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"What do you mean humanoid grimm?"
No one could mistake the White Fang Captain's words. His semblance ensured that no one misheard him, his voice clearly echoing through the air as he spoke back to the radio. There was a sense of apprehension in the air, replacing the previous vigor that had filled the faunus mere moments ago.
They had just fought off an Elder Boarbatusk, for God's sake! Newer recruits weren't even aware those existed, yet they still held their ground.
And now the grimm-infested wildlands throws something else at them? Neither the inexperienced nor the veterans of the group had any idea what to expect from a humanoid grimm, and many of them had hoped it was some form of miscommunication.
Unfortunately, no more words were spoken from the Sentry. The sound of a rifle rang out from the other end, followed by a shocked gasp of disbelief. Yet, before the Captain could question further, alarmed screams burst forth from the ramparts and the radio, accompanied by the shrill shrieks of countless Nevermore. And this cluster of avian cries far exceeded the screeches from earlier, clogging up the entire radio waves with an ear-piercing sound.
It was unbearable. The Captain had no choice but to act.
"... Brothers and sisters!" The Captain's semblance flared up once more, pushing back the nerve-wracking cries of countless grimm. "We stand against a tide of monsters once again. But make no mistake! Mere monsters will not be enough to quell our voice!" The Tiger-Faunus knew he needed more than words, and with a cry, he raised his weapon to the clouds. Dust ignited, firing a single burst of electric flame into the air, the night sky crackling with a blue and orange glow.
"We will push back this mindless tide! These grimm will not stand in the way of our goals for equality, not when we've faced far worse!" He finished his words with a bellow, roaring out to the rest of the fort.
And as the Captain's voice surged outwards, so too did the entireity of the White Fang, banding together in a unified voice. The faunus readied their weapons, turning their attention back to the breach, as squads of noble men and women prepared to face down their opponents.
They were not prepared.
Another hole tore through the walls, as a Deathstalker made its presence known. Massive claws brushed away the brick as though it were nothing, and the beast of grimm wasted no time in hounding its prey. Bullets bounced harmlessly off its shell, and it took the combined efforts of five White Fang Officers, each armed with powerful blades, to ward the monster's attacks. Their squads remained near the back, firing bullets and shells into the crowd of lesser grimm that had followed the Deathstalker, finding targets among the Creeps and Beowolves.
The curtain of bullets were hardly the ideal cover, but it was more than enough to let the officers strike. Two greatswords and a massive axe lashed out in unison, knocking aside an overhand sweep, as their synchronized attack parried the deadly claw of the Deathstalker. A broadsword and rapier followed through with this action, as the officers charged straight into the maw of the monster, driving their weapons into the creature's crimson eyes.
These brave five barely had time to pull back, as their actions were rewarded with an angry shriek from the scorpion grimm. The Deathstalker flailed its claws wildly, another sweeping strike driving forward, tearing apart the ground. Thankfully, the attack hit empty air, and the Officers prepared themselves for the maneuver once more. They had no choice but to parry and counter-strike, for they had to protect the people under them, and none of these men and women dared to back down.
After all, they were mere soldiers fighting for a cause, not an oppressive huntsman who wielded unnatural strength. It was through their will that they had survived in the grimmlands thus far, and it will be through their will that their squads survive with them. These heavy thoughts filled the Officers' minds as they charged once more, carried by the cheers of their subordinates.
But, with only their valour, how could they hold the line when a second Deathstalker joined the first?
This tide exceeded anything the White Fang Fort had seen its lifetime, and yet, in the face of adversity, no faunus backed down. The rallying cries of their brothers and sisters gave them strength, so each White Fang bellowed out in response, adding their own voice to the storm.
They were not prepared.
The earth was torn away as Aged Creeps made their entrance. Rock and soil exploded outwards, peppering the aura of the recruits in the back lines, before wicked fangs followed suit. The mindless monsters charged into the rear, biting and lashing at any faunus who dared to remain behind. But still, some stood, buying precious time for their comrades, as the brave soldiers attempted to ward off the fangs of monsters with mere utility knives, or the bent hull of their discarded rifles.
It was a dire conflict, but the roars of battle still rang out, as more reinforcements surged forth, eight new squads led by the Captain himself. The Tiger-Faunus lunged straight at one Deathstalker, bardiche in hand while his personal retinue turned their attention to Creeps. A Jackal-Faunus, one of the three lieutenants that defended this fort, brought his warhammer to bear, crushing an Aged Creep in one fell swing. He quickly rallied the rear guard, taking command of a handful of squads, dozens of White Fang soldiers eager to follow him as he led them to the other Deathstalker.
His companion, a Ferret-Faunus, was the second lieutenant, and she picked her own targets. With a growl, her eyes fell on the breach beyond the scorpions, taking note of a new tide of Beowolves. Without hesitation, she rushed forth to meet the new pack. The woman danced expertly through the beasts in her way, leaping over the ivory hides of creeps, and snaking around the thick arms of Ursai as she charged her green cestuses with dust. Her hands shimmered in the air, and it was mere moments before an emerald fist met its first victim.
The Alpha Beowolf's head popped spectacularly, fragments of grimmbone splintering to nearby wolves. It was not enough to cripple, but more than enough to harm, as the fiery green shrapnel bore into pitch-black fur. And before the wolves could even hope to retaliate in anger, the Cestus-Lieutenant continued her assault. Beneath a curtain of bullets, she danced around the wolves, ducking between razor-sharp claws, slipping through frenzied lunges as her fists struck against joints and throats.
And the final member of the lieutenant trinity... Stood still.
The Grizzly-Faunus froze, in spite of her naturally brash attitude. For she saw the humanoid grimm that was mentioned earlier. And make no mistake: this monster could be nothing but grimm. She could not detect a single hum of aura from that monstrosity, as only a cold emptiness seemed to fill that shadow. Her Faunus eyes could clearly see its bandaged form, as well as the its strange mask with glowing eyes, as she was certain that nothing but darkness lay beneath those tattered rags.
This monstrosity was clearly far more intelligent than the rest of its fellow kin; where Deathstalker and Beowolves sought to kill, the humanoid grimm sought to cripple. With clear purpose, it shambled to the armoury, even choosing to ignore the Faunus in front of it as it walked over to the building. One of its minions tore apart the guard that stood there, and the beast entered unopposed.
The Grizzly-Faunus clenched her teeth, drawing her scimitar as she loaded a fresh vial of dust into its hilt. In a flash of blue light, the lieutenant sped off to the armoury, as she left faint wisps of ice in her wake.
Nox paid little attention to the commotion outside. The blackened monsters had chosen to ignore him, and the masked people stopped pursuing him in favour of the shadow beasts.
So the Xelor made his way over to a pile of firearms. He held a sharp blade in his hands, and while it was not necessarily an intricate tool, it fulfilled its task adequately. He picked up one of the many items scattered in the pile, traced along what he assumed to be the weld point of the metallic construction, and applied his blade to the box. Nox met surprisingly little resistance as the item split apart, and he was left with the inner workings of the weapon.
Even as a mere shadow, the watchmaker had retained much of his skill. No, perhaps it would be more accurate to say that the shadow's skill had exceeded that of Noximilien Coxen, as countless years with the Eliacube had brought Nox as much knowledge as it had done madness. And his listless form wielded this knowledge without conscious thought, absorbing the design of the weapon into his mind.
Yet, skill alone wouldn't be enough for the Xelor to start his work.
He searched the room with mechanical efficiency, his empty gaze never resting on a spot for more than a moment, as he searched the rest of the building. If this was a place to store equipment, then it was also a place to maintain them. And maintaining meant tools. Tools to use, improve, and build. It took mere moments, and the armoured mummy quickly found what he was looking for: situated beyond a crude row of metal bars lay something resembling a workbench.
A thin wall was between him and his objective, but Nox barely processed that obstacle as he brought a hand up.. His mind had already acknowledged that Stasis expenditure was required to bypass the obstacle, so the Xelor made use of the destructive energy. Small orbs of violet shot out from his palm, striking at the metal bars, leaving a gaping hole in its wake as Nox removed a wall.
His suit's Stasis capacity was still within acceptable limits for now, but the Xelor would need a new energy source soon. But how? This world held no Wakfu, so he would have to find an alternative form of energy, lest he be left with nothing but his hollowed form.
He searched.
Fortune came in the form of a mysterious room, filled with munitions and vials of something else, delicately stored in cases and shelves. The care put behind the storage of these vials meant that they were important, and Xelor the took a canister into his hand. His lens focused on the small glass object, and while the container itself was simple glass, its contents was anything but simple. It looked like sand, except more fluid, and far less mundane as light shimmered against the red granules. Nox had no idea what this was, but the Xelor knew full well that it was something important.
He had no time to ponder this, however, as a new voice wrenched Nox's attention away from the object. Turning to the source, the Xelor was... not surprised. He hadn't expected it, but he was not particularly alarmed to see one of the humans from earlier, standing before him with an expression of anger. At least, half an expression, as most of her face was covered by a metallic mask. The plate of metal hid most of her features, but some form of frustration was obvious as she yelled at him in some unknown tongue.
Nox regarded her for just a moment, unsure of what action to take. The woman before him was not immediately hostile, and Nox had not started any plans yet, so by definition, she was not interfering with any plans. As those were the only two stimuli that concerned the Xelor at the moment, he made no motions, content to observe the person.
That is, until the woman took a stance.
A few more unknown words escaped her lips, and the masked person readied her blade. That's when the Xelor finally took notice of the woman's weapon, a simple curved blade of unknown make. The most striking feature of the item, however, was the canister that rested in the hilt of the weapon, filled with a coloured sand. His left socket swapped lenses as he focused on that spot, confirming his observations as he made note of the familiar resource within the container, a blue hue matching some of the vials behind him.
However, there was something more. The powder that rested within those chambers began humming, gradually growing brighter as the woman before him did something to the material.
Nox had no clue what it was, but this was a chance to properly observe the phenomenon in action. A learning experience that was required, should the Xelor have any hope of restoring his energy reserves.
So, without hesitation, Nox's suit pulsed with energy, subconsciously activating the moment he came to his conclusion. The air around the two sparked, and the sounds of battles dimmed until nothing was left. A purple light exploded outwards from the Xelor, consuming the entire Fort in a faint tint, as the reach of Nox's power spread throughout the entire battlefield.
Only the energies of destruction, the Stasis in his suit, cried out in protest as the metal began cracking. His suit was designed to wield Wakfu, and while the violet source was similar, it was still fundamentally different from the forces of creation. The focusing lens on his right arm cracked, and the Xelor felt a surge of heat shoot through his being.
Yet, Nox ignored it. Now was his time.
And for the next few moments, the fort was quiet, the only noise a mysterious ticking of an unknown clock, reverberating through the White Fang Encampment. Neither Faunus nor Grimm made a sound, their motions slowing to a crawl.
For one eternal second, time stood still.
Two hours is not a lot of time.
But if you spend all that time idling around, sitting in the cramped seats of a Bullhead, then those two hours can drag on forever. Technically, they only had twenty minutes left until they reached their destination, but no conscious member of the Rhinestone Security Corps honestly believed that.
Granted, most of the Survey Team had fallen asleep, choosing to catch up on some much needed rest rather than stare at the bare metal bulkhead. However, the blue-haired brat, now dubbed 'Sparky' by the Rhinestone Security Veteran, was not most people. Rather than get some shut-eye, the kid fiddled on his Scroll, poking at some childish puzzle game instead. The light of the device flickered on the young man's face as he stared with rapt attention, an exaggerated mascot hopping up and down in the holo-display.
The Veteran would've scolded the kid if he wasn't doing the exact same thing at the moment. Sure, he had to deal with a few administrative stuff earlier, some digital paperwork and order confirmations, as well as a message or two from his other employers... but that was an hour ago. Now, he had nothing to do except to idly fiddle at his own Scroll, dragging along hexagons at the behest of a cartoonified Atlesian Knight.
Before the Veteran could finish his task, however, the sound of the pilot's voice called out.
"Uh, sir? You'd... um. You'd better see this. The impact sight is hot."
They were still twenty minutes out, weren't they? Either the boys up top were wrong in their estimates, or something else was wrong. The Veteran quickly pocketed his scroll, ignoring the curious gaze that the rest of his subordinates gave him as he slipped into the cockpit. His sour expression dropped the moment he stepped through the door, his face growing far more analytical than he previous demeanour suggested.
"What's the situation?" It was a question directed at the co-pilot, yet the man in the seat didn't respond. Instead, he merely held up a single hand, pointing at the airspace before them.
That's not good.
Nevermore weren't supposed to be in this area, and a Giant Nevermore like that was definitely not supposed to be here. And yet, there it was, flying through the night sky with a flock of smaller birds, identifiable only by their ivory masks. It was small comfort to see that the beast had not yet spotted them. Sure, their bullheads were equipped to combat the grimm, but a large Nevermore like that guaranteed the loss of a few craft. Their miniature fleet of five would sustain heavy casualties the minute that grimm's attention turned to them.
"This will be a problem... Wait, what's that?" His voice was soft as he examined the horizon, only to see something else in the distance. More grimm, each flying with purpose towards some spot on the ground. But there shouldn't be anything here, unless... "Looks like those rumours were true. Either we've found ourselves a band of displaced nomads, or those grimm are dead-set on tearing apart a White Fang camp."
It wasn't that he couldn't sympathize with the Faunus; the Veteran knew first-hand that the Kingdoms were no paradise. Yet, their actions have been growing more pronounced during these past few weeks. Hell, one of the demonstrations at the Vale branch turned violent a few days ago, when the protesters rioted against the security staff. He lost three good people that night.
But that was for another time. For now, the man took out his Scroll once more, intent on contacting his... associate. Sure, he was out of range of standard radio broadcast, and there was no hope he would be able to connect to the CCT. But these weren't the only broadcast channels available to the Veteran: There was one exclusively used by his employer, and its reach extended even here.
Just as he finished typing up his message, something else happened. The elder man looked up from his device just in time to see a flash of violet light, an instantaneous pillar of colour that exploded out from the distance fort. Whether it was some mystery weapon or unfound semblance was a question he could not answer. Nor could his brain even begin to answer it, as another fact took his attention entirely.
The people within the cockpit stood at awe. The flock of avian grimm, in the middle of their descent to the encampment below, hung frozen in the air, unmoving and unnaturally quiet.
The Veteran appended his message.
Perhaps it was because of his dwindling reserves. Or maybe it was because the land was foreign, holding no Wakfu in any of its pores. Perhaps it was even due to the fact that the Xelor had been flung between dimensions, torn apart from the very Krosmoz as he was abandoned in this unknown rock. But, whatever the reason, Nox did not have the power to bring time to a complete stop.
Not that he needed to.
It was just knowledge that his mind processed the moment he invoked his power, reaching his logical limits as the Xelor asserted his control over the field around him. And make no mistake, it was his control.
He was still unable to teleport, unable to slip through the cracks between space. Even the most rudimentary Xelor had that ability, so long as they had a focal point of control. Was it because this land held no Wakfu? Perhaps, but...
Nox's attention turned back to the woman before him. His gaze shifted back to the weapon, and the actuators that controlled his mask whirred in approval, a reflection of his own thoughts. It was the closest that the Xelor had to a smile.
This world might be devoid of Wakfu, but there was definitely something else here. He watched as light erupted from the woman's fingers, telltale tendrils of energy reaching out to the blue powder within the hilt of her blade. Even under the influence of his powers, the entire process took a few seconds, which meant the energy's mysterious activation was nearly instantaneous.
But nearly instant was not instant, and he could already see the paths this energy took as it flowed into the weapon. Yes... How it wreathed itself around the steel of the blade, how it seeped into the powder within the weapon's canister... He still did not understand the fundamentals of this phenomenon, but Nox had just confirmed that it was an observable phenomenon. And if it could be observed, then it could be reasoned, given sufficient knowledge.
Finally. A goal.
If the secrets given to him by the Eliacube was not sufficient, then he would simply have to learn more. Was it inherent to these humans? Did the shadow beasts have this power? What of the rest of this world? The stone and animals and trees?
Could this power be harnessed? Extracted? For the first time, his empty mask showed expression, the metallic covers of his lenses narrowing ominously. The Shadow of Noximilien had found himself a purpose. A starting point.
He wasted no time procuring the woman's weapon, his opponent unable to respond as he began to pry apart her fingers, intent on taking the weapon for himself. After all, she was helpless, so it was a simple task of-
There was a crack.
The energies within the woman's palm resonated with Nox's hand, as a spark of blue light arced from the blade into the palm of his hand, striking against the focusing lens. Pain surged through Nox, stirring up the Stasis that dwelt in his body, as the man let out a mechanical cry of pain. His voice echoed out, the unknown energy lashing out at him for just a moment longer, before time resumed.
The Lieutenant was confused.
Just a moment ago, she had tried to speak with the figure, only to confirm that it was most certainly grimm. The humanoid monster made no attempts to communicate with her, choosing instead to stare at her with an empty mask, violet lights boring into her, completely devoid of aura. There was no question; it had no soul, so she had prepared herself for battle, pouring her own aura into her blade. With the same convictions as her brothers and sisters, the Lieutenant stood ready, prepared either to strike it down, or to fall in battle herself.
So what had happened? One second, she was preparing to swing, and the next second, her aura had been completely drained, fatigue consuming her. Had the monster done something? She could faintly recall the sounds of an ancient clock, but that made no sense. Nor did the creature, as it was no longer in front of her, but beside her, reaching out for her weapon with a plated hand.
Purple lightning sparked from its palm, as an unbearable heat shook through her. Yet, the pain and exhaustion that the woman felt was pushed aside at the next moment, unable to prepare for the sound echoed out from the monster, a cross between creaking metal and a pained cry as she felt her aura burn away.
And just as her aura began to fade, so too did her consciousness, her body completely drained by the grimm's unknown attack. The Grizzly-Faunus fell to the ground, her vision slowly fading to black as she tried to turn her eyes up to her aggressor. As her vision met the gaze of the monster's, the Faunus had found her last thoughts to be those of confusion, rather than fear.
For she could swear that those impassive eyes, supposedly devoid of emotion and life, narrowed for just a moment.
Not in pain or anger or fear, but in conviction.