CHAPTER 3 – Cometh the Storm
'Cold...'
The sensation was all encompassing.
No light.
Not darkness. Nothing.
No sounds.
Not silence. Nothing.
Just the cold.
And nothing else.
The only sense of self here was the sensation of frost biting the edges of his shape.
Before long even that left him.
Nothing more than a numbed amorphous mass of possibility with no definition.
Adrift in a shapeless abyss where everything could be anything because there was nothing at all.
It was the worst part of the visions.
This sensation of everything that makes one real leaving him.
Every time he experienced it, he repressed it, thus was the nightmare always fresh.
Now there was something new.
Recognition.
The sensation of 'once before.'
He had been here.
Felt this.
A bargain.
Fear.
A second chance.
Fear…
All he had to do was become something else-
Fear.
-and find his way back.
Fear?
'No.'
There was thought. There was instinct.
The two were all he had in this place.
He'd ran from thought before.
Was that instinct to flee so different from the Hunger?
/\/\/\
There are few states weaker than to be blinded and deafened, this the Young Wolf knew.
The rain was coming down hard enough to blur the edge of the clearing through a curtain of water.
The staccato of droplets rang a constant din against the shack's tin roof.
His strength and agility were his last remaining advantages.
Given time even they would slowly ebb away as the night wore on.
The night's chill had been amplified to frigidity from the rainwater coating the bone of his armor and fur of his pelt.
Were another pack of Grimm to find them… were humans to find them… the Young Wolf would not win.
Not alone. Not in a state such as this, without his mentor's leadership and with disadvantages so numerous.
The Old Bear rustled in his sleep, fitful from the vision-dreams he endured, and did this remind the Young Wolf of his focused intent.
Ember red eyes peered through the misting haze of the autumn storm as if the will behind them could cut the rain.
'To die protecting… tis not a bad end, I think.'
/\/\/\
"Some weather, eh?" Qrow said offhanded and jestingly to Scarlatina with a gesture to the sky.
Words, much less their sentiment, were not returned.
Qrow took a deep breath and put on the set of night vision goggles Port had given him and, as a personal distraction, noted how the fuzz of the night vision made him see streaks behind the raindrops.
He did his best to avoid looking at Scarlatina. He couldn't afford to further fuel the woman's ire by scrutinizing her.
Doing so would only embolden her as she'd grown suspicious and far too much so for his liking.
If Port noticed the tension, it was masked well behind his mustache, goggles, and unrepentant enthusiasm as he rifled through the equipment in his pack to prepare.
Qrow did contemplate that for a second. This was one of the biggest days of Peter's life, said life being one he'd dedicated that latter half of studying the mysteries of the enigmatic horrors that are Grimm.
'…if this works out then he and his wife are not going to shut the fuck up about it for months.'
He let the mundanity of the complaint carry his mind away from overfocusing on the stress, thinking of Port telling an exaggerated story of their success to his nieces tomorrow and letting the warmth from that thought settle in his chest.
'Keep that light alive, Branwen. Give it fuel.'
Qrow pulled a well-worn flask from a pocket lining the inside of his heavy jacket, which he was rather glad he'd worn tonight, and took a deep drought of liquid courage.
The action was mechanically fluid, a muscle memory as deeply ingrained as his martial prowess from repetitive use.
With an appreciative wince from the burn of the spirits he returned the flask to the pocket, hefted his sword back from one shoulder to the other and looked to Port's green tinged form with his augmented gaze.
"We ready to go?" Qrow asked gruffly.
Peter Port removed a pair of concave industrial looking metal disks from his pack, inspecting a series of equidistant flanges along the edge of each before passing one to Meg, whom accepted it warily.
He nodded approvingly with a fierce grin, and though none could see them, wild eyes, "As ready as we can be, Mr. Branwen. Contact Anne and let her know to prepare for our arrival. Let it begin."
Qrow nodded and made eye contact with Meg, "Alright. Earpieces in. I'm giving the go order."
/\/\/\
Anne Greene looked down from her rifle's night vision scope to the digital watch on the back of her wrist, scowling at it before resuming her observation of the shack from the canopy of the trees encircling the clearing.
She would do her job, do it well, and do it without complaining.
Thus, she reasoned, the Brothers themselves couldn't begrudge her being a tad impatient to get out of this autumn downpour by getting said job on the Gods damned road.
Just as she was about to permit herself a sneer that none would witness nestled as she was in the branches out of sight, her earpiece crackled to life, "This is Qrow. Team is beginning approach. Standby for further orders. Acknowledge."
The lines of late middle age on Anne's face upturned from disdain into a small, vicious smile that sent a chill through the rain itself that none save Gods would know of.
"This is Anne. Roger that."
/\/\/\
Grit of dirt.
Cold enveloped him once more.
'Again.'
The human's final moments played out.
He had lost count of how many times he had dove back into the sensations.
He did not notice each repetition bringing greater definition to his form.
He existed in the nothingness between visions knowing only an insatiable lust for understanding.
'Again.'
The Axman was a warrior.
The Axman died defending a village.
'Again.'
The attackers bore armor and intent.
They came from lands beyond the sea.
To them the Axman knew only contempt.
'Again…'
The Axman died again.
His body broken and bleeding.
He died with regret.
He closed his eyes for the last time with an agony that transcended pain.
'Why?'
The Axman shouted to a boy with a sword.
The Swordboy hesitated in place.
The Axman roared at him.
The Swordboy ran.
In the abyss man spoke to beast with words the living cannot know.
'To protect him did I stay to die.'
08/?/2022 Post Chapter Blurb (I didn't start dating things until later, this is a guess.)
When I wrote the final line I went, "Okay, no. I have to cut the chapter there."
Agh this is… what? The sixth draft of this chapter? I scrapped one for about every month it took me to post this so, uh, enjoy.
Criticism is expected and anticipated as always.