Raider reaved the husky smoke dribbling from her shotguns, long, contented breaths stuffing her full of the acrid smoke Huntsmen were privileged to indulge. For the layman, it was perverse to adore the sights and smells of uncommon destruction; to Raider, it was solace. To enjoy tense, unsightly hues and dark, bitter smells—small practicalities unique to the militant youth. Without the means to appease their fragile minds—appease with tricks of justified slaughter—the means to arm seventeen-year-olds would be immoral, and Raider wouldn't be smiling over the body of a headless Ursa.
In retrospect, Raider had employed one too many bullets: by the first, the Ursa was no longer moving. By the second, its was missing its head. The inefficiency could be questioned but not her results; it was a wasteful philosophy but one that would keep her alive. Raider had heard one too many stories of Huntsmen who turned their back, believing a Grimm had fallen, and were slain by inky, bone-wrought monsters. Convicted to elude the likes of such unceremonious defeats, Raider believed the most prudent action would be to behead any Grimm she faced. It was draconian, yes, but once she saw that lacuna between the shoulders, she wouldn't have to worry about it coming back to life.
Having thoroughly admired her handiwork, Raider felt safe and satisfied enough to sling Wolf Joint into the holster on her back—right next to its sister gun.
Suddenly the canine ears that sat atop Raider's head twitched; they heard footfall. For several moments, Raider considered it to be the canyon walls playing tricks on her ears, as they so often did, but in her stillness, the footsteps became clearer as they neared the rocky bend. They weren't the heaved, lumbering stomps of a Beowulf or Ursa—the bipedal pace of a human or possibly a Faunus.
Raider contemplated running, to delay the inevitable for the blind chance of a superior partner: no, it was foolish to assume that she could control fate. It was simple circumstances that lead her to this moment, not error or mistake—so why gamble? In those few seconds before they'd come around the curve, Raider deliberated what type of person she'd want as a partner: whoever "they" were, they had one, long black horn.
Raider became lost in lilac eyes, admiring the gaunt beauty standing cloaked in dark, dark purple. It became on odd task Raider found herself trying to complete: discerning the gender of her rather androgynous partner.
"Calluna Oldspell," he said, voice rich full of threats; Raider, caught in dumbface'd ogling, failed to immediately register that one-horn was male. A hand—a left hand—was extended towards her, and though bizarre'd as to why the left hand, Raider firmly gripped it.
"Raider Ulfolk," she sputtered, astonished by the strength of the rather petite Faunus. Before she could match the depth of Calluna's strength, the handshake was over, and the one-horn was walking down the canyon.
"Let's go."
Raider stood, bewildered and irritated, irritated that Calluna had taken control of the situation with such deft execution. It would be impressive—if he were with any other person but Raider. The wolf bounded past Calluna into the gully, setting a brisk run as the pace they would move; rather tacitly, Raider's partner accepted her challenge and, in turn, sprinted ahead of her. She could see the begrudge pursed on his lips and struck on a furtive brow; her prejudice had belied her once—she would not let the advantage slip again.
"Hey, Oldspell." Raider jogged alongside Calluna, none too impressed by the pace he'd set. "If you're going to try and lead, at least keep a pace that will get us there."
"Is there a problem, Ulfolk?" Calluna sped again, and instead of matching him, Raider—advantaged by her height—sprawled ahead.
"I'd expect someone your size to be more nimble—"
"Death Stalker!" On his call, Raider looked straight, and in a widened segment of gorge saw the hissing, goliath scorpion Calluna warned of. Instead of stopping, Raider sped and committed to proving she would be leading. Her partner, she assumed, would also employ this plan—and that put a time limit on killing her quarry.
Raider slung both shotguns from her back, and akimbo she rolled under the crashing colossus claws. The barrel of a shotgun staked between its thrashing mandibles, and when Raider pulled the trigger, it roared; unlike the considerably weaker Ursa, it reposted her attack, and from above, sent its jaundice stinger to punish her assault. Axe heads sprung either sides of the barrels of Raider's second gun, and pointing it to the sky, caught the stinger between its double-bitted cleft. The stinger rested heavy, strained, and tediously held by the indomitable spirit of teenage stupidity.
Raider repositioned the gun pinned to the Death Stalker's mouth to kiss the ground; when the Grimm's claws encroached from either side, she fired, and was sprung above the pincers. There was only a moment of levitation, a single repose, before Raider fired into the Grimm's eyes: the recoil sent her backwards, and the beast, covered the smoke of smoldering shells, stayed hushed while Raider skidded to a backwards halt.
She smirked, and relishing her the grace of her display, popped the necks of her guns to load fresh cartridges into them. "Are you satisfied?" Calluna asked, now beside her, "for someone your size, I expected you to be stronger."
"What are you talking about? I—" Raider was interrupted by the Death Stalker's screech, and rather than angered, the chitinous monster rampaged towards them, merely embittered by Raider's assault.
"Just hit its face really hard. Really hard. Not enough to kill, it but enough to make it stop moving." Raider grimaced at the notion of taking orders—especially from him—but it just so happened that "hitting it really hard" was her plan anyways. Instead of snapping at him, she glared, and rushed forward, shot the ground behind her and rocketed over the Death Stalker's tongs; midair, she smashed the butts of her shotguns together locked them into place. A staff, conjoined shotguns, sprung axeheads from either side, and with the seismic prowess of a furious meteor, Raider struck Wolf Joint into the ground—right before front of the Death Stalker's head.
It collided face-first into the staff, screaming as it was forcefully halted and its latter half was reared into the air. Consequently, the Grimm's stinger overshot Raider and was slung far forward—right into a three-clawed gauntlet that clamped onto the bulbous appendage. A heavy cord was attached to the grapnel—and that cord was attached to Calluna's arm.
The one-horned Faunus wrenched the apparatus with such force—such sheer intensity—the carapace'd Grimm was pulled tail-over-eyes onto its back with a landing so thunderous it crumbled clay from the canyon walls. The Grimm writhed and flailed with all the venom in its aberrant anatomy; but, as Raider realized, it was clearly immobilized, and its unarmored underbelly was exposed to the sky—perfect to attack.
The wolf drew her weapon from the ground and grinned upon the upturned giant: the backend of the staff blasted off and sent her spiraling into the air. At her apex, a second shot sent her hurdling into the Death Stalker's unprotected neck, Raider's downward fury transfixing clean through to its shell. The impact burst the life from the Death Stalker's eyes, and as Raider rent her weapon from the monster's throat, the throes of its seizure'd legs ceased to prevail.
Raider hopped from the body, weapon slung over her shoulder, a triumphant soldier. With a toothy smirk, she patted her weapon, looked to Calluna, and said:
"Wolf Joint."
"What?"
"Wolf Joint."
"Like an elbow or knee?"
"Like this weapon, idiot," Raider growled with all the animalistic grace of the animal of the ligament for which she named her weapon.
"Because it combines at a joint?"
"And because I'm a Wolf Faunus."
"That's a terrible name."
As she stalked up to Calluna, Raider snapped her weapons apart and holstered them across her back. "Oh, yeah? What's your weapon's name?"
"Desvult's Elegy."
It was one the greatest names she'd ever heard. Even in the ears of someone whose interests were typically not etymology, the auditory dynamics inexplicably appealed to her. But, unable to concede, Raider was forced into a rather banal diversion:
"How did you know that would work? The whole flippy thingy, I mean."
"That's how I killed the last one." Calluna turned from Raider, evidently disinterested, and continued through the gorge; whether what he said was true or not, Raider was feeling her prospects of command slip away; with little authoritative ground left, she was forced to refute him.
"You did not kill a Death Stalker yourself."
"Why would I lie to you?"
"Because you're acting like you're the leader." Calluna raised a brow, outwardly confused. "I'm the leader," she growled, thumbing her chest.
"Neither of us are. Yet." As much as she wished to, Raider couldn't logically condemn his deliberate efforts to stoke her; however, he'd done enough to aggravate her emotionally. Raider stepped forwards, and a good head taller than him, peered down at her purple-haired partner.
"You know what you're doing."
Calluna made no effort to feign ignorance of his tactics. Instead, he dismissed the accusation, and turned, but as he did, Raider firmly gripped his wrist; it was enough to restrain his movement, and it seemed Calluna knew wouldn't be escaping without invoking the childish violence he'd so-far attempted to bait Raider into committing. The standoff, it seemed, was merely between Raider's ego and Calluna's arrogance—Raider didn't intend to fight, and as it seemed, neither did Calluna—and so they stood, perfectly still—until they heard screaming.
When Calluna tugged, Raider released, expression full of permissions implicit of authority. "Let's go," she said, and as Calluna barreled deeper into the canyon, Raider kept stride with him, withheld capacity to outvie him mutually clear.
Again, the scream was heard, and as they followed its source: a panicked student, hair like ink with a tuft of white on her bangs, legs stuck within a crevice at the bottom of a wide valley. "Hyrda! Hydra! Get me out of here now!" she cried out, struggling to free herself. Raider and Calluna failed to see the urgency until—from the caves and burrows littering the valley—crawled Grimm by scores. "Hydra? Hydra, where are you?"
By that time, Raider was already bounding into the ravine, guns out, and with the blades that sprung from their barrels, striking down the Grimm she crossed. "Hold on!" When she reached the precariously positioned girl, Raider offered her a hand, as gracious as she was quick to take hold; Raider held her firmly and pulled.
"Stop! Stop!" the girl cried, and evidently, her knee was stuck by scabrous and crooked juts. "It's not coming loose—"
"Well, what am I supposed to do?"
"Be a good girl and chip away the ground with your axes-gun things!"
"And what? Cut your leg off while I'm at it?"
"If you're blind maybe; if you're careful, I'll be fine."
Raider grimaced at the invading Grimm, swarms accumulating into an imminent assault. "Calluna!" she called, "Cover me!" Kneeling, Raider took her weapon by the barrel, and as industrious as she was delicate, worked away the ensnaring rock.
"Behind you!" yelped the girl; swinging her gun across her neck, Raider fired and blew clean through the chest of a Beowulf. Initially, Raider was appalled by how close the Grimm had come to putting its claws upon her—she then realized that Calluna was nowhere to be found, and more Grimm would soon be upon her.
"Calluna!" Raider shouted, shedding an incessant and aimless fusillade, "Calluna! Get out here! Calluna!" Grimm were plucked from their animalistic existence, bodies tumbling over snaggy jags and ridges. "Calluna! Calluna!" It was hopeless: there were too many Grimm to fight, and as the unfortunate Raider vainly continued to shoot, slash, and bash, she came to realize the helplessness derived from Calluna's absence—and that he likely planned it. With no time to anger or fume, Raider shouted, "Yes! Fine! You win! You lead! Just…help me!"
The valley's brim shattered into a maelstrom: boulders and rubble, in a cloud of dust and strife, consumed the hordes of Grimm, devouring all it came upon, and as it would seem, Raider and her damsel. A canister arched over the pair—and as the earthen storm was drew near—landed, and combusted: but it was no conventional explosion. In its a wake formed a large, stone barrier that the landslide vainly sputtered its rocky torrent against. From one side, it seemed as if the Grimm were thwarted; the other, however, was rife with crusading monsters.
Calluna, atop the ridge's rim, stood, right arm out: the cord was strung to a boulder beside him, and with a gentle pull, the boulder rolled down the slope, pulverizing any Grimm it crossed. As it neared the valley's pit, Calluna reared the cord tethering the boulder and, like a pendulum, it's roll curved, arching through the gorge's breadth. It trampled any Grimm that dared to cross its wake, which, by mere minutes, had been every single one.
Calluna let go of the boulder, and it flung to one side, colliding with a small bluff and coming to a shattered halt. The one-horn, retracted his claw, once again cloaked the prosthetic weapon beneath a shroud of purple. Raider stared from below, befuddled, and amidst a graveyard of sable corpses slain by Calluna's machinations.
"That was... magnificent!" Another unfamiliar—with the emerald eyes of an adder or viper—sprung through the gully and up to Raider and her companion. Similarly, though visibly less amused, Calluna trotted towards the duo.
"Hydra! Where the hell have you been?" shouted the girl, leg still submerged in rock.
"Relax, Duna," eased the green-eyes, "one-horn over here told me just how to help you, and clearly, it worked—really well." The corvine girl looked curiously between Calluna and Hydra; Raider, just the same, was surprised the two had already acquainted. When she looked to her partner, Raider was met with unforgiving eyes, and unable to remit such staggering weakness, shied from his stare. It was a wordless sentence, one made mortally clear by Calluna's manipulative prowess: 'you are inferior.'
"Oh, well, thank you then." Duna smiled and then said to Raider, "though if you wouldn't mind finishing the job…"
"Right." Raider resumed her chore to erode Duna free. "What happened to you guys anyways?"
"Ah, what a humorous tale." Hydra chuckled; his partner only shook her head. "We were heading from the airship—"
"You already made it to the airship?" Raider interrupted.
"We both jumped within a proximity to last."
"I actually did jump last," Duna interjected.
"Anyways, we'd just turned back when Duna tossed her weapon into the ravine."
Immediately, Calluna and Raider looked upon Duna with bizarre assessment; Duna, indignant, rebutted Hydra's statement. "You were the one who dropped it."
"You were the one who threw it—"
"You were the one who wanted to play catch!"
"Anyways—again—" Hydra continued—"she slipped and became trapped. I heard screaming but he halted me and devised better plan. I mean, I would've attempted the same thing you did—try and go full hero to free her." And as Hydra mentioned, Duna wrenched her leg from the carved-out crevice.
"Finally! Ah, that feels so much better." Duna stood and stretched, wiping the copious soot from her trench coat, "Thanks—"
"Raider," she said, standing and dusting her pants, "Raider Ulfolk."
"Dashing name for a dashing hero," Duna gleamed, and by that simple comment, Raider was somewhat restored by such trifling admiration. Satisfied with her heroism, Raider smugly slung her weapon across her back.
"If you think so." Raider coyly smiled, and immediately Calluna intervened.
"Calluna Oldspell."
"I'm Hydra Petralgama." Without permission, he disheveledly shook Calluna's hand and consequently disheveled Calluna. "That planning was fantastic. Really."
The one-horn blinked, stepped from Hydra, and deflected thusly: "Don't you still need to return the fragment? You don't want to lose your lead, do you?"
Hydra, unperturbed by Calluna's blatant callus, beamed and pulled Duna towards him. "As sharp as always, Luna—"a nickname Raider took note to frequently employ—"I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't stepped in."
"The crash site is about ten minutes northeast of here," Duna told Raider, "so you must've covered some legit ground since you jumped first. Do you run a lot or something?"
"Alright, alright." Hydra shoved Duna in the direction away from Raider and Calluna. "We get it, Duna. Come on. Let's go." Duna shook her head, waved, and began a jog; Hydra grinned at Calluna and Raider, wiped a shock of gray bangs from his face, and followed.
Once they were gone, Calluna began walking—not in the direction Duna had advised.
"Where are you going?" Raider asked, "That's the wrong way."
"I'm going to the pickup zone."
"Without the scrap metal?"
"With the scrap metal." Calluna held up his claw, and clutched between the three digits was a warped piece of glittering steel. Raider lunged and snatched it from the grapnel, scouring it, and incredulously assessing its legitimacy.
"How the—"
"I took it when I first met Hydra."
"Are you kidding me?"
"You're not going to entreat me to return it, are you?" As dishonest as it was, Raider was in awestruck disbelief at Calluna's situational finesse; it was a demonstration what his plots had to offer without assistance, and as he intended, Raider pondered what feats they could accomplish under his reign. It was unfortunate she could comfortably assume a role of power, but if Calluna would so successfully and forcefully assert himself, Raider would begrudgingly conced.
"Sadly," she sighed, "no."
Afterword: Now please comment and review if you like. I intended to release the next chapter over the next few weeks. One or two a week... kind of like the actual RWBY. There's actually very little overlap so you can enjoy this isolated event as if it really happened in Remnant! Yup, we've got some wacky characters here! Okay, well, I'll just, um, leave now.