A/N: WOO! Shit's happening! Don't forget to tell us what you think :D
~Angel and Hel
Chapter Twelve: Oblivion
-.-.-
There was a far too long moment of horrified silence, of realisation that not only was the city aflame but its main defender, a public figurehead, an honest to god hero despite his faults was dead. More, a million things running through her mind - seeing him address crowds, those speeches when she'd arrived - but one thing stood out above the others. He was dead. He was dead.
She almost missed the moment when she was knocked away from the Grimm's charge by Titian, the Manticore spinning round with a snarl, tail whipping forward and launching a volley of spikes that slammed into Yolona's shield. She landed face first in the snow, slid, hauled herself to her feet.
Vivian was there, running at the beast and a reverberating shriek seemed to echo through her skull. She charged, jumped, and just as the Manticore opened its mouth to devour her, she disappeared in a wreath of fire.
And that shriek turned into a roar. It was inhuman, demonic, like the agonised wails of a thousand dying dragons. The impact shook the platform with the shockwave alone as Vivian - or the thing she'd become -'s fist collided with it's face, sending it rearing back before twisting and ripping out one of its jaws.
But it didn't end there. The jaw and stray chunks of meat were thrown away carelessly as it grabbed the Manticore's wings and planted its talons within the beast's stomach and tore it open, sending steaming entrails flying everywhere. The thing reared back, somehow still alive - then launched forward again, jaws snapping closed on her arm, claws ripping and tearing at the demon's stomach, tail whipping back and forth launching spikes in every direction.
Molten metal and magma skin bubbled and flared, the demon's own wings flaring out as it's cacophonous roars turned into thunderous shrieking. With it's free arm it let go of the wing and began punching the Manticore's head, crushing the other wing in its grip and nearly tearing it off.
Winter watched in terror. What was - what was happening - she -
"We have to go, now! There are more coming!" Slade was firing his pistols into the sky, emptying them into a diving flock of Vespyr.
Winter shook her head. Further negative thought would bring the Grimm. Think of Weiss. Safe in the mansion's panic room even though it was never built to withstand an attack of this magnitude and she'd be so scared. Winter gritted her teeth. "We can't leave Vivian to face a Manticore by itself - by herself." She shook her head - it was hard to think of her as her when she looked like that. "We need to try and do something!"
"Do something?!" Maverick laughed. Was - was he delirious? "What the fuck is left for us to try do? The world is ending."
The platform shuddered as Vivian - or whatever she - it- was - tackled the Manticore to the ground and continued pummelling it. The sky lit up with the assorted fire of the remaining Hunters in training. Despite his reservations, even Maverick added to the fray, the constant crack of his pistol threatening to deafen them both.
Winter growled, slamming her sabre into the ground and throwing her arms wide. Water dust, glyphs - a pressure hose, keeping the manticore held down, knocking other incoming flyers aside. Titian took advantage instantly, her sword crackling with lightning and fire, spreading it through the water in arcs of searing yellow.
The Manticore was weakening, the grievous wounds inflicted on it taking their toll. It screeched wildly, trying to get some purchase to dive in for another bite, barbed spikes still launching from it. A student tumbled past, one driven clean through their arm - Winter didn't recognise them, but they didn't stop shooting, didn't stop fighting.
The platform shuddered. The sirens from the academy and the city clashed. Another giant Wyrm burst out of the mountainside. Everyone was fighting - fighting the Grimm, fighting to keep themselves of their feet - and not everyone was winning.
The klaxons of the Academy shifted tone.
Something more urgent. She couldn't hear the words, but they'd changed too, couldn't hear them over the thing that Vivian had become's screeching, over the constant slap of the Manticore's tailspikes through the air. Another pinged off her aura - she set up glyphs to try and stop more, to try and prevent more injuries, but the alarm, what was it saying -
"- meltdown imminent, please -"
Great, sudden cracks like thunder battered them all as the platform started to break apart. Aphoth tumbled away with a shriek on a triangular sheet of metal, ghostly soldiers running after her, followed by Ash, shouting and sliding on a wave of sound after her in a wake of snow and concrete. Slade slid after them, Titian whirling and leaping into the forest.
Winter wanted Helia. She wanted Weiss. She wanted to - to wake up from this horrible nightmare of a world.
But she couldn't have those things, so instead she planted glyphs under her feet and began to run.
The plume of flame from the exploding base engulfed where she'd been a few seconds later.
Everything was thrown into the as the mountain's side ruptured. Not-Vivian and the tenacious Manticore were still fighting and clawing at each other as they tumbled down the slope, Not-Vivian's magmite body steaming the snow with alarming rapidity. She spotted Yolona falling through the air like the ungraceful barbarian she was - before righting herself, putting her shield under her feet, and surfing the avalanche. Winter stumbled for a moment, the mountain giving way beneath her, before she was able to right herself, keep moving, running up a collapsing tree and leaping forward.
Then the Grimm arrived and things got complicated.
An Ursa barrelled in from the side, rolling and flaming and roaring. She was able to sidestep it - but straight into a Beowulf's swiping claws. She winced as she heard her scroll ding her aura loss, trying to stab it with her sabre… but they were already separated by the tide of snow and rock.
An outcry of jubilant hollering brought her appalled attention to Maverick, who was joyously drop-kicking a Beowulf and using it as a buffer between himself and the snow. It was - effective, but the risk seemed far too great. Why would he risk his own life so much more in this situation?
A boarbatusk rolled past, righting itself for a moment before spinning up again and launching at her. She couldn't evade it like this, she'd have to -
Blue, swinging her sniper rifle over her head, punting it away like a ball. She tumbled down the slope and out of sight.
The city was coming into view again. The center of the city had the older structures. The parks. Moving outward from that, almost like rings on a tree trunk, you could see the city age in rings and height.
Well, it used to be.
Now it was all leveled, debris, or about to be smashed by the remains of the Academy falling down the mountain.
She only had a moment to scan it, to see what buildings were still standing before a rolling ball of Beowulves launched itself at her from the side, snarling and howling even as the rocks stripped away their flesh. A repulsion glyph launched her into the air - where she was met by a descending flock of Vespyrs. One latched onto her arm and she hacked at it with her sabre as she fell, feeling her aura being drained away by its gnawing mouth.
She landed poorly, rolling before she could start her glyphs again. The Vespyr's clawed feet kicked at her side as she bashed it against the ground, not even bothering to run just sliding down the near vertical slope, the wall of debris and snow right behind her. A Gryphon dived past and she stabbed at it before Slade descended from the heavens, plunging a sword into its back then disappearing into the distance as the shrieking beast flew away.
A thundering crash nearly sent her off-balance as Not-Vivian came tumbling past, seeming to ride on the slowly dispersing Manticore corpse as she grappled with several Gryphons, at least two of which were larger than she was. She was - she was heading right for that tangled mess, shit!
Winter tried to redirect her slide away from them, but it was too late, they were on top of her, Not-Vivian's boiling skin millimetres from her own. A Gryphon's beak snapped at her face and she reared back - into a wild slash of one of the demon's wings against her shoulder, burning her skin even through her aura. She cried out and lost control of her glyphs.
Winter fell.
The air had been rushing past her ears before but now it was a storm, a constant howl that deafened everything else. She tumbled as she fell, her view shifting, blurring, white and black and red, black and white and red and rushing up fast, fast -
Somehow she lashed out with her sword, yanking herself to a halt in a Nevermore's flesh. The beast shrieked and roared as she hung from its side, as it swooped down towards the city - she'd cut into its wing and that tower was coming up fast -
-.-.-
He wasn't religious. But even if he had been, he still wouldn't have prayed.
Because no deity could allow this.
Slade had killed the Gryphon he'd been riding, but hadn't managed to make it to the ground before it had dissipated. Instead, he stood on the roof of a suburban apartment complex - what was left of it anyway - looking at the streets below. Teeming with Grimm. Deathstalkers, Ursai, Beowulves, Creeps, Gruffs -
He shut his eyes and looked away.
Half the roof had simply fallen in. He jumped into an apartment, tried not to think about the bloodstains he saw on the walls, or the family photos. Instead he hopped over the ruined doorway, jogging down the corridor, trying to find a stairwell.
This was fucked. This was all - fucked.
He'd joined the academy to get away from the city. He was back here. There was poetry in that, he guessed. His teammates were probably dead. He hadn't seen Maverick. Ash and Aphoth had been the first to fall down the mountain. Vivian was - whatever had happened to her, she'd been hurt. He'd seen her boiling blood melting the snow. The Berserker and Titian might have survived, he supposed.
He vaulted the balcony, hit the ground in a roll. A longer, concrete corridor stretched ahead of him, a remnant of the period of construction of the building. The lights were failing, just a few holographic bulbs flickering and sputtering in and out of existence, casting the hallway in blue and black shadow.
At the other end were two Beowulves. Small ones. They looked up at him, mouths stained red. Something small sat between them, whimpering on the ground.
A child.
Slade drew his pistols and fired.
The Grimm ran to meet him, howling and baying fury, his bullets sinking into their flesh. Finally one dropped, but the second reached him, rearing up on its hind legs to slash at his face. He leaned back, drew his swords, plunged them both into it. Kicked its body aside.
More. Creeps and Beowulves. The child was gone, or dead. Had it ever been there? No matter. He plunged his swords into the ground, knelt, fired. There were enough targets that accuracy didn't matter. A Creep lunged at him, whipping its tail round and he ducked, too slowly, the strike spinning him round. He wrapped one arm around its head and pumped shots into its jaw.
A lunging bite almost caught him but he danced backwards. His swords were in the midst of them now, he'd have to fight to get them. Stupid, stupid. He lashed out with a fully extended kick, cracking one's jaw. Fired another burst into a Beowulf's eye socket, watching it crumple and smoke. The crippled Creep tried to lunge at him and he forced its shattered jaws open, thrusting his hand in and firing until it was gone, other pistol holding the horde at bay.
He was almost out of ammo already. A claw swiped, knocked one pistol away from him, pushed his aura lower. A quick backhand knocked the slavering beast back - but another took its place, teeth mangling his gun even as he fired into its maw. He dropped it, adopted a boxer's stance, swung with bonecrunching force that a Creep just dodged.
A sudden set of hoof-clops behind him. Gruff - "Shit!" - he began to spin to one side. Not fast enough. Its horn clipped him in the side, sending him sprawling with an exclamation of pain. He used the wall to haul himself to his feet, grabbing one of his swords, thankful that the charge had pushed him closer to them. A turn and slash slit the throat of a Beowulf that had been injured by the Gruff's heedless charge, and a lunge took out a Creep. This was more like it.
Another Beowulf's hind claws, kicking as it stood from the carnage the Gruff had left, reminded him how low his aura was. He slashed its tendons, then backed up as a second wave arrived, Gruff leading them with sharpened hooves clicking on the floor.
Kick to the jaw, stab, turn, slice. He'd managed to grab his other sword and he used it, jumping off the wall in a downward cut that cleaved the Grimm in two. The hall was littered with decaying bodies. Stepping back, leaning away from the slicing claws, parrying - but another was attacking before he could take advantage.
Not enough time. Not enough time.
His aura went down with a headbutt from a Creep. Suddenly he could feel the exhaustion in his limbs, the muscles crying out in agony, the vulnerability of his skin. A claw caught his hand, peeling skin and flesh away and he roared in agony, answering in kind.
Not enough time. Not good enough. Should've learned. He shook his head, focussed, swords held close to his side, waiting, waiting - now.
He released his soul.
His half-clones spread from his arms, some sacrificing themselves to block attacks, others lashing out with steel. He had no control over them, but they were, in a sense, him. They'd do what he would do, what he might do, what he could have done. Three grabbed the Gruff's horns as he himself planted a boot on its back, wrenching its neck round until it snapped.
And as quickly as they'd come, his echoes faded. He fell to his knees, panting.
Guns gone. One of his swords had snapped in half during the fight. He couldn't have said when. Damn. He sheathed them both anyway, stood shakily. His aura would be down for a while. He wouldn't be able to fight.
He heard a cry for help.
Fuck that.
Slade set off at a run, hitting the door with his shoulder full tilt, emerging into the sudden sunlight. He had to shield his eyes for a moment, even as his attention darted around, looking for the source of the cry...
It became clearer as a little girl ran around the corner of a building, clutching at her bleeding side and sobbing loudly as a tall, spindly Beowulf chased behind her, it's large feet slipping on rubble surprisingly often.
"...eeeeEEEYYOO!" a voice called out, before the Beowulf was hit by a clump of snow, ice, and a second beowulf. Maverick calmly hit the ground next to Slade, landing awkwardly with a thump. "Ouch."
The little girl ran to them, clinging to Slade's leg as Maverick climbed to his feet.
Slade absently reached down, patted her hair. "Where the f - where the hell were you?"
"Who, me?" Maverick grinned. "Surfing a Beowulf down a mountain."
"That's - " Slade paused. "Actually that works as an excuse. Seen any of the others? Anything?" He rubbed his shoulder. Hitting that door had hurt.
"Vivian's off in… I dunno, probably thataway…" Maverick shrugged, vaguely gesturing out to the eastern part of the city. "Yolona's where I got the surfing idea and I highly doubt she'll be taken out. You're here… Rockstar and Necro- uhh, Aphoth," he looked around suspiciously, "Probably still alive?"
"So. What's the plan."
"Get the…" Maverick paused, frowning. "The hell?"
"What?" Slade looked round. "What is it?"
"That girl's gone."
"She probably just ran off." She was gone though. Slade frowned. "Scared."
Maverick scoffed. "Right. Run away from two Hunters -" he rolled his eyes at the look Slade sent him - "into a city filled beyond capacity with Grimm. There's nothing right in that."
"Terror makes you do some fucking dumb shit."
"Amen to that." Maverick sighed, stretching. "Right, new plan, regroup. How often can you use that shadow echo clone trick?"
"Every few minutes? Takes a bunch out of me. And I have to charge it up." He rolled his neck. "Your teleport?"
"It's about as easy as blinking. Seems easy enough to keep up- if you pace yourself. I have a soft limit on how fast I recover." Maverick shrugged. "It's like… the more I have in reserve the quicker the reservoir fills. Or… it used to be. Something's off about it now," he explained, digging around in one of his thigh holsters and pulling out two guns, handing them both to Slade. The 'railroad spiker' and the gauss pistol that seemed to be the kid's pride and joy. "The Gauss is a single-shot. Don't fire it yourself, only with your clones. Haven't got much ammo left."
Slade frowned. Flexed his fingers. His semblance had felt… odd, when he'd used it. A hint of feedback from his echoes that shouldn't have existed. Phantom pains. "Got it." He paused. "What - what do you think happened to cause this?"
A roar from nearby, clearer than the general cacophony of the apocalypse. "I have a theory." He picked up a smouldering rock and started writing on a clear patch of wall behind him. = Headed East = "You might want to cover your ears," he advised, pulling his goggles down over his eyes before pulling out that flare gun he'd given Winter and firing it straight up in the air.
Slade ducked his head, wincing at the noise. Like nails scraping through stone, light like the sun burning from above. A crack, and the light began to fade.
"WOW I FORGOT HOW LOUD THOSE THINGS ARE!" Maverick joyously yelled at him. There was still a trail of light in the air. Probably some sort of Dust function. "ANYWAYS, EVERYONE IN THE CITY SHOULD KNOW WHERE WE ARE - GRIMM INCLUDED!"
"Why - " Damnit he couldn't even hear himself - "WHY DID YOU DO THAT THEN YOU GODDAMNED DUNCE!" Slade drew his swords - sword and a half now, he guessed. He'd tucked the guns into his belt, he wasn't confident enough to use them yet.
"WELL UHH… YOU KNOW, THE OTHERS WILL KNOW WHERE TO FIND US!" Maverick grinned. Moron. He took the smouldering rock and started writing on the ground. EAST. "NOW LET'S GET OUT OF HERE!"
-.-.-
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