A World of Wild Wild Evolution

by erttheking

Life in Remnant is about to change. Courier number 6 investigates something wrong at the isolated Big Mountain research facility and has his life turned upside down. Inspired by Light at the End by BlindingPhoenix

7. The Die is Cast (Non-Canon)

Please note that this chapter is no longer considered canon and was declared non-canon due to poor quality. Passing Under The Yoke is the canon replacement for this chapter.

Chapter 7

The Die is Cast

XXXXX

Servius leaned out from around cover and fired all six shots of his revolver. After the Hanged Woman's counter-attack, equal parts dishonorable and effective, the profligates had lost a good portion of their rank and file.

"COME ON COCKPUSSIES!" Rumford roared as he walked forward, not bothering to seek cover and firing non-stop from his machine-gun. "Is that the best you faggots can do!?" Foolishness and bravery were two sides of the same coin, but even Servius had to grudgingly admit that Rumford was standing strong in the face of the enemy, much like a true legionary would. Nothing else about him fit the definition of a legionary though, he was holding the gun by the barrel for starters. If he hadn't recently been blessed with Aura, he would have burnt his hand beyond the point of healing by now.

But Servius had more important things to care about. Rumford was advancing while he was only holding his ground. That wouldn't do. There was no way he would allow himself to be seen as more cowardly than Rumford. Reloading his revolver, he drew his machete in his left hand. Steeling himself, he let out the strongest cry of "RETRIBUTION!" that he could, before turning the corner and charging forward. Again and again, he screamed the legionary battle cry, firing his revolver as he went. He saw all of the Legion's enemies that were laid before him, but he looked for the greatest one of all, Barca.

The profligates of Remnant were a secondary concern as far as Servius was concerned. He would slay them if given a chance, but felling Barca here would be the greatest victory the Legion had won in years. But where was he? Where in the name of Mars had he gone? He had been at the front of the enemy advance, he hadn't been in the vanguard so much as he had been the enemy's vanguard. As much as he hated to admit it, Barca, like Rumford, was no coward. Even so, he was now nowhere to be seen. Fine. He would carve his way through the ranks of the profligates until he found their champion. It was better that way, victory over Barca would be properly earned.

The Hanged Woman had decimated the majority of the Atlesian soldiers, but there were still a few left. One was firing desperately at the advancing legionaries and Faunus from a narrow alleyway. The position of their ambush had been chosen carefully, a very narrow street with only a few ways out, not enough for all of the Atlesian forces to flee at once. He would flush out one of the only hiding holes they had left.

He adjusted his charge, making sure not to hug the wall of the neighboring house too closely, doing so would reduce the area in which he could maneuver. The soldier spotted him and shifted his aim, firing on Servius. At least a dozen bullets hit his chest, his newly awakened Aura soaking them up. Even though a dull ache of pain still accompanied the impact, Servius felt elated. These were radical new heights the Legion was scaling to, and they were about to help him achieve his first kill in this world. His heart pounded in excitement. He had only killed twice before now, a mercenary and an NCR trooper, this would be his third kill. The Atlesian continued to fire, only for his weapon to run dry. Servius sucked in a breath, he was almost there, his blade was ready.

But just before he got there, he felt something streak by his head and the chest of the Atlesian exploded in a shower or blood and eviscerated muscle. He collapsed to the ground, spasming uncontrollably as he descended into shock. "Move faster next time, bitch!" Rumford called from behind him. Servius wheeled around to see the ex-Fiend smiling smugly at him, before turning his weapon and firing in another direction. Furious and fighting down the urge to attack Rumford, Severus looked for a new target.

It wasn't easy, the battle had quickly devolved into chaos. Men wearing the armor of the White Fang were trading fire with the few surviving Atlesian soldiers, while fighters on both sides with active Aura engaged each other. One Faunus leaped up to the side of the wall, a cruel-looking ax in his hand, and jumped down, aiming at one of the surviving soldiers. He was interrupted mid-plunge by a woman in a white uniform slamming into his side, a strange white rune surrounding her and a saber thrusting into the Faunus's stomach. They both went flying onto a lower rooftop where they both landed, the woman neatly and the Faunus clumsily, and began to trade blows.

Fights like this were happening all over, warriors with their abilities elevated to the supernatural were fighting a dozen different individual battles. With bright armor and clothing that struck the eye, the natives were wielding unimaginable weapons and met their foes with force that would have brought even the Legate to his knees, some of them moving too fast for him to follow. As if to emphasize this, girl in surprisingly Legion-like armor smashed through the side of a building as she rammed a Faunus and went out of sight, to the slow and grinding, and another girl swung a massive pink hammer at Ancus, clashing with his super-sledge.

For the briefest of moments, he paused. So many legionaries, particularly Rumford, would say that women were weak and terrible fighters. Yet, that clearly wasn't true. A girl, younger than even Servius, was matching Ancus blow for blow. And Servius had already seen first hand how deadly a woman could be in combat. He forced himself not to think about the multi-armed monster. Yet so many legionaries thought them weak. Why?

He could understand keeping them off the battlefield, the Legion needed its next generation of warriors, but that was out of necessity more than innate inferiority. It had to be a misunderstanding. Caesar would never declare something like that, obviously someone had misinterpreted his words and Caesar would clarify it as soon as possible. He, in his wisdom, had simply seen that the future of the Legion could not be spent in costly battles, a wise choice. As capable as these women may be, they would be better off bearing children. Anyone could fight, only women could bear children, it was simply an allocation of talents. In fact, with abilities like that, these women would bear extremely strong legionaries. It was like Tullus had said. It wasn't pleasant, but it was needed.

All of this made sense, and yet he thought of what would come if the Legion was successful here. What would happen to the women that weren't slain? He swallowed. He told himself that it was for the good of the species. It was needed needed. Profligates are stupid, selfish people that only think about themselves. They only had to do this because they couldn't manage resources and form a stable society. They just consumed and squabbled among each other. They were like children.

He didn't feel any better.

His line of thought was broken when he saw something that lifted his spirits. A boy, around the same age as the two girls, looking around the battlefield nervously. He carried a massive mace, wore thick armor, and didn't seem sure what to do. "RETRIBUTION!" The boy's hand snapped in his direction as Servius charged again, blade and revolver both in front of him. Panicking, the Huntsman began to wind up his weapon far too early.

Servius thought fast. That thing would deal heavy damage to his aura if he took a direct hit, but he refused to abort his assault. He had to pull this off just right. Gritting his teeth in concentration, Servius maintained a straight path towards the boy, who was slowly backing up in fear. Then, just before he was within arm's reach, he darted to the side. The Huntsman had already started to bring his mace down, far too early, and he didn't have time to adjust. It buried itself in the ground, a massive explosion erupting from it. Impressive, but pointless if the boy couldn't hit his target.

Turning sharply, Servius found himself face to face with the Huntsman, who was still leaning over from his failed swing. Servius, with years of legionary training driving him, struck. A stab to the stomach followed up by a slash to the chest, and then an upward swing to the side. Just one of these blows would have been enough to fell a man without armor, but his foe's Aura held strong. Each blow buffeted the boy, forcing him back. His eyes were wide with fear, looking as if they would pop out of his head at any moment, and he swung his mace again, aiming to knock Servius's head off.

Barely seeing the movement in time, Servius ducked. The force of the weapon was close enough that it ruffled the top of his hair. Unable to swing properly from his crouched position, Servius took advantage of his other weapon. He fired two shots into the Huntsman's gut, earning a yelp that caused his foe to stumble back. Aiming high, fired a third shot directly at the boy's face. It hit home, with enough force to knock the off-balance Huntsman to the ground.

Euphoria pulsated through him. This was what it meant to fight. Man to man, weapon in hand, nothing else but strength, wit, and skill. Victory achieved not because you ambushed a foe or used trickery, but because you were better than them. And you proved it beyond all doubt. Standing up, Servius emptied his revolver into the prone boy. There were no signs of damage, but as the last shot hit, there was a shattering noise and a red haze appeared around the boy before breaking like glass. His Aura had shattered.

Victory was right in front of him. Servius dove, his machete aiming straight for his opponent's throat. He was inches away when the boy rolled to the side, Servius's blade burying itself in the ground up to the hilt as he missed. Servius turned to see where the boy had gone, just in time to see the mace swinging at him again. This one was too close to dodge. Pain, a dull pain but still pain, erupted on Servius chest as the mace hit him and threw him back into the wall. He could hear the wood and concentrate behind him splintered and crack.

Both fighters scrambled to their feet and took up fighting stances. Servius chastised himself. He had missed his chance to end this because he had gotten carried away. If he had just been patient for a few seconds, this boy would be dead. The boy looked around again, shouting at no one in particular. "Russell! Sky! Dove! Where are you!?"

He was calling for help. Mixed feelings raged inside Servius. On the one hand, this was proof that he was getting the better of this boy, that victory would soon be at hand and they both knew it. Servius couldn't help but be proud. On the other hand, he was acting like a profligate in the face of defeat. Calling for help like a sniveling coward.

Taking advantage of the Huntsman's hesitation, he slid open his revolver and hastily slid in six fresh rounds. He was about take the finishing shot when a creak of wood distracted him. A door to the side of the building he had crashed into was creaking open. A pair of terrified eyes were looking out. "Sky! Get out here and help me!" the Huntsman called.

Something inside of Servius snapped. Hiding. They were hiding.

Rage exploded inside of him. Cowards! COWARDS! The boy profligate fighting him, for all his fear, was still fighting him. But these ones? Unable to even defend their own people. Everything wrong with profligates, perfectly encapsulated. Willing to abandon the greater whole to save themselves. Not understanding that they could not survive without the whole. Short-sighted selfishness.

Servius made up his mind. Aiming low, he fired at his opponent's leg. There was a gush of blood and he collapsed to the ground, yelling in pain as he clutched his bleeding leg. That would do for now, Servius would get to him later.

Bringing his revolver to bear, he changed targets and fired at Sky, the hiding boy. He was so angry that his first shot missed by a wide margin, shattering a nearby window. Correcting his aim, he spotted the edge of the newcomer's leg and fired. There was a yelp and Sky, a young Huntsman with long gray hair and armor of the same color, tumbled out. A halberd clattered to the side, it evidently being Sky's weapon. He had dropped it after a single shot. Feeling his face twist with rage, Servius lowered his weapons. He wasn't going to sully them with this coward's blood.

Holstering both of them, he threw himself on top of Sky. Knocking him back after he had attempted to get up, Servius straddled the younger boy. He rained down blow after blow on the boy's face, who cried out in fear and feebly attempted to shield himself with his hands. It only made Servius even madder.

Grabbing one of Sky's wrists with both hands, Servius planted his foot on the upper arm before he began to twist. He could feel Sky's Aura protecting him, but it was feebler after having taken some blows. And he could feel it growing weaker as he put more strain on it. His anger compounded, both at how cowardly Sky had been and how his Aura was acting as an undeserved defense. He redoubled his efforts, his muscles screaming as he twisted the arm even harder.

Something gave, and Servius heard a loud, satisfying snap. Like with the other Huntsman, his Aura had shattered, leaving nothing to stop Servius snapping his arm. His right arm now hanging limply in Servius's grip, Sky began to wail. Blubbering, tears streaming down his face. Servius could only see red. His hands let go of Sky's arm, only to instead close around his neck. Sky's pathetic sobs were cut out to be replaced by choked gasps. Servius forgot about the world around him, all he could think about was snuffing out these pathetic noises.

He had to get the weak blood out of the species.

Sky's shallow, rattling breaths were growing shorter when he saw some movement out of the corner of his eye. The other Huntsman was lumbering towards him, dragging his leg behind him. Taking one hand off of Sky, he drew his revolver and aimed it at him. He froze mid-step, eyes locked on the weapon. Servius stared in disbelief, hesitating. He was going to stop mid-charge to stare at his weapon? He was that paralyzed by his own fear? "Coward," he hissed. "You're a disgrace." His finger tightened on the trigger.

He was halfway done when something hit him in the side of the head so hard that it sent him sprawling, his revolver discharging as he slid across the ground. Reeling from the blow, pushed himself onto his knees just in time to see a bronze shield flying away and into the hand of a girl with flowing, fiery red hair that was heading straight for him. Servius only needed a glance at her to tell that she was different. The sheer focus with which she was charging at him, the ironclad grip on the shield in one hand and the spear she had in the other, the steel to her eyes. This girl was an actual warrior, and she had chosen him as a foe.

Getting to his feet, Servius fired the remaining two shots he had in his revolver, but the girl's shield expected intercepted the shots. She was no novice. Very well then. If she was going to face him head on without fear, he would treat her with the respect she deserved. He wouldn't insult her with a death by bullet, she had earned a warrior's death via a blade. Holstering his revolver, he grabbed Sky's dropped halberd. The weapon was well crafted, he would give it a proper owner.

He quickly analyzed the situation. The girl's spear was shorter than his new halberd, it looked as if it was a throwing spear. The advantage in length was something he had to capitalize on. As she neared, he swung at her from the side where her spear arm was. If he had hit her from the other side, it would have been asking for the blow to be blocked. She was still able to block it, moving with speed and precision that veteran legionaries would have been jealous of, she pivoted on the spot and batted away the halberd with her shield.

Now that she had been forced to turn to the side, Servius dashed forward, slamming the brunt of the halberd's pole into the girl. However, she was quick to react, and once again his blow was blocked by a shield. Glaring at him with intense hatred, the Huntress went on the offensive, stabbing at his gut thrice with her spear. Servius felt as if the air had almost been knocked out of him and he staggered back, clutching his stomach. The girl flicked her spear and it transformed, folding in on itself and forming a rifle, which she fired at once.

Another impact to the gut caused Servius to double over, gasping for breath. He didn't know how much punishment his Aura could take before it broke, but this girl would reach it before long at this rate. Hating himself, he dropped the halberd and drew his L.A.E.R., reminding himself that this action had Caesar's blessing as he did. The girl seemed to be taken aback by Servius's quick recovery, and he managed to score a few direct hits on her. He promised himself that this would only be a stopgap measure and that he would end the battle properly with a bladed weapon. The blue lasers of the L.A.E.R. hit her in the torso, forcing her to take a step back before she could get her shield up.

Still firing his weapon, Servius took one hand off and drew his machete, and threw it. With her attention on the L.A.E.R. beams, the girl didn't see the blade as it flew towards her head, a return favor for what she had done with her shield. It bounced off her temple, her Aura preventing harm, but she instinctively recoiled from the blow, clutching at her face. The L.A.E.R. had no recoil to speak of, but Servius gripped it like a lifeline as he pumped shot after shot into her. This was how it should be. This was how battle should be. He was landing blows on her but she was making him work for every hit. Images flashed through his head of him marching in formation, clutching the girl's spear in his hand. It would make a good trophy, proof of a fight where he had earned victory. Maybe he would keep a bit of her armor just in case he was ever named Centurion one day. He would wear what he took with pride.

His thoughts were interrupted as the girl recovered and, transforming her rifle back into a spear, threw it. It tore directly through the L.A.E.R. and ripped it into uneven halves. The weapon streaked past as Servius dumbly started at his ruined weapon. He felt no strong lost at the profligate tool being destroyed, but the ease at which the Huntress had done it was disarming. He dropped it without a second thought and retrieved the halberd, just in time to realize that the girl was now right in front of him, about to bash his face in with her shield.

He just barely got the pole between him and the shield, and even then she hit him with shocking force. The ground beneath him was torn up as he was pushed back until he was slammed into the wall. Servius thrashed against the shield with the halberd but had no luck in pushing the girl off. Glaring at him with a searing hatred, she raised her free hand. Her spear and Servius's machete floated up behind her, both of them surrounded by a fuzzy, black aura. Slowly, they began to spin until they were circular blurs. Then she closed her hand into a fist. Both weapons tore through the air, directly at Servius.

They hit him from both sides and agony ripped through Servius as the blades both tore into his Aura. Part of him recognized that his Aura was holding and that his body was unharmed, but the pain that was rushing through him still felt like cold steel was tearing through his flesh. He had to get out of here, his Aura was already battered and it wouldn't stand up to this assault for long. His eyes screwed up in concentration, staring into the bright green eyes across from him that were burning with hatred.

Planting one foot on the wall behind him, he pushed as hard as he could, trying to force the Huntress off of him. He poured every ounce of his strength into the attempt, letting out one last battle cry as he did. She had to be pushed back, he had to get her off, he wasn't dying in a back alley like this. The sudden increase of force caught the girl off guard and she took a step back, Servius taking it with her. He heard a clang as the blades rushed forward without him to act as a divider, clashing against each other.

And, for a very strange moment, he saw something he didn't recognize as he continued to grapple with the Huntress. His arms seemed to be glowing with a strange white light. An oddly warm light. What was more, the Huntress's eyes flickered down at his arms in surprise. He wasn't just imagining it. What was happening?

Before he could so much as think about what this was, there was a clatter of machine-gun fire and an irritatingly familiar cry. "COME ON COCKPUSSIES!" Rumford was at the entrance of the alley, his machine-gun in hand, firing wildly. A sharp pain erupted in Servius's side as he realized with horror that Rumford was hitting him with his wild, undisciplined fire. The one upside was that his cone of fire had hit the Huntress too. She pivoted to the side, holding up her hand and causing the bullets to stop dead in mid-air as they came.

In a more ideal situation, this would be a golden chance to strike at her while her attention was divided. But his Aura felt weak, and with his inexperience, he had no idea what it would take to push it over the edge. Rumford was still spraying bullets with no discipline at all and more than a few hit him. He bolted, grabbing his machete off the ground as he ran and slipped through the door Dove had been hiding inside. The Huntsman, still lying on the ground, tried to move out of the way, only for a round to catch him directly in the throat. Another kill of his that had been stolen by Rumford. Servius bitterly reflected on this as he slid his back against the inside wall of the house, propping up his new halberd and sheathing his machete before reloading his revolver.

Peeking out, he saw Sky choking to death on the ground and the other Huntsman dragging himself towards him, calling out his name. The girl was slowly walking backward, her hands still up and stopping the bullets Rumford was shooting. Then, the bullets stopped.

"Wait-SHIT!" Rumford swore. Servius could just barely make out the man ripping his ammunition box off of his back before taking a belt feed from a second one and attempt to feed it into his weapon. The Huntress didn't give him any time. With a flick of a wrist, she sent all of the accumulated bullets that she had collected back at him. Rumford was knocked clean off his feet and sent flying through the window of a building on the opposite side of the street.

Not missing a beat, the Huntress spun to face the door Servius had retreated to. She dashed forward, putting herself between Servius and Sky. The larger Huntsman was kneeling in front of Sky, trying to plug the bleeding hole in his throat, but it was a futile action. Nonetheless, the Huntress seemed to be determined to give him a chance. Holding her hand out, her spear flew into it and transformed into a rifle again, which she fired at once. Servius got his head out of the doorway just in time. The shot streaked into the modest house and smacked into a grandfather clock on the far side of the room. It chimed loudly as Servius abandoned the door and moved towards a nearby window, firing three quick shots out of it.

Only the first hit the Huntress in the side, the other two were stopped by the girl's strange powers before they were sent flying back. Servius felt them skim his aura as he ducked down, sliding three fresh rounds into his revolver before taking stock of his situation. He glanced at the halberd he was still holding in one hand. Truth be told, it barely qualified as a halberd, lacking a proper spearhead. The forward ax blade extended up far enough to make thrusting with it possible, but not ideal. Instead, it had what looked like a barrel where the spearhead would go. Realization struck Servius. The weapons of this world were nothing short of absurd, combining melee and ranged. Was this halberd also a gun?

Running his hand down it, he felt something familiar. A trigger. Mars above, it was. Heaving it up, he held it in a thrusting position, pointed it out the window, and pulled the trigger. A loud bang echoed and the halberd kicked in a way that any weapon Servius had been issued. Whatever this halberd chambered, it was heavier than the average rifle round. Despite this, the Huntress was able to block it with her shield, though her body seemed to quiver under the strain of it.

He was about to fire another shot, considering trying to distract her before hitting low with another weapon when an ear-splitting screech tore through the town. Servius instinctively looked in the direction of the noise. It had come from the building that Rumford had been blown through. Smoke was now pouring out of it, and the front was utterly covered with, to Servius's horror, blood.

XXXXX

Just before Marie F. made her attack, she had pressed at her right wrist. Like James, she had a Pip-Boy strapped to her wrist, though a much smaller one than his 3000 model, and seemed to have a flip screen. At the base in yellow words was "Lil' Pip 3000." Marie F. slapped a button and a song began to blare out of it.

Hey everybody, did the news get around about a guy named Butcher Pete? Oh, Pete just flew into this town And he's choppin' up all the women's meat!

James fired shot after shot at Marie F. as she barreled towards him, ED-E doing the same with his bright blue laser. The woman's movements were so erratic and loose that James wondered if her bones had ever properly hardened from cartilage. When she darted to one side and then back again to make herself a harder target, every last part of her moved and flexed, as if she was pure water. It certainly made putting a bullet in her a lot harder. The second James thought he had a bead on her, she would dance to the side. He had compromised by firing non-stop, and it had yielded mixed results. He was certainly getting some shots in, but nowhere near as many as he wanted. Then, she was upon him as his rifle clicked empty.

Letting his rifle fall to the side, still hanging to his shoulder via its strap, he drew both of his SMGs, jamming down on the triggers. He had gotten maybe five out of each when Marie F. ducked, the bullets streaking over her head, and slashed up. Her knife tore clean through Vance's SMG, a perfectly even cut that left the front end tumbling to the ground while James held the now useless other half. "There's a dick joke in here somewhere," Marie F. said, her voice unnaturally casual and light-hearted.

She ducked to the side, doubtless aiming to do the same to the White Fang SMG. Still spraying with the one working SMG, James threw the ruined remains of the other one. Marie F. had been swerving to the side in order to avoid the stream of bullets when the handle and butt of the SMG hit her in the side of the head. She staggered and James instantly directed his fire onto her, ED-E doing the same. With one hand clutching where she had been hit, she swung the other one at the incoming bullets. James had no idea what she was doing, but it looked as if she was trying to block the bullets. If she was, she was doing a poor job of it. The Fire Dust bullets, as their name would imply, burst into flames as they hit their target, and over a dozen small, fiery explosions were erupting around Marie F.'s chest. Maybe one or two exploded prematurely at her knife, but they were the exception to the rule.

Eventually, the magazine in the SMG ran dry, James frantically pulling it out for a fresh one. Behind him, he could hear that ED-E had stopped firing his laser and the sound of hot air being vented. ED-E had been running hot and would have to cool down before he could continue to fire, lest he overheat.

"God, no idea how they do it," she said, recovering holding up her knives and giving each a disappointed swing. "Half the people here have this fancy bullet blocking thing and I just can't get it down no matter how much I practice. Not reliably anyway. You ever try it? Nah, probably not. You strike me more as the gunslinger type. Guess that's why Caesar went to me and not you, you wouldn't believe how insecure they get about their microscopic pricks and project it onto their weapons. Might be a side effect of an army where cunts and dick sucking aren't allowed. It-"

James said nothing as he finished reloading the White Fang SMG and took aim at Marie F. He could've sworn she blinked before she threw herself through a doorway into what looked like a kitchen, kicking a table onto the side and crouching behind it.

"Damn, you're not fucking around," she said, sounding impressed. "Ok! I'm starting to like this! Caesar ranted about you so much I thought he was projecting how much of a threat you were because of a bruised ego. But hell, you're actually living up to the stories that that old Eddy told." In a different situation, James would have found Caesar being called Eddy to be one of the funniest things he ever heard. Even now, he felt the faint urge to snigger. He fought it down.

His head darted to the left in right, checking for a way to flank her before he realized he was overthinking this. Butcher Pete was still playing at max volume, letting him know exactly where she was hiding behind the table, a table that wasn't particularly thick. And it was wooden. There was already a smokey smell that was worming its way through the house, and James had a bad feeling the Fire Dust had already started a blaze somewhere, so screw it. A dozen rounds tore into the wooden table, right where Marie F. had disappeared behind.

Fire engulfed the table within seconds, far faster than normal incendiary rounds would, starting in the center and licking its way out to the side in a flash. Marie F. popped back out, the tips of her hair on fire. She hacked at it with her knife, severing the strands that were blazing brightly, leaving her hair uneven and wild looking. "Now we're talking!" she shouted. To James's surprise, she sounded positively ecstatic, not as if she had almost been scalped via fire.

With a flick of her wrists, she sent both of her knives soaring in James's direction. He took an impulsive driven dive to the left, dodging one knife that flew past and tore through a window, but the second skinned the side of his helmet with the power of a Super Mutant's punch. Forcing himself to stay upright, he emptied the last of the magazine as Marie F. went on the offensive again. Another half dozen explosions erupted on her as she touched her sheathed knives, another pair appearing in her hand as a result.

Her face and eyes both wide with wild excitement as she rushed towards him, sending another pair of knives his way as he paused to reload. This time he ducked down, both knives sailing overhead and embedding themselves in the wall behind him. He took aim, but before he could ever pull the trigger she again dodged to the side with that unnatural fluidity of hers. She tore past him, her hand reaching out. She made no moves to strike him or disarm him, but instead lightly grazed the side of his SMG.

Another popping noise echoed in James's ear, a sound he was quickly starting to loathe. Marie F. came to a halt at his side, an exact replica of the White Fang SMG in her hand. She tapped it with her open hand and with another pop she had one in each hand. A split second passed, with James staring in horror at the twin barrels he was now staring down and Marie F. drinking in the moment with a pleased expression on her face. Then her weapons roared to life.

James ran for it, barely paying attention to where he was going. He could feel the bullets biting into his Aura and the fire that was hot enough to burn him to the bone. He stumbled as a fair few tore into his side, feeling the pain while still managing to register that his Aura hadn't collapsed, not just yet. A staircase swam in front of his eyes and he charged up it, taking the steps two at a time and rounding left at a landing. Bullets tore into the landing, causing it to be quickly engulfed in flames. At this rate, the entire house was going to be a blazing inferno in a matter of seconds, but James didn't have time to worry about that. He could already hear the thumping of Marie F. ascending the stairs, she was right behind him, and a quick look around told him he had emerged into a narrow hallway. A narrow hallway with a grandfather clock at the far end.

"ED-E!" he shouted, the eyebot having followed him up the stairs. He gave a confirmatory beep and hovered back to the stairs, firing his lasers down it. Knowing that would buy him no more than a few seconds, James fired a single shot from his SMG at the top of the clock. Fire flared to life and began to rapidly work its way down as James wrapped his arms around the base, still holding onto his SMG, and began to drag it towards the stairs. It was far easier than he had expected, his now enhanced strength enabling him to move the towering furniture with little effort, but it still took time to pull something that bulky when it was on fire. The scent of burning wood was almost pleasant, but the thick, smothering stench of smoke was starting to work its way through the house. James almost gagged as it hit his nose, an unpleasant confirmation of something he had been worried about. Aura did not protect him from everything; it didn't block gasses.

ED-E fired a few more blasts of his laser and took a burst of SMG fire for his trouble. His armor was too tough to be downed by gunfire that light in caliber, but he still chose then to retreat. Fires had momentarily sparked to life on him before dying down, and James knew neither of them wanted to figure out what sustained exposure would do. Marie F. reached the landing, Butcher Pete coming with her and slowly driving James insane, just as James finally got the burning grandfather clock to the top of the stairs.

James wasn't sure what went through a person's head when they saw a burning grandfather clock thrown down the stairs at them. Though judging by how Marie F.'s eyes widened and she finally stopped smiling at the sight, he doubted she was thinking happy thoughts.

It slammed into her head on, smashing her into the way and giving a horrifically off tune chime as it did, thankfully causing the recording of Butcher Pete to stop. Aiming his SMG down, he once again emptied the magazine. This time, Marie F. was unable to weasel her way out and was pinned under the now cracked clock. James knew that it wouldn't take long for her to get out if she had Aura though, so he had to act fast. Jumping down, somehow managing to clear the entire staircase and land on the other side of the clock that had pinned Marie F, he reloaded and pressed his SMG directly between her eyes.

Her head was forced back against the wall as round after round was pumped into her aura, the crushed bullets tumbling onto the side as she screamed and thrashed. So much fire was now billowing around her head that James had no idea if she was on fire or if the Fire Dust was simply generating that much of it. Then there was the sound of something shattering and a bright orange aura flared and died around Marie F. and her screams evolved into howls of agony.

Wood snapped as Marie F. charged out of the inferno of fire, smashing through the ruined clock and grabbed James by the shoulders. In the half second he had to get a good look at her, he saw that half of her face was now covered in red, raw second-degree burns, the sickly scent of burnt flesh strong even through his helmet, and that tears were streaming down her face. Then she threw James.

There was a horrible lurch in his stomach as his body realized he was descending without a firm foothold, one that was blotted out as he crashed into the stairs before bouncing up and crashing a second time onto the floor of the lower level. His body sore, sweat starting to pour down his body from the overwhelming heat from the inferno the bottom floor had now turned into, he forced himself up.

Marie F. cleared the entire staircase in one leap, aiming directly at James, a new knife in each hand. The White Fang SMG no longer in his hands, most likely having been dropped during the fall, James thought fast and drew his own knife and rolled to the side. Marie F. landed and buried both of her knives where he had been a moment ago. James threw himself into her, turning them both into a rolling pile of limbs. He lost track of what was happening, vaguely recognizing a couple of punches to his gut until they came to a stop with James on top of Marie F. His brain shot into overdrive. Her Aura had broken and he had an opening.

He thrust down, holding his knife in both hands, only for her to catch him by the wrists, inches away from her throat. They struggled, muscles tensing as they battled for dominance, the knife hanging in limbo. Marie F., her face still badly burned and covered with tears, chuckled. And her arms trembled. "Fuck. I honestly don't know if I can beat you. It's been so long. Highpool and B.O.M.B.-001 were the last places to make me feel this alive." And then, despite everything, she gave James a genuine, warm smile. "Thank you. Thank you so much. I'll treasure the scars you've left on me."

She then tucked her legs in and kicked out hard. James went flying back, smashing through a wall and was sent skidding across the floor. As the wood splintered under the force, he felt something break. For a second, he thought it might have been a bone, but there was no pain. Just then, he saw a green aura around him flicker and die. It hit him. His Aura had failed. Any more attacks would hit him directly, with only his armor for protection. Armor that may not stand up to the abuse that Remnant had proven itself capable of dealing out.

He forced himself to his feet, sheathing his knife and drawing his rifle. Her Aura was down too, so it was do or die time. Drawing a fresh magazine, he was about to load it when he saw something on the side. A sticky note. It was the Bloody Mess magazine. Right now seemed like an excellent time to figure out what he did. Slapping it into his rifle, he cocked it and took aim.

Marie F. had not pursued him, and he couldn't see her through the new hole in the wall. She knew as well as he did that the stakes were higher now, so she was no doubt playing it safe. The flames were creeping along the entire first floor, more than half of it a wildfire now, and the heat pressed in on him like a blanket. He took a step to the side, his rifle aiming at the hole as he tried to see which corner he was hiding it.

He was interrupted by a shattering of glass and a man in White Fang armor, carrying a belt-fed machine-gun, smashed into the building. "Oh, that little cunt is going to fucking get it. I-," he paused as got to his feet and spotted James. "Walker! Oh, that little cockpussy Servius is going to have to suck my fucking dick when he sees I killed you!" There was nothing short of pure glee in his voice.

Marie F.'s voice echoed from the other room, heavy with anger. "Rumford! Go back to playing at the kiddy table, the grownups are busy!" As she spoke, the sound of ED-E's laser being fired echoed from the same room, along with the sound of metal scraping on metal. But the man called Rumford ignored her. He rose to a kneeling position and raised his machine-gun, but James had a lighter weapon and had already been ready for a fight. Rumford, on the other hand, had to pause to load his machine-gun. His first shot rang out and Rumford was sent sailing back out of the window he had entered through. James stumbled back, his rifle had kicked like a horse, even with his augmented strength.

"The fuck!?" Rumford howled, standing up and aiming, only for James to fire again. Again, Rumford was blown back, and James was forced back another step. This time there was shattering noise and a red aura flared around Rumford. "YOU FUCKING CUNT!" Rumford shrieked, not even bothering to stand up or aim, merely firing his machine-gun wildly from where he lay. Bullets tore through the walls of the house, coming far too close from comfort. James was in the middle of pulling the trigger as he instinctively ducked. Plans for his next move filtered through his head when an agonizing shriek tore through the air. Raising his head, he peeked outside. His eyes widened in horror.

Rumford was rolling on the ground, shrieking in agony, clutching a wildly bleeding stump that had replaced his right arm.

James stared in disbelief. Even if he had still hit Rumford by some miracle, that shot would have only skimmed him. But not only had the shot rendered Rumford armless, it had also utterly destroyed the arm. The ground all around the man was splattered with blood, as if a bomb had been set off inside the arm, with bits of tendon, bone, and muscle poking out of the pool of blood. It was absolutely everywhere, with not a single piece bigger than a fingertip left. James looked down at his rifle in shock.

So this was Bloody Mess.

He was broken out of his shock by a loud, sharp sound. A deep war horn was echoing through the town, even above the sound of Rumford screaming and the battle still raging outside. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me. Just when things were getting good." Without warning, Marie F. was in the same room as him, dashing across to the window and vaulting over before James could react. "Damn it. Listen, James. I'm gonna call you James because I don't have the patience to go along with Eddy's game of make-believe, I gotta go. I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, I wish I could stay." Had this come out of anyone else's mouth, it would've sounded disingenuous. But, somehow and for some reason, Marie F. sounded genuinely upset that she had to leave. "But we'll meet up again, I promise you that. Don't worry, I won't forget you."

James's heart dashed into overdrive. She was making a run for it. He charged at the window, rifle at the ready, only for her to pop up in the window with a knife in hand. There was a flash of silver and pain tore through his calf, causing him to let out a cry and fall to the ground. "Hey! Be patient!" she said, sounding as if she was scolding a child. "I'm upset too, but we gotta do this properly. Neither of us wants a giant wolf biting our fun bits off when we're trying to settle this. So, take care until next time man." There was actual warmth in her voice. "Speaking of which, now that I've thought about it, you should have this. You earned it." With that, a card flew through the window, landing directly on top of James's chest.

How many fucking screws does she have loose? James wondered incredulously. She didn't sound as if she was loyal to Caesar, but someone like this on that tyrant's side? It would end in disaster. He had to stop her now. He couldn't see her at the moment, but there was the unmistakable sound of a booted foot crushing grass, she was making a run for it. Lifting up his Pip-Boy, he pressed a button on it. If he could speed up his reflexes, he could gun her down while she made a run for it. Wild Wild Wasteland came to life on the screen and he hit the spin button, causing the cheap slot machine sounds to play again.

He attempted to get to his feet, only for his wounded leg to give out and send him tumbling back to the ground. Hissing in frustration, he dragged himself across the ground towards the window, forcing himself up on his good knee and taking aim with his rifle. Marie F. was barely visible, running back towards the thick of the raging battle at a breakneck pace. He took aim, lined up the shot, and waited for time to slow.

It never did.

Panicking, he took a glance at his Pip-Boy. "TERRIFYING PRESENCE!" flashed on the screen, as did an image of Vault-Boy hunched over, growling at nothing in particular. Turning back to his rifle, he fired a shot at Marie F.'s retreating back. One of the White Fang exploded in a shower of blood and gore, streaking the armor of her former comrades with the bright crimson liquid and causing many of them to shriek in horror, but Marie F. disappeared into the chaos of the battle unharmed.

For a moment, he forgot about Marie F. and took in the sight of the battle unfolding. The house he was in wasn't the only one on fire, a few up and down the street were starting to smoke, and the dead littered the streets. Some of them were White Fang, but just as many were Atlesian soldiers. It's Nelson and Nipton, he thought before he could stop himself. It's Bitter Springs and Camp Searchlight. It's the D-NO! NO! DON'T THINK ABOUT THAT! You can't afford to slip! Not now!

He sucked in a breath in frustration and fired another shot, earning another explosion of guts and screams of terror before he forced himself to duck down. He took a quick look at the card Marie F. had thrown him, which was now lying on the ground. It had the picture of an old man with a staff and lantern, with text that read "XI. The Hermit." It made no sense, and James's mind quickly turned to more important matters.

They were running, but why? He remembered what Marie F. had said. Something about giant wolves. And then he heard the howling. "Oh fuck." He vaguely remembered the giant wolf things he had seen when he had first arrived here. There was no way the White Fang had not taken them into consideration when planning this. All of this, the slaughter, the destroyed downs, the ambush, had all been a set up to this. A feeding frenzy with the enemies of the White Fang and the Legion stuck in the middle, along with innocent victims.

And then he heard the last person he wanted to hear right now. Mr. House. "Well, this is ironic, though only if you're an imbecile that utterly lacks basic pattern recognition. No nuclear war, no devastated biosphere and no state of anarchy, but this looks quite a bit like a scene you would find not that far out of Vegas. Didn't I tell you? If you wanted evidence for why the old world didn't work, all you had to do was look out of a window. You didn't think it was lackadaisical idleness and apple pie until all the oil ran out, did you? Did you think that around here, conflicts would be fought in the gentlemanly manner? Come now. I took you for a lot of things, but naive was never one of them. You should have seen this coming. You of all people."

XXXXX

Winter kept her back straight, her legs tense and both of her sabers in front of her, making sure she didn't trip over the body of the White Fang operative whose throat she had just slit. She had given up her ties to her father a long time ago, but the White Fang didn't seem to care, two of their number had dedicated themselves to her. Or perhaps they were attempting to avenge their fallen comrade, it wasn't certain. The first, a girl with a whip-like sword, had taken to the rooftops and was raining down blows with her blade, which stretched much further than its length would imply was possible. The second, an older man that was also an amputee, was constantly darting forward at her, swinging wildly with a blade that had been attached to his stump while bellowing "Retribution!" over and over again. Years of training and experience came to Winter's defense, her blades soaring through the air to parry each blow, but she was slowly being forced back.

All the experience in the world didn't change the fact that she was outnumbered. It was time to fix that.

When the one-armed man lunged, she stepped to the side and let him overstretch himself. She landed a quick swat on his extended blade, which lowered it to the point where she was able to lift her boot up and stamp down on it. The man went sprawling to the ground, his blade arm firmly pinned under her boot. Flicking her right saber into a reverse grip, she stabbed the ground with it. At once, a shining white glyph of the Schnee family snowflake burst to life underneath her, spinning wildly.

As she maintained the glyph , she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. Her other attacker wasn't letting up. Keeping the glyph active, she made carefully, timed parries with her left saber. In some ways, this was easier than fending off two attackers at the same time, in other ways it was harder to pull off when crouched and only using one hand. A couple of them came far too close for comfort, with them all being back to back blows, none of them lacking in power.

Thankfully, she had bought enough time. Directly behind her, a Beowolf made up of the same substance of her glyph materialized, its eyes glowing bright blue. "What the-," the man below her said. Winter realized with a pang that he had drawn a pistol with his remaining hand and had been aiming it at her, only to shift his aim to the Beowolf. A summon from a Schnee's Semblance wasn't particularly durable, but even then it would take more than a few handgun rounds to eliminate it.

The man got a few shots at the Beowolf off before it lunged at him, swiping its claws and digging up the dirt below as it went. Winter took her foot off of the pinned blade, just in time for the impact, which sent the man flying. The Beowolf charged in after him, its jaw curling in a silent snarl.

Winter knew that the Beowolf wouldn't last long on its own, anything more than a minute would be a miracle. But it would keep one of her opponents busy long enough for her to fully divert her focus onto the other. She pushed off the ground, easily covering the distance between her starting point and the rooftop. Combining her sabers back into one, she struck, aiming directly for her foe's throat. Her opponent, wearing a short-sleeved, short-legged jumpsuit and a horned mask, barely blocked it in time. The whip sword wrapped around Winter's saber, the two blades clashing in an unconventional manner. "A Schnee! You'll pay! You'll pay for what you did!"

Having no time to decode a sentence that loaded, though a small part of her was grateful Weiss wasn't here, Winter pressed her offensive. With a flick, she separated her sabers again, slipping one out of the grip of the whip sword and thrusting. Her opponent, out of nowhere, turned a deep shade of purple as she stepped back, only to take the force of the blow anyway. She was sent flying back, soaring off of the rooftop and landing on the top of the next one over.

Looking to end this fast, Winter concentrated and gripped her swords. A series of Glyph stepping stones appeared in the air in front of her, which she leapt onto. Each one propelled her higher into the air until she was hundreds of feet into the air, whereupon she reached the last one. After it sent her soaring upward, she let gravity take hold of her and began to plummet down, both of her swords outstretched. She flicked an inner switch and both of her sabers glowed a soft blue as Ice Dust was injected into the internal mechanics.

She landed just as the girl managed to work herself to her feet, driving her sabers into younger girl's gut. The White Fang operative was forced back down onto the roof as stalagmites of ice tore through the roof, tearing through the shingles and encasing the girl from the waist down. She struggled for a few seconds, noticeably short of breath before she realized her sword hand was still free. Desperately, she lashed at Winter again, this time electricity crackling around the blade of the sword, but Winter dodged it easily by stepping to the side. With her legs immobilized, the girl's movements were much more limited and her movements predictable. Combining her swords again, Winter lunged forward. The girl's Aura would have been weakened by the earlier dive and now she couldn't dodge. A textbook maneuver and victory.

At least it would have been. Just before she could complete the blow, the bang of a gunshot echoed to her left. Her eyes swiveled to the side, just in time to see a red, curved sword flying at her hilt first. A sharp pain erupted in her temple as it made contact, breaking her charge and causing her to stumble to the side.

Before she could so much as blink, the owner of the sword was on the rooftop with her, a young man with a black long coat and shockingly red hair. Grabbing his sword, he slashed at Winter with frightening speed. Not knowing if she had time to dodge on her own, Winter took another option. A glyph sprang into existence between the two of them, pushing hard against Winter. She was blown back, off of the roof and back onto the ground. It had taken years to learn how to do that and land firmly on her feet when doing so, and thankfully her muscle memory did not abandon her in this instance.

She tensed, holding up her sabers in a guard. She didn't recognize the girl, but everyone on the Atlesian military knew who Adam Taurus was. Easily the most radical of all of Selenia Khan's lieutenants, even more radical than she was. And it seemed that the gulf between the two was only getting wider.

Thankfully, Adam did not immediately press his assault but stopped to turn his katana on the ice holding his comrade. A few quick slashes reduced it from a mighty mas to a pile of rubble, releasing the girl unharmed, though looking noticeably chilly and with some chunks of ice still noticeably sticking to her bare legs. "Adam, it's a Schnee, Winter Schnee!" she said, pointing her sword at Winter.

"The Schnee I want to kill the least," Adam said, sliding his sword back into his sheath. "But still a Schnee. Illia? I want you to remember this day. It ended up being far more historic than I ever could have dreamed of."

Winter barely had time to register what Adam was saying before he had lunged forward, arcing downward. She neatly sidestepped his attack before ducking the follow-up blow. Mentally, she went through everything Atlas's intelligence had on Adam Taurus as she quickly and nimbly avoided his flurry of assaults instead of parrying them. Adam's Semblance was particularly dangerous, all signs pointed to him being able to absorb attacks through his blade and then redirecting the gathered energy into a devastating counter-attack. One that could cut through Aura with ease. So much as scrapping it with her sabers would push it in that direction. She had to be very careful here, otherwise, she would inadvertently give Adam the tools he needed to win.

With a flick of a saber, a glyph appeared directly under Adam. With another flick, it turned coal black, pulling instead of pushing. Adam looked down in confusion before he let out a grunt and was forced to one knee, his sword pinned under his hand. Winter leaped forward, lashing out with as many slashes as she could, keeping them short and shallow in case she had to withdraw in a hurry. Her swords were a flurry as they struck at Adam's sides, but through them, she could see movement. Adam was reaching for something at his side.

At once, Winter leaped back, just in time to see him leveling his sheath. A sheath that had a noticeable shotgun barrel at the end. The weapon fired, and Winter barely had enough time to cross her swords, screening the majority of the incoming pellets, though she could still feel a few hitting her Aura. Firing a few more shots and forcing Winter back as she deflected the bullets, Adam growled and tore at the ground with his hand. Even though it was pinned, it ripped through the earth and the glyph flickered and died.

Winter doubted that the same trick would work twice, but she couldn't consider going directly on the offensive either, Illia was still a concern, as was the man fighting her Beowolf. She quickly scanned the environment. There was no sign of her Beowolf or its opponent, but she did spot movement on a building to her right.

Deciding to press the initiative, she summoned another glyph below her feet and propelled herself upward, clearing the top of the building. Sure enough, she spotted Illia crouching behind a chimney, sword at the ready. She noticeably panicked as she spotted Winter, letting out a flurry of powerful but frantic swipes. Instead of blocking them and charging directly down again, Winter changed up her tactics.

She positioned a glyph directly at her side, pushing her sideways through the air, out of the path of Illa's attacks. The specialist followed this up with a glyph at her back that propelled her directly over Illa's head, after which she let gravity guide her down to a hard landing. This way, Illia and Adam were on the same side of her and couldn't catch her in a pincer move, as well as giving her a strike at Illia's back. One that she took. Turning and combining her sabers into one, she landed a powerful horizontal slash on the Faunus's back.

The girl gasped in pain as she wheeled around, properly facing Winter. The elder woman maintained the offensive, this time with a thrust. Illia, with a desperation that suggested she was making her movements up on the fly, grabbed the tip of her sword and bent it from both ends. As Winter's blade drew nearer, Illia swung her bent blade down, as if she was trying to collar a dog, and caught it in the center, before twisting both ends across from each other, effectively wrapping her entire sword around Winter's.

Frowning, and with all of the energy sapped from her blow, Winter detached her blades again. One shot out and into her right hand while the one in her left remained trapped. It's irrelevant, her weapon is paralyzed while I can still use one of mine, she thought to herself, as she made to lunge again. But, at that moment, Illia flicked a switch at the base of her hilt. The telltale sign of a dust chamber rotating echoed before bright yellow electricity arched through the weapon and into Winter's sabers.

Blinding pain tore through Winter, and even though her Aura remained intact, she could barely register where she was anymore. It was thankfully over in a few seconds, Lighting Dust could only be used for so long, but it left Winter's entire body weak and shaking. An uncertain smile spreading on Illia's face, she tightened her sword around Winter's and swung. The specialist was dragged forward and the two effectively swapped places, with Winter being near the rooftop and Illia on the far end. Even though all the pain, part of Winter's mind screamed that she was in a disadvantageous position. A warning that proved to be all too accurate.

There was a flash of red and the sound of boots landing, Adam was right behind her. His blade tore into her back, pain following it and her Aura throbbing. Not sure exactly how much damage the shock had done, Winter concluded she needed to make a tactical retreat. She slashed at Illia's arm, the blow weaker than she cared to admit, causing the young girl to yelp and her grip to loosen. With her second saber now free, Winter threw herself to the side, rolling with an utter lack of grace as Adam's sword tore up the shingles of the roof they were on.

Recovering with some efficiency, Winter faced her opponents in a defensive stance. The situation was now less than ideal, and it wasn't clear if she could win with the way things were. Facing them directly was possible, but withdrawing to more advantageous ground or friendly territory was a much better plan. She tensed, ready to create another glyph, when a deep war horn sounded, originating from well outside the battle. Both Illia and Adam perked at the sound, glancing beyond the town's edge. "Adam, we need to go," Illia said, fear audible in her voice.

"We have a Schnee, right in front of us," Adam said. "She's faltering. And you want me to abandon her? You think we don't have the strength for thirty more seconds?"

"No, I-" Illia started, only to be interrupted by a series of gunshots. Winter whipped around just in time to see the one-armed man from before at ground level, aiming his pistol at her. She deflected shot after shot as the man glanced at the two Faunus and shouted.

"We are not waiting for you!" he shouted, sounding angry. "We came here to do something and we did it! Don't drag us down with your grudges!" He was about to continue when an ear-splitting shriek pierced the tension that had built up. Instinctively, Winter's eyes darted to the source of the sound. A man in White Fang armor was rolling on the ground, roaring in agony as he clutched a stump of an arm, a horrific splattering of blood all around him. While the man continued to thrash, Winter spotted Mr. Walker limping out of the house that the man was in front of, bending down and picking up an average sized looking machine-gun that was lying on the ground.

"BARCA!" A man in White Fang armor thundered from down the street, towards Mr. Walker, utter hatred in his voice and a halberd in his hands. He responded by vaulting back into the house through a window, aiming his newly acquired weapon and opening fire. Almost at once, the charge of the man with the halberd came to a grinding halt, as he attempting to force his way through the bullets, only for his Aura to flare weakly, a sign it was about to break. "I'm not Rumford! I'll show you how a real warrior fights!"

"Servius, NO!" The one-armed man threw himself into the thick of the gunfire, wrapping his arms around Servius and half pulling, half dragging him to safety. "We need to move, now! There will be another time for this!" Servius didn't seem to listen, and thrashed against the older man's grip, unable to break free as he was pushed back. Incoherent screams of rage spewed from the younger man as he was pulled into an alleyway, two more men in armor grabbing him and helping the one-armed man, vanishing from sight.

There was a blur of movement out of the corner of her eye as Adam lunged at her. She parried his thrust with a quick, upward movement and returned the favor with a kick to the gut. It barely had any impact and Adam responded by lunging again, clashing blades with one hand and pressing his shotgun directly into Winter's stomach with the other. Blast after blast tore into her Aura, and Winter had to fight back the urge to double over. She had to extract herself from this situation

"Mr. Walker! Suppressing fire!" she shouted, batting Adam's blade down with one saber and knocking his gun to the side with the other. Mr. Walker's head snapped to the direction of the rooftop. He acted at once.

"Hey junior! You suck at killing me!" He bellowed, turning his machine-gun on the rooftop from the window he was taking cover in, dozens of bullets streaking in Adam's direction. "When you get to Hell, ask for Benny! You can compare notes!"

A few of the rounds found their mark with Adam's blade down, but he quickly recovered, his sword becoming a blur of red as it intercepted the lion's share of the incoming fire. Only the occasional bullet made it through. That would have done moderate damage at best, and if Adam continued to deflect incoming fire, he would be able to use his Semblance. But now he had left himself open.

Both of her swords flashed as they soared through the air, colliding into his side and sending him flying. He would have cleared the rooftop if Illia had not caught him just in the nick of time. "Adam, we need to go!" she yelled, sounding desperate.

Getting to his feet, Adam glared at Winter, his teeth bared. "Am I supposed to know who that is?" he said, gesturing to Mr. Walker, who was in the middle of reloading his weapon. "He's just another human. So are you. Remember that." Winter took a step forward weighing the odds of taking her chances and stopping his retreat when Illia took the decision out of her hands. Another lash from her whip sword, crackling with electricity again, forced her to dodge to the side, an opening both of them capitalized on. They were off the rooftop within a second, where they disappeared into the alleyways that lead towards the outer edge of the town.

The same thing was happening all over. The members of the White Fang that were left were sliding away into gaps between the houses, vanishing from sight. "Arm formations, the White Fang is running, close in! Cut off their escape routes!" she said into her earpiece.

"Negative, cannot pursue!" a strained voice replied. "The area is flooded with Grimm! They're swarming out position! We can't afford to make a breakthrough."

"Same situation here!" another voice reported. "It's gonna take us time to cut through them all! We won't make it in time."

"Copy that, stand your ground, don't take unneeded risks," Winter said, her mind balancing the numbers. If the arm formations were under Grimm attack, then they would doubtless be heading right to the thick of where the fighting had been. The hostages. The hostages hadn't just been bait to lure them in, they were an anchor to keep them from pursuing. And, as much as she hated it, it was going to work. "All available forces, form up in the center of town! Grimm are moving in on our position, we need to ensure the safety of the hostages!"

Quietly furious that Adam Taurus would escape unharmed, she summoned up a bridge of glyphs that hung in the air as she ran across it before jumping off. A few dregs of the White Fang were still making their retreat as she landed in the middle of the square, right in the center of the six crucified hostages. A tall bearded man was battling Ms. Valkyrie, even as he slowly backed away towards his escape. Flipping a switch on his hammer, a rocket roaring to life at the far end as he brought it down, cracking the young girl in the top of the head, causing her to face plant onto the ground. The man instantly turned and ran, firing a few shots from an SMG as he went.

Ms. Valkyrie, acting as if she had not nearly been decapitated, jumped right back up and transformed her hammer into its ranged mode, firing grenades at the fleeing man, who was noticeably blown off of his feet before he managed to escape from sight. "Oh, he's gonna get it next time," she said, her body tense as she reloaded her grenade launcher.

"On guard, Grimm will be here any second. We need to move the civilians out of here." Moving from cross to cross, slicing at the bonds of the captives as the members of Team JNPR and the few surviving soldiers coalesced around her. "Where's Team CRDL?" she demanded.

"I haven't seen them," Mr. Arc said as he slowly backed towards the crosses, sword, and shield raised. "Wait, there's Cardin!" He pointed with his sword. Ms. Nikos was helping Mr. Winchester, who had a noticeable bullet wound, towards them. Tears were streaming down Mr. Winchester's face.

"Sky's dead," he croaked, as Ms. Nikos laid him down near one of the crosses. "I don't know where Dove and Russell are."

"You think they bolted?" an utterly demonic voice said. Mr. Walker was approaching them at a limp, dragging his new machine-gun in one hand and dragging the one-armed, screaming man behind him, his scream having grown weaker. ED-E was right behind the two of them. But something was wrong with him. His helmet had morphed into an animated face. It had a jaw that nearly split it in half, massive, blood stained teeth the length of a finger, green eyes that glowed with their own fire, and a snake-like tongue that curled around the lower lip. An irrational fear shot through Winter as she looked at the face, so strong it took every last bit of her military discipline to maintain her composure. "I didn't see them in the fight anyway, so maybe-what's wrong?"

The demonic face cocked to the side. In most cases, it would've looked quizzical. Instead, it looked as if it was mocking her. The man he was dragging gave voice to how she felt. "GET ME AWAY FROM THIS FUCKING THING! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH HIM!?"

Mr. Walker let out a snarl that sounded as if he was about to fly into a berserk rage. "I don't know what's wrong, nothing is showing up in a mirror and ED-E can't see it, but apparently something's wrong with my face. My Semblance spits out random crap and I can't turn whatever this is off. But nothing's changed about me, ok?" His body language, loose and slumped, matched the literal meaning of what he said, but the tone came across as a mocking baby voice that somehow sent chills down Winter's spine. Everyone else seemed to be feeling the same way, only a few weren't taking steps back. Then, without warning, the demonic face vanished and his normal helmet reappeared. Winter let out a sigh of relief before she could stop herself.

"Back to normal? Ok good. Look, I shot this guy up with some stimpacks and did what I could to bandage his wound, but he's still in bad shape," he said, his voice mercifully human if strained. He dragged the man to the foot of the cross where one of the Atlesian soldiers knelt down and began to treat the wound with a med kit. A few other soldiers were undoing the bounds and removing the bags from the head of the hostages before moving the terrified citizens to the center of the small mob that had been formed in the middle of the town. Winter nodded before slashing two more hostages free and moving to free the last one.

"Wait a minute!" Winter stopped short of the bonds, looking questioningly at Mr. Walker. Slowly, he limped towards the last hostage. His head was still bagged, but the wrinkles on the man's exposed wrists and ankles suggested he was elderly. He was hanging limply in his and his chest was barely moving as he breathed. "Oh no," he whispered. "He's been up too long. You can't take him down, the shock would kill him."

"Incoming Grimm!" Ms. Nikos shouted. Sure enough, Beowolves and Ursa were starting to crawl into the city. A few alphas of each type were present as well, towering over their lesser kin. All in all, a mid-level Grimm horde. Ms. Nikos and Ms. Valkyrie bounded forward, intentionally targeting the thickest portions of the horde. Pink clouds bloomed as Ms. Valkyrie's hammer tore through the crowd of monsters, a streak of scarlet underlying it as Mr. Ren maintained his distance and fired his machine-pistols while Mr. Arc positioned himself near the hostages, sword, and shield in hand.

Team JNPR was handing the situation exceptionally well, but with Grimm coming from so many directions, and only five Atlesian soldiers supporting them with ED-E flying into the middle of their ranks to help them, the chances of one Grimm slipping through and massacring the hostage were moderate. In other words, too high. "Mr. Walker, can you keep the Grimm off of me for sixty seconds?" she asked, sliding her sabers into one. They couldn't afford a drawn-out fight here, a decisive move was needed. One that did take some risks, but only calculated risks.

"With this thing I might," he replied, dropping into a kneeling position with his new machine-gun, focusing on his weight on his good leg. "And my Semblance gave me some damn powerful rounds for my rifle, but I only have five left and I'm not getting any more for a day minimum. So if you can crunch whatever it is you're doing, and I don't want to make you panic, consider that." He placed the machine-gun on the ground and drew his rifle. "But I've got your back."

"Good," she said. Inhaling and exhaling, she raised her sword above her head and drove it into the ground. Her glyph flared around her, before rapidly expanding to encompass everyone who wasn't engaging the Grimm in melee. She secured her grip and her concentration; this would be a particularly taxing summon.

Taking a moment to glance up, she took note that quite a few Grimm were heading in her direction, seven Beowolves, three Ursa, one of the Beowolves was an alpha. She heard the sound of Mr. Walker's rifle firing and, much to her shock and horror, the alpha's head and the majority of its upper torso exploded in a maelstrom of blood and pulverized organs. It being a Grimm, the various parts began to dissolve into nothingness the second they hit the ground, but it was still shocking. Mr. Walker's Semblance seemed highly irregular, and more than a bit brutal, but it was useful at the moment.

She doubled her concentration, feeling the raw energy needed to complete her summon radiating beneath her, and began to push it together, forcing it to take a concrete form. Meanwhile, Mr. Walker switched targets and began firing on the Ursa, most likely deducing that they were the larger threat. A correct deduction, one that resulted in the three bear Grimm sharing the same fate as the Alpha, everything above their legs being obliterated. He fired one last shot, claiming the lead most Beowolf, before dropping his rifle and switching to his much heavier weapon.

It was nowhere near as effective as the Semblance made rounds, but it did its duty. Two Beowolves were riddled with bullets, struggling through the stream of fire before collapsing and dissolving into green dust. The survivors of the pack, deciding that Winter was the lesser threat, changed tactics. Mr. Walker let out a string of profanities as he began to back up, claiming one more Beowolf's life, but it didn't matter. He had bought enough time.

A pair of wings, each one large enough to cast most of the square in shadow, rose out of the glyph. They flapped, kicking up gales of wind that sent over a dozen Grimm flying back and lifting the main body of the summon out of the glyph. Winter kept her sword planted, finishing up the last of the process as a fully sized Nevermore emerged from the glyph, hovering over them all. With a flap of its wings, dozens of spear sized quills ripped through the sky, impaling the last of the Beowolves in front of her.

Slowly, the summoned Nevermore turned, flapping its mansion-sized wings each time. With each flap, a storm of quills tore into the ranks of the Grimm, utterly obliterating them, and slowly clearing out the approaching horde of Grimm. Before too long, the mass of monsters had been reduced to a paltry handful, which were quickly assaulted and obliterated by Team JNPR, a magnetically controlled javelin quartering them from behind while a barrage of pink grenades hit them from the front. After that, there was silence.

"The White Fang have fled and the Grimm in our area have been routed," Winter said, getting to her feet and pressing a finger to her ear. "Hostages are secure. Do you require assistance?"

"Negative, there's a lot of Grimm but we're holding our own. We'll have them all cleared up in a few minutes," one of the officers said.

"Same here. Seems like the Grimm weren't being led in to harm us, but to cover their retreat," the other officer said. "Can you pursue?"

"Negative," Winter said. "We can't abandon the hostages and we don't have enough forces to divide our forces." She bit back a sigh of irritation. "Group up with us when you're done, we'll radio for evac. Schnee out." She lowered her hand before looking up at the Nevermore. It had landed, looking down at her, everyone else looking up at it with awe. "Thank you," she said softly. The massive avian nodded before it slowly faded away, tiny parts of it being blown away like snowflakes until there was nothing left.

"What was that?" Mr. Walker asked, sounding dumbfounded as he stared at where the Nevermore had been, reloading his rifle as he did. ED-E hovered back over in his direction, taking up a position right above James's head as he did.

"You may not have seen it in my sister, but Schnees have a rare hereditary Semblance than enable us to summon foes that we've defeated," she said, sheathing her sword. "Though larger ones take longer. Now then." She turned to the man still on the cross, frowning. "You said he can't be removed. You're certain of that?"

"I wish I wasn't, but yeah," he said sourly. "You can tell by where the weight is being put. His arms and legs collapsed from exhaustion, he probably couldn't hold out as long. Look. Make sure everyone else is ok. I know how to handle situations like this." Limping forward, he reached up with one hand and took the man's in his own, squeezing it tightly. With the other, he reached into his rucksack. "It's ok sir. It's over. I've got something here to help with the pain." From within his bag, he drew a trio of needles filled with red liquid. Gently, he inserted one into the man's arm and pressed down on the plunger. "Talk to me, what's your name? What do you do?"

"Aarne Thompson," the old man rasped. "I'm retired. I used to be a carpenter." His head shifted under the bag. "Are the others ok?"

"Yeah, they are," Mr. Walker said, reaching up and removing the man's hood. He was covered with wrinkles and brown spots, and there was only a wisp of white hair at the top of his head. He squinted in the daylight, his eyes focusing on the hostages that were still alive, and now by treating by an Atlesian medic.

"Oh, good," Aarne said. "Not many made it out of the village. I'm glad some did." His voice was uncomfortably weak. Mr. Walker squeezed his hand a little tighter and gave him another injection. Winter felt the urge to step in. Mr. Walker was injecting a large amount of painkillers into the man, more than was safe. He had to know that. She blinked. Of course he knew it. And the reality of the situation hit her.

"Yeah, your friends are ok," James said. "No one's going to hurt them anymore. You still in pain?"

"A little," Aarne said. "But the worst of it is behind me. It doesn't hurt nearly as bad." He looked down at Mr. Walker, smiling weakly. "I'm not afraid anymore." There was something very knowing about his smile. He understood what was happening.

"Good," James said, injecting the contents of the third needle into Aarne's arm. "You're not alone. You're safe now. I've got you."

He chuckled. "Thank you very much, young man. I feel...very warm. And tired. I think I'll close my eyes for a minute." Softly, Aarne closed his eyes. And his body went limp. He was dead.

His hand shaking, Mr. Walker let go of Aarne's hand, taking a few steps back. He slumped into a sitting position leaning against one of the crosses, looking up at the sky. Winter found her voice. "Mr. Walker must admit, I didn't expect that from you," she said, her voice not as level as she was comfortable with. "It was more...uncompromising than I thought you were. To be able to do something like that."

He let out a strangled noise. "Please call me James," he said. "And that's a funny way of looking at it. Back on Earth, I would've been called a naive and overly idealistic idiotic for not just putting a bullet in him. Painkillers can be hard to come to by, but bullets are practically growing on trees." He gave a bitter laugh. "That's screwed up, isn't it?"

That was putting it lightly. Winter nodded stiffly. "So. This is what the Legion does Mr. Wal-James?" she asked, catching herself.

"Yeah. And apparently, it's what the White Fang does too now," James said. "Honestly? Both of them need to go. They need to be snuffed out. Both of them may have arisen because of genuine problems, but I don't care anymore, not after this. Caesar? Lanius? That little snot-nosed shit? They're dragging down the world around them. Them and anyone who blindly clings to them is a cancer on life in general."

"I thought you just said you would be called naive and overly idealistic," Winter said, her mind buzzing at the obvious contradiction. "That hardly fits the profile."

James reached up, undid his helmet, and laid it down in the flat of his lap. "It's-well-It's hard to put into words," he said. "I try and do a balancing act with this kind of stuff. Compromising between doing as little immoral crap as possible while also maximizing the number of people who are safe and happy and minimize overall suffering. I have a friend who coined a term for it, moral utilitarianism, but I keep going back and forth on whether it fits. I-let me put it this way. If I can save a hundred people by killing ten bandits, I will, that's easy. If I know the bandits have families to feed and they may go hungry if I kill them, I won't like it, but I'll still kill them. I'll help the families if I can, but more people would've suffered if I let the bandits do as they please."

He gestured to the crosses and the burning buildings. "Caesar gave hope and unity to tribes that didn't have any and the White Fang gave a home and a cause to Faunus who had been treated like garbage. There are probably a lot of people in them who are scared and clinging to the Legion and the Fang because they don't know what to do without them. And I sympathize with them." He pointed at Aarne. "But they're siding with the people who did that. And I don't see a lot of room for reasonable flexibility so long as that's still the case. Not when they're actively standing alongside and supporting these people."

His face twisted into a scowl. "That kid that tried to charge me. That stupid kid. Barely older your sister, and I'd bet you a grand that he couldn't even comprehend living a different kind of life. And that little brat that was trying to skewer you, the same goes for him. The Legion and the Fang are just going to churn out more and more people like that so long as they exist. So like I said. They gotta go." James made to stand up but hissed at clutched at his leg.

"You've been ignoring that for too long," Winter said, her mind still processing everything that James had said. She didn't necessarily believe he was wrong, but she couldn't help but feel that he had reached his conclusion in a rather roundabout way. His conclusions were sound, but there were too many steps required to reach it. The Legion and the Fang had chosen to do something horrible like this, therefore they were a threat that needed to be stopped. That was all there was to it.

Kneeling down, she pulled up James's pants leg until the wound was exposed. It hadn't hit any major arteries but it still was rather deep. "Medkit!" she shouted. At once, the medic took his spare kit and tossed it her way. She caught it deftly in mid-air, opened it, and went to work on dressing James's wound. As she did, she couldn't help but notice that while James's leg had noticeable muscle, it wasn't uniform. She had a feeling that James's exercise and diet were both sporadic.

"Thanks," he hissed. "Look, speaking of that, there's something you need to know. Caesar's got a new lap dog. A woman named Marie F.. And I know, I know I said Caesar had fucked up views on gender politics, but for some reason, he's letting this one play ball. She's nasty in a fight, seems to get off on all of this, is probably a cannibal, and has a Semblance that lets her duplicate weapons. I gave her as good as I got, but she scampered off with the rest of them."

"So, she was the one who ambushed us, pretending to be a corpse," Winter said, disinfecting James's wound before starting to wrap gauze around it. She felt a gentle burn of anger at what had happened. The movement of the body, the taunts, so many brave souls wiped out in a blink. "Another target for the list then. What happened today is a tragedy, but the Fang and the Legion are picking a fight they can't win. The only reason they haven't been wiped out is the fact that they hide in the shadows. The second we know where it's over."

"Funny you mention that," he said as the last of the bandages were applied. "That's why I didn't finish that one off. Thought he might be useful to figuring out where they went." He pointed at the one-armed man, who had now passed out with bandages covering his arm. Winter nodded. A logical course of action.

"Mr. Walker? Cardin is trying to get in contact with Russell and Dove and he's not getting anything." Ms. Nikos approached the two of them, looking concerned. "Should we send out a search party to look for them?"

"I don't think that'd be safe when we're battered and we've got so many people to look after," James replied. "It'd probably be safer to have the other parts of the formation look for them as they come in."

"Agreed," Winter said and put her hand to her earpiece. At once, a piercing screech blared directly into her ear, causing her to instinctively reach in and pull the radio out. "What in the world," she muttered, flipping the frequency. Curiously, James flicked his wrist-mounted radio on, flinching as he got the same piercing noise. "Some sort of interference," Winter said. "Anyone who heard it would have switched to the backup frequency." Flicking a switch on her earpiece, she did just that and slid it back into her ear.

"All forces, we have two students M.I.A., please locate them if you can as you move into town." Privately, however, Winter knew this. If Russell and Dove hadn't abandoned their teammates in the middle of a battle, they were most likely dead. ED-E floated down and gently nuzzled the side of James's face, beeping softly.

XXXXX

Author's Note: Rumford's weapon and the manner in which he used it is actually a reference to something. I wonder if people will be able to figure it out. Fair hint, it came out in the 60s and is a fairly famous work, I'm not referencing anything obscure.

Also, when doing research, I realized that while all of Team CRDL is pretty cowardly (Cardin gets a bit better in the Volume 3 finale, which is why I had him actually try and hold his own against Servius) Sky is cowardly even by their standards. In Volume 1, all of Team CRDL was running/scared when they were attacked by an Ursa, but Sky cowerded when Jaune threw a jar of sap at Cardin, something none of the rest of his team was scared about.

And I swear I put in the "also a gun" part in without meaning to reference the meme.

Also a general heads up. I have the general outline for this story planned out I'm not going to derail anything to make it fit in with any new info we get in Volume 6. I will put in Volume 6 info where it fits, but if there's a clash with my plans and what Volume 6 reveals, I'm going with what I had planned. When mentally drawing up the outline for this story, I had to fill in the blanks in a lot of areas to get from point A to point B, there's still a lot of unknowns about the world of RWBY. Namely the Summer and Winter Maidens (I have a sneaking feeling about the Winter Maiden and the old cyborg lady). I have plans for them. I'll probably only use the canon Maidens if their personalities and situations line up with what I have planned, and I don't consider that very likely. That being said. The thing that happened in Volume 6 episode 2? Yeah. That I will be taking into consideration. That will fit in easily.

Out of curiosity, since this is something I have limited experience in, how are you guys liking my RWBY style fight scenes? I ask because my fight scenes tend to be grounded. Well. Grounded by comparison.

I would like to thank my Patrons, SuperFeatherYoshi, xXNanamiXx, RaptorusMaximus, Davis Swinney, Mackenzie Buckle, Josue Garcia, and Jonathan Eason for their amazing support.