Remnant DxD

by Dessel Ordo

When an 11 year old Jaune Arc wandered out into Forever Fall hoping to become Remnants youngest huntsman, that should have been it for the foolish kid. Luckily a passing devil saw potential in him and re-incarnated him. Now, 6 years later House Bael has sent him to attend Beacon Academy to learn more about his homeworld, and establish his own peerage. What could possibly go wrong?

31. Chapter 31: Chaos III-Last Word

A/N: I dont own RWBY or Highschool DxD, and dont make a single penny off of sharing this. Also, this entire sequence for The Breach got bigger than I had expected it too. Hopefully what I learned writing this bit out will help get future big set piece battles done quicker and more cleanly. Enjoy!

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[Evernight Castle]

Salem is leaning against the railing of one of her home's many balconies. Dummah resting against the wall behind her.

Twenty massive forms are slowly floating off into the distance. Towering, oblong Grimm, their ovoid bodies still glinting orange in the distance. Long tentacles looking more like overloaded grape vines, with the smaller Seer Grimm clinging to them like limpets. The new type of Grimm are split into four groups, each with a single, massive, bone-armored variation at the center of four instances that she had spent the last several months raising from her Pools.

"Hm. Quagmires." The ten-winged leader of the Myriad of Destruction muses, the ice cubes in his glass tinkling as he swirls it. He is taller than her, but her complex hairstyle makes up the difference between them nicely. He's well-built without being overly muscled, clad in a refined black tuxedo, his jacket hanging open and bow-tie loose around his neck.

Salem scoffs. "No, no, you afford the mortals too much creativity. They will likely call this most recent creation of mine 'OverSeers' or some other pedestrian drivel." She makes no effort to disguise the derision in her voice, and only puts token effort to restrain her pleasure at the entertainment her comment draws out of her confidant.

The pale-skinned brunette man strides forward to lean against the railing at her side. "That assumes the first mortals to see them will know of Seers, my dear." He passes the second glass he had prepared for them to Salem. The pair tap their tumblers' lips together in a silent toast. The Fallen Angel's heterochromatic gold and hazel eyes–set over a sharp nose and strong jaw decorated with a neatly trimmed mustache and goatee–meeting Salem's deep crimson as they do so. The hand not holding his tumbler of bourbon shifts to rest on the glittering pommel of the sword he has kept on his person constantly since she first met him. Its silvery guard in the shape of a twelve-pointed star, the blade itself still unknown to her, even all these millenia later. The handful of times either of them has had to do battle since their meeting he has always preferred blades and spears of light over the weapon on his waist.

She shoots him a dry smirk. "Which also assumes that any mortal will survive encountering what these creations of mine shall become." They share a conspiratorial chuckle at that. Salem pauses before her smirk turns almost cheeky. "Besides, you are far more disconnected from the humans than I. You did expect them to name the Wyvern 'Reginald.'"

His cheeks color slightly at that before he awkwardly clears his throat. "Speaking of human disassociation... Need I remind you of the glaring strategic and personal errors you made without any regard to our goals or union? What was it, four or five human generations ago, when Mantle and Mistral's leadership jointly went mad and decided to ignore human nature, Salem?" She huffs, and looks away from the Grimm across the barren volcanic waste that is her domain. Or at least the illusion that is hiding the sinkhole city of EbonHold. Not many airships dare pass over her domain, but a touch of discretion and secrecy goes a long way in the long run.

He nods, and takes a sip from his tumbler. "Though, I do question the effort you put in to sending so many Seer Grimm with them." He adds, voice falling back to its usual cold precision, features calming back to his usual reserved carriage. A fit man in his middle years to the naked eye.

She resists the urge to sigh. Dummah is simply ensuring that all angles are covered. One of several reasons she initially forged and has since maintained their partnership all these millenia "They will allow me to directly assert my will on them and their spawn, despite the great distance. You know this." His willingness to play devil's advocate instead of brooding over what they disagree on by himself being another benefit of their alliance.

He nods, "Oh, don't get me wrong; as far as contingencies go, this is quite devious. I heartily approve. I was simply keeping the longer game in mind." He sets his tumbler on the railing and adjusts his golden cufflinks-custom made pieces in the shape of the flaming sword of his Myriad of Destruction.

"Oh? You believe that this will be inadequate?"

"Oh, no. I was simply ruminating on the intelligence our subordinates recently gathered. Namely, that the Kingdom of Vale has begun the construction of a sibling vessel to that Atlesian monstrosity." Dummah clarifies.

Salem lets out a derisive snort, and waves him off. "The crown jewel of my creations is more than a match for that outdated technological hulk."

"And if that airship remains in our enemy's hands, and were to face your vaunted masterwork, supported by a complete fleet?" Dummah prompts, voice even, verging on bored as he gazes out at the slowly shrinking forms of the gargantuan tentacled Grimm.

Salem furrows her brow. That could, indeed, be problematic. She admits as much. Having a confidant does little good if you are not open with them, after all. Her and Ozma had certainly–

Salem stamps down on that train of thought hard. "Once our most recent creations are in place and active, I doubt the mortals would even notice my shifting efforts here." She pauses, and a devious smile grows on her face in the brief silence. "In fact, the coming months would be a perfect opportunity–not only to modify some of the smaller flying Grimm to be more ideal counters to the mortals' warships, but to spawn additional Wyverns, Leviathans, Sea Feilong..."

Dummah nods, that same grin he always sports after goading her into a more, strategic, mindset shamelessly plastered across his face. "Between the interlopers in Menagerie and Atlas; and the Devils taking an active interest in Remnant, it may be prudent to further modify some of the more common Grimm as well. My Myriad are numerous, but not an endless resource. Even with the apparent success of our parasite hybrids."

Salem side-eyes her friend and partner and takes a slow sip from her tumbler. "A success that would not have been possible had we disposed of the test subject as you suggested." She does her best to keep her tone mild, but knows the gloating will shine through despite her efforts.

Dummah's face goes perfectly flat as he side-eyes her, voice almost robotically deadpan as he shoots back. "A suggestion I still stand by. Even in the hands of a tertiary scientific resource, that stubborn, annoying little wretch is more of a liability than a boon. As is allowing its bloodline to potentially flourish rather than nipping it in the bud, as we have been doing for centuries with its ilk now."

"And I standby my agreement with the person it once was. Its spirit was owed that much at least ." The Fallen leader huffs but lets the argument drop, taking another drink. Salem shifts to a different point of interest. "Moving on to matters of more pressing concern, Phanuel and his followers have apparently caught wind of your presence on this world and will doubtlessly take action soon."

"Tame dogs compared to the wolves of my Myriad."

"Yet, the leader of those dogs has been an effective and stalwart supporter of Ozma for millenia now."

"I suppose there would be no satisfaction to be had if our conquest were to proceed uncontested. We both know Ozma won't be up to the task of providing more than token resistance once our plan is truly in motion. Perhaps the lapdog will bare its teeth after its leash has been removed.." Salem chuckles darkly as Dummah tosses back the remainder of his drink. "Moving back to matters of true import, old friend, with more enemies and players entering the field, it is well past time we built up our war machine. The Myriad stands ready as ever, but your Grimm are still a bestial and mindless horde. A tool of terror rather than one of war."

A white hand waves in his general direction dismissively. She does, however, understand his concern. "If the contingency we are currently seeing off works as intended, it will be child's play to more closely inspect some of the older and more evolved Grimm outside of our direct domain. I can then use the more successful of them as templates for the next wave of developments and further creations."

"The time it will take to get to that point could still be drastically reduced, my dear." Dummah offers conversationally. Impatient, transparent and short-sighted now. Such a mercurial ally she has once he smells blood in the water. Though the drawback is a minor one, and simple to work around.

She can't quite keep the indulgently derisive smile at his impulsiveness from crossing her face. "Yes, Dummah, we could still use one of your transportation circles. And the massive glowing sigil in the sky would draw every Huntsman, Huntress and military asset of the Kingdoms close enough to see the light-show that goes with it directly to what is intended to be a clandestine, subversive expansion of our ability to naturally exert pressure on the mortals. Haste makes waste, dear."

Dummah's confidence does not waver in the slightest. "Ah, but Salem, if the Quagmires perform as intended, and they will, open warfare or something near enough to it is inevitable. The use of transportation magic circles will add to the pressure we will be able to exert upon our foes."

The Grimm Queen's smile falters. He does have her there. As usual, Dummah's mind–even when fixated on securing a quick, brutal win–is at least one step ahead. "A fair point. Once hostilities have openly resumed we will begin reinforcing the Quagmires in that method instead of how this first batch is being deployed."

Whatever the ten-winged Fallen would have said in response goes unsaid, as a communication magic circle appears near his right ear moments after he had opened his mouth to do so. "Yes?" After a prolonged pause, he responds again, "Hm. Keep me apprised." The circle dispels, and he turns back towards Salem, meeting her curious red eyes with his heterochromatic pair. "It would seem that little Cinder 'snuck a march on our enemies,' as the saying goes. Her plan is proceeding a few days ahead of schedule."

_-*R-DxD*-_

Emerald had actually beaten the brats on Team RWBY to where their stupid friends were fighting.

A childhood spent hopping between rooftops and scurrying through back alleys had made it painfully easy to not just follow them, but figure out where they were headed before they did, or got there. Finding a spot where she could watch and listen without being noticed? Simple. Didn't even need to use her Semblance to do it.

What she'd heard from that sicko, though...

Suriel isn't Cinder. Just because he's willing to throw his followers' lives away doesn't mean that Cinder would do the same. The winged freaks are probably just allies of convenience, like the White Fang or Torchwick.

It had taken every ounce of her self-control to not make herself scarce when the killing started.

Years of survival instinct had come raging back to prominence in a heartbeat as she crouched on her perch behind a rooftop air conditioning unit. She'd fought through it though. She'll happily do anything Cinder asks of her–fighting back instincts from another life that she doesn't need anymore is the bare minimum of what she's willing to go through for the woman who saved her.

She'd been just as shocked as Team RWBY when Suriel's people had gotten taken apart by the Devils. Seeing the ginger ditz smash one of them with a dumpster like it was nothing had been a shock. When the goody two-shoes Golden Boy and Invincible Girl had just fucking executed a handful of the Fallen Angels, It was beyond stupefying.

Emerald had thought she was out of her depth then. The freaky extra powers on top of Semblances had been weird, but manageable.

Right up until now.

Arc had shouted some nonsense–okay, not so much shouted as projected his voice, but still–like in those stupid Mistrali Manga she'd went out of her way to steal as a kid and then his crazy lightshow of an Aura had started playing across his body from his shoulders outwards.

Dark purple, almost black armor materializes over his body as the coruscating silver-green-blue-brown washes past. Slim, rounded clam-shell pauldrons trimmed in bright gold are the first pieces of armor to solidify over his body. They are followed swiftly by rerebraces, couters, vambraces and gauntlets molded into a shape reminiscent of idealized human musculature, again, trimmed in gold along their edges. His torso is wrapped in armor next, less subtle than the armor on his arms, decorative pectorals and abdominal muscles sculpted into the segmented, interconnected armor plates. A pair of clasps blink into existence at his shoulders, and a long crimson cape starts falling down his back from them. The decorative garment reaches his waist just as it too is wrapped in armor, and follows the line of light as cuisse, poleyns, greaves and sabatons encase his legs, embellished similarly to his arms. From waist to knee the cape is joined by a wide, diamond tipped sixteen-strapped pteruges. Each of the leather straps of the armored skirt ending with the twin crescents of his emblem in vibrant silver centered within the straps tip. The cloak flutters to a halt at the base of his calves at the same time an armored gorget locks into place around his neck. With a final flare of light, his head is wrapped in a tall, slender helmet with a broad t-shaped visor left open to allow for vision. A broad royal purple crest springs up above his head running from his brow to the back of his skull, just before the insane shifting tarnished silver patina seals shut the gap left open in his helmet.

"Normanni Armis." He states, voice as hard as steel, given an extra edge by the metallic twinge now distorting his voice.

Gone was the socially awkward, goofy nice-guy leader of Team JNPR. In his place now stands an angry god of war wrought from steel and light. He rolls his shoulders and tilts his head as if cracking his neck. The motion is too smooth for someone wearing even the most perfectly fitted armor, extra plates of metal that shouldn't be there covering his flesh as the pieces she had seen flare into existence move to allow the motion.

"End of the line, Suriel."

He kicks off of the concrete, and like a shot out of a cannon crashes into her supposed ally. Before, the two of them had had a more or less balanced give-and-take. Suriel slightly edging out Arc in speed and technique, attacking more than he had been made to defend.

Now–impossibly–Arc is faster despite being clad in armor that should at least double his weight. His motions too fluid, too refined for a man on foot in full plate. The wings extending beyond his flowing cloak serve as a stark reminder that he isn't human, or Faunus. His first strike actually shatters the light jian that had been brought up to block his gladius strike, scoring another deep gash in the Fallen Angel's forearm. Suriel moves to counter with his off-hand blade, only for the lightning-fast strike to be caught on the armored Devil's shield, shunted aside and receive a shield-punch that dents his breastplate for the effort.

Stumbling backwards he is barely able to catch Crocea Mors next downward slash on both of his light jian. Arc stomps on the four-winged Fallen's instep, sending him tumbling to the ground and Arc's right. Suriel-barely-rolls out of the way of the coup de grace Arc had attempted to follow up with. The half-second his gladius is buried in the concrete buying Suriel enough time to spring back to his feet, and summon another light jian. It is immediately knocked from his hand by Crocea Mors, dissipating into orange wisps of light as Arc bears down on Suriel. His next slash is caught on a jian held up in a vertical guard. The Fallen Angel attempts to get in a quick punch to Arc's kidneys, but the Devil shifts to the side then around behind the increasingly strung-out looking Fallen, slamming his armored elbow into the small of Suriel's back, sending him stumbling forward before drawing his blade across the back of his thighs, nearly toppling the Fallen to the ground again.

Behind them, Ren had dashed into the building the knife-wielding Angel had been launched into. Emerald can't properly see what is happening through the smoke and dust, but the rattle of twin machine pistols and flares of light has her pretty confident Suriel won't be getting any help from that direction any time soon.

When half of a black feathered wing arcs out of the building's ruined facade trailing blood–heralded by a pained scream–her suspicions are confirmed.

On the opposite side of the street from the shrouded duel, Valkyrie's hulking enemy is struggling to keep up with her chaotic aggressive battle flow. His left leg is encased in ice from the knee down, and right arm is hanging limply at his side in three distinct, unnatural, pieces. The little ginger psychopath actually looks like she's started giggling every time she hops, jumps, slides or rolls away from the broad, sweeping one-armed strikes he has been reduced to. She drops into a backwards somersault as he tries to sweep for her neck, adroitly leaping to the side when he tries to follow-through with an overhead chop, burying his blade in the concrete as Nora returns to her feet, launching herself forward with an explosion-enhanced swing of Magnhild. The shortstack twists in midair, using her momentum as much as her wings to shift her position before using another explosive swing of her hammer to launch herself off of a nearby–now former–wall and back towards her victim.

Valkyrie smashes into the still immobile, panting Fallen Angel hammer-first with a mighty crack. He is shot forwards like a bullet from a gun, ragdolling along the concrete as Nora adroitly lands on her feet. She slowly saunters towards his prone form, hips swaying and weapon rested on her shoulder. Her victim lies face down on the road and utterly still save for the slight rising and falling of his chest.

Nikos–The Invincible Girl, no longer looks so much as challenged. Effortlessly shifting between her two foes, tongues of crimson-to-purple flame lashing out from her slashes, adding feet to her spear-thrusts and literal heat to her shield punches. One of the sword and shield fighter's breastplate has been reduced to slag, his now bare chest covered in brutal looking burns and deep gashes. The other has a cauterized stump at the elbow of his shield arm. Both are panting and covered in a myriad of smaller cuts, scrapes, burns and bruises, fear dancing in their eyes as the crimson-haired Devil stalks towards them.

Emerald's scroll buzzes in her pocket. Eager to look away from the so-called hero-wannabes' massacre, she fishes it out.

[Mistress: Sufficient saturation achieved. Retreat to Aid Station and allow events to develop naturally.]

Silently making a note to once again thank Cinder for sparing her life all those years ago, Emerald edges back away from the bloody tableau below her and starts hopping across rooftops. If she stays much longer, she may end up having to answer some incredibly awkward questions. Or wind up dead.

She really is lucky to have been saved by someone who values her life.

Had it been Suriel's master that found her on the streets all those years ago, it could be Emerald bleeding out in the alleyway, a mere piece on the board sacrificed for a greater goal. She is so lucky that Cinder saved her from the streets when she did.

_-*R-DxD*-_

Cardin stands up just as the Manticore slumps to the ground, leaking smoke and ash from its motionless form. He looks around the ruined intersection-traffic circle, actually a voice that sounds a lot like–

Whatever.

He takes stock of the three teams–Their remnants at least–as Ryse lopes over towards him. He has to pull his scroll out to get names, but with shit having gone so far south, everyone's had defaulted to auto-network. He knows that there should be Grimm, or White Fang, or something attacking them, but he can hear fighting nearby, so decides to chalk it up to that and hope for actual help, not more bits and broken pieces of student teams.

His Aura is in the yellow, and Russel's is up at eighty, with that stupid wannabe warning sign showing he'd taken an Aura Amp. Ryse and the rest of his team–excluding Tina, getting your legs eaten and the stumps cauterized is pretty final–are all in the yellow, with the same icons by their name as Russel. Dun, the purple mohawked bird-faunus' display rolls over to fifty-one and turns green as the freshmen start shifting around to form as good a perimeter around the wounded as they can manage. A few scared-looking civilians–kids too dumb to know any better–poke their heads out of third and fourth story windows to look down at them.

Reg is showing an error message, aside from a heartbeat and depleted Aura no other vitals are being detected by his scrolls medical suite. Considering he has one of the models the Academy gives out to incoming freshmen, and was hurt the same way Dove was a few weeks ago but is still–

Is still...

The other two guys on his team are both in decent shape. The guy who'd gotten all emo after his girlfriend bit it during their first run out into the Emerald Forest, Verdus, is hovering in the yellow. Hasn't taken an Amp yet, but it doesn't look like he is eager to either. He hasn't really done much of anything for himself since his team got reshuffled at the start of the year though. He's kind of let himself go since–

Since his girlfriend died because you let Suriel use your team to set an–

The other guy on Reg's team–Louis Creus–is in the mid-sixties with the stupid Amp icon by his name. He at least looks focused. Granted, a single Academy Freshman would be able to do jack-all if more Grimm or Fang soldiers turn up, but he picked a street and has his eyes on it and his rifle ready to fire down it.

[Sky Lark: Out of range/no signal.]

Above that is a grayed out portrait and name with a flat EKG reading next to it. Pull yourself together Winchester, you've held onto your shit for months over Sky, and the fucker that got him–

Just gotta keep it together over Dove until you're out of the combat zone.

"You wanna shoot yourself up, or are we gonna Amp each other?" Ryse asks as he comes to rest next to him.

Cardin shifts over and down to present his now unarmored shoulder to the shorter guy. "Yeah, I don't wanna risk tripping balls in a combat zone 'cuz the Amp went straight up my carotid and into my brain." Ryse nods, pulls the last hypo gun from the thick black belt holding his dark tan cargo pants up, presses it into the flesh just below Cardin's armpit and pulls the trigger.

For a half a second he can hear his blood rushing in his ears, all of the colors around him are impossibly bright and he is acutely aware of every last drip of sweat on his body and how many of his undershirt and compression shorts individual threads are rubbing against his skin and the breeze playing on his face and the taste of bile in his mouth and rank odor of–

"–do you think's gonna happen to our teams, Cardin?"

He shakes his head to clear it. He rolls the other teens red leather bomber jackets sleeve up, grabs one of the amps he'd gotten for his team out presses it to the shorter guy's bicep and pulls the trigger. "Best guess? We're gonna get shuffled by the Headmaster." He pauses and pulls away from the shorter guy as he fixes his jacket, straightens his Ushanka, and brushes some of the dust and soot off of the plain white t-shirt he is wearing under the jacket. The blood, sweat and grime that had gotten rubbed into it just smudge.

"Shuffled?"

Both of their scrolls ping. They fish the devices out of their pockets. A licensed team, apparently, just moved into sync range of them. Team AMRI–Aquamarine. Isn't that Arc's older sister's team? The one with the pushy Faunus chick?

"Look, we can leave it up to Ozpin and hope for the best, or break into our emergency features as leaders, show some initiative, and–and maybe prove a bit that we do deserve to lead our teams." Cardin half-whispers as the two of them look up from the same notification on their scrolls.

Help is finally on the way.

_-*R-DxD*-_

When Crocea Mors' fate-altering properties activate normally, it feels like he's barely in control. Like he's riding a wild beast, or on board a boat lost at sea at the mercy of a storm.

Clad in Normanni Armis, his Balance Break, he is the storm. As long as he stays on the offensive, he keeps getting stronger, faster, more accurate and skilled; while his victims–yes, victims, this Balance Break is solely for killing–grow weaker, slower, more clumsy and easily winded. He stalks towards Suriel, blood dripping down Crocea Mors fuller and off of its tip. "You know, if you had just left us alone, we wouldn't be here right now. You'd get to live. If you hadn't gotten an entire Kingdom caught up in this, that is."

The Fallen spits out a wad of spit and blood, as he struggles back into a fighting stance. "That weakness is why you Devils will fall to the Myriad!" He growls out before rushing at Jaune. His form is sloppy, desperate. His eyes are glinting with fear as much as they are rage and insanity. It resets his Balance Breaks effect, but that's fine. He sidesteps the sloppy, lunging stab, and counters with a brutal backhand to the side of the usually perfectly put together Fallen's head.

Again, he stumbles away, blood running from his ear and temple, hair unbound and hanging around his shoulder in bloody, sweaty matted clumps. The sound of steel parting flesh and the distinctive gurgle of a person bleeding out through a slit throat, followed by the beautiful shriek of Pyrrha's Sacred Gear sound out from behind him. That's one member of his peerage done with their part of this fight.

Suriel rights himself again, barely.

"Your 'Myriad' is a rogue element breaking the truce." Jaune bites out. "The ones who fight back will end up just like you, and the ones smart enough to surrender will get locked away like they deserve." He kicks off of the mound of rubble he'd stepped onto following the bastard of a Fallen, launching himself towards the Fallen. Suriel twists to the side, turning what would have been a blade through the heart into a ruined left shoulder. The arm below it falling limp as Magnhild pulps the chest cavity of the prone Fallen Angel behind Suriel, and Ren strides back out of the building he had pursued his foe into, blood dripping from the tips of Stormflower.

"If these truly are to be my last words, then know this: Before the year is out, you'll be dead, along with your little Devil cronies and all of the other weaklings that follow you and your ilk." He spits back, before lashing out with his only good hand. It seems pitifully slow to Jaune now. Jaune parries it with ease, drawing the Fallen across his front, lining his hand up perfectly so that he can smash it with his shield.

He drops back, and gives his blade a quick spin as the Fallen stumbles away from him again. "Fanatics like you always forget that age isn't all there is to power. You never seem to realize that there are consequences when you threaten or attack someone else's friends and family." He takes three quick strides forward. Crocea Mors flashes up, and Suriel's left arm falls away from his body.

Down, and the right tumbles to join its twin.

A kick to the back of the knees puts Suriel's head at the right height, and makes drawing Crocea Mors back to get enough momentum flow naturally easy. "Vae Victus." Crocea Mors lashes out, and Suriel's head is severed from his body. He follows though as the severed limbs reach the ground, and is greeted by the sight of Team RWBY still rooted in place, no worse for the wear, and utterly speechless.

The green tint of nausea coloring their faces is...Understandable, all things considered.

The tenseness betraying their caution stings.

The fact that they look torn as to whether or not they should lower their weapons? That just hurts...

As a show of good faith, he dismisses his Balance Break as his peerage fall in behind him, walking towards their sibling team. Well, Ren and Nora do, Pyrrha is fishing one of her burner scrolls from her pocket to contact the local Precinct House already. Jaune's Legendary Blade reverts to a plain, albeit bloody, arming sword, and he scratches awkwardly at the back of his neck with his sword hand as best he can. "So...We need to talk." The irony of him mirroring what Weiss had said before they left for their missions shadowing pro huntsmen is far from lost on him.

Blake pointedly refrains from making eye contact. Her tense, near-perfect stillness betraying what would, for anyone less iron-willed, be terrified trembling. Ouch.

Yang is twitchy. Her gaze resting on the bruises and scrapes on his peerage as often as it does on splotches of blood, soot or viscera covering them. Her right hand clenched protectively on Ruby's shoulder as she stands in front of her. Double ouch.

Weiss, being in the Know, at least limits herself to just cautiously and surreptitiously glancing around for uninvited observers, additional enemies, and presenting what is probably a trained expression she had been forced to learn and present in case of a scandal.

Ruby...Seems to be having it the worst. The leader of Team RWBY just seems devastated; and afraid. The optimistic innocence that makes her such a joy to be around nowhere to be found in her eyes nor posture. Crescent Rose lying on the concrete beneath trembling hands, her unseeing silver eyes locked on her blood-covered palms. With how thoroughly her seeing a battle this intense had likely crushed that optimism, he doubts he will see that same innocence on her face again anytime soon, if ever again. The way her older teammates are rallying themselves to glare daggers at him makes it clear they're coming to similar conclusions.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Meanwhile the Kingdom of Vale is under siege by a legion of White Fang grunts either working around or- more worryingly–being aided by a large horde of Grimm. Which suggests either a singularly rare and powerful Semblance in play, or magic. Which would be an entirely different can of worms. Some of the more scientifically inclined Devils he had talked about his homeworld with had suspected that the Grimm may be Divine Constructs, but no actual research had been done on them. Seems more than a little short sighted now that a big point in favor of that theory is right in front of him.

Obviously not the best time to make an offer for Peerage membership. He'd, of course, need to explain what all that entails first. And how Weiss already knows most of it. Then the reassurances that he really is the same guy they, hopefully still, call a friend, just with a few extra things he'd left out. And how, despite what most entertainment outlets claim and portray, Devils aren't naturally evil, and…

And...

Dammit all!

Suriel's death aside, would it be too much to ask for SOMETHING to go right-cleanly and with no strings attached or caveats-for once!?

_-*R-DxD*-_

A heat haze shimmers across his scrolls screen, and it pings out another emergency tone. Sky's picture grays out, his Aura reading drops to zero, and the EKG to the right of both flatlines. So, Suriel finally decided to drop the fucking ruse. His hand trembles, and Cardin clamps down on the emotions hard. He can lose his shit later.

The third team leader stirs by their feet. Well, not quite stirs, but his eyes flutter open. "Why? Why can't I move? Why can't I feel, can't I feel–"

Cardin tunes the terrified rambling of the downed leader out as his able-bodied teammates rush to his side. He switches screens on his scroll, and idly notes the bird-Faunus student shooting a dirty glance in their general direction. He taps in his PIN code, and hits the four different fucking warning screens away so that he can get to the Team Adjuster. "That Faunus dude giving you shit?"

Ryse looks ready to tear into him, until he glances down at his scroll, grimaces, and shakes his head. "Yeah, ever since Oz added him onto my team from the kids that got a free pass back into Beacon after getting hurt last year."

Cardin can feel the acerbic, cruel jibe forming on his tongue.

[["You're too young and have been too sheltered to actually believe some of the crap my briefing on your team said you like to regurgitate." She pauses to glower darkly at him, bright sea-green eyes all but smoldering up at him. "Keep up like you have been though, and I'm sure you'll meet a Faunus ready to push back in a way that makes you feel that hatred."]]

He shakes his head, they probably won't have much more of a respite. "Oi!" A quick glance down at his scroll, "Dun! You wanna stay on Ryse' team or switch over to mine."

The purple-haired Faunus scoffs, and kicks at a rock with one of his talons. "I suppose if I have to follow a fuckup, I'll take the one that was Ozpin's first choice."

Cardin nods, "Right then, I guess that leaves–"

"Better not be talking about splitting me and my partner up!" The downed muscle-girl half-groans. With as many painkillers she just got shot up with, it's really a miracle she can string two sentences together at all.

The green haired guy in question shoots a quick, regretful seeming look over his shoulder at the tan girl, shoulder-length green locks bouncing as he does so. "Sandy, with what just happened to your arm and leg–"

"Goodwitch's classes are all gonna be watching tape and running drills with the Vytal Tourney so soon. No guarantee she'll flunk out for those injuries now." Ryse cuts him off, tapping away quickly at his scroll as the pro team and their military backup draw closer. The pushy wolf-faunus grabs Arcs older sister by the sleeve and drags her back a bit. The leaders bastard sword resting on her shoulder, her Faunus teammates minigun-lance resting tip-down on the broken concrete.

Cardin looks back at his fellow team-leader, then down the alleyway Verdus had abandoned to try to calm his now apparently paralyzed soon to be former leader down. "Right then looks like you get Sandy and Verdus, and Louey is on my team." He pauses to look over the gathered, beaten and battered students "Everyone catch what's going on?"

Two of the students that aren't laid on their backs and likely to stay that way for the foreseeable future make confused noises at that. Of fucking course. Cardin shares a nod with Ryse as they both finish tapping at their scrolls. The teams update, and Cardin shoots a weird look at Ryse. "How the hell do you get 'Jade' out of JTDD?"

The shorter Leader shrugs, stuffs his scroll into his pocket, and pulls his rapier from its sheath. "Tanith's got an 'a' for the second letter of her first and last name. Today's been hell and that's the best I can–" A guttural roar draws both of their attention back in the direction of the hole in the ground. Before they can react to the approaching Grimm, an absolute battering ram of a pale guy with spiky black hair thunders past them. A flanged mace in either hand, Dust crystals pulsing with every grimm he hits, smashing the monsters and casting a rainbow of different colors across his spiked, forest green breastplate, pauldrons, gauntlets and greaves.

A handful of grim-faced Valean soldiers in dirty uniforms supported by just over a dozen equally dirty Atlesian Knights, some sparking and damaged or missing armor plates, follow the huntsman, and start blocking off roads and alleys. The team leader, clearly an Arc, having a femmy version of the Devil-bastard's face, albeit one with freckles and strawberry-blonde hair and freckles instead of his- his what? Enemy by default? Classmate? Rival? Whatever. The eyes are damn near the same color, and she has curves in all the right places for a girl about the same height Cardin is. "Winchester, get your team ready to move. The rest of you follow them." She jerks her head back towards a handful of cops, mixed in with maybe a third as many VSPRD officers, probably to stiffen them up, with an Investigator at the center of the group to run things. "You'll be at the aid station safe and sound in no time." Her bastard sword opens up into what looks like a light machinegun and she squeezes off a burst down an as of yet unguarded alleyway, the brief respite that had let Cardin and Ryse get their teams straightened out clearly over.

She shoulder-checks him as she strides past, gun held at waist-height and still belching bullets. "I've got my eye on you. If Cobalt was right about you, you're either perfect for where we just got rerouted to, or you'll be in a cell for the rest of your life starting tomorrow." She strides past him, khaki cargo-pants hugging the swell of her ass, thick ODG belt hanging at an angle on her waist, white crop-top and denim vest displaying just a hint of her midriffs pale skin, a full moon in white and gold proudly displayed on her vests back, barely blocked by the whip-like ponytails tip swaying with each step she takes from one shoulder-blade to the other.

"The hell are we even going?" Cardin grips, knowing full well the bitch is probably ignoring him now.

The grinning sunflower-blonde wolf Faunus steps up next to him, her weapon unfolded into its minigun form. "Someone finally managed to get a plug in the southern part of what is supposed to be the cordon. My team got picked to make sure the sealed station that's supposed to be under the hole in the street doesn't stay an active problem. Since the Huntsman your team's supposed to be following is nowhere in sight, your team's with mine now." She pauses, ear-like side ponytails twitching as she shifts to make eye contact with Cardin.

"Don't fuck this up, Winchester."

_-*R-DxD*-_

A distant roar draws the attention of most of the members of Teams RWBY and JNPR. Blake does her best not to wince at it. "Perhaps we can have this talk after the current crisis has been seen to." Ren interjects, gray eyes drawing past her team towards the road behind them.

Team RWBY's sole Faunus has questions. Lots of questions. But... "He's right." First, where had that armor Jaune had been wearing go? And why did his sword change again? Followed by–mostly because Team JNPR's wings all disappeared a moment after she had agreed with them–where their wings went when they hid them. And then, as the impossible purple fire on Pyrrha's arms, sword and victims all snuffed out a moment later, how the hell that worked is tacked onto the list.

Pyrrha nods as she makes her way to the group, a silent apology on her morose expression as she glances towards Team RWBY, doubly so when her gaze falls on their young leader. "Police are on the way, the officers have been instructed of what they're going to report finding and won't look any deeper than we'd like." Okay, one more thing Blake has to grill her-her friends, about. She's scared and confused, but can't exactly hold keeping secrets against others. She's no saint herself, after all. Then again, even at her worst, most willfully blind…

This far? No. It...It reminds her too much of… Him.

Jaune tentatively pulls a handkerchief out of one of his pockets and moves to offer it to Ruby, who flinches away from him. Glaring, Yang wordlessly snatches the square of fabric from his hand, and dabs the blood clear of her sister's face. Jaune, awkwardly, scratches at the back of his head as the rest of the gathered teens clear what blood and gore they can from their persons.

Ruby is slowly pulled back to reality, timidly accepting the cloth from her sister and wiping herself off with a soft 'thank you.' Yang and Weiss both grumble about cleaning their hair as Blake, pragmatically writes off her crop-top and pants rather than struggling to get the blood out of the white garments later.

Jaune knows he's playing up how awkward he can be right now. But that's what his friends need to see, the kinda-awkward nice guy. Not the fearless, determined and terse leader or eldritch, murderous abomination.

After a few moments, he gestures down the road, and the teams start jogging back towards the fight. A handful of Fang soldiers try to fight back, but with him and Pyrrha at the front and center of the impromptu 'flying v' they had formed, those are put down with quick, powerful shield punches. No need to hold back so as not to stand out around Team RWBY anymore. Most of the Faunus they encounter, however, simply surrender.

He supposes that, covered in blood as they are, and charging into what up until very recently had been a free pass to escape into the city would have that effect on the Faunus. Nora is able to get a pack of zip-ties from a nearby house, pounding on the door shouting "Huntress, open up!" until it had cracked open. If her grinning visage, despite the blood, soot and dirt on her uniform had shocked the little old lady who had poked her head out, she didn't show it. That Yang, along with Ren and Nora had known how to turn those into restraints without instruction is something he filed away to worry about later.

It isn't much, and any of them with an unlocked Aura will be able to break free easily. But that is easier to dwell on than how almost all of the surrendering Faunus seem eager to do so to anyone but the blood-splattered Schnee. She's more than her family's sullied reputation. Everyone on the two student teams knows that, but the Faunus caught halfway through disguising their affiliation don't, and the fear in their eyes is probably cutting Weiss pretty deeply.

Once the ruined market square comes into view again, the Faunus start fighting back more regularly. Ember Celica and Stormflower start ringing out regularly as well, the pair of close quarters combatants joining Jaune and Pyrrha in clearing a path towards the Breach. As they battle their way out into the square, Pyrrha riding a Beowolf as it tumbles backwards, her spear driven through its skull, Ruby snapping off regular shots from Crescent Rose and Nora lobbing grenades indiscriminately in front of them, a sunny cry of "Salutations!" draws Jaunes attention off to the left, where Penny, surrounded by two dozen Atlesian soldiers in pristine white uniforms surrounding her, and a grizzled looking bleach-blonde woman wearing a Specialist's navy blue trench coat over a white jumpsuit laden down with mostly full utility pouches and belts, lit cigar hanging from her mouth, a pair of oversized karambits in her hands, move to approach them.

The awkward, chipper ginger girl sends Floating Array sawing through a pack of Beowolves, flinging the larger chunks of what's left into a crowd of fleeing Fang grunts. As the soldiers fall into a rough firing line behind some of the rubble, the Specialist stomps over to the pair of Beacon Teams. Ruby, having either started to recover or acting on instinct in a more or less familiar situation, returns the wave she offers with a small smile.

"Arc, Rose, against my better judgment, your teams are to hold here with us for what's left of this disaster." Never actually connecting with her karambits as she swings them. After a brief moment of confusion, and quickly dispatching an especially bold Creep, Jaune spots the small flock of drones, each with a handgun of some sort mounted on it, firing at whichever Grimm she waves one of her blades at trailing the imposing woman.

Blake tilts her head in confusion as she reloads Gambol Shroud. "Against your better judgment?"

Looking put off, the bleach-blonde Specialist slashes her blades in a wide x pattern in front of her, prompting a fusillade of bullets to rain down on the Grimm still trying to close in on them. "Multiple members of an immediate family shouldn't be fighting on the same battlefield together, forget about being part of the same unit." She grumps, as the drones start buzzing a cacophony of different tones.

Ruby looks over at her sister confusedly at that, and Jaune can't help but ask, "Why me?"

"Your sister's team is moving with a student team to ensure that the terrorists can't use the sealed off subway line once things have been dealt with here on the surface."

Jaune nods, before catching a White Fang grunt's wild-eyed, desperate slash on his shield, pinning him in place long enough for Pyrrhe to put three rounds from Miló into his torso, shattering his Aura and concentration, allowing Jaune to easily sweep his legs, pinning him down with a knee as soon as his mask strikes the pavement. The Specialist looks, less than happy, at Jaune's non-response. Having had a deep-seated respect for authority almost literally beaten into him by Kuisha, he reflexively barks "Understood!" earning a satisfied nod from the Specialist.

As one of the soldiers runs up with a set of Aura-restrictive cuffs, Penny jogs over to take his place in their battle-line. "Don't mind Specialist Kalika, Jaune. It's that time of the month for her."

"PENNY!" The tall Specialist's head snaps like a turret towards the Atlesian Huntress-in-training. "Who told you that?!"

Wide-eyed, Penny shakes her head at the older woman's question. "I don't think I can tell you that, Specialist. The first thing my father taught me was that I shouldn't hurt people, or let them get hurt if I can help it. And I think that you would hurt the person who said that if I told you." She gestures for one of her floating blades to parry another desperate looking Faunus' wild swipe, barely looking his way, before the rest of her blades batter the tusked terrorist down.

A thick cluster of police and students run past behind them. Jaune thinks he recognizes some of the faces, the fact that a dozen or so are either on stretchers or visibly wounded sending a spike of anger through him.

Jaune tunes out the older woman's angry grumbling as he stands back up, shifting to catch an Ursa's powerful sweep on his shield, allowing Penny to keep focused on the Faunus fighters still trying to flee. The motion sends his gaze skywards, where a lone, dark figure is silhouetted against the sun.

A figure with...

Ohh, that's a lot of wings.

The figure raises their hand and–

That's a very big magic circle.

A Holy magic circle.

A very, VERY big Holy magic circle.

This... is gonna suck.

_-*R-DxD*-_

((Moments prior))

Azazel has to give it to Oz's kids; It'd been mostly them who got this mess contained as quickly as it was. Sure some are from the other academies, but he more or less chose the people running those too, so it really does come down to him. The casualties hadn't been as bad as he'd been afraid they'd be when he got word of what's happening. The number of fatalities was even lower than that, thankfully. Their headmaster hadn't done wrong by them.

It's well past time he stepped in now. Oz's Deputy Headmistress is waiting on his signal to seal up the top level after all.

It's been a long while since he had an excuse, or a good reason, to cut loose and show off like this. He'd been struck with a touch of reckless inspiration not too long before getting to his spot high above the center of the compromised market square. Big shows of force went out of style back home–his soon-to-be old home now; really should start thinking like that. Can't let this alliance crumble before it gets off the ground–a long, long time ago. By 'out of style' he of course means a death sentence that any of the myriad supernatural factions and governments can and will carry out without repercussion or remorse. Of course, the execution would be followed up by an incredibly thorough scrubbing of any humans who might have caught a glimpse or heard word of the transgression in question.

Different world, different rules, different norms. Hell, he may as well be in America's Old West with how lax any sort of supernatural law enforcement is. Even if he wasn't acting with the express permission of the functional regional authority, the sheer audacity of the question-before factoring in the deathmatch Arc and his peerage had just finished with extreme prejudice not too long ago–Azazel would feel inclined to favor a 'they needed killing' argument over a more modern, eloquent 'justifiable homicide' defence if called to task over what he is about to do.

And the faster this whole mess is cleaned up and handed over to specialists in disaster recovery, the more time he can spend examining poor Amber, that fascinating machine Jim's top researchers cooked up–which actually reminds him a bit of one of the prototype Sacred Gear transferal machines that got swiped a while back, now that he thinks about it–and what's left of the system those two petulant children claiming godhood left behind.

Of course, the chances that the little parasite that left Amber the way she is has infiltrated Beacon in some way, and is on the ground or close enough to observe what's going on down there are pretty high. Scaring the crap out of her is an added bonus. A little girl who thought she was a major player scared witless and trying to not show it would be a lot easier to spot than one who thinks she has everything under control after all.

He raises a hand skyward, palm wide open as he spreads his wings. No telling how many Faunus down there have better eyesight than an average human, or people with a Semblance that gives them telescopic vision or something close enough, gotta make a show of this. A massive magic circle flares to life above him, perfectly aligned with the sun. Ironically, it also creates a halo-like effect, obscuring the leader of the Grigori with a radiant glare.

That Huntsmen and Huntresses wear such bright colors makes this so easy to aim. A nice neat(ish) circle to kill everything inside of. Time to test the Arc kid's nerves and self-restraint and bladder control.

A smirk pulls at his lips as he sets things rolling, channeling a final pulse of power into his hand and the magic circle above it.

Shooting out from his magic circle overhead are dozens, then hundreds of almost blindingly bright white-yellow spears of light flare to life. Then scatter outwards like a handful of firecrackers sparking off a few bundles of bottle-rockets before they all rapidly plummet towards the distant black specks down on the ground, small and big. He lowers the raised hand as the last spear falls, and dust down below begins to rise.

It's a true thing of beauty.

The light fades from the ground below as his barrage tapers off. Soon, everything has goes still.

Grinning in absolute glee at the mischief he'd gotten away with in the name of pest control, Azazel hadn't realized just how much he missed the old days of shock, awe and smitation up until now. Well, he's certainly having more fun now than he did way back then, but this particular feeling is one he'd, apparently, been missing.

A few of the black, bone-plated forms are still moving, down there. Not seeping black mist and fading away.

Tch. Pesky things.

A second salvo wouldn't hurt. He lifts his opposite arm off to his side and perpendicular to his torso. As the clouds passing overhead dissipate, he lets the circle fade away, he already has the spears ready to strike. Azazel throws his arms wide, this time only a few dozen light spears shimmer into existence around him, hanging like innumerable Swords of Damocles. With a snap he sends the spears streaking towards the ground. More blurs than definable shapes.

A dozen or so city blocks cleared in one go shouldn't be that far removed from the normal displays of power for the heavy hitters here on Remnant, right? Even if it isn't, Azazel would be lying if he said being the first of Earth's supernatural heavy hitters to act in the open makes him feel especially giddy.

_-*R-DxD*-_

Jaune's life is flashing before his eyes. Literally flashing before his eyes.

A second barrage of spears of light lance into the last of the Grimm, and Jaune is-almost-shocked back into action. Not that there's anything left to do now. First it had been the sun in his eyes, then the light of the spears, then the sun again. And with the feathered... crap, he can't even say 'feathered bastard,' as this wasn't a breach of the Truce or something he could reasonably get upset about someone trespassing on his territory over. It was helpful. A service even. Angel or Fallen, a not insignificant number of Valeans now owe their lives to the mysterious interloper.

For a moment, everything is deathly silent.

Whatever remaining White Fang belligerents still able to fight throw down their arms and surrender. Most of those still standing had been actively combating the people trying to hold the cordon, or dumbstruck in the center of the square, most of them only on their feet through what looks like sheer will, stubbornness and spite by this point, terror clear as day on their faces and in their posture. The more seasoned or focused Huntsmen and Huntresses begin to either nudge or snap out orders for their less seasoned or in-training counterparts, diverting their awestruck gazes away from the sky and back towards the deluge of prisoners and heaps of supposedly dead Grimm.

Any fighting towards the outer edges is over quickly. Seasoned Huntsmen, Huntresses and soldiers stepping forward to subdue the melee combatants that look like they'd taken a flash-bang to the face. In a flash, the fight had been ended. A few feathered Faunus rally at the same time as the defenders of the Kingdom, but they are swiftly overwhelmed. Any in plain uniforms already have open hands either extended skyward, or are pulling off their masks to rub at their abused eyes and ears. There'd probably been some spears intended to stun mixed in with the ones that had killed the Grimm. That level of precision is…

Shit, he'd reflexively shielded himself when he spotted the magic circle. It hadn't been perfect, but he better act as stunned as everyone else at least a little more than he had been.

The Atlesian airships had veered off of their renewed approach to the active combat zone. The radio channels probably having devolved into confused and frightened shouting instead of the usual cold, calm military protocol Jaune imagines Atlas military maintains. That big of a barrage most certainly being a threat to the aerial warmachines even without any context as to what exactly it was. Specialist Kalika is snapping orders at her subordinates, shakily answering her Scroll when it starts blaring out a ringtone probably chosen to be heard easily in the heat of battle. Penny is rooted in place, face and limbs twitching ever so slightly-almost mechanically-as she looks skyward.

Unsurprisingly, Team RWBY's expressions are once again dominated by terrified awe as they join Team JNPR in rapidly examining the sky, in search of the perpetrator of the helpful albeit horrifying attack. At least his Peerage hadn't been the cause of the chaos this time. Small silver lining. Not that his Peerage is faring much better than their sister team… Hell, he is barely doing any better, just hiding his uncertainty and fear more effectively and completely than his friends.

Between the light, the distance, and the mysterious interloper masking their presence, he has no clue who was responsible.

"Jaune?" His Rook frantically intones, tugging on his sleeve, a painfully fake, toothy smile plastered across her face.

"Yes, Nora?"

"Those were…?"

"Uh-huh."

"So that was…?"

"A high-level Angel or Fallen? Yep."

"...You didn't tell us they could get that strong!" Nora's gaze bores accusingly into the side of his head as she waves her arms expressively, nearly hitting Ren with Magnhild and forcing him to lean back. Pyrrha and Weiss's expressions are less intense but they are just as focused on him. At least, Pyrrha's is less intense, Weiss looks far from happy.

"Most don't, if I'm being totally honest. And the ones who did, on our side too, aren't the sort to show off without a good reason." A white lie, but hopefully enough to keep poor the ginger shortstack from having a full blown meltdown. He couldn't blame her, the strongest supernatural showings his Peerage has seen up till now, was Rias' mock Rating Game with Riser and Issei Hyoudou's duel at the following party. The, flare, most Satan-class powers tend towards is hard to process the first time you encounter it.

"Jaune...I peed a little."

He wholeheartedly stands by his choice to postpone that particular talk. Too many pans on the stove as it is already. "We'll talk more later, Nora."

Professor Goodwitch stamps past, waving her riding crop, a furious, almost as terrifying scowl on her face. "Oh, 'I'll know the signal when I see it. Ozpin, I expect a damn good explanation for...that."

Huh… She sounds shaken as hell. Wait–

Everything grays out for a moment. Ozpin either knows about the Supernatural or is in touch with someone who does. This unknown local power, apparently, has access to a Satan-class powerhouse of either the Angelic or Fallen variety.

… Suddenly, playing as fast and loose as he has been with maintaining secrecy and what most accept as the terms of the unofficial truce seems incredibly stupid. Sure, time to look into the Headmasters history and acquaintances. He's only one of the most influential men on Remnant. What's one more near-impossible task to deal with?

The market square pieces itself back together, the smoke funneling up and away as the silence is broken by the cries of the wounded, and panicking voices of what White Fang fighters had been outside the kill zone, or avoided being struck down; most of them falling into the former category as well. At that moment Jaune realizes that the Breach Alarm, mercifully, finally has gone silent.

Pyrrha reaches out to grip Jaunes hand, her own trembling, and nearly crushing his. He opens his mouth to reassure her. Hopefully he'll sound–

"ARC!" Goodwitch barks, wheeling about to glare at him, his team, and his sister team.

Pinned in place by her steely green gaze, Jaune's nine years old again. Caught in the kitchen past bedtime with an entire jar of cookies clutched in his arms, his younger sisters Jasmine, Jade and Citrine all hiding behind him. "Yes, ma'am?"

"What, exactly, were Huntsman Branwen's instructions for your team?"

This is normally where Yang would quip about how much trouble he'd probably be in later after having a statement like that leveled at him. The girl's fearless that way. The fact that the last few hours' events and revelations has her just blankly staring at him and the Professor makes him feel guilty as hell. Whatever brief reprieve from RWBY's borderline mental breakdowns and fear of his team fighting side-by-side had bought them now completely gone with the threat past them. One saving grace is he could pass some of the blame for their subdued faces his friends are now sporting on having seen a Satan-class attack for the first time moments prior.

Jaune's arm jerks. Whatever nervous reaction he'd been about to fall back on cut off by Pyrrha's steel-clad, terrified grip. "He, umm. He said we were supposed to go back to Beacon to get checked out, and, umm, schedule Ren's appointment with the staff psychologist."

She crosses her arms, left foot starting to tap as the gathered soldiers, police and Huntsmen start moving into the market square, picking around the potholes and rubble piles where things had been too badly damaged for Goodwitch's semblance to properly repair things and moving to check the downed Fang for any additional survivors to take into custody. "So, he did not instruct you to hire a smuggler to get you back into Vale sooner?"

"I mean, we just got on the Bullhead he–" Nora cuts herself off when the Deputy Headmistress' sharp green gaze falls on her.

"But, we got into the city and saw, well..." he trails off and gestures to the now calm battleground with his shield-hand.

Glynda squints at him. "Is leading your fatigued, potentially mentally compromised team into an active crisis zone 'returning to Beacon,' Mr. Arc?"

"N-no."

"What of plunging headfirst into the worst of the fighting without support?"

Pyrrha shifts a bit uneasily, "We went around through the alleys to get to–"

"I expected better of you, Miss Nikos." Goodwitch chides, cutting his partner off. She turns towards Team RWBY, all four of whom had been, slowly, edging away from the scolding professor. "Ah, Miss Rose, I see you and your team are on hand as well." The quartet of Huntresses-in-Training freeze in place, eyes bugging out. "From what I've been told, the four of you girls have been fighting since the day began. You will accompany myself and Team Juniper to the aid station to be checked on, then back to Beacon. With me. Now." The girls all nod silently, falling in behind the professor as she begins moving. The two teams form a neat double-row behind her, their leaders at the front, in letter order behind the professor.

After a few minutes of walking in silence, things begin to drift closer to normal. Not entirely, as Team RWBY, are once again drifting away from Jaune's team, and casting suspicious, fearful glances their way. Not as bad as it had been at first, but it still is far from the ideal state of things. The battlefield gives way to soot-stained homes and shuttered shop fronts, before they finally come to a park that's bustling with activity.

People with puffed up chests working 'first responder' into every other sentence and getting annoyed sidelong glances from paramedics, doctors and nurses–As many uniformed as there are wearing their hospital or clinic ID badges from everyday clothing. There's a bit of a bottleneck at the park's entrance as the arriving people are sorted out.

There is a black, roped off area–A small one fortunately-full of silent, sedated and swiftly dying individuals. The bulk of the park is split between bustling red and yellow sections. The former is busier than the latter. Grim faced nurses and paramedics moving quickly between the dozen ambulances scattered around the park's secure edges to bring supplies back to determined doctors and surgeons in both. Team RWBY, again, and like most of the other freshmen Jaune recognizes trickling into the impromptu Field Hospital, balk at the portion of it given over to those who can't be saved, and a few tear up at the critical care section, where lives are being permanently changed for the worst as often as they are saved.

With the hustle and bustle, Jaune's peerage now has a modicum of privacy. "Hey, you guys are still keeping those Summoning Circles for the rest of the Peerage I handed out at the start of the school year on you, right?"

Three heads nod an affirmative. Nora going so far as to slide hers out of a skirt pocket. "Why?" Ren tersely prompts as a tired looking nurse glances over the eight students and professor, before jerking his head towards an arrow-straight section of the park roped off in green. It's basically a cluster of ques where other, equally bored and tired looking nurses, first responders and paramedics are giving the people sent their way a more thorough once over for easier to miss and more serious injuries, cleaning and bandaging shallow wounds, splinting sprains, and occasionally pulling people up a level of care. Well, two sets of queues, one that empties back out into Vale, and another lined with police ending in a parking lot packed with police vans and serving only captive White Fang fighters.

"Because the last forty eight hours were a pretty good reminder of how fast things can go south, and how far from the top of the totem pole we actually are. I already had to bring the three of you back, once. Can't do that again, and I really don't want to lose any friends." He half whispers as Goodwitch herds the two teams into one of the lines, still scowling. All eight of them are quickly cleared, save for shocked looks from the nurse that handles them at the amount of blood on their outfits for no wounds of note. Well, most of them. Blake gets a bright yellow sticker with a head slapped onto either shoulder–probably to indicate a concussion.

She opens her mouth to protests, but Weiss scowls at her, and she remains silent. As the adrenaline continues to drain from their systems, he notices quite a few gazes glancing skyward inquisitively as they wait. Most have no idea exactly what had ended this catastrophe so quickly and decisively, and if he could have his way, they never will. However that is well and truly out of his control, power and pay grade. That Angel or Fallen had to have acted out in the open for a reason, but had managed to keep its nature and appearance hidden. Done is done at this point, and most people will hopefully think it was a Semblance or some new piece of Atlas' tech. Jaune would be lying if he were to say he isn't terrified and barely holding onto his nerves himself over the showing though.

Team JNPR definitely aren't the biggest fish in the pond, and they know it for a fact now.

_-*R-DxD*-_

((Moments prior))

The pace set by the professional team through the alleyways and side streets of Vale is fast, but not quite breakneck. Not so fast that he can't try to get a handle on his new Teammates' capabilities. "So. Dun. Louis. What're your–" a longer pause to get his breathing right "-Semblances?" He grunts out, managing just about a word a step.

They round a corner, and the rooster Faunus is the first to reply. "Overclock. Boosts my strength. For a set period of time." He takes a deep breath as an Atlesian cruiser floats overhead. Looks like the Animals ran out of anti-air options. "Overdoing it...Hurts like a bitch."

Cardin looks over his shoulder to Louis, short with pale blonde hair, angular cheekbones and chin and a shitty, patchy mustache that he really should just get rid of. "What about you?"

The blonde grunts, his naginata nearly skewering Russel with every other step as he struggles to keep up the pace Arc's older sister is setting. "Linear Acceleration. More mass and speed. The longer I move in a straight line."

"Whole body, or limbs?" Russel prompts, flourishing Shortwings. Fucker spends way much time doing endurance training. Show-off doesn't even sound winded.

The shorty looks over at Cardin's green-haired partner. "Both." He shifts his gaze to cardin, and takes in a long, almost gasping breath-someone who needs more endurance training apparently–"What about you?"

The octet spills out of an alleyway into an intersection.

More of a charnel house than a roadway if he's being totally honest.

Blood is splattered everywhere, along with severed limbs. Bodies are heaped up in a mound off to the left. A handful of them are Fallen Angels. A few of the scorch marks and splatters probably were. The only guy on the professional team has a stern look, and the wolf Faunus is cursing up a storm. The black haired chick with the shield has her scroll out.

One corpse in particular stands out to Cardin. One is 'Sky's'. He knows it isn't. Russel knows it isn't. If Jaune's little posse of Devils had been the ones to wipe out...

Suriel's severed head is sneering up at him. Sightless eyes wide in shock and glaring at whatever moves in front of them. "Fuck."

This...this must have been his entire team. Arc's Team–probably–had wiped them all out. Either that or someone working for Vale or Atlas had done them in and not bothered to hang around afterwards. Hell, with their wings on display it could have been just about anyone mistaking them for White Fang infiltrators and having gone straight for the kill.

He has no clue who Suriel's boss had been. No way to get in touch with them. He isn't sure if he even wants to, family traditions and generations of loyalty be damned.

A hand rests on his shoulder, "Hey, for what it's worth, I'm sorry, man. Sky seemed like a decent guy."

Fuck. Right.

Still have to keep it together, lead the team, keep everyone alive and all that other crap that he's–apparently–absolute shit at—

The sky flares golden.

Shit. He looks through the smoke and haze towards the hole in the kingdom.

That's…

Fuck.

He can barely even begin to think of how he'd describe what's happening if someone asked him.

Bars or blurs of Light shooting towards the ground impaling Grimm of all sorts. Fodder and bigger, more powerful beasts struck down with equal measures of wrath and complete impunity.

He'd seen Suriel showing off more than a few times. He'd grown up on stories from dad and Grandpa about the members of the Myriad they had served showing off, kicking ass and/or taking names.

He's never seen anything like this.

Never HEARD of anything like this. There is a tiny black speck at the rough center and just above the flash of light.

Crap...Someone's mad, and isn't sticking to the plan. Or worse, this wasn't someone aligned with them at all.

A thousand thoughts and curse words run through his head as his life literally flashes before his eyes.

After forcing his eyes back open–When had he closed them?–It's clear that the attack has stopped. Glancing about, he notices he isn't the only one staring, or blinking and rubbing at abused eyes with one or two mouths open.

A stunned silence overtakes them for a moment, no one saying word–

The strawberry blonde professional Huntress clears her throat. "Cops already know about this spot and have people on the way. Let's...Let's get going. We have to take this opportunity!"

They set off at a jog again.

Cardin forces his mind back into the conversation with his new subordinate, can't let his mind wander onto other things, not yet and not here. "No, I mean thanks but, I knew when my scroll showed he flat-lined." He's known his friend was dead for months and had shared a room with the bastard responsible for him getting killed. "I, just..." The hand squeezes his shoulder, the unarmored one, and Cardin looks over to see that it's Dun who is-awkwardly-trying to comfort him.

The Faunus cracks a crooked smile. "All bragging aside, I don't think Fuck is a Semblance."

Cardin snorts a laugh at that. "Yeah, yeah. Psychometry. Touch a thing with my bare skin and I can get a sneak peak of things that happened while a person was wearing or holding it or whatever. Stronger emotions tied to the events are the ones I see first. You really don't wanna know how many awkward backseat first times I got sneak peaks off from bumping into old cars while I was still getting that under control." The rest of his team laugh at that, and the rest of their run continues in silence. Everyone is glancing skyward on and off, and none of them are being subtle about it.

Damned if this isn't gonna be the talk of Vale for a while. Probably till the Festival Tournament.

Eventually they make it to the Old Subway station. The Pros scythe right through the Grimm crawling up the now restored stairs into Vale from the still compromised tunnel before his team can do a damn thing about it.

The lights down in the Memorial Station are, mostly, still working. The big mural of Mountain Glenn that had been on the wall put up to seal the Kingdom off from the Grimm has a gaping hole in it. The dark-haired chick with the shield sets about rigging the hole with explosives while the leader and Faunus start firing down the rail corridor. Cardin doesn't really catch what they're saying over their heavy weapons, and few enough Grimm make it close enough that Cardin's team doesn't really need to do much. After about five minutes, the black haired shield-chick hands a detonator off to Arc, who scowls, and pushes it at Cobalt.

The Faunus stomps over to Cardin and shoves it at him. "Umm..."

"Your team's gonna hold here until we get back." She grumps at him. "I dunno what that...lightshow was back there, but it didn't get all the Grimm and 'Fang goons coming through this hole."

"Second track looks too clear." The burly dude on the professional team observes loud enough for everyone in the desecrated memorial to hear.

"Guess the a–" Cardin catches himself. "The 'Fang ran off then."

Russel scowls, "So what, we just wait around here picking off any Grimm that gets past your team?"

She shakes her head, before responding, "No. If any Grimm start making it to you kids, that means we're dead or will be soon. You hit the detonator, and fall back to the top of the stairs until more licensed Huntsmen can show up. We're making sure all vectors for this shitshow are closed off. We had a neat little finisher from the Brother of Light himself, and you can bet on your lives we're gonna capitalize the hell out of it."

Brother of Light, hah.

Louis takes a half-step forward, "What? That's bullshit!"

The Faunus' tail goes rigid her voice shifting so that it sounds like she's speaking to a child. "No, it's logical. What's worth more, three Huntresses and a Huntsman; or the hundreds to thousands of civilians that could wind up dead because the shit-show we just spent hours clearing out started all over in the middle of the night without a few dozen huntsmen and huntresses nearby to get right the fuck on top of things? Maybe even heap a few outlying settlements on the body-count if it ends up making a dead zone in the city we need to spend the next decade and a half re-taking instead of patrolling outside the walls?"

Louis deflates at that, flinching a bit guiltily at the older girl's harsh words. "I fucking hate it, but she's right. This is the job we signed up for. Like Headmaster Oz said, our out was months ago when teams first started losing people the hard way." He takes a steadying breath. Hold it together. "So, what is your plan?"

She reaches down to her combat boots and pulls a positively ancient looking fighting knife from it. He's no weapons nut, but he's pretty sure the sheathe is Valean Army standard from the Great War. "Push out to the first big hole in the old inter-settlement line. Hold until one of the emergency construction crews can fly out to us. Shouldn't take them more than half an hour to plug the tunnel properly once they get out there." She pauses, sweat from the day's exertions making her spikey side-ponytails look like drooping wolf-ears instead of the-usual he guesses-perky ears. She shoves the knife at Cardin. "If you do have to use that detonator, get this to the local Branch Headquarters for the Polished Claw Employment Solutions. Say you have a delivery from the CEO's daughter for the boss. When you talk to my old man, let him know that I couldn't pass great-great grandpas torch on to the next generation after all."

For a moment he just stands there dumbly, until the girl closes his hand around the sheathed blade. "Why me? Don't you have someone you, ya know, know better or trust more to give something like this too?"

She rolls her eyes. "Of course I do. First three choices are headed right into danger with me. Most of the others are a kingdom away or busy somewhere else. You're a Team Leader, so you should be responsible enough. One of Ozpin's asshole leaders to boot, so chances are you've got a hang-up about always following through with what you say you'll do, or proving you're the best or some other crap like that. Best choice I have to avoid dad finding my corpse, bringing me back from the dead then killing me all over again for biting it before I can take over his company or give him grandkids." Cardin lets out a dumbfounded 'wha-' at that, but doesn't really have a proper response either. "Not like I plan on dying in the first place, just covering all my bases."

At that, the professional team heads down the tunnel, over the rubble of the train that had crashed into the wall.

He strides out into the tunnel, and is surprised to find a loose ring-well, it had been a ring before the trains disturbed it-of skeletons in brightly colored, albeit faded clothes with rusted and broken weapons scattered about them. Behind the semi-circle of long-dead huntsmen is a gaggle of more plainly, just as faded clothed civilians. Of fucking course the damned Animals had disturbed a gravesite attacking the kingdom too.

Snarling, he stomps back into the actual chamber. "So, Dun, what's with the alarm-clock pocket watch, man?" He honestly hadn't seen if it was Louis or Russ that had asked, and the half-whisper they'd spoken in doesnt make it easy to figure out which it'd been. Whatever.

The rooster Faunus shrugs. "Whichever of my grandparents left my old man at the orphanage he grew up at, left it in the basket with him. He gave it to me when I got into Beacon. Helps keep track of times for my semblance, on top of being an heirloom, I guess." The team falls into an awkward silence at that. Literally nothing happens for the next two hours, the fighting having gone long silent by the time Arc and her team get back to relieve them and get them back to Beacon.

Seriously, whoever that Fallen or hell, pure Angel was, they'd cleaned things up real good.

Of course, that's when one of the side walls crumbles to dust, revealing a hole into the kingdom's sewers big enough to drive a semi truck–or walk one of Atlas Paladin mechs–through.

That... probably isn't good.

_-*R-DxD*-_

Miss Goodwitch is talking on her scroll still, so her and Jaune's teams are just, standing around. She said she'll tell them what Bullhead they're taking back to Beacon once she's done. Weiss is fretting with her outfit. She'd already written it off. All of them have.

So much blood...

Yang is cautiously chattering away with Nora. She flinches back from the ginger girl whenever she gets closer though, and is kinda wide-eyed. Well, Nora is chattering, Yang is looking at the bloodied ginger with wide, frightened eyes and nodding when the other girl pauses.

Team JNPR had KILLED people! Is Yang brave or just crazy for getting so close to her? No, no that's not fair, Nora wouldn't go after her friends.

She does actually think of them as friends, right?

It was hardly any comfort seeing Nora is still a bit ill at ease from...From… Whatever that was back there. It was like one of those Bullet Hell games, but with javelins of light instead of circles, ovals and squiggles, all striking at Grimm. Were Fallen Angels and Devils supposed to be able to get that strong!? Do her Hero friends fight against things like that all the time!?

Desperately searching for something, anything to focus on, she spots Blake is talking with Chief Drak–Wait, Chief Drak? When did he get here? She shuffles closer to the kind-of-scary kind-of-nice Police Chief, not really sure if it's so she can listen in to the conversation, or get Blake out of it. She looks really tired. More tired than her, or Yang, or Weiss. This...May have brought to mind her original time with the White Fang, and that probably isn't a good thing. She's definitely more tired than Team JNPR.

The monsters? Their friends? Actual murderers.

"–understand that you're tired Miss Belladonna, but things like this need to be taken care of swiftly if any effective response is to be had." The Chief rumbles at her, a grumpy scowl on his face.

"They...I... please, give me a moment to think." She... deadpans just doesn't seem to fit. There's normally depth and energy to Blake's Blakeness. Snark, or hinting at some unspoken joke or some obscure fact she knows that the person she's talking to doesn't. The Faunus in disguise just looks, flat. Which, probably isn't a good thing considering how bad her concussion was. And Ruby hasn't even told her about those priests or cultists or whatever they were from back when she was captured in Mountain Glenn yet.

Oh gosh. That feels like weeks instead of hours ago now.

The silver-eyed Huntress-in-training practically leaps at the chance for a distraction. Being a leader, that comes naturally to her. Even if the thought brings a small amount of shame for taking advantage of her teammate's misfortune. Ruby starts moving towards the duo, intent on doing her best to distract the Police Chief, or at least deflect some of his attention from her tired, clearly overwhelmed teammate.

Now, putting herself between the head of Vale's Aura-enhanced police and, well, anything is probably one of the dumbest things she's ever done.

Still beats thinking about what she'd just found out. Or that barrage of lethal light that had wiped away an army of Grimm. She can still feel the heat on her skin from the spears that had come close to the fighting at the edge of the square.

Just as the burly blonde man notices her, Professor Goodwitch steps directly in between him and the students. "As eager as I'm sure we all are to hear Miss Belladonna's unique insights on what transpired here, she is still just a student. A student who spent the last twenty-four hours in a nearly constant state of battle or battle-readiness, was recently concussed and came incredibly close to dying at least once. Whatever questions you have, and what input she can offer can and WILL wait until her first scheduled appointment with you and your staff this Wednesday. I dare say you will be busy enough with the basics of dealing with the fallout of today until then."

The officer offers Goodwitch a stiff nod, both fall silent, but neither move. Piercing blue eyes boring into stern forest green. Blake deflates and takes a step away from the pair, stumbling and nearly falling before Ruby catches her. The younger girl's left hand runs through the secret Faunus' hair, becoming wet and sticky with–

This is officially one of the worst days of Ruby's life.

A passing officer calls out to the Chief, who, grumbling, turns and stalks off towards whatever lingering emergency needs his attention. Goodwitch nod, a frighteningly satisfied smirk on her face. "Well, Teams Ruby and Juniper, the eight of you are to take that–" She slashes her riding crop through the air to point out a waiting Bullhead with Beacon's crest proudly emblazoned on its fuselage "transport back to Beacon. Where all eight of you will clean up, and rest. You all went well above and beyond what should be asked or expected of students this weekend, and deserve time to recuperate as much as you do congratulations." She pauses as they all start slumping off towards the indicated transport.

Ruby isn't sure if she's reassured or worried that the Devils on what she had thought was her team's sister team look almost as tired as she feels. And overwhelmed. Again, it's just barely reassuring that JNPR are as jumpy as her team and everyone else is from that light...Thingy.

"Mister Ren, your appointment with Doctor Emert is tomorrow morning at Eight A.M. sharp. Room four twenty seven in the Academies Medical Complex. You are excused from Grimm Studies for the first session, if more are needed they will be scheduled around your classes." The grey-eyed teen nods, and starts moving towards the transport along with the rest of them again. Yang opens her mouth-probably to quip-before she remembers why Ren is getting out of the most confusing, hard to follow class they have, and snaps it shut again. They load onto the transport in exhausted, awkward silence. She pinches the bridge of her nose "Now, if you eight will excuse me, there are still some buildings and pieces of infrastructure in need of my Semblance to repair."

Passenger compartment full, and quickly starting to stink of sweat, B.O. and the coppery tang of b-blood, the pilot has the ship in the air as soon as the doors are closed.

Team JNPR had sat on one side of the ship, Ruby's team on the other.

Normally they'd be joking right now. There'd be banter, jokes and maybe even a little light-hearted in-good-fun teasing. Yang and Nora would be chirping back and forth a mile a minute, their boundless energy feeding off of each other almost uncontrollably.

Nora…

—Nora, who had picked up a full dumpster to smash one person to death.

—Nora, one of her big sister's oldest friends.

—Nora, who had used her Devil Magic to turn another person-Fallen Angel, whatever-into a mostly frozen smear on the concrete.

Thanks to knowledge provided by her Hero friends, Ruby knows that the Devils, Angels and Fallen Angels had been in a war of extermination for longer than everyone she knows has been alive combined. She hadn't needed to get covered in blood to understand that. She fights back a scared shudder at the idea of fights like the one between JNPR and those Fallen being a regular thing. She doesn't even want to think about leading people on a battlefield where attacks like the Light Barrage are common, or even possible.

Normally Pyrrha would be trying to satisfy the competitive streak that had led to her becoming the Invincible Girl without going against her kind, polite nature right now. Asking who they all thought had killed the most or biggest Grimm, who had taken down or captured the most criminals.

—Pyrrha who–terribly and terrifyingly–doesn't have a speck of blood on her because of those horrendous flames that had hurt Ruby's eyes to look at. The flames that had made that awful shrieking noise that made Ruby wish she was deaf from how badly it hurt her to hear and made her bones ache and teeth feel like they were going to fall out.

—Pyrrha, who has that sad look on her face that had left Ruby feeling like she kicked a puppy for a week the last time she saw it, who is clinging to Jaune's left hand with both of hers, her arm linked with his.

—Pyrrha who hadn't even looked like she was capable of thinking the word sorry as she had burned people alive and to death.

Ruby wishes that Professor Goodwitch was on the airship too.

Or that the pilot was one of the talkative ones. Anything to distract from the stifling silence.

To keep her stupid brain from repeating her stunned awe at seeing all those light spears demolishing the Grimm and White Fang with ease. From replaying the horrible things her friends had done. To keep that stupid little voice in the back of her head from pointing out that they hadn't done anything wrong trying to-to kill people who wanted them dead right back. Still so quiet...Even Ren's silence feels suffocating.

—Ren, who hadn't shown so much as an ounce of emotion as he dismembered and executed his foes.

—Ren, whose eyes are the wrong color and is acting like he's doing something she knows her instincts as a Team Leader should have her hounding him about being stupid over, but aren't because she has no idea what to think or do right now.

—Ren, who had cut someone's wing in half-which must have hurt horribly-but her having heard Stormflower fire a solitary shot at the same time she saw the mangled appendage fly out of the ruined shop he had executed a man in makes it so hard for her to care about the stranger when her friends might have died.

—Ren, who has Nora leaning into him like they're-finally, together together-but she's such a terrible friend that she can't feel happy for them right now because they're all killers and that's just, so terrible too-and she can't be mad at them for it for some horrible reason either.

What is WRONG with her? What would Dad think? What would Uncle Qrow think?

...What would Mom think?

She can feel the Bullhead slow and bank. They're nearly to Beacon now.

That's good, right? That she'll get answers soon?

She will hear their side of the story, give them an honest chance to explain things. Nothing is all black and white, if she's learned anything from the mess with Blake and the White Fang it was that. Team JNPR were-no-are some of her closest friends and it's not like they would k-kill her and her team as witnesses. They wouldn't have put in the extra effort to keep Ruby and her team alive after realizing that they were so close to the fight with those Fallen Angels.

She needs to hear their side of the story. What they have to say about all of the things she'd been blissfully ignorant of for most of her life. Weiss and Ruby's new Hero friends had painted one picture. Maybe JNPR are exceptions? Or part of some new splinter faction, or rebels against the evil government or, or... Better yet, maybe Devils are just misunderstood and everyone can all be friends and allies! That would be the best outcome, so it's what she is going to go into talking with Jaune and his team hoping for.

She knows that she is purposely and pointedly ignoring how gruesomely Team JNPR had k-killed their opponents.

Jaune awkwardly–like usual, that's good, isn't it?–clears his throat. "So, get cleaned up, then, umm, the common room will probably be deserted between how late it's getting and all the chaos out in the kingdom. We can have our Talk"–and she can hear that it's a capitol 'T' Talk in his inflection–"there. Sound good?" Everyone makes noncommittally affirmative sounds at that, and Jaune deflates. Pyrrha squeezes his hand in hers, and leans her head into his shoulder.

—Jaune, the first friend she had made after her boots had touched the grounds of Beacon Academy.

—Jaune, who had looked so sorry before he blew a man's head off and splattered her and her teammates with blood.

—Jaune, who had looked away from the Fallen Angel trying to kill him to check on who the Fallen Angel had wanted dead so badly with honest worry and concern on his face.

—Jaune who was goofy and awkward and nice, and who she totally hadn't checked out doing his morning workout after Yang got Weiss to admit why she woke up so early every day to stare out the window.

—Jaune who hadn't hesitated, just, acted when he saw a madman with a glimmering pole–arm aimed at Ruby's neck specifically–years of sparring with Kobi, and Amaranth and Kepel and all of her other friends from Signal, and even more learning from her Uncle Qrow has her sure of that-and saved her life by sinking to her assailants level to take his life.

—Jaune who doesn't just have 'a classic' weapon, but an absolutely gorgeous masterwork of a sword that he just, kept hidden, for some Brothers-damned reason that she would gladly give up multiple organs to call her own.

—Jaune who had lied to her from the moment they had met each other.

When had she gotten back to her team's dorm room?

She grabs her shower caddy and pajamas before setting back out for the showers, acting more on instinct than conscious thought. She ends up in a shower stall next to one with two sets of feet inside it. Most of the time she checks for things like that to not end up in a situation like this.

She can hear the couple in the next stall over, they aren't being quiet or subtle. She knows she would be dying of embarrassment any other night. Right now though? Doing what is 'normal' and acting like she can't see or hear–Brothers, the girl is loud–anything is something solid, familiar and safe to cling to. So she puts all of herself into not noticing or thinking about the torrid affair going on mere feet away from her.

She's the first one done in the showers on her team, so collecting their ruined combat outfits in a plain trash bag is her next distraction. She runs into Jaune at the garbage chute, he has his plain black bag slung over his shoulder where hers is clutched in both hands. They both chuckle awkwardly before dumping the bags of ruined clothes into the garbage. The walk to the common room is silent. So is the wait for the rest of their teams. Lounge pants, short shorts, over-sized t-shirts and designer outfits for sleeping in equally represented across the eight gathered teens once they finish trickling in. Thankfully, the room is empty, everyone either still out in Vale, or having retired early to make tomorrow easier.

No one had said a word before they all sat down.

No one says a word for a few minutes after they are all settled.

"Jaune Arc, it has come to my attention that both you and Ravel left an unacceptable amount of information out from what you told me of the Supernatural. Explain. Now." Weiss breaks the silence, a dark scowl on her face.

What?

---

Beta'd by MasterPrince713 and Hybrid Theory

A/N: Yea, so alot of moving pieces came together to get us here, and a few more just got kicked into motion. This is, happily, the end of Team RWBY and the Gremory Peerage 'doing canon' offscreen. Also, the timeskip between this fight and the Vytal Tourney, I, kinda-sorta need to use that, heh. A few scenes got shuffled out of the 'Chaos' series of chapters, but they'll fit in nicely to the next few. There'd consequences headed our fearless heroes way now, haha.

Loved it? Hated it? Woke up stuck to yourself and sweating because its too damn hot outside and the days been going downhill from peeling yourself off of yourself? Drop me a review! I love getting them!