Remnant of Void & Flame
Volume I – Epilogue
None of the four kingdoms were stranger to the relentless onslaught of disasters that plagued the vast and perilous world of Remnant; its lands were haunted by the ever-looming specter of calamity — from natural disasters like fierce storms and earthquakes, to the deadly threats posed by the vile creatures of Grimm, whose presence cast a shadow over the lives of all who inhabited their realm.
Regardless, even amidst this constant turmoil, the kingdoms of Remnant endured, its people resilient and unyielding in the face of adversity. Still, when the city of Argus — nestled on the northern edge of Mistral — suddenly plunged into darkness, the collective gaze of all four kingdoms turned towards this enigmatic event, for such an occurrence was not to be taken lightly. Whispers and questions swirled through the corridors of power, like the rustling of leaves caught in a sudden gust of wind; the rulers and council members of each kingdom anxiously sought answers, their minds brimming with theories and conjectures.
Was it an isolated incident? Or did this inexplicable event herald the arrival of a more sinister threat?
As tensions and speculations continued to mount, however, a news bulletin from Atlas shattered the uneasy calm that had settled over Remnant.
Hydra, the Immortal Scourge…
Word spread like wildfire that the Ancient — long believed to be one of the more powerful among the Thirteen Disasters — had suddenly awakened from its slumber, stirring an undercurrent of trepidation and prompting all four kingdoms to spring into action; the news reverberated through the air like a thunderclap, shaking the very foundations upon which Remnant stood.
Each kingdom, recognizing the gravity of the situation, mobilized their forces with a sense of urgency and purpose. It was a race against time, a desperate scramble to prepare for the unknown, fueled by the fear of what this awakened beast might unleash upon the world. In every corner of the realm, soldiers donned their battle armaments, blades were sharpened, magazines were refilled, and battle strategies were devised with unwavering determination.
The kingdom of Vale, its people still healing from the devastating attack six months prior, rallied behind their leaders — their spirits unbreakable despite the scars etched into their hearts. Mistral, celebrated for its picturesque splendor and artistic sensibilities, transformed itself into a bustling nexus of activities as its valiant protectors adorned themselves in resplendent attire that seamlessly blended the grace of ancient eastern heritage with the cutting-edge advancements of the present age, steadfast in their duty to protect the cherished city and its enduring ideals. Meanwhile, in the kingdom of Vacuo — where the blistering desert winds swept relentlessly across the land — the people stood resolute, their resolve akin to the unyielding sand dunes that withstood the test of time… And yet, it was in Atlas, the kingdom of icy fortitude and technological marvels, that the response was most swift and decisive.
Bullheads took flight one after another, their engines roaring to life; soldiers and supplies were packed tightly within their metallic frames, ready to be sent towards the beleaguered city of Argus. Dozens of these airships — their silver hulls gleaming under the bright sunlight — rose into the sky like a flock of birds taking flight, soaring with a sense of purpose and determination; the rhythmic whir of their engines echoed through the air, blending with the anxious murmurs of the onlookers who gathered to witness the spectacle.
In the end, despite all their efforts, everything would've been for naught, for it was not until the fleet of Bullheads arrived at the city's outskirts — their occupants armed and prepared — did they realize that the threat had long since been dealt with…
"Are you sure that there's nothing I could do to convince you?"
"I'm afraid not, Mr. Schnee. Besides..." Kiana responded to the man's question, her voice calm and composed even as she gestured towards the more than a dozen armed individuals surrounding their position. "I don't think these people would allow me to leave. Something about answering a few of their questions... not that I mind, really."
"Truly?" He slowly tilted his head to the side, one of his perfectly groomed eyebrows arching ever so slightly as he observed the soldiers — their rigid postures and stoic gazes fixed upon the enigmatic young woman who stood with an unwavering poise amidst the tension that permeated the air. "I must confess, I find it hard to believe that someone like you would willingly... submit yourself to the military just like that."
"Only so long as they don't demand anything too outrageous." The chuckle that escaped from her lips could be heard above the sound of the howling wind, her eyes sparkling with amusement as a soft smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "And it's not like I don't understand where they are coming from. In fact, I would fear for Atlas's future had they allowed me to go without even trying to detain me... at least, not after everything I did."
"I suppose I can see the logic in that." He readily admitted, a hint of grudging agreement lacing his words as he glanced over at the tightly secured perimeter. "It was... simply surprising."
"Hmm..."
Seconds turned into minutes as they both stood in silence, their feet firmly planted on the platform leading to the landing zone. Barely a day had passed ever since the Blood Fang decided to launch their devastating assault upon the city; remnants of destruction are still visible in the form of smoldering ruins and broken structures that lay scattered in the distance — the acrid scent of burnt metal and concrete mixed with the crisp morning air creating an eerie atmosphere that hung heavy around them.
She allowed her gaze to wander towards the ocean, her eyes taking in the sight of a corpse — one of a massive multi-headed serpent — that refused to fully disintegrate even after so long. Wisps of black smoke could be seen emanating from the Ancient's body, its decaying form floating on the surface of the water like a grotesque, otherworldly sculpture suspended in time. The creature's once formidable presence had been reduced to a mere husk, yet it still held a lingering aura of danger and mystique, as if the very essence of its being refused to be extinguished, defying the natural course of decomposition.
"You did a good job in getting rid of that monster." The business tycoon commented, breaking the silence and drawing her attention back to the man. "Now that it is no longer around, maritime trade between Solitas and Anima can finally resume after centuries of stagnation." His hand reached into the inner pocket of his tailored suit, retrieving a silver lighter adorned with intricate engravings — a luxury item befitting a man of his stature. With a swift motion, he flicked open the lid, revealing the flame nestled within, its warm, golden glow dancing playfully against the backdrop of the desolate cityscape. "I imagine a lot of influential people would come to appreciate what you've done, Miss... Absinthe?"
Kiana watched intently as the Schnee Patriarch cupped his hand around the flame, shielding it from the gentle breeze that swept across the landing zone, threatening to extinguish its vibrant life; the rich scent of tobacco wafted through the air as he carefully brought the flame to the tip of his cigar, igniting the end with a satisfying sizzle. A plume of smoke billowed forth, twirling and swirling like an ethereal waltz — its tendrils reaching out towards the heavens before dissipating into the atmosphere; his eyes, hidden behind the veil of hazy shroud, betrayed a glimmer of interest as he raised the cigar to his lips.
"... Kiana." She spoke after a moment of stillness, the syllables rolling off her tongue with a mix of pride and certainty. "Kiana Kaslana."
"Miss Kaslana, then..." The poisonous substance filled his lungs, the fumes temporarily obscuring his features before he exhaled slowly, releasing a cloud of smoky contemplation into the air. "You are surprisingly upfront about your name."
"There's simply no point in hiding it for much longer..."
"Oh? Some would argue that doing so would at least prevent others from taking advantage of your circumstances... not to mention the unnecessary complications or unwanted attention that is sure to follow."
"Let's just say that I've had my fair share of complications and unwanted attention." Her voice held a tinge of wistfulness, her eyes briefly flickering with memories of battles fought and sacrifices made. "Besides, I'm no stranger to being in the spotlight, though whether they're praise or condemnation... well, that remains to be seen."
"Is that so?" He leaned against the railing, a hint of intrigue entering his tone as his gaze continued to linger on the corpse of the Ancient Grimm. "I suppose you have your own reasons for doing as such..."
"Mhmm..."
Another moment of silence passed between them, stretching out like an invisible barrier that held the weight of unspoken words and unresolved questions — their minds submerged in a sea of thoughts, each lost in their own reflections and contemplations. The morning sun had long since casted a shadow across the barren landscape, its golden rays illuminating the wreckage that served as a grim reminder of the recent battle that had unfolded in the city of Argus... and as they stood immersed in their own thoughts, the tranquility of the moment was abruptly shattered by the echoing sound of heels against the metal ramp of the private airship.
The Schnee Patriarch turned his attention towards the figure slowly descending down the ramp, his eyes narrowing slightly as he recognized the familiar silhouette. Winter Schnee, Jacques' eldest daughter, emerged with a calculated grace, her every movement deliberate and controlled; her snow-white hair cascaded down her back in disheveled waves, a stark contrast to the usual pristine and meticulously styled appearance that characterized the Schnee Family. Splotches of blood stained her uniform, mingling with the dirt and grime that clung to her attire — its once immaculate hue now marred by the harsh realities of battle. The cast on her left arm served as a visible reminder of the injuries she had sustained, a testament to her participation in the fierce confrontation against the Ancient.
A cursory glance allowed Kiana to see the weariness etched across the woman's face, her stormy blue eyes clouded with a mixture of exhaustion and a not-so-small amount of resentment; the specialist's lips formed a thin line, betraying her distaste as she caught sight of her father standing beside the enigmatic young woman.
"Winter," Jacques Schnee — undeterred by his daughter's cold reception — stepped forward to greet her, his voice carrying a hint of formality and detachment that seemed to mirror Winter's own demeanor. "I am relieved to see that you are safe..."
The air between them crackled with an unspoken tension, a palpable chill that settled over the platform like an icy mist, shrouding their strained relationship in an uncomfortable silence... and for but a brief moment, the atmosphere seemed to grow even colder, the frigid silence hung heavy in the air like a veil of frost. It was as if time itself held its breath, anticipating the outcome of this long-awaited reunion. The specialist's gaze — cold and unyielding — met her father's distant, calculating eyes, their glares locking in a silent battle of wills.
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"... Sir." Kiana had to hold back a wince at Winter's blatant display of animosity, the woman's words cutting through the air with a frosty precision that mirrored the wintry landscape surrounding them. "The ship is now ready for departure. If you have any further business, I suggest you attend to it as soon as possible."
"Very well," ever the composed businessman, he only took a moment to regain his composure, his lips curling into a thin smile that held no warmth. "I trust that arrangements have been made?"
"Rest assured, Mr. Schnee; everything has been prepared according to your specifications." Winter's icy gaze held steady as she responded, her voice devoid of warmth or emotion. "The crew is standing by, and the supplies have been loaded onto the ship. You can depart whenever you're ready."
"Well done," his eyes glinted with a subtle mockery that conveyed his amusement at his daughter's evident distaste for the entire situation. A condescending smile made its way onto his lips as he spoke, the words that escaped from his mouth dripping with insincerity. "Well done, indeed... you truly have outdone yourself this time." He adjusted his suit with a flourish, his movements oozing an air of superiority as he turned and shifted his attention back to Kiana. "It is... unfortunate, but it appears that I must cut our conversation short, Miss Kaslana. Duty calls, and as I'm sure you understand, there are other matters that I need to attend to. However, with that said, I hope that you would be amenable to the idea of further cooperation." The man addressed her once more, his voice smooth and calculated, his tone laced with a veneer of professionalism and hidden sentiments. "Your abilities have proven to be... invaluable, and I believe that there shall be more... let us say, mutually beneficial opportunities for us to explore; perhaps in a not-so-distant future?"
"... I will not make any promises," her voice held a hint of guarded skepticism as she considered his proposal, her eyes narrowing slightly as she weighed the implications of such an arrangement. "But I won't dismiss the possibility entirely. Should the situation call for it, then I shall at least consider your offer."
"That will have to suffice, I suppose... though I can definitely appreciate your pragmatism." Jacques nodded, acknowledging her response with a slight tilt of his head. "Now that I think about it, I never did get the chance to thank you for saving both me and my youngest daughter, didn't I?"
"... I simply did what you hired me to do, and that is to protect you and your family. You can say that it is... a part of the job." Kiana paused for a moment, her eyes glancing briefly at the battered cityscape before returning to him. "Nevertheless, if you feel the need to further compensate me for my action, then I would prefer to have you owe me a favor. It could certainly come in handy someday."
"Oh? Bold of you to ask for such a thing, especially considering my position as the CEO of the Schnee Dust Company." The businessman chuckled, his amusement reverberating in the crisp morning air as he took a moment to study her — his eyes scanning her from head to toe, as if assessing her worth and potential. "Very well, Miss Kaslana, I accept your request. Consider it my way of repaying the debt I owe you for your valiant efforts in protecting both my family and the city of Argus."
The Schnee Patriarch extended his hand towards her, his gesture a mixture of formality and — if her eyes did not deceive her — genuine gratitude. She looked at his outstretched hand for a moment — hesitation flickering in her eyes — before finally reaching out and accepting the handshake, their palms meeting for but a fleeting moment.
"I appreciate it, Mister Schnee..."
"And I shall be looking forward to seeing you again. Now, if you'll excuse me..."
With their brief exchange concluded, Jacques shifted his attention back to his daughter, who had been observing their interaction with a cold detachment. Kiana watched as their eyes locked once more, the tension between them almost tangible in the air. Winter's icy gaze held a mixture of weariness and defiance, a silent challenge to her father's authority, but beneath the surface, Kiana could sense something more — a flicker of vulnerability, a longing for understanding that lay hidden behind the woman's stoic facade.
Without uttering another word, the man turned away and made his way towards the waiting airship, his strides purposeful and confident, his polished shoes clicking against the metal surface in a steady rhythm. Kiana watched his departure, her eyes lingering on his retreating figure until he disappeared behind the metallic doors of the vessel; his daughter, Winter Schnee, her posture straight and her gaze piercing, stood at attention a few paces away, her broken arm carefully cradled against her body.
They both stood in silence, the wind carrying with it a sense of finality as the engines of the private airship roared to life, their eyes following the aircraft as it ascended into the sky and moved towards the direction of Atlas — its sleek form gradually shrinking in the distance until it became nothing more than a speck against the vast expanse above.
"Ma'am," the voice that came from the white-haired specialist was both formal and respectful; the woman's posture was rigid as she proceeded to raise her uninjured arm and executed a perfect military salute — a testament to the deeply ingrained discipline that characterized her upbringing. "If you would please follow me..."
"Very well," a solemn expression settled on Kiana's face as she tore her gaze away from the vanishing airship and turned her attention to the officer. "Lead the way..."
The stench of the fallen beast lingered in the air, a putrid combination of rotting flesh and ancient malevolence. He wrinkled his nose, feeling the acrid odor as it seeped into his very being; his senses on high alert as he stood at the open ramp of the Bullhead, his eyes scanning the ocean below, searching for any remnants of the battle that had transpired just a day ago. To his left is the towering figure of James Ironwood, his broad shoulders and rigid posture radiating authority, while on his right, Qrow Branwen leaned against the far side of the aircraft, a bottle of whiskey in his hand, a perpetual cloud of gloom surrounding him like an ominous aura.
He could feel his fingers twitching Instinctively, an unconscious reflex born from centuries of wielding magic, his mind attuned to the ebb and flow of the mystical energies that permeated Remnant's vast tapestry… and yet, even as his senses reached out into the abyss, he was met with an eerie silence, a void devoid of any lingering traces of the arcane.
'Impossible…'
Ozpin's gaze narrowed as he tried to refocused his attention, his mind reaching out like tendrils of smoke, probing the surrounding area for any signs of residual magic. He had come to the city expecting to find something — even if it's nothing more than the faintest trace — a lingering echo of power that would confirm the battle's arcane nature; for every use of magic had always left its mark, a trail that could be traced back to its source… yet as if to mock him, the only remnants of magic he could sense were those that had come from the Hydra itself, its signature pulsating weakly like a dying ember in the aftermath of a raging fire.
A frown made its way onto his face as he considered the implications, his mind spinning with possibilities and questions that demanded answers. Everything he had seen should have been impossible to achieve, yet the evidence before him was undeniable — the massive, partially submerged body of the Hydra, one of Remnant's Thirteen Disasters, lay sprawled across the ocean's surface like a dormant titan, its presence a testament to the cataclysmic battle that had taken place. The creature's immense size is as awe-inspiring as it is terrifying, its sinewy form snaking through the water, each head adorned with vicious fangs and eyes that had once burned with a primal fury.
Saying that a single mortal managed to fell not just one but two of the Ancients — without the aid of magic to bolster her strength or enhance her abilities — was a notion that went beyond comprehension, something that challenged the very foundation of his understanding of the world and the forces that governed it. It wouldn't be wrong to say that Ozpin had spent countless lifetimes studying the intricacies of magic and its interplay with the natural world, believing firmly that it was one among the few indispensable tools in the face of the one true threat… yet here he stood, confronted by a reality that defied all logic and reason. In fact, it wouldn't be wrong to say that everything that had happened in this place had defied the very laws of nature and shattered the boundaries of what he thought was possible.
'Preposterous… simply preposterous.'
Even if he were to hypothetically gather all the maidens in the same place, their combined strength and abilities would still pale in comparison to the might of a single Ancient, and while they might have little to no problem surviving an encounter with one, he had no doubt that the most they could do is to drive the Ancient back — to momentarily repel its advance and ward off mankind's impending destruction.
It had always been that way since the second dawn of men, an unyielding cycle of struggle and resistance — an irrefutable truth that hung over his thoughts like a dark cloud… until today, that is.
"There's nothing… no residual traces of magic, no lingering signs of active aura usage." Ozpin finally spoke, his voice carrying a weight of disappointment and intrigue. "I can't sense anything."
He could see the general's eyes narrowing in thought, his grip on his weapon tightening as he processed the revelation, his brow furrowing in concern — a sharp contrast to the Headmaster's trusted agent's nonchalant demeanor; the younger of the Branwen twins took a swig from his whiskey flask, his eyes fixed on the horizon seemingly unfazed by the news, though the flicker of curiosity in his gaze betrayed his interest.
"That… doesn't bode well for us." Ironwood muttered, his voice edged with a hint of anxiety. "Are you sure, Oz? Could it be that your senses are simply off or-"
"C'mon Jimmy… if the Headmaster said that he couldn't sense anything, then that means exactly that; he couldn't sense anything." Qrow interjected, his posture slurring slightly from the effects of the alcohol. "We're talking about someone who's been around longer than any of us combined, so if he says that there's nothing, then there's nothing. No reason to doubt his words, Jimmy; he knows what he's talking about."
The man simply huffed in frustration, his exasperation evident in the way he clenched his jaw, the muscles of his face taut with tension, and his nostrils flaring with each aggravated breath. It was a reaction Ozpin had come to recognize over the years, a telltale sign of the General's mounting frustration in his relentless pursuit of answers — any answers that might potentially allow them to finally tip the scales in their favor… and if Ozpin were to make a comparison, then it wouldn't be wrong to say that the man's temperament was similar to that of a bulldog — tenacious and unyielding — refusing to accept defeat or uncertainty; a quality that had endeared him to the Headmaster, even though it occasionally clashed with his own secretive nature.
"I know, Qrow, but this… it defies everything we know." A hint of frustration entered the General's voice as he used the intercom to signal the pilot to close the ramp and proceed back to the city. "How is it possible? How did she do it?"
"Well, it doesn't matter…" The younger of the Branwen twins replied, his voice filled with a tinge of exasperation as he took another swig from his bottle, the liquid burning down his throat like a river of fire. "Doesn't matter how she did it or if she used a semblance or magic or whatever. In the end, all that matters is that she did it. She used her power to take down that damn Hydra, and that alone should be enough." A dry chuckle escaped the scythe user's lips, the sound mingling with the gentle hum of the Bullhead's engines as they soared above the vast expanse of the ocean — the ramp sealing them within the confines of the aircraft as they began to make their way back to the city of Argus. "Man, you Atlesians really need to stop being so paranoid. I swear you'll end up making an enemy out of a possible ally here."
"It is not paranoid if it is a necessary precaution… and you know we cannot afford to take anything at face value, especially when the stakes are high. We have a duty to protect all of mankind, and that means we must scrutinize every potential ally and threat alike."
"Sure, sure… whatever you say, Jimmy."
The Headmaster of Beacon Academy observed the exchange, his brown eyes flickering with a mix of weariness and a not-so-small amount of amusement as he listened to the banter between the members of his inner circle. They were like oil and water, Ironwood and Qrow, constantly at odds with each other yet united by a common purpose and a shared history of battles fought and lives lost — one with his staunch pragmatism and unwavering dedication, and another with his unpredictable nature and cynical wit; both are two sides of the same coin, complementary forces that, in their own unique ways, contributed to the delicate balance of their clandestine war against Salem and her ilk.
As the Bullhead continued its steady flight, Ozpin took a seat, his weary form leaning against the rough surface of the cabin wall, gaze fixed on the sprawling ocean outside the window. The sight of the water stretching out endlessly — its waves dancing under the morning sunlight — offered a temporary respite from the weight of his responsibilities and the mysteries that loomed before him.
He could see from the corner of his eyes a glimpse of who he assumed to be Bartholomew as the man began to descend upon the colossal corpse of the multi-headed serpent alongside several others, all of which are clad in protective gear — their figures growing smaller and smaller in the Headmaster's view as the Bullhead further distanced itself from the scene. The good doctor — a man of immense curiosity and insatiable thirst for knowledge — had personally requested to accompany him on his visit to Argus, his desire to study the corpse of the monstrous beast overriding any concerns of personal safety and the hazards that such endeavor might entail.
Nevertheless, whether the man would find the answers he sought within the decaying flesh of the Ancient or not remained to be seen… though Ozpin himself would be lying if he said that he wasn't interested to witness the result of the doctor's examination.
Shaking his head in an attempt to clear out his thoughts, he turned his attention back to the duo and watched as they both started to follow suit, their argument temporarily suspended as they made their way to their respective seats. Qrow's flask clanked against the side of his hip as he moved, the sound echoing softly throughout the cabin — his steps a bit unsteady from the alcohol coursing through his veins. The Headmaster could only sigh inwardly, his mind still filled with unanswered questions, but he knew that now was not the time for further contemplation. The battle against Salem and her forces demanded their utmost attention and focus, and getting lost in the enigma of the Hydra's demise would only distract them from their primary objective.
"James is correct in his concern; this turn of events is unprecedented and calls for a thorough investigation." Ozpin finally spoke, his voice calm and measured as he leaned forward, his palm resting on top of his cane. "As much as I hate to say this, the fact remains that we cannot dismiss the possibility of another group of individuals with their own agenda or motivations interfering with our Grand Plan." He held up a hand, the gesture silencing any further arguments from the younger of the Branwen twins before the man could even begin. "But that doesn't mean that Qrow is wrong either. We must consider all possibilities and tread cautiously; there is much we do not know about this person, and I have no doubt that assumptions can and will lead to our downfall."
Ironwood nodded after a moment of hesitation, his jaw set in determination while Qrow simply shrugged, his eyes half-lidded as he grabbed and took another swig from his flask.
"Besides," the Headmaster continued, "just as Qrow had said, I prefer not to antagonize a potential ally, especially when said person might turn out to be another key that would potentially help us end our war against the Grimm once and for all." Ozpin paused, his eyes meeting the gazes of his two companions, his voice filled with conviction. "Remember, gentlemen… unity is our greatest strength, and if this individual has the power and the will to take down an Ancient, then we would be wise to at least consider the possibility of forging an alliance with her."
"So she's probably another key to solving everything, huh?" The scythe user's muttered, a hint of wry amusement coloring his voice. "Well, wouldn't that be grand…"
Their attack had failed…
Months of meticulous planning, strategizing, and preparation had culminated in a catastrophic defeat for the Blood Fang — all those sacrifices, all the lives lost and the blood spilled, had ended up in vain.
He sat slumped against a tree in their makeshift camp deep within the forest, his once fierce and defiant gaze had been replaced by a mix of frustration, anger, and pain; one of his legs — severed as a consequence of his fierce battle against the legend — throbbed mercilessly, reminding him of the price he had paid for his failure.
"Damn it," sweat trickled down his forehead as he hissed through clenched teeth, his trembling hand clutched onto the blood-soaked fabric wrapped around his missing limb. "Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!"
A black haired Faunus knelt beside him, her amber eyes filled with concern and regret; with practiced hands, she meticulously applied pressure to the bandage, her delicate fingers stained crimson — the touch brought a wave of both physical and emotional pain as the reality of his maimed body sank in. Each movement sent another jolt of agony through his entire being, yet his pride, his commitment to the cause, and the fear of disappointing his now dead comrades kept him from surrendering to the mind-numbing sensation.
"… sorry," the young girl's voice trembled slightly, her gaze locked on her task, avoiding his pained expression. "I'm sorry I had to… there was no other choice, Adam."
"You…" The bull's breathing hitched, a mix of refusal and resentment intertwining within him; he tried to meet her gaze with his own, his eyes searching for any lingering hint of remorse. "Forget it, Blake; what you did was… necessary." He finally spat out, his voice laced with a bitter resignation. "Besides, if you hadn't acted that quickly, then I'd be dead… or worse. At least this way, I'll get to live and continue fighting for our cause."
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"What is it?" Adam asked the young Faunus after she continued to stare at him with a mix of concern and uncertainty. "Speak up, Blake."
"It's just… maybe this whole 'Blood Fang' business was a mistake," Blake hesitated, her voice filled with doubt. "All we've accomplished so far… Adam, we've become no better than the ones we claimed to fight against. I know that you think that we're only doing what's necessary, but is it worth it? Look at what happened today — at the lives lost and the destruction caused. Is this really the path we should be on? We both want to bring justice and equality for our people, but I be-"
"But nothing!" He abruptly cut her off, his voice sharp and filled with hatred; the words that escaped from his lips came out harsher than he intended it to be. "Equality!? Justice!? Haha… Ehahahahaha! EhehehahahAHAHA!"
The black-haired Faunus' eyes widened in alarm as Adam's laughter echoed throughout the silent forest — it was a laughter devoid of joy, filled instead with a bitter mockery. His mirthless chuckles seemed to reverberate; it haunted the very air around them, and the young girl couldn't help but feel unnerved by the sudden shift in the man's demeanor. The red-haired Faunus that she had known to be passionate and driven now appeared to be unhinged, his mere presence sending a shiver down her spine.
"You still don't get it, do you, Blake?" Adam's voice dripped with contempt as he stared at the girl before him, his gaze piercing and intense. "Equality? Justice? It's no longer about any of those lofty ideals. It's about power. The world we live in has made it clear that they will not listen to peaceful protests or passive resistance; it is stained with blood, and the only way for us to clear away that filth is to wash it with even more blood. They — those human bastards — will only respond to force, to fear… the Blood Fang is the only way we can make them see, to make them understand that we will not be silenced anymore." A hint of madness glinted in his eyes, a spark of fanaticism that refused to fade away. "You saw what she did to our comrades… to me! Don't you understand, Blake!? We can't afford to waste any more time doubting ourselves! Doing so would be no different than to insult those who had sacrificed everything for our cause!"
"But-"
"ENOUGH!" The bull's voice thundered through the forest, cutting off the young girl's protest with a forceful intensity — his eyes blazed with a mixture of anger and determination, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his lost weapon before realizing its absence; he clenched his trembling fist with a frustrated sigh, his knuckles turning white with the strain. "Enough… just- just stop, Blake… you'll never be able to change my mind." He muttered through gritted teeth, his tone final and resolute. "The weak will always be oppressed, and the strong will always rise to power. It's the law, the very nature of this wretched world. Sooner or later, you too will realize that our cause is the only way forward, Blake."
The black-haired Faunus swallowed hard, her eyes glimmering with unspoken words, yet she knew deep down that further argument would only serve to strain their relationship. She knew that there was no denying the conviction and determination radiating from the man, but a part of her couldn't help but feel a creeping unease; she had followed Adam for so long — believing in his words without question — but the events of the failed assault upon city of Argus had shaken her to her core. The loss of life, the destruction… It was all too much, yet deep down, she knew that her mentor's words held a twisted truth, that the world was cruel, and sometimes, drastic measures were the only way to be heard.
"Alright…" Reluctantly, Blake nodded, her gaze dropping to the ground in a mixture of defeat and worry — the weight of their conversation settling heavily upon her shoulders.
"We already wasted too much time," the red-haired Faunus said, his voice softer this time, his tone filled with a mix of urgency and weariness. "There's a base not too far from this place. We'll regroup with whoever we have left and plan our next move. Our fight isn't over yet." Grabbing the utility knife they had managed to pilfer along the road, Adam rose to his one foot, his figure towering above the black-haired Faunus as he cast a final glance at the young girl. "I give you my word, Blake; those damn humans… they, and that vile woman will pay for what they've done to us."
Hate, was not an emotion that came easily to Pyrrha Nikos, for her parents had always taught her the virtues of understanding, compassion, and empathy — a few of the emotions that embodied the very essence of a true Huntress… and yet, she is not ashamed to admit that the current circumstances had definitely tested the limits of her patience and benevolence, pushing her to the precipice of her emotional capacity.
"-ed to be a female cat Faunus sporting short wavy black hair and amber eyes. Suspect 2 had also been reported to stand at an average height with a slim, athletic build. If you encounter someone resembling these individuals, we urge you to report it promptly to the nearest guard station or law enforcement authorities. I repeat, this is an urgent announce-"
She did not care much for the frigid touch of the winter wind against her cheeks as she hurried through the narrow, debris-filled streets of the ravaged city, her heart pounding in her chest like a war drum — each beat a resounding reminder of the chaos that lingered in the atmosphere; her keen senses heightened by the urgency that propelled her forward, its solemn cadence allowing her to push far beyond the threshold of her physical exhaustion. The distant sound of sirens continued to echo through the morning air, its blare intermingling with the faint screams of anguish and desperation; a haunting symphony of pain that seemed to seep into her very soul.
The Blood Fang…
Even the name of their organization is enough to evoke a visceral reaction; a surge of anger that coursed through her veins felt like molten lava, igniting a fire within her that burned with a white-hot intensity. She had heard stories of their ruthless tactics — stories that painted a gruesome picture of their carnage and the innocent lives they had claimed in their misguided quest for justice. All in the name of a cause that had become so distorted and corrupted beyond recognition… and despite everything that had led them down this path, in the end, it doesn't change the fact that these people are nothing more than a group of radical Faunus fueled by resentment and hatred, who saw violence and destruction as the means to an end — a twisted ideology that she personally found both abhorrent and senseless.
Of course, Pyrrha could also see how — to a certain extent — the Faunus themselves could be seen as victims, their way of life a reflection of the systemic discrimination and oppression they had endured for far too long; their heritage marking them as perpetual outsiders in a world that often turned a blind eye to their plight. Even she herself couldn't help but to empathize with their struggle, yet even so, that doesn't excuse the indiscriminate violence and bloodshed they had unleashed upon both humans and their fellow Faunus alike.
Her thoughts raced in tandem with her footsteps, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions as she continued to navigate the labyrinthine maze of destruction — fragments of glass and crumbling buildings creating an eerie landscape that mirrored the shattered lives left in the wake of the Blood Fang's rampage.
After what felt like hours, she finally arrived at the makeshift medical tent that stood as a beacon of salvation amidst the ruins; its white fabric billowing in the wind like a wounded bird desperately trying to take flight. The air was heavy with the pungent scent of antiseptic and the collective moans and groans of the wounded, their anguished cries intertwining with the muffled voices of doctors and nurses attending to the injured. Her gaze swept across the sea of battered bodies — each one a testament to the horrors of the recent battle — her heart sinking as her eyes fell upon a figure lying unmoving on a makeshift cot, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths.
Pyrrha rushed to his side, her fingers trembling as she gently brushed aside a lock of brown hair, her touch soft and tender like the caress of a gentle breeze on a summer's eve. The unmistakable coppery tang of blood permeated the air around them, a harsh reminder of the life-giving fluid that had spilled from the man's body. Her eyes filled with a mixture of relief and concern as she beheld the face of her father, his features worn and weary, yet they still retained traces of the strength and determination that had defined him throughout her entire life. The sight of the man lying there, vulnerable and wounded, pierced her heart like a shard of ice, shattering the fragments of composure she had managed to hold onto; her emotions bubbling to the surface like a raging tempest within her.
She sat down beside him on the makeshift cot, her body leaning against the cool metal frame. Wearily her eyes scanned the surroundings, observing the flurry of activity around her before they shifted towards the stark, crimson stain on her father's side, where the stab wound had inflicted its cruel mark — the sight of it sent a shiver down her spine, her stomach churning with a mix of dread and fury. Pyrrha allowed her fingers to reached out tentatively, hovering inches away from the bandaged area; a soft, familiar hand wrapped around her shoulders from behind, pulling her into an embrace that brought her solace and reassurance — the loving touch of an individual whose warmth and tenderness had always been a constant source of comfort.
"… how?" She whispered in a hollow tone, her eyes glancing at the piece of paper that lay on the small table beside her, its surface marred with a meticulously handwritten list detailing the extent of her father's injuries.
"They… disguised themselves as civilians," her mother's voice broke through the cacophony of their surroundings, her words laced with a hint of sadness, her grip on Pyrrha tightening ever so slightly as if to offer an additional layer of support. "And none of us ever suspected."
"… I see."
"It's going to be fine, dear; your father… he's going to be okay. The doctors have done everything they can. It will take a long time, but they said that he'll be able to make a full recovery — with the exception of a few things. All that's left is for us to-"
"I know," she interrupted her mother, her voice firm yet tinged with a touch of exhaustion. One of her hands reached out to grasp at the woman's arm, her fingers curling around the fabric of her sleeve in a show of reassurance even as the digits of her other hand rested on the edge of the paper, crumpling it slightly as her nails dug into the surface. "You don't have to worry about me, Mom, I know…"
"Can I not worry about my own child?" Her mother replied, her voice filled with a mix of concern and affection, her gaze tender as it met Pyrrha's own. "You've always been so strong, so… mature; but that doesn't change the fact that you're still and always will be my daughter. Please remember that I'm here for you, every step of the way."
The words washed over her like a gentle rain, their cadence soothing the storm within her soul. In that moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift from her shoulders as she let herself lean into her mother's embrace, their bodies melding together like two halves of a whole, a reunion that felt like a balm to her wounded spirit… and amidst it all, Pyrrha could only hope that it would be enough — that the embrace, the warmth, and the love pouring from her mother's arms would be enough to quell the flames of vengeance that threatened to consume her.
For better or worse…
"… I'm glad you're okay, Mom," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper yet filled with profound sincerity. Her words hung in the air, a fragile thread connecting her heart to her mother's, bridging the gap between their souls in a moment of pure vulnerability and raw emotion. "I love you…"
He stepped into the lavish elevator of the upscale hotel, his hand reaching out to press the button in order to keep the elevator's doors open; one of his companions, a scruffy and rugged Huntsman, hurriedly made his way towards the elevator, cursing under his breath as he squeezed through the narrowing gap — his eyes darted around the metal confines, as if expecting one of the them to magically appear.
"Those fucking reporters, always sticking their noses where they don't belong." The man — always the cynic — spoke with a low voice, his tone dripping with frustration and annoyance. "Can't even give us a damn minute of peace. Vultures... the lot of them."
"... and James?"
"Jimmy-boy got held back up for a bit," Qrow replied, his voice still laced with disdain as he leaned against the elevator wall, his arms crossed. "Think one of his men is trying to tell him something. Shouldn't take too long, though..." The sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway, growing louder and more distinct as they approached the elevator. Ozpin's keen eyes glanced towards the approaching figure, recognizing the confident stride and military posture even before the doors fully opened. "See? Told you so..."
"Ozpin," the General stepped into the metal box with purposeful strides, his stern expression softening slightly as he turned to face the Headmaster of Beacon Academy. "Thank you for holding the door, I appreciate it..."
"Don't mention it, James." The faint smile on his lips turn into a frown as he looks towards his fellow Headmaster, his eyes picking out the subtle signs of unease on the General's face — the creasing of his brow, and the slight tightening of his jaw. "Something's bothering you, James?"
"... the city's CCTS System took a really bad hit, and it is going to require extensive repair. We're looking at weeks — if not months — before it's fully operational, which means that Argus will be cut off from the rest of Remnant for quite some time." Ironwood let out a heavy sigh, his gaze drifting towards the digital display of the elevator. "My men are spread thin enough across the kingdoms as it is, and now this... the entire incident is going to be a logistical nightmare."
"Hah! Wouldn't be so bad if you hadn't dropped the support for the Huntsmen in favor of your specialists and those tin cans of yours." The younger of the Branwen twins interjected, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he glanced at the Headmaster of Atlas Academy. "But hey, who needs skilled warriors when you have an army of robots, right?"
"We've discussed this, Qrow," the General's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing at the remark. "The Atlesian military's primary focus is to protect the people of Remnant, and our technological advancements play a crucial role in achieving that. While I cannot deny that the idea of using Huntsmen has its merits, they are — in the end — just as fallible and vulnerable as any human being." He continued to speak with a hint of conviction in his voice, the clicking of his boots against the elevator floor accentuating his words. "On the other hand, our robotic forces can operate efficiently and without the limitations that humans possess. Huntsmen alone cannot shoulder the burden of protecting humanity anymore; you know this, Qrow. We need to adapt and evolve."
"Adapt and evolve, huh?" The ex-bandit snorted and rolled his eyes in response, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Sounds like the perfect excuse to push the Huntsmen out of a job. Real progressive thinking there, Jimmy. You know what happened to those Huntsman when you decided to send your army of tin cans to Mantle?" A mirthless chuckle escaped the man's throat as he leaned closer to the Headmaster of Atlas, his voice now dripping with a mix of bitterness and resignation. "Yep... you guessed it. They were tossed to the side, just like yesterday's trash. Old and young, male and female, they all ended up on the streets, out of work and struggling to make ends meet. Real fine way to show your appreciation for the years of sacrifice and service they've given, don't you think?"
"Qrow, please," Ozpin finally interjected, his voice calm and measured. "I'm sure James has his own reasons for his decisions. You may not agree with him, but you should respect his perspective."
"Tch," Qrow huffed in frustration, his posture straightening as he shook his head in disbelief. "Yeah, whatever..."
The wizard-in-hiding could only observe the tension that filled the confined space of the elevator, the atmosphere growing thick as the unspoken grievances of his agent reared its head once more. He knew that the relationship between most Huntsmen in general and the Atlesian military had always been a complex one, with each side holding their own beliefs and convictions, yet he had hoped that at least some understanding and compromise could be reached — if not between all the individuals involved, then at least among the select few such as these two.
"Perhaps," after a few moments of silence, Ozpin decided to steer the conversation towards a more constructive path. "It would be best if we enlist the aid of mercenaries to help patrol the road between cities. With the CCT System undergoing repairs, they could assist in maintaining communication and security, if only until the entire system is back online."
"Mercenaries..." Ironwood's gaze shifted from Qrow to Ozpin, his brows furrowing as he considered the suggestion. "I prefer not to hire these sorts of people, but I won't deny that they could indeed alleviate some of our problems, at least temporarily... though we will need to ensure that we bring in professionals who can be trusted to act in the best interest of the people."
"Not everyone is as rich as you are, Jimmy. A lot of people have no choice but to put food on their table somehow..."
"Additionally," the Headmaster of Beacon continued, his words cutting through the tension in hope of preventing the 'mostly' harmless banter from growing into another bout of argument. "We may want to consider sending a few of our students to assist. Doing so would not only provide them with another valuable real-world experience, but also allow them the opportunity to learn from seasoned professionals, all while contributing to the greater good."
Ironwood nodded slowly, his features softening with a hint of appreciation while Qrow simply scoffed under his breath but otherwise remained silent, his arms still crossed in front of him. The elevator chimed softly, indicating their arrival at the designated floor. As the doors slid open, Ozpin stepped out, followed by Ironwood and Qrow; they made their way down the carpeted hallway, their footsteps echoing in the quiet corridor — their presence accentuated by the absence of any other guests.
"We'll have to discuss the problem at a later time." The General broke the silence, his voice low and serious. "Winter has informed me that she is waiting for us in room three-two-four."
'Right… back to the matter at hand.'
Ozpin allowed his gaze to wander towards the doors they passed, noting the Atlesian soldiers and their androids stationed along the hallway, the sight a stark reminder of the heightened security measures in place. The soldiers stood at attention, their rifles glinting under the soft lighting, while the androids emitted a faint hum as they continued to scan the area for any potential threats.
"Geez, Jimmy… going for the whole shebang, aren't ya? What's the deal with all these soldiers and tin cans? Seems a bit excessive, even for you." Never one to hold back his thoughts, the ex-bandit couldn't help but comment on the overwhelming presence. "Then again, I suppose a simple meeting wouldn't be complete without an army guarding the door. Exactly what I expected from an Atlesian, really."
"Qrow…"
"Alright, alright, I get it, Oz." The scythe user shrugged nonchalantly, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he continued to stroll alongside his companions. "No need to make a fuss. Just wanted to make an observation, you know?"
"Regardless," Ozpin shook his head, letting out a soft sigh as they approached the last corner that would take them to their destination. "You seem… overly supportive of the legend, and dare I say, somewhat eager to meet with her. Is there something you're not telling me?"
"She's a legend, Oz, not to mention that the woman saved my life, and a few thousand of Jimmy's boys too if I'm not mistaken… oh, I actually forgot to add another two cities worth of lives to that list." His voice carried with it a hint of respect as he spoke, his gaze fixed on the end of the corridor. "Not to say that I don't have my own grievance with her, but the least I could do is show some gratitude for what she's done. Besides, if she's really as powerful as they say, it wouldn't hurt to have her on our side."
"Hmm…"
While Qrow never truly spoke about his experience during the battle in the defense of Evergreen City six months ago, Ozpin knew that the ex-bandit still carried the weight of it within him; the trauma of witnessing the destruction and loss of life had left its mark on the Huntsman, and it was something the Headmaster believed the man never fully recovered from. In a way, Qrow's own Semblance — the ability to bring bad luck to those around him — served as a constant reminder of the danger he posed to others… and up to this day, the scythe user still refused to acknowledge the toll it took on him, even though it was evident in the way he kept others at arm's length, maintaining an air of detachment.
'Well, at least his condition is improving…' The wizard-in-hiding reflected silently before he cleared his throat, the sound carrying a calm authority that commanded attention. "Gentlemen, I understand that we all have our own perspectives and approaches to the challenges we face. However — now more than ever — we must remember the importance of presenting a united front; with everything that has happened, I hope you understand that we cannot afford to mess this up."
"Yeah? Well, you won't get any problem from me…" Qrow responded, his voice — while still playful — devoid of his usual sarcasm.
"I know what's at stake, and I will do what needs to be done." Ironwood added, his voice filled with determination. "You can count on me, Oz…"
"Good… I trust that the two of you will uphold your end of the deal." Ozpin nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Now let us hope that that would be enough…"
The group of three continued to approach their intended destination, the room marked by a polished bronze plate; a pair of Atlesian soldiers stood at attention on either side of the door, their uniforms crisp and their postures rigid… and as Ozpin, Qrow, and Ironwood reached the entrance of room three-two-four, the soldiers saluted them, their gauntlet-covered hands snapping to their foreheads in a sharp, synchronized motion. The Headmaster acknowledged the salute with a nod, while the Huntsman merely glanced at the soldiers before rolling his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Good work, soldiers," the General acknowledged the pair with a curt nod, his voice carrying a touch of formality as he returned the salute. "My associates and I will be going in. You two continue to stand guard; make sure that no one enters without proper authorization."
"Sir!"
The soldiers opened the door, revealing a spacious suite adorned with elegant furnishings… and as the trio entered the room, they were greeted by a view of the city skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows. A single glance allowed Ozpin to see that no expense had been spared in ensuring the comfort and luxury of its occupants — a notion that he could certainly agree with, especially considering the status of the person they are currently hosting. Shaking his head to clear out the unneeded thought, he began to lead the other two towards the room to the left, where the sound of chatter could be faintly heard.
A large table stood at the center of what looks to be a conference room, Its white and black color a stark contrast to the purple plush chairs that surrounded it. Seated at the head of the table was a beautiful woman of a formidable aura; her regal posture exuded confidence, and her luminous eyes seemed to hold untold wisdom as she continue to converse with the eldest daughter of the Schnee Family — an elegant white dress flowed gracefully around her body, accentuating her commanding presence… and as Ozpin locked his gaze with that of the legendary figure, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of unease deep within his soul.
"Ah… Headmaster Ozpin and General Ironwood," the young woman rose from her seat, her movements fluid and graceful, as if every action she took was carefully choreographed — a melodic voice escaped from her lips, a sound that reverberated like a tinkling bell. "Mister Branwen," she continued, acknowledging Qrow's presence with a faint smile and a polite nod before turning her attention back to the two. "We finally met…"
A mind-numbing sensation radiated through Adam's body as he tumbled down the side of the towering building, his heart pounding in his chest with each violent collision against the unforgiving surface. The world spun around him like a dervish, blurring his vision and making it impossible to regain his balance. Finally, he came crashing to a bone-shattering halt, the impact breaking his ribs and sending shockwaves of agony coursing through his shattered aura, the essence that once protected him.
"Fuck!"
With sheer determination etched upon his face, he gritted his teeth and forced himself to his unsteady feet, wincing at the searing pain coursing through his injured side, the sharp shards of agony lancing through his torso with every labored breath he took; his legs quivered, weakened not only by the fall but also by the relentless battles he had fought in the past few minutes.
"Blake!" Adam gasped, his voice strained, as he scanned the chaotic battlefield for any sign of his partner, the one person he had fought alongside countless times. "Blake! Where are you!?"
Panic clawed at his chest, threatening to overpower his resolve, but he shook off the fear, refusing to succumb to it; even in his injured state, he couldn't afford to dwell on his own pain and confusion — he needed to find a way to survive… to protect those he cared about.
The bull's gaze fell upon the lifeless hand of a Blood Fang member, and in a desperate scramble, he lunged towards the fallen body, his gloved fingers gripping the cold steel of the rifle clenched in the Faunus grasp; it felt alien and unfamiliar in his hands, but it was a weapon, a tool that could offer him a slim chance of survival in this unrelenting storm of combat. Summoning what little strength he had left, Adam steadied the rifle against his battered shoulder, his finger curling around the trigger with a determined resolve; he squeezed, unleashing a hailstorm of bullets towards the enemy, the deafening roar of gunfire mingling with the pained cries of his tortured ribs, the recoil shaking his weakened frame with each shot fired.
His assailant, a woman with bone-white skin that seemed to gleam in the fading light of the crimson-streaked sky, was far from defenseless. With an eerie grace, she transformed her golden war-axe into a wicked sickle, the weapon gleaming menacingly as it spun through the air, casting ethereal shadows in the wake of its deadly arc. Her movements were fluid — almost otherworldly — as she twirled the chain attached to the sickle with a masterful finesse, its metallic links cutting through the air with a haunting melody.
Adam's bullets, mere specks of lead and fire dust, rained upon her like a tempest, the crackling reports of gunfire echoing in the chaotic symphony of battle… and yet, to his growing dismay, she deflected them effortlessly, the spinning sickle acting as a shield against the storm of projectiles. His heart sank even further as he watched some of his shots stray off-course, the bullets finding their mark on a cluster of fire dust containers nearby, each projectile punching through the metallic surface and causing them to explode with a cacophony of concussive blasts — their searing heat radiating through the air and adding another volatile element into the already volatile battlefield.
In an instant, the woman's transformation began, her bone-white skin fading into obsidian darkness as a whirlwind of black petals erupted around her, enveloping her form in a swirling vortex of ebony beauty; she became a specter, a force of nature, as she propelled herself towards Adam's position with breathtaking speed, her ethereal silhouette blurring with every passing moment.
His heart thudded in his chest, a mixture of adrenaline and dread coursing through his veins as he desperately tried to steady his trembling hands and ready himself for the impending clash.
Unfortunately for him, his assailant was upon him before he could even react, her movements a blur of graceful brutality that defied comprehension… and with a swift and calculated strike, she closed the distance between them, her sickle slashing through the air with a chilling swiftness. The bull's reflexes — dulled by exhaustion and pain — betrayed him and his wrist screamed in protest as the blade connected, forcing him to relinquish his grip on the rifle; the weapon clattered to the ground, a resounding echo of his defeat.
"Shit!"
Agony surged through his body as he stumbled backward, his wounded wrist throbbing with each beat of his heart; his fingers instinctively curled around the searing pain, his black gloves now tainted with scarlet. Before he could regain his bearings, his assailant launched another series of attacks, the assault ending with her knee connecting with his face in a devastating collision of bone and cartilage. Stars burst across Adam's vision, his head spinning in a disorienting whirlpool of pain and confusion; his thoughts scattered like shards of glass, and he struggled to regain his focus, but the world seemed to tilt and sway — they spun around him like a frenzied carousel, a kaleidoscope of blurred shapes and muffled sounds.
A hand shot out from the swirling chaos, grabbing his face in an iron grip — the woman's fingers digging into his cheeks like talons of ice. The agony intensified, a searing fire burning through his skull as his head was ruthlessly bashed against a nearby munitions crate, over and over and over again. Each impact jarred his senses, the metallic taste of blood flooding his mouth with each collision; dazed and disoriented, he could do nothing but endure the brutal assault, his thoughts a muddled haze of pain and desperation.
It was as if the world had become a chaotic carnival ride, spinning him through a nightmare realm. Adam's body — battered and broken — became a marionette in the hands of his merciless assailant, his movements reduced to mere flailing attempts to resist the overwhelming force that threw him around like a ragdoll.
Finally, with a final heave of her arm, his assailant released her grip on him, tossing him aside as if he was nothing more than a piece of trash; the red-haired Faunus flew through the air, a helpless projectile until he collided with the unforgiving side of a nearby truck. The impact reverberated through his bones, jolting his injured side and causing fresh waves of agony to surge through his body; the pain intensifying with each passing moment as he crumpled to the ground, gasping for air — his vision swimming with dark spots and specks of light dancing at the edges.
Barely clinging to consciousness, the bull's eyes fluttered open, his vision obscured by the haze of pain and the acrid stench of smoke that hung in the air; his surroundings seemed to blend into a distorted dreamscape, a nightmarish tableau that defied logic and reason. He was vaguely aware of the flickering flames that licked at the air, its tongue casting eerie shadows on the twisted metal wreckage around him; through the haze, he caught sight of his assailant, her form wreathed in an ethereal shroud of darkness, her bone-white skin contrasting starkly against the flickering inferno behind her — she stood tall and proud, her weapon now transformed into a gleaming halberd, the deadly blade glinting with an otherworldly aura.
Desperation surged through Adam's battered body as he fumbled for the knife strapped to his belt, his fingers trembling with both exhaustion and pain; both of his arms quivered with a mix of fear and determination as he raised the weapon in a feeble attempt to defend himself… but before he could even steady his grip, the woman closed the distance between them with a speed that defied comprehension. The halberd swung through the air with a fluid grace, its lethal arc a blur of deadly elegance. In one swift motion, the blade sliced through Adam's raised arm, its serrated edge severing the limb from his body in a gruesome display of crimson and anguish.
"Aaaaarrrgghhh!"
A raw, guttural scream tore itself from his throat, his voice a symphony of agony as he collapsed to his knees, blood gushing from the stump where his arm had once been. His vision blurred, tears mixing with the sweat that streamed down his dirt-streaked face, as he stared in shock at the severed limb that lay discarded on the ground. The pain threatened to consume him, each beat of his heart a reminder of the brutal reality that unfolded before him. But amidst the haze of torment, a new presence seized his attention — the woman, his assailant, now crouched beside him, a sinister smile playing on her lips.
With a swift and deliberate motion, she spun the halberd around and used the haft of her weapon to strike Adam's head, sending shards of pain radiating through his skull. Stars exploded across his vision once again, his senses reeling from the impact… and with a cruel laugh, she dragged him by his collar toward the still-burning flame, its searing heat a cruel contrast to the chill that gripped his soul.
The fiery glow of the flame danced in his eyes, reflecting his torment as his assailant pressed his maimed arm against the scorching fire, the heat searing his wound and cauterizing it with a white-hot agony that seeped into the very depths of his being — his body convulsed with spasms of pain, his muscles contracting and writhing as his vision blurred and wavered, the flames casting eerie shadows across his face. Sweat mingled with tears, cascading down his cheeks as he fought to suppress the screams that threatened to tear from his throat; his nails dug into the ground, his fingers clawing at the dirt in a desperate attempt to anchor himself to reality.
And yet… his torment was far from over.
With a strength that belied her slender frame, his assailant dragged him once more, forcing him to his knees before a monstrous creature that loomed in the smoky haze. It was a Grimm unlike any he had ever encountered — a twisted amalgamation of sharp edges and ethereal darkness; its serpentine body slithered and coiled, each scale glinting with a malevolent hunger, while its eyes burned with an unholy glow, fixated on Adam's broken form. Fear surged through every fiber of his being, his heart pounding in his chest like a captive beast, its primal rhythm echoing in his ears; his breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving with the effort to draw in air.
"Blake! Where are you!? Blake!?" His voice trembled with desperation as he scanned the nightmarish scene, hoping against hope that his partner would come to his rescue. "Damn it, Blake! I need your help!"
The Grimm loomed closer, its monstrous visage filled with an insatiable hunger that sent shivers down the Faunus' spine. Its maw opened wide, revealing rows of jagged, razor-sharp teeth that glistened with a sickly phosphorescence; the stench of decay and malice wafted from its gaping maw, assaulting his senses with a nauseating cocktail of putrid odors.
"AdAM. TaUruS."
Time seemed to freeze for a brief moment as the monstrous Grimm's voice resounded in his ears; the words — spoken with an eerie calmness — cut through the chaos and pierced the bull's shattered resolve.
Fear…
Like a tidal wave, it crashed over him, flooding his senses and paralyzing his body, its icy grip shattering the remnants of his defiance. Panic clawed at his throat, constricting his breath as he realized the depths of the nightmare he found himself in.
"Blake!? Help me!" His pleas for help pierced the air, desperate and filled with a raw vulnerability that seemed to go unanswered. "Blake!?"
The woman with bone-white skin watched him with a twisted satisfaction, her eyes gleaming with sadistic delight at his torment; the monstrous Grimm, its jaws opening wider, seemed to draw nearer, its foul breath washing over Adam like a suffocating miasma — his heart raced, each beat a thunderous drumming in his ears as his body trembled uncontrollably.
"NoW, doN'T bE AfRaID…"
The monster's voice resonated once more, cutting through the chaos like a haunting melody, its tone strangely soothing despite the terror that filled Adam's heart; the words echoed in his mind, swirling with a blend of menace and dark promise… yet even so, the bull could no longer contain his panic, his fear rising to a crescendo within him, threatening to consume his very soul; he opened his mouth, his vocal cords straining as he unleashed a guttural scream of desperation.
"BLAKEEE!"
Proofreading and Editing by FargoneMyth/Sadron.
Author's Note: You know, I tried my best to keep the word count below 4k. I really did… but as you can see… well, I'll just have to try harder next time. Anyway, for some reason, the beginning of the chapter felt… rushed? Inadequate? Weak? Not sure why, but it just felt incomplete somehow. Huh… now that I read it all over, the entire chapter felt rushed. Or maybe I'm just being paranoid. Eh, whatever… nobody cares, anyway. Well, enjoy the chapter folks. Don't worry if you don't like it. I know it sucks, haha~ Oh, and I really, really hope that none of the characters goes OOC.
Disclaimer: Honkai Impact 3rd belongs to miHoYo; RWBY belongs to Rooster Teeth.
Next Update: A rewrite of the Prologue of Trails in The Sea of Souls followed by a rewrite of the First Chapter of Trails in The Sea of Souls.
mizunojohnmarl: Hi! Thanks for your input, though personally, I think Kiana is younger than what you described. I'm fairly certain that *spoiler alert* Otto wouldn't create hundreds of the K series at the same time. It is more likely that he created a few dozen at first, tried to experiment on them, and when that failed, he ended up creating another dozen to replace the failures. The cycle probably continued up until the creation of K-423 in 2007 and the implantation of the Void core in the following months, so… *spoiler end* well, at least that's what I think. I could be mistaken, but hey, there is barely any source for me to look at, and a few that exist are all over the place! Hope you enjoy the fic, though~