ozpin," the second councilman said, "we have faith in your decisions; as this was an event out of your control, the fault doesn't fall upon your shoulders. We're working with the VPD and the military to find the perpetrator, and hope for our work to bear fruit."

"I'll send some teams out there to find anything in relation to this tragedy," Ozpin offered.

"That would be for the best," the third one piped up. "Good-bye, Headmaster."

The trio disconnected, and Ozpin exhaled. This was spiraling out of control; someone else was making moves, and causing chaos against the White Fang. Sure, the attack will be a significant blow to the faction's morale and resources, but whoever enacted the assault-

*RING*

Ozpin looked at his Scroll, and sighed again; James was calling again. Hitting the answer button, he muttered out a "Yes James?" to the general.

"Ozpin, how many reapers do we know of?"

Cinder was absolutely livid.

Someone stole a whole warehouse full of Dust; it wasn't Roman, the bastard was on the other side of Vale, Emerald was with her the whole time it happened, and the White Fang were about to transport the shipments to Mount Glenn for Phase Two.

This would set them back at least a few months. Whoever did this…

Did they know of the plan? Are they working with the Maidens?

No...this was an isolated incident, at least. Odds are, some Grimm managed to get in, and slaughter the entire base, all while a Hunter working for the SDC found it, the warehouse, and the decimated troopers, killed the monster, called in the missing Dust, and is now en-route to a storehouse somewhere in Atlas.

But after a few hours of hunting over all possible trade routes, nothing came up as suspicious.

Which meant that it was still in Vale. But where?

In her anger, she almost didn't notice that the book she was reading was smoldering in her hands.

"Pardon me, miss?" a man's voice said. Cinder looked up, and she could only tilt her head with unease; the man was wearing a black hoodie, dark-blue jeans, and flip-flops. "You might want to check aisle 7; there's a few books in there that can help wrangle your Semblance if it gets out of control."

It took her a few seconds to know what he was talking about. "Oh! Thank you…?"

"No problem," he replied, turning around. "Have a good day, miss." He waved behind him, and walked out of the library.

'That was...odd,' she thought. It did help take her mind off of the robbery. She rolled her eyes; she was thinking about it again. Perfect!

Wait...there's a note on the table. When did that get here?

"You're not the only one in the game now, Cinder; a new faction's running around, and he's preparing for war. And, judging from his abilities, even if you find what you're looking for...you won't be prepared."

So...I immediately got to work on this one. Mainly because I needed to get the heist done, as if I sat on it for a few extra chapters, it would take too long. As such, our dear Terrarian got the materials needed to black market the shit out of the Chargers, and now has an additional weapon in his arsenal.

Which reminds me...I should make it a real thing in the game. I'm not sure, though...I'll set up a poll on my profile, see what you guys think.

In most cases, I won't type out a response to a review in the story immediately UNLESS the content of said review is important enough to force a response, whether it be of an amazing review, hatred beyond the first degree, or just a suggestion of something that will not be implemented in the story immediately.

Gold crown dragon: hmm still I want a terrarian vs terrarian it would be fun as hell end game vs end game

OK...Look, crown, I said it before, I'll say it again; Johnathan will be the ONLY Terrarian in this story. I'm sorry, but the way I see this story progress, having another one appear suddenly to battle against this one? Not only will this cause problems with the plot I have in mind, the amount of damage Remnant would take – hypothetically, of course – would be close to apocalyptic. The other Terraria worlds could handle that and more, because of what it has to go through on a daily basis. Now, if this was John vs another Terrarian on a Terraria world, perhaps, but that can be achieved through collecting the items from a Builder's Workshop, and fighting against someone's character online on HARDCORE character difficulty. It's not as fancy as the story suggests, but it gets the job done.

Now, if you want to write it out yourself, by all means, go for it! All I ask is for you to credit me for the use of my character. And this goes for anyone that's reading this as well; message me if you want to use my guy, and I'll gladly accommodate.

Something important now: The tragedy in Orlando is not to be overlooked. This is a hefty issue that just keeps popping up, which explains why I consider this as Zombie Cockroaches. I'm one that does not have any objections over what people are, as long as they don't shove it down my throat and try to make me something I'm not. I believe that everyone is born in a certain way, and the choices they make can determine their future, for better or worse. What they think can help them, they can partake, and if they're important to me, I'll support them. I may not be interested myself, but I'll help in any way I find comfortable myself to make the transition easy for them.

That being said, I'd like for everyone reading to take a moment to think about someone who had a life-changing moment, consider why they made it, or what led up to it, and help make the process smooth and easy for them. Support those that you find important, no matter what changes they make; you may never know what your actions can do or prevent. You might save a few lives.

Alright, tiny rant over!

I believe that's everything on the list; have a good day, guys!