9-2: Adjustment

This... really didn't go the way he had expected it to.

After all, when he had first spotted the massive flood of grimm, Qrow Branwen had expected an atrociously bloody battle, one that would've required nearly all of Vale's border guard, and one that still would've ended with the fall of Everport. Then, when he saw that explosive burst of energy radiate from the center of the grimm horde, the man had expected to find Amber caught in the middle of it all, frantically using her crazy maiden powers to try and fix the problem herself. And when he saw the charred crater, burnt cloak, and a certain armoured mummy who created dust-infused grim? Well... he had expected the worst.

Could you really blame him for not expecting this? Sure, if you looked at it another way, besides being a devilishly bad-ass veteran huntsman and an avid consumer of fine wines, Qrow was technically also a teacher over at Signal. But that didn't mean he had to play the part, right? He was in the middle of the largest gathering of grimm he had seen in his huntsman career! A gathering that he had spotted by pure chance after he had just completed a high-profile reconnaissance mission! Teaching people child-level knowledge was that last thing he expected to do out here.

So why was he doing exactly that? Despite all sensibilities, at this very moment, Qrow Branwen found himself seated in the middle of a charred crater, completely surrounded on all sides by fire and grimm, as he taught an armoured mummy basic stuff that everyone should've already known by now. Or, we'll, everyone capable of fighting to some small degree. Sure, it might've been a little less relevant to civilians, but it wasn't like it was some big secret to them or anything. Heck, there were plenty of people who knew more about Aura or Semblances than some huntsmen he knew! Either way, this wasn't some fancy advanced concept he was explaining; this was stuff that he had personally taught his nieces when they were six!

Ugh. He needed a drink right now.

So that's exactly what he got. Despite the more 'logical' side of his brain telling him this was a stupid idea—you know, the one he usually drowned out?—the huntsman stopped himself mid-sentence to pull out his favourite flask, pausing only for a moment to shoot the mummy an inquisitive glance.

"You don't mind, do you?" Not that the huntsman was going to take no for an answer, as Qrow took a swig from said flask the moment he finished his question.

"... I suppose it hardly matters now. Do what you will."

The mummy's response was... far more friendlier than the scythe-wielder had expected. Though really, that sentiment applied to this entire exchange; after all, this mummy was still the same guy who had fought an entire joint-corporate military campaign thing to a standstill. Not only that, but he had done so with a robot army that no one had even known about, and a grimm horde that somehow followed his orders. All things considered, for an evil ominous overlord, he was acting pretty friendly.

No doubt due to the information that he needed from the warrior. Despite the tone of their conversation, Qrow knew that if this maniac hadn't been completely ignorant of common sense, he would've been in so much more trouble.

As much as he hated to admit it, this armoured mummy was a very skilled opponent. The last time he had fought him, the masked stranger had somehow managed to fight off both him and the Ice Queen at the same time, emerging from their little fight completely unscathed while the two huntsmen were forced to flee. And that was three months ago; three months later, it had been clear to Qrow that this opponent's fighting skill had not rusted in the slightest. Not to mention he was alone.

"Are you quite finished yet? You've still yet to explain what the source of this 'Semblance' is."

"Yeah, jus' lemme finish this off first." But just because the odds were stacked against him didn't mean that the red-eyed warrior had planned on giving up.

He had told Oz where he was going after all, so if Amber was still in the area, Qrow knew that the old man of Beacon would be sending some help his way soon. All he needed to do was to stall long enough for help to arrive, and to make sure the crazy mummy didn't see the entire plan coming. Which was why the huntsman was now made a show of something as simple as finishing off his flask, wasting as much time as he could as the red-eyed warrior slowly turned his gaze back to the mummy. "... Sorry 'but that. Sho, where was I?"

The mummy in question did not seem to react to his display in the slightest. Instead, the stranger simply stood still, arms crossed in front of him as he stood idle, completely unmoving as the masked man merely answered his question. "... I believe you were explaining the source of this energy you call Aura, as well as how it relates to the phenomenon known as Semblances."

This was... weird. Not just because of how utterly relaxed the mummy was, but ... okay, exactly because of that. Everything about the masked man, from the expectant tone of his voice after his questions, to the way he stood and focused on the huntsman, seemed to suggest that this little nutcase was completely genuine with his questions. Not only that, but it was also clear that he was completely unconcerned with the fact that the scythe-wielding huntsman had attacked him mere moments ago.

Just who the hell was this guy?

"Right, right. So, Aura..." But he wasn't about to ask that. Instead, Qrow played his part the same way he always did, not relenting for a moment as he slipped into motions that were second nature to him, all while he tried to decipher the masked mummy's true intentions. "... Y'see, you keep talking about this whole source and energy thing like ther different, but that's... not really the right way to look at it."

The mask raised an eyebrow. Or rather, one of the eye slit things on the mummy's mask rose up slightly. Okay, seriously, what the hell was this guy? Was that natural? Or is he just mocking him at this point?

"Is more like... abstract an' all that. Now, what I'm about to say isn't anything religious or anything, so keep that in mind, but Aura and Semblances... They come from th' same place." Drawl out a sentence here, sway and stagger a bit there. Qrow had just the right amount of alcohol in him to act convincingly, and the mummy's inquisitive stance told him that the bandage man didn't suspect a thing. "Living things. See, all living things, 'cept those grimm you got following you, have Aura, 'n maybe they can find their Semblances, because they have one thing in common."

"Becaush..." Qrow turned himself fully to face the masked mummy, an action that simply wasted time for the sake of false dramatic effect. He even put in this pause before he answered properly, just to drag the entire thing out. "... Because Aura comes from the soul."

And then the huntsman's eyes widened, all trace of his false drunken stupor fading away as he saw the Mummy's response.

If he was actually drunk, if Qrow hadn't actually been paying attention at the time, he might've missed that little twitch in the masked man's finger, or the way the mummy's chest pulled back a bit. The slight shift of the shoulders, the barely perceptible tilt of the head, the flash of purple that sparked just a bit dimmer beneath the metal mask... For a split second, for a single fleeting instance, there was the unmistakable air of unbound dread.

But Qrow wasn't drunk, so he didn't miss it.

And neither did the grimm. Without warning, the closest Ursa roared, a cry that immediately caused the seasoned huntsman to draw his weapon. Yet, as Qrow discarded all pretenses of being drunk, the beast of grimm ignored him entirely, lunging forward in a forceful charge, no longer fearing the flames around them as the beast's heavy footfalls tore about the rocky dirt, as it made its way straight towards the mummy.

Confusion filled the huntsman's face as he watched the events unfold, his mind stunned by the turn of events, but just as quickly as the interruption had begun, it came to a close.

Before the Ursa fully passed through the firewall, the mummy brought up his hand in a single blinding blur, a flash of light collecting around the metallic palm for a split second as the masked stranger unleashed a blast of... something. Something unnatural and unnerving and utterly overpowering.

That same something annihilated the Ursa in the blink of an eye, the air groaning in defiance of the sudden attack as the smell of burnt smoke filled his senses. Qrow had no idea what the hell that was, but he was sure of one thing; whatever that purple energy was, it wasn't Aura.

"... I see. So that's how it is." A metallic voice broke the huntsman from his thoughts, tone completely level as purple lights turned their gaze onto the red-eyed huntsman. The mummy didn't even bother to look at the disintegrating corpse, ignoring the burnt vestiges of the grimm he had just ended as he moved on with the conversation. And for some reason, Qrow was compelled to do the same. "... Is that why these shadow beasts constantly wage war against you locals? Because you humans bear souls where they do not?"

Of all the things he had expected the mummy to ask, that particular question was low on the list, and Qrow couldn't help but respond with confusion. "... What?"

"Souls." But the masked man pressed on, his voice growing a bit more strained, echoing beneath the mysterious visage of his mask, the tone growing harsher as he reacted to the huntsman's question with rising irritation. "Is that the reason behind these beasts' attack? Are they so mindlessly aggressive because they lack souls, and are driven to seek out those who do not?"

There was a slight pause, with nothing but the muted growls of the nearby grimm and the roar of an eternal fire to fill the air, all else silent as the red-eyed warrior stared at the masked mummy. Honestly, the question was... outlandish at best, and the underlying concept was, quite frankly, silly. If it really had been that easy, if the grimm really were driven by something as simplistic as souls, then Remnant wouldn't be in such a situation. The grimm would've already torn away all vestiges of animals and nature, or they would've already been defeated by the soulless robotic creations of civilization.

"There's no way it's that simple." The huntsman's tone was completely serious as he spoke his mind, eyes fixed on the masked mummy, watching as the other person slowly digested his answer. At the same time, while that reason was unconventional, Qrow still couldn't dismiss it entirely. After all, it wasn't like they knew everything about grimm or souls; just the usual stuff that let huntsmen and huntresses fight as guardians. And he knew that if there really was something that extreme, Ozpin would be doing his best to hide it. "... Everything has aura, but grimm only hunt down people. Rather than souls, your favourite pets are more drawn to negative emotions. Heck, there's a reason why they're called the 'Creatures of Destruction'."

This time, the mummy's response was anything but subtle. His the lens of his mask widened fully, the purple lights within a tiny spark that focused on the huntsman, as the bandaged stranger settled his view completely on the red-eyed huntsman. "What did you...? Are you certain?"

"Yep. Dunno how much they're drawn to it, but at the very least, things like fear, anxiety, doubt and depression all do wonders in luring the creatures of grimm." That was the whole reason why huntsmen and huntresses maintained such an image, after all.

The collective anxiety of an entire city was a veritable beacon for surrounding grimm, so they placated the citizens every way they could. Childish stories of heroism, near-constant CCT broadcasts, glorification of huntsmen... their entire culture revolved around trying to juggle collective happiness while waging an eternal war. And such a balancing act was hard to maintain, especially if you need that war to maintain the happiness. "Ruling's still out on the flashier things like anger, but for the most part-... You doing okay there?"

He didn't notice when the mood changed, but by the time the scythe-wielder turned his attention away from his thoughts and back to the mummy, he saw the man filled with disbelief. Stunned silence, a disconnected sense of tension. And the reason Qrow could pick out those emotions so clearly was because the air around the mummy reminded him far too much of the air around a certain blonde-haired idiot he knew, back when that incident happened. Did this mummy have a kid or something?

"Leave."

Once more, the warrior's thoughts were interrupted by the mummy. And once more, he didn't know what to do except stare in confusion.

"You heard me, local."

Nox had... too much to think about. He had neither the time, nor the luxury, nor even the inclination to deal with this black-haired idiot.

Wasn't that ironic? Here he was, calling this person an idiot, when he himself had committed yet another mistake. And just like the first one he had ever made, Noximilien's actions had set into motion a series of events that threatened the livelihood of... of...

He didn't even know what to call it. Despite his centuries of knowledge and drive, he simply could not place a name to that vague state of... existence where one wasn't hounded by an oppressive need to push forward. But, at this point, it didn't matter what the name of that foreign sensation was anymore. Nox had, once again, shattered it whole.

"Leave this area. There is something I must do."

That was his only warning, and without sparing another look at the warrior, Nox turned his attention away from the man. Instead, the lens of his mask settled firmly on the shadow wolf that stood beside him, violet lights appraising the beast as he watched the creature's growing agitation. Crimson eyes stared back at him, and the beast hid none of its malice as it bore ivory fangs at the Xelor, the snarls growing more pronounced with each hounding breath it took.

It was clear to him now. How couldn't he see it before? Such a simple piece of the puzzle, and yet, Nox had been completely ignorant of such a simple fact. Even Shushus, demonic creatures born from Stasis and malice, sought out people who were weak of mind, emotion, and will. Why did he not consider that base animals such as these shadow beasts would've done the same? Especially when he had witnessed it so many times in the past.

Igole's agitation, the walled settlement, even his initial descent into this mysterious world... He had witnessed so many instances that had proven that singular point, and yet, he had chosen to understand none of it. He needed some idiotic drunk to teach him someone that should've been obvious to the Xelor, given how often he had interacted with these shadow beasts.

Regardless, now that he did know about these creatures, Noximilien also knew that this entire army of was not born from Igole's actions... but his own. This entire collection of blackened scorpions and bears, of birds and boars and wolves, had all gathered around here because of him.

Creatures of destruction. That's what the local had called them.

So was it any wonder that these beasts were drawn to Stasis? The energy of sheer destruction, the miasma that bleeds from the realm of demons, the very antithesis of life within the Krosmoz... Stasis was all of this and so much more. With Nox's familiarity and control over such a terrible power, how couldn't he have noticed the attraction of these things?

"What the hell are you planning?"

"It does not concern you."

"Bullshit." Suspicion leaked out from the local, and the Xelor turned himself away from his thoughts, settling his attention on the blade-wielding warrior as he narrowed the lens of his mask. The local stood firm, returning the stare with one of his own. For a few short moments, neither were willing to back down... But those moments passed. Nox knew more than anyone else that he simply did not have the time to argue with a drunk.

After all, he still had a problem to fix.

The creatures gathered around here were hardly limited to these small animals; his Noxines had long populated the local forest, and the Xelor saw all of them. At the very least, he was certainly not ignorant to the herd of four-legged behemoths that had torn through swamps and foliage, as those massive creatures left behind crushed destruction in their wake. At first, he had assumed it was just animals migrating pointlessly, but now that he knew the nature of these shadow beasts...

Nox did not forget his original goal. He came here to this horde of shadows because they threatened those three innocent children. His goal did not change simply because the shadows turned to behemoths.

"If you wish to make yourself useful," The Xelor spoke once more, gathering raw Stasis in his hand as he turned towards the sword-wielding warrior, "then I suggest you retreat to the port city and rally with garrison there."

The suspicion on the warrior's face quickly faded to confusion, his back slacking as he gave Nox a curious stare. "Port cit-... You mean Everblue?"

"Yes." That was the armoured mummy chose to say, his mask narrowing as he turned his focus back to the task at hand. After all, there was a reason why he had been gathering Stasis; he needed power.

Back in the World of Twelve, the Xelor known as Nox had menaced entire civilizations in his mad quest for power, his frantic crusade for more and more Wakfu bringing Kingdoms to their knees. Over the years, he had perfected that terrible technique of stealing the very essence of life, as his Noxines turned bountiful fields and verdant forests into nothing more than sun-blasted wastelands. And while this world harboured no Wakfu for his ambitions, the Xelor was distinctly aware of another kind of energy source; one that he suspected bore great resemblance to Wakfu's other half.

His view settled on Igole—no, on the leashed shadow wolf he had labeled Igole—and the creature returned the glare. The wolf lunged, and the Xelor caught it mid-flight, as metallic fingers clasped around the creature's throat.

Nox didn't have time to test or refine this outlandish theory, nor did he have the requisite knowledge to think that it'd even work. Instead, all the Xelor had was intuition honed from centuries of madness and plunder, his mastery over the forces of Wakfu and Stasis, and the actions he had inflicted upon the World of Twelve time and time again.

So he imposed his will into the violet energies of Stasis, gripping the shadow wolf mercilessly as he used the raw powers of destruction to consume-

It burned.

No, that's the wrong terminology. Three months ago, back at that walled settlement when he tried to use Wakfu with the Local's mysterious power of aura... That burned. And three months ago, when all control of his Dial was wrested from him by whatever that white-haired woman done... that had burned even brighter

This sensation was something else entirely. It ate away at his nerved, but not in the same way as a relentless flame of energy. Instead, it... frayed at him. Tore, sundered, corroded his nerves as the Stasis gradually melded with whatever it was these shadow beasts were made of. Every single aspect of his mind and body screeched at him, begging him to let go of the beast, even as more and more Stasis mixed itself with the corrosive smoke.

"What the hell?!" Fear rose from the Local's voice, but Nox didn't care.

Nor did the Xelor care about his own body's protests, his senses straining further and further with each passing moment, smoke spewing out from the shadow wolf's throat as Stasis arced in his grip. The black fog grew thicker, more viscous as it wrapped around his arm, heavy and suffocating as it practically bled into his bandages. Without reprieve, the burning tar wracked at his senses, the sharp sensations seeping deeper into his nerves as he heard the wolf howl in agony.

But, despite the growing cacophony of noise and pain, Nox stood firm, refusing to back down as the mixture began gnawing at him. Despite the danger, despite the constant sensation of tortuous corrosion, the Xelor defied it. Each time the smoke ate away at his nerves, he returned the sensation threefold, imposing his will on the fog as he pulled and stretched the terrible fog, molding the composition of destruction mixed with destruction it into a shape he could use.

He wove it like Wakfu. He wove it like Stasis, like dust and like elemental magic. He pulled it with his mind and senses, understanding each inch of the terrible compound as he melded it into himself, pouring the dark energy into his harness. In turn, he felt the metallic gauntlet began to rust and fold in itself, the vessel unable to contain the miasma born from Stasis and shadow. And as the metallic vessel tried to conceded, Nox denied it the luxury, forcing it to halt as he began to cycle the Miasma between his refurbished harness and his very soul.

Slowly, gradually, the parts of the smokey tar that inherited the will of Stasis came to life, and desperately tried to birth destruction into creation.

The shadow wolf ceased howling. The local warrior did the same, stunned instead by the travesty that had occurred.

A flash of light engulfed Nox as Stasis burned away. All but the Xelor were expelled, as dirt and flame and grimm and man were vaulted away from the mountain.

The air froze, then turned stale, then whipped itself back into life as it fled.

And finally, the shadow of a Watchmaker took the first step away from the will of fate. With a mask that burned a crimson light, Nox gradually turned his attention away from the mountaintop, his gaze settling to the valley below. And with a single explosive burst, the Xelor charged southward, his gaze fixed firmly on the distant behemoths.