Jäger Chapter Twenty-Seven: Bloodshed
Hello again! New chapter, only want to give a heads up, this chapter might be a bit bloody/brutal. Anyways, enjoy!
The lonely White Fang sentry crouches on the roof of her warehouse hideout. Below her, also guarding the eastern doorway, a tiger Faunus cradles his dust-powered assault rifle. It had been a nerve-racking twenty-four hours, but yet they must still be on their guard. Come morning, they would disperse into smaller groups, and continue to lie low until whatever the next phase of the plan is to start.
The female hedgehog Faunus raises a hand over her mouth, trying to suppress the yawn that escapes. Suddenly, a bloody gurgle makes a surprise follow-up as a long metal blade pierces between two of her neck vertebras and emerging through her throat. Her last though: I should have stayed in bed. A wet snapping sound soon follows as the unknown assailant snaps the damaged neck of the dying terrorist. Her limp body is then dragged by the armpits further towards the center of the roof.
Having removed the bayonet knife, the Jäger crouches down as he approaches the edge, his suppressor-equipped revolver at the ready. His stealth semblance constantly being activated, a cruel smirk twists his lips slightly as a flash of light rips through the inky black night. 'How perfect,' He thinks silently, thunder causing the sentry below him to look slightly upwards as drops of water being to fall down. The Jäger doesn't move, waiting for the doomed terrorist to look back downwards. When that happens, he moves forward once again.
The next time the sky lights up with lightening, the Jäger strikes once more. Leaping down like a shadow, he presses the end of the suppresser mounted to his seven-shot revolver against the back of the Faunus's head. He squeezes the trigger just as the accompanying rumble of thunder arrives. The already-muffled report of the revolver is completely hidden to the occupants inside the warehouse by the thunder.
The body of the surprised White Fang grunt stiffens briefly as the 7.62mm lead bullet enters through the back of his skull, cleaving through the bone and separating grey brain tissue, before finally carving out a rough hole through the forehead of the terrorist, slightly cracking the Grimm-shaped mask. No shell casing hits the ground due to the fact that the firearm is a revolver, and the Jäger deftly catches the fresh corpse with one arm. As the rain slowly begins to increase its intensity, he drags the eliminated sentry to the side of the doorway.
Just as he straightens up after dumping the corpse, however, the west door opens, and a single grunt walks out, a coat with a hood covering his torso. A sword dangles from belt by his hip as he looks around.
"Mike? Where are you? We're switchin posts, so find Becky and get your asses inside. Mike?" The tortoise Faunus asks, stepping further into the now-pouring rain. The metal door closes softly behind him, and the Jäger glides closer to the newest of tonight's victims. Meanwhile, despite the mask covering the upper portion of his face, the White Fang member is clearly growing more and more nervous by the second.
"Mike? This isn't very funny, you know! Where the he—"
Hell, indeed.
With another squeeze of the trigger, the hammer hits the firing pin. When said device hits the center of the bottom of the chambered round, the gunpowder, which is not the black powder the Jäger uses with his self-built single-shot rifle, is ignited. The expanding gas pushes the lead bullet through the barrel. The suppressor slows down the gas, however, to reduce the noise. Jake's revolver releases out a quiet pop as the second bullet finally emerges from the muzzle.
A wet popping sound swiftly follows up as said lead projectile enters right through the left eyes, a cloud of blood erupting as the bullet bursts out through the back of the head, then proceeding to tear a hole through the hood. Jake grunts softly as he finally begins his approach towards the door. Opening it up slightly, he sees the back of a single grunt facing him. After double-checking to see if there are any other comrades nearby that he is aware off, he pushes the door open cautiously, creeping towards the terrorist.
Like a coiled viper, the Jäger lunges forward, knife drawn in a reverse grip, pistol briefly holstered. His free hand clamps down firmly over the mouth, cutting off the shocked cry of his victim. Pressing the sharpened edge to the exposed throat, Jake doesn't bat an eye as he swiftly presses down and cuts through the flesh, severing the jugular in a jagged manner to make for a faster bleed-out. Within a few moments the spasms stop, and the Jäger tosses the corpse onto the wet ground outside.
Looking to his right, Jake almost curses as he turns around to see a stunned White Fang grunt facing him. Upholstering his revolver, Jake fires the all five remaining rounds into his body. Three hit the center of his chest, a fourth in the throat, while the fifth and final round goes right between the eyes. As luck would have it, another low rumble of thunder echoes throughout the building just as the bullet-ridden corpse hits the ground.
After once again double-checking to make sure no one else has seen him just yet, Jake makes his way silently over to a thick column, pressing his back against it upon reaching it. He pops out the now-empty cylinder from his revolver, placing the piece of metal that still contains the seven empty shell casings into a cloth pocket in the make-shift belt he was carrying. Carefully, he then proceeds to withdraw a fresh one, making sure to not drop it. Once placing it into the proper area, the Jäger then cocks the hammer, readying a fresh round.
Both weapons now ready, Jake peaks out from the side of the column, examining the rest of the warehouse swiftly. In addition to somewhere between seventy-five and a hundred White Fang operatives, the central area of the warehouse/hideout has several large Dust containers. While the metal crates are of the military kind, in that they were bullet-proof, he and the others would still have to be as careful as possible with checking their fire once the attack starts.
In addition, the Jager is unable to see if the unaware terrorists have anything heavier than Dust-powered assault rifles in their inventory. Moving back to cover, Jake makes sure that the hood on his tattered cloak is covering enough of his face to make sure it is hidden. While he doubts that there are any cameras inside the building, and even if there were the group already had it covered in the plan for after wiping out the terrorist cell, he had not gotten this far in life by being so reckless.
After all, this attack wouldn't be linked to either the lone member of Team JÄGER or the shadowy group he leads in secret. Ironwood might point his finger at him while lobbing accusations, but as long as enough goes according to the plan, the general cannot do much else beyond being sullen and moody like always.
'Show time' Jake thinks to himself as he steps out into the open, in clear view from the southern windows. The dozens of stunned White Fang members watch silently for a few minutes, unsure of just what the hell they should do. Finally, a lynx Faunus stands up, a sword in one hand, and a snub-nosed machine pistol in the other. 'Probably one of the high-ranking officers present,' Jake idly muses to himself.
"Hey, drop your weapons right now!"
At the same time as the terrorist shouts out the demand, the glass behind him shatters as a loud boom goes off. This time, Jake knows that it isn't thunder from the storm. The window directly behind the Faunus shatters. The head explodes, leaving only the bloodied lower jaw and downwards intact. Several of the nearby grunts are splattered by the red and grey gore caused by the 13.2mm steel-cored bullet. A second round craves a gaping hole through the armpits of another.
By this point, all hell breaks loose. White Fang terrorists start to scatter in small groups, heading to one of the three doorways, or for a minority, charging the only visible attacker: the Jäger, who remains out in the open, raising the arm that holds the revolver. Five of the grunts that are armed with assault rifles lead a charge towards the western door behind him. With his typical coolness, the Jäger shifts his arm slightly to the left, stopping once the iron sights of the revolver are matched up with the center of the body of the farthest-most terrorist.
The gun bucks slightly as the firing pin kicks off the internal combustion of the bullet's propellants. The first bullet makes a clean exit wound, causing only a fine mist of blood to erupt at either exit holes for only a brief moment. With a second squeeze of the trigger after once again shifting his aim, a second terrorist collapses like a puppet whose strings had been severed while in mid-motion. Thrice more this is casually repeated with lethal results.
With howls of anger, three more hog terrorists charge toward the Jäger, with each armed with a sword. Once again with practiced ease, Jake drops the grunt on either side of the leader, readying his knife to deal with the sole survivor. Said White Fang member charges forward with a howl, her sword raised overhead.
Like a statue, the combat veteran doesn't even blink at the clumsy attack. Instead, the Jäger side-steps the blow, while at the same time, he lashes out with his bayonet. Unlike his opponent, whose blind anger for vengeance helped result in the missed strike, his hits home.
A shower of blood hits the ground, and some of the now-gutted terrorist's guts hang loosely. A second stab to the heart is his mercy blow. Wiping clean the gore from his blade, Jake deftly swaps out the empty cylinder for a fresh one for his revolver as the rest of his comrades begin to show up.
"Follow me!" A very short but muscular tiger Faunus shouts, gesturing towards the northern doorway. Upon hearing those famous words that many a soldier has found inspiring in the midst of combat, a number of nearby grunts join him as he moves forward. Sadly, it is all for naught.
Coming to a complete halt, the masked tiger terrorist looks up, his ears pinned back in fear, at the inhuman-looking, masked figure before him. His comrades also come to a complete halt, unsure of what to do about this latest addition to the attack. While they cannot see it, Lena grins beneath her facial protection. The smile one would see is not one with warmth, however, instead being as cold as an arctic winter breeze.
"Looking for the exit, luvs?" The sugary-fake tone is distorted by the thick, leather gas mask and respirator. With astonishing speed, Lena fires two shots in the center of the chest of the tiger Faunus. With the other hand, she slams the round, simple head of the all-metal club onto the center of the skull of a goat Faunus nearby. Smashing through the bone, she holsters her pistol and club before grabbing the projector of her main weapon.
With a terrifying whoosh, a stream of burning gel is hurled into the stunned crowd of terrorists. Weapons clatter to the ground as anguished howls fill the air. The horrid sight of burning bodies, some of them vainly trying to roll on the ground or outside in the rain to dampen the hellish blaze, along with the sickening, retching smell of burnt flesh and hair, is one that the squad leader is (sadly) used to. Once she sees that the entire group has been doused in her hellish blaze, she quickly shuts off the streams of flame. While it is extremely powerful against organic foes, there are two major disadvantages with it. The first is the relatively short range, though this is not much of a problem when inside a building like this. The second issue is the relatively short use of sustained use in a battle, her backpack being able to carry only a limited quantity of the gel.
Another crowd of a dozen terrorists, mostly armed with swords or clubs this time, though a few do carry Dust-powered machine pistols, rushes forward, intent on using their larger numbers to swarm and overwhelm the woman. Said person simply sighs, one of her hands moving towards her belt. Unclipping one of the metal canisters that dangle, she pulls the pin before throwing it at the oncoming attackers. Bouncing off of the head of one of the leading figures, the object is slightly overhead of the center of the group before exploding.
Instead of a massive wave of shrapnel, like one of the grenades belonging to the other members of her squad, however, another wave of burning gel is splattered over the unfortunate beings. Just like moments earlier, they drop their weapons and scatter, attempting to put out the agonizing burning sensation in what quickly proves to be futile efforts once again. In the meantime, Lena silently walks amongst the flames. The heat doesn't bother her thanks to the thick uniform. She merely keeps the projector part of the flamethrower at the ready,
At the direct opposite side of the warehouse, a sickening crunch echoes in the doorway as Rouille's long-shafted mace makes direct contact with the mask (and by extension, skull) of the leading terrorist of a group of roughly two dozen. Trying to strike the warrior from behind, another of Strelok's heavy-caliber bullets puts a swift end to the attempt.
Meanwhile, the other terrorists that try to block the seemingly-random mace strikes are suddenly startled by the surprising grace the armored being has in dodging. A cow Faunas is sent flying upwards with a broken jaw and neck, followed almost instantly by the collapse of a massive moose terrorist, whose antlers have been broken off, along with a shattered skull.
Suddenly, the sound of small-arms fire goes off right in front of him. Gripping his stomach in pain, the terrorist that has just been shot collapses to the ground. Smoke rises from Rouille's forty-five-caliber revolver for a brief moment before he thumbs the hammer back and fires again. Soon a total of six grunts each have a fatal bullet wound either in the gut, the chest, or the head. Demoralized, the survivors start to break, allowing for the mace-wielder and lone-wolf sniper to pick them off with pathetic ease with his mace.
Another group of Faunus terrorists ready themselves to burst out of the doorway at the eastern end of the building when suddenly the door slams inward. At that exact moment, a flash of lightening illuminates the one responsible, which to the terrified grunts is a nightmarish one: a massive, armored man who is equipped with some sort of machine gun. Before they can do anything, however, the person before them squeezes the trigger for his weapon.
A rapid burst of gunfire fills the area as brass shell casings start to hit the floor after being ejected from the bottom of heavy, water-cooled machine gun. 7.92mm lead bullets, with the occasional tracer round, dances out of the barrel into and through the bodies of the dozen-and-a-half Faunus terrorists. Their pain-filled screeches of terror are mercifully cut short as the many of those very bodies are mangled to the brink of being utterly unrecognizable. Only once the corpses either fall out of the storm of lead bullets, or for a few, the gun stops firing, do they stop their macabre dance, falling to the floor.
Two sword-wielding deer White Fang grunts jump out of their hiding spots to the left once the armored figure of Gonzo passes by, having missed them while mowing down their comrades. Before they could get a chance to try to strike down the attacker, and thus avenge their fallen comrades-in-arms, one of them is suddenly thrown backwards as a cloud of red mist suddenly erupts from her chest, knocking over a stack of wooden boxes before the now-punctured body hits the ground.
"Not so fast, Bastardo," Fonzo warns as a thin cloud of smoke finishes dissipating from the left barrel of his twin-submachine gun. "So, how much are you feeling lucky, punk?"
The clang of steel is his answer, as the simple metal sword slips through the now-numb fingers of the stunned, surviving antlered terrorist. Fonzo merely shrugs his shoulders ever so slightly. Then he squeezes the trigger for the right gun.
With a sharp and rapid report, the entire 25-round magazine of nine millimeter bullets is exhausted. Fonzo then removes the two, now-empty, magazines as he walks over the growing pool of blood, following his taller and more muscular brother as he reloads his unique firearm. Once that is finished, he keeps his eyes out for any threats Gonzo might have missed, in addition to mowing down the occasional straggler attempting to escape the slaughterhouse that was once a secretive and secure White Fang safe house.
Soon the noise and other sounds of fighting decrease and then fade. The attackers, minus the silent and loner sniper, meet up in the center. Still high on adrenaline, Rouille lets out a grunt. "This was no battle," the berserker says in his typical accent. Jake nods in agreement.
"I completely agree. This was more of a massacre. Squad Leader Brown, are we ready?" Lena nods her head rapidly.
"Yes sir!"
"Fonzo, Gonzo, get those Dust containers open! Lena, Rouille, prepare to toss one of those incendiary grenades into one of them. We are burning this place to the ground. Let's move it!" Jake shouts, sheathing his bayonet and holstering his revolver at the same time. Lena tosses one of her grenades to her commanding officer and her melee specialist comrade each. Meanwhile, the Verde brothers open the three major Dust containers, revealing each to be at least half-full of high-quality explosive Dust.
Without any more words, the grenades are thrown into Dust, and the five members of the Order of the Shrikes of the Mournful Dawn swiftly exit the warehouse, just as Lena's explosive go off. Only a few minutes go by before the sound of sirens are heard, a clear indication of the imminent arrival of the undoubtedly beleaguered emergency services of the city of Vale. This means it is time to split up and leave now.
Jake turns and looks at his comrades, nodding his still-hooded head once in proud acknowledgement. "Good work. Get Strelok and head back to Junior's club. Keep a low profile for now. I will be in touch soon." Then he departs, his semblance active once again as he begins to move subtly back to Beacon Academy. It will be at least mildly interesting to see how or if the local authorities will explain what they think has happened here tonight. Regardless, only one thing really matters in the mind of the Jäger at the moment.
This is but the first of many strikes against Salem and her pawns. His war has now truly begun, and more blood shall be spilt on these streets and so many other places throughout Remnant.
And done! Sorry for the unexpected long wait, but I am still (somewhat slowly, I am sad to say) trying to get a proper updating schedule while still focusing enough on my college studies. In addition, I am working on making these chapters longer (such as going back to a planned minimum of at least 2500-3000 words, and hopefully will soon be pushing that number back up to at least 5,000 like I did for a great many chapters in the last non one-shot story I completed. Now, as to updates I am planning on a new chapter no later than by the end of this month. Again, thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read this story, and feel free to leave your thoughts, comments, reviews, or other such things down below, and have a great day! See you next update! Next chapter: Of Mornings and Headaches