A shorter chapter. I wanted Whitaker's mission to fit into one chapter, but it ended being much longer than I expected.
Longer author's notes below.
Enjoy.
"Blizzard warning. Blizzard warning. Class Two blizzard approaching Atlas from northern Solitas. Estimated time of impact: five hours. Please remain indoors. Repeat: Please remain indoors."
As the announcement rang clearly throughout all of Atlas, Whitaker fought back a groan of sheer frustration. Of course something would go wrong the moment he chose to begin his mission. He would push on, regardless of the state of the weather.
"Whitaker," Ironwood called out from his position inside of the cargo bay of the Bullhead. "Do you wish to carry on with the mission?"
"Do I really have any other option?" Whitaker countered. Sure, he could wait until the blizzard died out, but he was ready. Rain or shine, blizzard or no blizzard, Whitaker knew he was up to the task. He tightened the straps on his backpack and walked up the ramp.
"You do," Ironwood said. "And it is one that I suggest you take."
"Not happening, sir," Whitaker replied sharply. "I'm ready for this."
"Whitaker."
The young Huntsman turned to look at his father. Esmond had a strange look in his eyes, something that Whitaker couldn't place because he had never seen it before. Something shone within his father's brown orbs, and Whitaker shoulders lifted.
Esmond raised his hand and closed it into a fist. "Good luck, Whitaker. Make me proud."
Whitaker stood a little taller.
He'd heard the words before, and he liked to believe that he did make Esmond proud. Today, however, was different. Different in a way that Whitaker couldn't quite explain. But those words warmed his heart and eased his worries but the pressure to do well still remained.
Winter stood alongside Esmond. The Specialist gave a small nod towards Whitaker, and an even smaller smile crept across her lips. He would make Winter proud as well, just as he would make Esmond proud, Aurelia proud, Ruby, Yang, Taiyang, Qrow. Everyone he learned from, everyone he sparred with, everyone he spent time with during the last year.
He would make them all proud.
[;]
At least, he believed he would.
The blizzard, however, had different ideas. Frigid, icy winds whipped all around Whitaker, flecks of ice, snow, and moisture seeped through his clothes and permeated every inch of his body. He'd faced cold before. He'd experienced just how cold Atlas could get.
But this?
This was a cold that no one should ever experience.
When Whitaker leapt out of the Bullhead, he was worried that his entire face would be frozen before he could even touch ground. Seeing anything beyond ten to fifteen feet was impossible, so he counted to four seconds before releasing the latch on his parachute.
As it turned out, Atlas made their parachutes differently from Vale's or Mistrals. Even in the middle of a Class 2 blizzard, it held together sturdily, while still allowing him to control the path of his descent.
Once his boots crunched onto the snow, he crouched down and detached the parachute pack from his back. Whitaker retrieved his Scoll, staring down at the screen.
Before beginning the mission, Winter synced the location of Drone 311-B's tracking beacon to the Scroll. It worked similar to a compass.
From Whitaker's current position, Drone 311-B was about 15 klicks north-by-north-east. Including the trouble the blizzard gave him, it would take somewhere between five and eight hours. Maybe longer.
Whitaker tucked the Scroll back into its pouch on his backpack.
"No time like the present," Whitaker murmured. He tightened the thick scarf and face-covering that was wrapped around his face. He steeled his nerves, despite how afraid he felt.
He had a duty to uphold.
And himself to not disappoint.
[;]
It was a strange thing.
Being afraid, that is.
He'd felt it before, of course. That, however, was nothing compared to this. Whitaker could hardly see his hands, much less his own feet. It felt like every step carried the weight of the world beneath it. His boots sunk deep into the snow. So deep that in the effort of wrenching it free, Whitaker worried that it would just separate from his body because of how frozen it was.
His fingers were growing numb through his gloves.
"Gods, this is such a pain."
It was inconvenient, and inconveniences were the worst. Simply, the absolute worst.
He couldn't even get his Scroll out to check if he was still going the right way because the damn thing was frozen over. When Whitaker last checked over two hours ago, he was still going the right way.
After another eternity of walking, Whitaker spotted an outcropping of ice atop the snow. A cave? It was certainly possible, the glaciers in Solitas were massive. Some stretched across thousands upon thousands of miles. Nevertheless, he needed to find some sort of shelter from the blizzard, and while a glacier-cave was not much better, Whitaker needed visibility and the ability to use his Scroll.
He checked his wristwatch.
68:39
A little under four hours had passed since his mission began. He had time to wait out the blizzard.
Whitaker slid his sleeve over the watch, his hands grasping at the straps to his backpack a little tighter. Due to the ferocity of the blizzard, bits of moisture managed to get inside of the pack, increasing its weight. He'd taken time to move some of the things inside of the pack to his person instead.
Whitaker had a bandolier drawn across his chest with three fire Dust and three lightning Dust grenades, as well as three additional magazines for the M201 pistol that was strapped to his thigh. A pair of glow sticks, about forty-five feet of double-braided nylon rope, and a military-grade flashlight were secured to his belt.
A lack of food, sure. But he needed to keep light and be able to move quickly. He figured that his best chance was to find the ruin as fast as possible— but as it looked, the blizzard would continue for much longer.
Whitaker made his way to the outcropping. As he closed in on it, it partially blocked the incoming winds of the blizzard from ahead of him. It jutted out maybe ten, fifteen feet from the ground, and as he rounded to its front side, the mouth of the cave was little more than a crack between the ice, no more than a foot across.
It would be a tight squeeze, even without the backpack. But that was a chance Whitaker couldn't take. With numb fingers, he removed the backpack and held it in front of him. Letting out a small breath that was quickly sucked into the swirling blizzard, he worked his way into the cave.
Holding the backpack in front of him, Whitaker stepped parallel to the cave mouth. The moment he fully stepped into the cave, the frigid, bone-chilling winds of the blizzard dissipated, and were replaced by a much more normal, all-encompassing coolness. This was closer to the temperature of Atlas at its highest points. Or on a cold night.
He set down his pack near the entrance of the cave and retrieved his flashlight.
Unfortunately, humans did not have the ability to see in the dark.
Flicking the flashlight on, Whitaker cautiously stepped deeper into the cave. He wondered just how deep it went, how large it was in comparison to the caves he'd read about.
The flashlight refracted against the deep blue walls like glass. It threw colors all around Whitaker, illuminating the cave. It was like walking through a kaleidoscope. Disorienting, yet beautiful, Whitaker decided.
He admired it for a few more seconds before turning his attention back to the task at hand: waiting out the blizzard.
But exploring the cave would make time pass a little faster.
Whitaker continued further into the cave, keeping his flashlight trained straight ahead of him. The cave, much to his surprise, had been mostly bare so far. No sign of any Grimm, no ancient scrawlings across the walls, no evidence of anyone ever venturing within it.
However, as he continued, Whitaker realized just how wrong that initial impression was. About an hour into his exploring, he began to notice small holes in the walls. The holes were no larger than his finger, too small for any Grimm to fit through. But there were hundreds of them stretched across every inch of the walls and the ceiling.
He approached one, shining his flashlight into it.
The hole was hollow, and about three or five inches deep. Whitaker continued the process, examining every hole, trying to piece together what it was. He discovered that each hole was around the same size, with very minute differences between one another.
He sighed. He needed more information.
So, he delved deeper into the cave.
[;]
Fear gripped Whitaker. True fear. It froze his heart, chilled his muscles, numbed his mind and his bones. He could hear nothing but the slow and steady thrum of his heartbeat.
But what he saw…
What he saw was a hellish vision.
A Centinel nest stood before him. A vast expanse of darkness that covered the entire wall on the opposite side of the cavern. Inky black webs and slime grasped at the walls like onyx claws. Hundreds, thousands of holes and pockets were poked into the webs and slime like unfinished stitches on skin.
Vermillion egg sacs glowed within the pockets and holes. They were slightly opaque, but transparent enough that Whitaker could see Centinels writhing, twisting, and squirming within the eggs.
Cautiously, Whitaker stepped towards the nest.
His fingers wrapped around a fire Dust grenade.
It had to be destroyed.
It wasn't part of his mission, but that didn't matter.
This posed a danger to Atlas. To Remnant. To people he swore to protect. And that took precedence over any mission.
Whitaker pulled the pin on the grenade, taking extreme satisfaction in hearing it clatter to the ground, sending an echoing tink, tink, tink throughout the cavern.
And Whitaker threw it into the nest.
A swirling vortex of fire shattered the grenade. Shrapnel flew like tiny daggers all across the room, sinking into the egg sacs and obliterating any Centinel larvae within. The fire attached itself to the inky slime and webs, burning it away into nothing but dust.
The nest was destroyed.
But the sound of a thousand skittering legs filed the room.
Whitaker unsheathed Lightning, small bolts of electricity flashed across its blade. With his other hand, he pulled the M201 free from its holster, his finger already on the trigger.
A wicked grin danced across Whitaker's lips as Centinels erupted from the ground. Five, ten, fifteen. Twenty, maybe more. It was more than he could handle, and he knew it.
But he couldn't resist.
He could hardly even remember the last time he fought Grimm.
And the thought made his blood sing. Adrenaline replaced his fear. Warmth flooded his entire body, expunging any chill within him.
With a harrowing cry, Whitaker lunged at the nearest Centinel. Lightning struck true, piercing straight through its underside. Tearing his sword free, the Grimm fell to the ground with a bony clatter before evaporating into black dust. Only its white and red mask remained.
Whitaker, his heart hammering in his chest and his blood pumping in his ears, pointed the tip of Lightning towards the rest.
And a wave of twitching and jittering Centinels charged towards him.
Whitaker moved like a tempest. He bent, twisted, and angled his body, manipulating his Semblance to slip through the Centinels' attacks like a leaf caught in a hurricane of razor-sharp claws and fanged jaws. Electricity sparked across Lightning, and the crack and flash of the M201 echoed like rumbling thunder within the cave.
Whitaker took it one Centinel at a time. He moved with purpose, drawing out a single Centinel, targeting them with his Semblance, and quickly killing it.
But the swarm seemed almost endless. For every Centinel he killed, two more took its place. His moment of frustration was shattered by fangs of a stray Centinel sinking into his right thigh, piercing his paper-thin aura.
Whitaker growled. Slicing the head off of the Centinel, he leapt back, his hand clutching his thigh as blood began to leak out from the wounds.
The pain hadn't hit him yet. And he silently thanked the adrenaline that pumped through his system. He sheathed Lightning, swapped the M201 to his main hand, and grabbed another fire Dust grenade from his bandolier.
Only one left after this. I can't let it go to waste here.
Popping the pin, Whitaker tossed it into the swarm. It exploded with an ear-shattering boom, destroying half of the Centinels, and even incinerating their bone masks. Whitaker dropped the clip from his M201 and quickly slid in another before swapping it to his left hand.
With a metallic hiss, Whitaker pulled Lightning free of its sheath once again.
The remaining Centinels hardly gave him any room to breathe. They attacked fervently, snapping and slashing at Whitaker as he danced around them, pushing his Semblance to its very limits. He utilized Reflex on pure instinct— what he thought he couldn't dodge naturally, he snapped Reflex into action.
And even with his Semblance, fighting the remaining Centinels proved more difficult than fighting the rest. They seemed more ferocious, fiercer, angrier.
Whitaker cut down a Centinel just as another lashed out with its claws and slashed the rope he carried into shreds. The remnants landed on the frozen floor with a near-silent thump. He growled and fired two shots into the vile creature's open maw, taking pleasure in the sickly green blood that spurted from it.
The wound on his leg… A dull pain thrummed throughout his body.
Whitaker grit his teeth.
His hands clenched around the hilt of Lightning and the grip of his M201.
He had Grimm to kill.
Every breath Whitaker drew felt like his last.
The final Centinel rushed towards Whitaker with biting fangs and slashing claws. The intricate red markings atop its mask darkened, and struck with a cracking speed.
As the boy moved to dodge, the pain in his leg spiked throughout his entire body, stunning him. In a panic, Whitaker raised Lightning up to block against the Centinel. But the Grimm easily overpowered him.
It sank its fangs deep into Whitaker's right shoulder, sending him to the ground.
He let out a gut-wrenching cry. His voice cracked and strained. Whitaker could feel his heartbeat slow. He screamed as he tore the Centinel's fangs from his shoulder and buried Lightning's blade hilt-deep inside of it.
Thick green liquid seeped from the Grimm's fangs as Whitaker held its skull in his hands.
"Fuck me…" He breathed.
Struggling off of his back, Whitaker couldn't feel the Centinel's poison just yet. He stabbed Lightning into the ice and cut out a small circle. Then, he took the pommel of his sword and repeatedly crushed the small circle until it was further broken into smaller pieces. With shaking hands, he picked up the pieces of glacier ice and placed them over his leg wound. The cold sensation numbed the pain away, if only for a moment.
He rose to his feet, using Lightning as a cane, and holding the ice over his knee until it was completely melted.
Whitaker Ash limped back towards the entrance of the cave, leaving behind only the white masks and black dust of the Grimm.
[;]
"You have got to be fucking—" Whitaker let out a long, deep breath, absorbing as much of the cold air as he possibly could. Anger, meet cold. Cold, meet the source of all my stress. Whitaker kneeled down before the remnants of his backpack.
It was in utter ruins. Torn asunder. The threads were ripped to shreds, leaving all of his supplies exposed to the elements, and the attacker. Everything of use had been destroyed. His Scroll was shattered, his rations were crushed, and judging from the sickly green that covered its surface, poisoned as well, his flares and flare gun were cut in two, and his medical supplies…
Whitaker checked the remains of his backpack for what he could still use. There was still a decent amount of usable gauze left. He still had his syringe of morphine, surprisingly. Taking in a deep breath, Whitaker injected the painkiller into himself. The ice-cold liquid seeped into his skin and tickled his body from the inside. The prickling soreness in his leg still pulsed through him, but it would soon go away.
He removed the syringe once all of the liquid had been injected and closed it over with some of the remaining gauze. Then, he began to piece together strips of cold cloth and gauze. As carefully as he could manage, Whitaker enclosed his shoulder wound and his leg wound, wrapping them in the gauze.
With a sigh, he leaned his back against the wall of the cave.
His body ached.
Even something as simple as thinking hurt.
"Just… an hour," Whitaker promised to the air.
And he succumbed to darkness.
For what felt like mere seconds later, Whitaker's eyes snapped open. The cold that surrounded him chilled him to his core; every muscle, every bone, every inch of his body felt numb. Fortunately, it seemed that the morphine he'd injected worked. The pain he had in his leg and his shoulder were gone. Mostly.
Whitaker took an inventory of the supplies he had left.
A single fire Dust grenade, all three lightning Dust grenades, one last magazine for his M201, his flashlight, a pair of glow sticks, and enough gauze to patch up one last wound.
He checked his wristwatch.
53:24
A little over two days left on the mission. He'd fallen asleep for fifteen hours. And he was still exhausted.
Whitaker chalked it up to not having consumed a single calorie while in a blizzard. He struggled to his feet. As he attempted to walk, his right leg buckled beneath his weight; Whitaker quickly adjusted the amount of weight he placed on the leg, and limped towards the exit.
I'm on a solo mission. My supplies are gone. I'm heavily injured. And I have a limp.
A laugh escaped Whitaker's lips despite the situation. Or perhaps because of it.
As he squeezed between the foot-wide gap in the wall to exit the cave, Whitaker noticed that the blizzard had lightened up immensely. He could see about fifty feet in front of him now, and while it was still decently windy, it was nothing compared to what it was like when he first landed. Now, he needed to find the ruins.
From what Whitaker vaguely remembered, it was somewhere further north. And the cave's mouth was pointing north because it was on the opposite side of where he came from…
"I'm so fucking dead."
Thinking he could handle a mission like this, believing that he was ready, living under the impression that an Atlesian blizzard was something to scoff at.
He'd let his talent go to his head.
He should have been more prepared. He should have chosen to delay the mission until the blizzard cleared. But no, he had to begin as soon as possible, he had to jump the gun, he had to do something he wasn't ready for.
It was foolish. He was foolish.
"I've got no one to blame but myself," he muttered, trudging through the snow.
Nevertheless, he steeled himself.
Live or die, he would see this mission through.
Whitaker Ash understood that much.
[;]
For what felt like an eternity, Whitaker limped in the general direction of where the Scroll pointed him. He believed that he wasn't too far off the mark. In the hours that passed during his walk, the blizzard passed him over.
His shoulder injury had healed a decent amount. No doubt because of his Aura. But his leg was still mostly useless. It ached whenever Whitaker put any weight on it, and if he attempted to walk with it, the pain transformed into pins and needles that pricked and spiked throughout his entire body.
He could finally see the brilliant golden light of the sun, the perfectly clear blue sky. Whitaker could hardly believe how much he'd missed the simple things in life. The sun. The sky.
Whitaker continued. And eventually, he found himself at the edge of an icy, snow-ridden cliff that overlooked a glacier valley.
Perhaps, at another time, it would have been beautiful. It looked like the closest thing to heaven that Whitaker had seen. The pillowy white snow stretched out far into the horizon. The rays of sunlight dripped like liquid gold onto the valley, following the falling lines of the glaciers that descended like an arctic stairwell.
Scratch that. It was beautiful. Even now, it looked oddly familiar.
Realization dawned on Whitaker as he stared at the scenery.
"Wait…" Whitaker thought back to the mission. The drones. The flight path of Drone 311-B. It flew over a glacier valley. And judging from the size and the general shape of the valley, it was the same one that the Drone 311-B spotted the ruins in.
He beamed. Now, all he needed to do was actually find the ruins. Which would be the easiest thing he'd done since the mission started.
Whitaker crouched and positioned himself as close to the edge of the cliff as he could. Cautiously, he glanced down the edge.
Seventy feet, maybe sixty. Either way, it was a fall that Whitaker wouldn't be surviving any time soon. He let out a deep breath. Turning his attention back to the valley, Whitaker began to scan it. Anything that stuck out of the snow, Whitaker took note of.
Not that there were any.
The thick layer of snow that the blizzard laid down likely made seeing the ruin impossible. It was supposed to be sitting atop a field of ice, most of it buried inside of a glacier. And if that field of ice had been replaced with snow, it would take more than three days to find it, even if Whitaker waited for the snow to melt. Excavating it was out of the question— that would take weeks. Either way, it would take time that Whitaker didn't have.
He was fucked. Well and truly fucked.
If there were something—
His thoughts were interrupted by a low rumble that seemed to echo throughout the entire valley.
He shot to his feet, ignoring the pain in his leg, and moved as far away from the edge as he could manage. Whitaker looked to the other vantage points of the valley. An earthquake? An avalanche of some kind?
The rumbling slowly transformed into something more consistent. Lower. Lighter. It had a rhythm. It sounded like a drum, almost. Like…
Whitaker whirled on his heel.
Like the thumping paws of a pack of Beowolves.
Ten, by Whitaker's count. They danced around him, paws padding the snow as they encircled their prey. Their eyes shone behind their masks, and their pale fangs were exposed, gleaming and angry.
One of the Beowolves, however, sat on its hind legs ten feet from the rest of the pack. It was large. A few feet taller than its brethren, and its mask was far more intricate— covered in claw marks, and multiple blood-red lines. Bones protruded from either side of its ribcage as it stared straight at Whitaker, completely still, utterly unmoving.
An Alpha Beowolf.
Because of course it had to be.
Whitaker's hand closed around the handle of Lightning. He unsheathed the blade, letting the metal sing into the air. Then, he split it in two, bolts of electricity crackling between the two halves of the broadsword. He brought both blades before him. The throbbing of his leg lingered in the back of his mind.
Whitaker momentarily closed his eyes. He let his Aura envelop his entire body, suffusing himself in its warmth.
The pain vanished.
He'd covered his leg in Aura to ensure that he had full maneuverability. Right now, he needed that more than even his Semblance.
Whitaker opened his eyes. And waited.
Growing impatient, one Beowolf to his left lunged forward and attempted to bite into him. Whitaker swung his right leg into the side of the Grimm's head, stunning it, and then stabbing both blades of Lightning straight through its mask. The Beowolf fell onto the snow before dissolving into dust.
One down, nine to go.
[;]
Whitaker raised Lightning, crossing the blades to block the incoming blow of the Beowolf. The claws clanged against the blade, bones grinding against the steel. He shoved the Beowolf back and brought both blades of Lightning in a slash that removed the wolf's head clean off of its body.
His breathing haggard, his blood pounding in his ears, adrenaline coursing through his veins, and his Aura slowly leaking from his body. Whitaker looked to the final Grimm. The Alpha Beowolf.
It stepped towards Whitaker, its massive paws imprinting into the snow that crunched loudly beneath its weight.
Whitaker snapped Lightning together, the blades of the weapon melding together and then extending to its full length.
They stood opposite one another.
They waited.
A gentle snowfall began.
An eternity passed in a minute.
Whitaker's Aura buckled, the throbbing in his leg spiked through him.
The Grimm knew.
And like an inky shadow, the Alpha Beowolf wended before Whitaker, the gleaming red eyes behind its white mask sparked with crimson lightning.
Whitaker attempted to raise Lightning to block, but he was too slow.
It bared its fangs and outstretched its claws, and with two clean swipes, sent him flying off of the cliff, shattering his fragile Aura like glass.
Whitaker felt his conscious momentarily drift away, but he gripped its thread and pulled it taut, forcing himself awake. He stared at the rapidly approaching ground, the winds of the blizzard buffeting his clothes, chilling his skin, and sending flecks of ice and snow into his eyes. He was going to die. He was going to die. He was going to—
With the echoing tick, tock, tick, tock of a clock, Whitaker Ash's Semblance activated. His Aura pulsed through his body in time with the beating of his heart.
The world slowed to a crawl.
Small eternities passed in seconds.
The blizzard was nothing more than a stiff breeze against his skin. The snow beneath him came slowly, predictably.
Whitaker glanced above him, worried that the Beowolf was still giving chase.
The onyx, inky hide of the Alpha Beowolf dove towards him, the same gleaming eyes shone through the white mask. It relentlessly chased after its prey, with its mouth curled into the nastiest, darkest snarl that Whitaker had ever seen.
It brought its front paws before itself, and charged towards Whitaker.
Waiting until the very last moment, Whitaker twisted his body
The air whistled as two swipes just barely grazed him.
The Alpha Beowolf impacted the snowy ground with a dull thud.
It cracked beneath its weight. The snow opened like the maws of a great beast, revealing a bottomless abyss of darkness.
And it swallowed Whitaker whole.
Cliffhanger. Hopefully this chapter was still enjoyable despite its short length. Please leave a review with your thoughts! They really help me write faster.
4-Skywalker: Thank you for your excitement. And I have actually gotten a beta since the last chapter.
Eeveeobsesser: Thank you! I appreciate the praise. And yes, Ruby/Whitaker will not be happening for at least 80k words, maybe more, maybe less.
In other news, I have a discord! Copy and paste the link below minus the spaces.
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Come hang out, chat with me, talk with other readers, enjoy yourself. The discord also contains my update schedule.
See you guys in the next chapter.
