In his dreams, there was a doll that one might think was alive.
The life-sized and exceptionally well-made doll had appeared to him many times before, though it had never been his dream's focus. It had sat at the edge of his vision each time his eyes closed after a long day where it lay unmoving and unblinking.
Despite his vague relationship and distant viewing of the said doll, he could infer a few things about it from his many dreams. It was beautiful and beautifully made - its birth had been clearly accompanied in great amounts by time, love, care, and even, obsession. There had been times he thought for sure it had turned its head towards him and given him a strange look but whenever he turned to look back it was always the same. He would swear to himself to investigate whatever it might be, be it symbol or forgotten memory but when he awoke all that remained was a vague and misty recollection, a memory too weak to even describe.
But now it spoke.
Her voice was soft and sweet and her words were full of care. He wondered who this woman was, to be able to weave such lullabies in her words.
"Shhhhh…" she whispers. "Hello, good hunter. It is good to see you again." Again? "Yes. I come to you now for your sleep has never been this deep… fitful rests though may have plagued you, now you sink deep on the edge of mortality." As interesting as she and this dream were, his mind couldn't help but wander away, primarily in question as to the fate of Qrow in the waking world. Had he saved him or doomed him?
She nodded in confirmation at his silent question despite a simple 'yes or no' serving only to brew greater confusion. "The huntsman known as Qrow has been forced to forsake some of his human spirit for that of the beast." She paused to look towards the beautiful moon. "Though, you and he are fortunate; it seems as though there already existed a beast in his soul that he knew to suppress. He may yet find his mind."
So he was alive but there was a high chance that G.H. had stolen his mind in exchange for his life. Was that a worthwhile trade? He didn't know. He couldn't know. This was too much. It was all too much.
Anger and exhaustion bubbled up again as he considered his entire life in a brief flash of memory. He hadn't had a day since he awoke beneath that tree so long ago that he hadn't killed or hurt. In every taste of blood taken in so callously, there had been emotions and hints of memories. Pain and suffering, loss and death. It had already begun to eat away at him though he had done his best to suppress and ignore it. Now though, in this supposedly peaceful dream his despair grew overwhelming. It took all he could muster to not fall to the ground screaming in frustration. The doll tilted her head in a strange mixture of compassion and curiosity.
"I understand, hallowed hunter. Here; allow me to somewhat alleviate your burden." Fingertips lightly brushed his temple and in their soft touch he could feel a strange weight being lifted from him; it was as if the very madness and horror staining his being had begun to drain from his soul. Heavy eyelids began to lift as that growing darkness finally began to ease. He felt lighter. And, strangely, stronger. More focused than he had been at any point during the last two weeks. However this newfound feeling was weak and had only just begun; despite his budding strength he knew he still teetered on the edge.
Her form flickered and he was briefly back in reality. Light peered through the gap in the stump and silhouetted the auburn-haired Faunus, Tau.
"I'm glad to have found you, G.H., and glad you found somewhere to hide." Tau's whispered words were labored and short. "I don't know where Qrow is but I'm sure he's doing fine…" a long pause followed as she inspected his wounds. "You're doing even worse than I am…" She touched a pair of fingers to his pulse as he swayed back into sleep. "You're dying."
"You are indeed stronger, and you are indeed dying. You stand over a precipice - I am curious as to which direction you shall fall."
She pulled back from him and gave a low bow. "It is not from death and suffering nor physical might that you hunters find your greatest strength - rather, your greatest strength is born from suffering's relief. The strength of quiet and peace; the strength of will." She gave him a small plastic smile. No wrinkles formed in the corners of her eyes and no glimmer shone in her plastic pupils - yet he could still feel its genuineness.
"You have suffered great pain and felt immense hurt, but you have fallen to neither. You stand now and I expect you shall again when you face far greater trials." She stroked his cheek as he realized how thirsty and weak he was. "You are strong, dear hunter, and you shall be stronger - but only after you have rested."
She stood, leaving him to stare at nothing.
"And when your rest is done I shall be here evermore. When friends fall as quickly as tears it shall be I who will help lift you from your agony," the doll gracefully drifted to a small birdbath. Shimmering water that seemed unable to find rest peered back at her. Her movements were supernaturally elegant - he was unsure if she was truly walking or simply gliding over the earth.
"But there is only so much I can do and only so much relief I can provide. Gracious hunter, I am sorry for my weakness. You must brace for the coming horrors and those pitiful stories," Water glided into her cupped hands. "Both within and without."
"They're coming soon so I can't stay long." Tau wrapped his worst injuries in mostly clean bandages. By his side she had laid down their supplies - both his and her packs. Food, medicine, his weapons, and more. "I can't let them find you, but I can't leave you here alone in this state." She paused, deep in thought to solutions. Hands slowly fell to her lap as she stared at them quizzically, feeling something stir in her soul. The realization that she already knew how to save him struck.
"The Old Blood calls to those who would listen. This world is infected, and the scourge has begun. You cannot prevent it."
Tau touched her forehead to his while gripping tightly his limp hands. "Listen to me now, G.H., even in your troubled sleep. Take this to heart and let your very being be the thing that protects you from harm. Your aura shall be your weapon and your shield, let it be that which you rely on." A hitch caught in her throat as she drew a deep breath.
"You must gather your strength, allies, and mind. Prepare, good hunter."
"For it is in conflict that we find ourselves. The truth laid bare for all to see will be both beautiful and terrible, but it is a truth we must face…" Her aura began to spring from her form, cascading outwards like soft waves lapping at unseen shores. It washed over his still form while pouring into the depths and darkness within him, helping bring out his light.
"I help now to find your truth, but it is you who must claim it. By my darkness unchain your soul, but by your light, you will guide it." His soul was weak, his aura brittle. Despite her quiet struggle, she could not coax it anymore from its hidden place deep within him and so despair began to wash over her. Still, she knew; this was the only way he could save himself - so she must try until she could try no more. Her prayer repeated. "For it is in conflict that we find ourselves…"
"Your soul… it is weak. Starving. Though your mind cannot recall your previous life, your essence remembers. It has seen horrors without rest and has been dealt a killing blow far too many times." Then what was he to do? Death, here and now… it would be far too sad. "It will grow again in time, with nourishment and with care. Find others to stoke your fire and to bring you joy." She brought her cupped hands to his lips and he greedily drank the refreshing water. "Until that time comes that you may stand upon your own two feet, I give myself to you."
Tau gasped as an aura burst forth from within G.H. - a clean and porcelain white thing. It felt strange and blank as though it were the soul of a newborn yet in it there existed something ancient and sad. The color and shape of it were different from the shattered remnants she had brushed against deep within him - but now was not the time to concern herself with that. She fell to the ground in front of the still boy while sensing the quiet soul within wrapping around and caressing him. She hoped that this would be enough and that he would be alright.
Tight hands gripped her weapon as her ears perked up. The White Fang was approaching. She looked to G.H. and knew that if she ran they would question why she had remained here for so long - and in their search for answers they would surely find him. Taking her supply pack she typed something into her scroll before placing it gently in G.H.'s sleeping hands. Her aura was weak having so recently brought out another's and her wounds were still fresh and crimson. Still, there was no recourse.
"Go now. Rest your weary mind. I shall be here even when you know it not."
Weiss Schnee prided herself on many things; chief amongst them included her combat prowess, leadership capabilities, fiscal sensibilities, incredible punctuality, loving demeanor, modesty, and above all else her talent at keeping a cool head in high-stress situations.
Now, aboard a plummeting lavishly decorated and comfortable airbus she decided the best use of her multitudinous talents was to firmly and confidently instruct the panicking pilot on how best to control their descent.
"PULL THE THING UP - UUUPPPP! THAT WAY!"
"Miss Schnee I need you to -"
"Do you see where my finger is pointing?! That way! That's the way we should be going!"
"Will you - Miss Schnee, I am trying!"
"I know…" Tears sprung to her eyes as she held the pilot in a death grip. "This is going to be my last contact with a person before I die and it's with you of all people…" she began sobbing inconsolably as the pilot struggled to maintain some semblance of control despite the forces of gravity and fire and bombs fighting against him. "I don't even know your name!"
"Miss Schnee, if you would calm yourself you'd recognize I'm controlling our descent!" Irritation mixed with fear was clear in his biting tone. "Sit down and strap up - it's still gonna be a rough landing." He paused. "In the back, Miss Schnee." She sniffed a nod, her emotions slowly falling back under her control.
She wasn't normally so… the way that she was in the way she had been, but the explosions and destruction that had rocked the airbus had terrified her. She had been quietly contemplating her new life at Beacon and excitedly considering her newfound freedom away from… well, it was hardly on her mind at the moment.
She quickly sat and pulled the safety harness across her body. As she got herself safe she considered how she had just acted and honestly couldn't believe herself. Overwhelmed with fear and panic - it was disgraceful! Her sister would be unbelievably disappointed. Her hands slowed as she paused in her buckling. What was she doing? She wasn't some panicking child. The safety buckles zipped back into their holders as she stood haughtily, her dress taking advantage of the sudden freedom to floomph outward. Standing and striding with confidence despite the shaking and plummeting airbus she forced her way back into the cockpit with her rapier 'Myrtenaster' gripped in tight determination.
"Miss Schnee! We're speeding up so I need you to -" she cut him off and raised her rapier towards the quickly approaching earth.
"No, I need you to stop. I apologize for my previous behavior, but I assure you I am not a little girl, nor a damsel in distress." Her eyes glinted dangerously as she swished her rapier through the air. "I am a Schnee." Myrtenaster clicked as the revolving chamber rolled and finally rested at her desired Dust type. Her semblance activated and glyphs began appearing along the outside of the cockpit as snowy white swirling symbols infused with power and versatility.
Versatility. If there was only one way to describe her semblance and talents, that was it. Weiss Schnee's semblance was often seen as confusing and vague to those outside her family but she had been taught well. In addition to its basic properties, it was an excellent and powerful vector for Dust.
Gravity dust born from her rapier dispersed along invisible and ethereal paths extending from her aura and found itself embedded in the glimmering glyphs surrounding the airbus, empowering their already multifaceted use with a greater elemental force.
A confused mixture of a gasp and a hopeful exclamation escaped the pilot as the airbus's steep dive transitioned into more of a struggling glide. The creaking and bursting airship would violently dip and drop in its rough 'flight' but both occupants were aware enough to be grateful that was all its struggles.
Sweat dripped in copious amounts as she felt her body heat up with strain and effort. Labored breaths heaved and her muscles screamed as she struggled to simultaneously slow the airbus's descent while bracing herself against the wild jerking and shaking of the airbus scraping against the tops of trees. Explosions of wood shattering into splinters coupled with the screaming and burning of the engine made it very difficult to focus in order to efficiently pace her aura usage and so she was quickly burning up.
Her normally invisible aura shone briefly as a cold-blue layer of protection before shattering and sprinkling away uselessly. The exhaustion from overusing her semblance caused her to crumple in a heap to the floor of the cabin as the airbus suddenly lost several yards of altitude.
"Miss Schnee!" The pilot called out in concern as the steering stick desperately tried to wrench itself into freedom. "Fuck!" The exclamation was not at one thing in particular, nor was it one of anger or annoyance. It was a sudden and very human expression of fear - one that could only express so much before the airbus cascaded through the trees like a metal avalanche and slammed into the earth with a deafening crash.
The world swam into focus. Fires still burned around her but even in her addled state she knew that she was safe - the airbus was fitted out with fire suppression and life support systems that, now it wasn't screaming through the air as an earth-bound comet, would activate and keep the occupants safe.
Still, the impact of the crash had certainly taken its toll. Even from its belly the ship had been visibly deformed and twisted, charred and scraped. The only thing this hunk of junk would ever carry again would be insects in a junkyard. The door to her left seemed mostly unharmed but the door to her right was bent sharply out of shape and forcibly jammed into its 'closed' position - that thing wasn't opening any time soon. Some light peeked through and she could see a decent chunk of the world outside through its malformed shape - it was strangely welcome considering the lack of windows in the passenger section of the airbus.
The door leading to the cockpit had been ripped mostly off its hinges and now gently swayed back and forth, its hanging form intermittently obscuring the face-down pilot still in his seat.
Despite her weakness she messily scrambled to her feet, her mind racing with concern.
"No no no no no…" she stumbled forward and threw open the lazily hanging door. Weakness found her and she had to catch herself on the copilot's seat before roughly pulling the pilot from his deathlike state. His head rolled back and his mouth hung open but he was breathing. "Oh thank god…" she patted his cheek in an attempt to wake him from his stupor. "You're okay! Mostly. I think…"
The pilot coughed violently as he was brought to consciousness. A struggling, rattling gasp rolled through him as he turned to face her. "Y-yea, thanks to you…" Another fit of rough wheezes and shaking erupted through his form.
"Don't worry, I have you." The confidence in her voice was not felt in her heart. Quickly striding towards the back of the airbus towards her destination, the first aid kit. Winter's meticulous training would finally shine here and now.
Thoughts of life-saving techniques and medical practices were ripped from her mind by the ear-splitting screams behind her. A spin to attention a little too quickly caused her to stumble backward in a show of intense dis-coordination yet it was still not fast enough to get a full glimpse at the fate befalling the poor pilot. All she had glimpsed was the grasp of long, tentacle-like, bundles of black string wrapping around the man - and the viscera left behind when the Grimm dragging him away was unable to acquire the bottom half of its target due to the belts and buckles holding him in place.
Whimpering softly she fell backward to the floor, suddenly ever so much more grateful the doors were still mostly on. Despite wanting so badly she found herself unable to tear her eyes away from the bottom torso and legs of the pilot she knew not even the name of, left behind and covered in awful offal. Blood streamed across and over the seat and slithered down the cabin floor towards her.
"Clickclickclicklcliklclikclickclik…" the Grimm was still outside. It could sense her.
If she made a single noise she would be dead. It was all too clear. Still, it was difficult not to as her eyes trailed the river of blood pouring down the pilot's seat, through the gateway, and into her dress.
Capillary action. The tiny spaces between the fabrics of her dress caught liquid and held it there with adhesion. Cohesion was what pulled more of the crimson liquid into her clothes. It stacked upon itself and slowly crawled further and further onto her, directly fighting the forces of gravity.
Clutching at her mouth she refused to let the scream out. Eyes shook and tears welled as her pristine, perfect dress - the one her mother had gotten her - slowly turned a deep, painful, disgusting red. Stained with another human's life. Oh god.
"Chiliik… clickhckkcliclckicl…" Throwing up would be a death sentence. Screaming would be her end. She couldn't cry, she could shout, she couldn't plead for help.
It was uncomfortably familiar.
Father was there with her now. Instead of sitting in a pool of fresh blood while staring down death in more ways than one, she sat quietly at the dinner table, trying to ignore the young and old men who'd come to gawk at her as a bride-to-be. The desperate and deep desires to scream, to shout, to fight were all quickly stifled and extinguished under her father's intense gaze. She knew what he expected and what he would do if he did not receive it.
No outbursts. No anger. No sadness. No fear. She would not speak unless spoken to. She would not inflict her childish annoyances upon anyone. She would not stain the room with womanly hysterics. A statue of ice, both fragile and sturdy. That was all she was.
She could see Winter, across the table. Her sister. So strong. So confident. Yet now she was none of those things. Now she was quiet. Subdued. If even she were to -
A long and thin string-like tentacle wrapping around the pilot's decapitated head poked its way into the cabin, sneaking past shards of glass and leftover corpse. It passed through the cabin door where it stopped and dropped the man's head. It fell to the floor with a fleshy bounce before quickly rolling its way down to her.
She wasn't here. She wasn't here. She wasn't here.
She was with her mother. She stood quietly in the corner of the well-furnished room. Her mother wept openly in the center and had almost forgotten her there, little Weiss next to the fireplace. The young girl's position was born of two strategies - one, the darkness left over from the fireplace's unseen wanderings provided a sense of comfort and, strangely, companionship. It was as if the world itself in that tiny dark spot felt as she did in her soul.
The other reason was that it was warm. It was one of the few warm spots in her home. Oh, for that spot to be her weeping mother…
The tentacle hovered in the air. It was almost motionless if one were to ignore its twitching. The jagged and sharp movements almost reminded Weiss of a beast sniffing for prey. Sniffing for her. A brief and conscious thought crossed her mind - the head was likely bait. A trap. An effort to cause her emotions to spiral out of control and help it sense any survivors it had missed. It was quite unlucky and she was quite lucky that she was not here.
His head bumped and stopped against her foot. His covered eyes stared up at her. His mouth called out an endless question. But she wasn't there. She wasn't there.
Oh, but she was. Her icy walls shattered in an instant as she screamed and the string tentacle shot forward and separated into 4 - no, 5 - no, 8 bullet-like appendages. She fell backward, a serendipitous accident, for the tendrils speared the air she had been in and pierced the thick metal behind her. She scrambled away on hands and knees, desperately searching for Mytrenaster. Any aura she had managed to regenerate was pitiful and her body ached but she would survive. She was a Schnee, after all.
And what a terrible thing that was.
That single thought gave her enough pause for the tendrils to make another attack. They pulled themselves from the metal and diced through the air towards her fragile state. Ripping a discarded piece of metal from the wall she held it aloft as a makeshift shield - one that only barely saved her life. The tendrils pierced it as though it were cloth but they had been slowed enough that her flickering aura had managed to stop them from piercing her body in the same way. Twisting and throwing the pierced metal also gave her a moment to search as it temporarily trapped the Grimm's tentacles.
She couldn't focus. Her heart ached as much as her soul, and her soul as much as her body. A death in the middle of the woods to some random Grimm before she even reached Beacon - it was hilarious! She rolled underneath another attack and finally locked eyes with Mytenaster. It had rolled into a small alcove of crumpled metal. In the cockpit. Of course. That's where she had dropped it.
"Clicklcoicocllickcklclckkciclcllll…" the foul Grimm called out to her tauntingly and she nearly gave up when she saw the second group of 8 tentacles sneak in through the open door. Had it been toying with her? Grimm can't toy with people - can they?
It didn't matter. All that mattered was survival, and right now there was no way she was getting to her weapon. It was through a small doorway guarded by 16 bullet-like, metal-piercing, despair-tracking, missile tentacles. This confined space wasn't helping her odds either - she needed to get out. She barged into the damaged door on the right of the airbus with her full weight, suddenly cursing her petite form. It marginally buckled but it still held fast and strong. The two sets of 8 tentacles reared up in attack and she moved to dodge out of the way.
The first set she had managed to escape but the second had delayed just long enough to track her sudden movements. Her aura provided minimal protection - even less than she had expected it to despite all her training. The only saving grace was her rolling movement caused it to pierce only her left arm and leg. Now, instead of dying instantly, she'd enjoy a slow, painful bleeding out.
Or maybe she'd still die instantly. The tentacles reared in shivering excitement, preparing to deal the final blow. She closed her eyes and whispered everything. Her goodbyes, her apologies, her insults, her desires.
But death never came. Her eyes cracked open with a gasp to release her unknowingly held breath. She was alive. The tendrils were gone. What had happened?
Fighting. Outside. A huntsman? Winter? The unlikely thought suddenly overtook her brain and, despite her rational mind telling her it almost certainly wasn't, all her emotions needed it to be her sister. She stumbled through the cabin door and clumsily fetched Myrtenaster. The beautiful rapier would normally never be used for anything but for combat but right now she settled for wincing in discomfort as she used it as a walking stick. She staggered forward and out the cockpit door in hopes of seeing her sister killing this foul thing.
It was not Winter, but her disappointment was smothered by confusion and horror. In place of her shining knight in snowy armor was some dirty homeless man. Dark leather drenched in blood and… fluids, adorned his body in several layers. A strangely formed cap that almost reminded her of feathers, a deep coat underneath what looked to be some kind of rain-protecting cape, and underneath it all buckled and clasps of basic armor. It all screamed "should belong in a museum" in looks but equally screamed "should belong in the garbage" in quality. The stuff almost looked like it had been moldering away in a cave for the last thousand years.
And that was speaking nothing of his weapon. A sharpened metal stick. As far as she could tell, that was it - though to be fair, many weapons had unassuming features.
Then there was his fighting style. It was… simple. Of course, first, there was the matter of the Grimm he was currently bleeding.
It was disgusting. A horrific creature that one could only loosely relate to a Grimm if one only knew of beowolves, it stunk of vile uniqueness. It was almost like looking at floating dissected and preserved remains of a human's central nervous system and brain, all connected and held in place and ambulated by dripping, black, tendon-like Grimm-flesh and risen into the air entirely by malice and hate. The small, string-like tentacles had been only a few of the ends of whatever this thing was made up of - a vast network of bullet-like flesh needles twisting around itself to form a cacophonous mockery of a body all supporting a membranous, pulsating brain(?) thing. It dropped and oozed puddles of dark Grimm matter that sizzled upon hitting the forest floor.
Back to her mystery savior and probably soon-to-be-killer/kidnapper, it was admittedly impressive how he fought. He was a brutal tornado of death and fury that did not have time nor presence to flinch when the countless tendrils pierced past his aura and his flesh. Instead, when the tendrils shot through his shoulder and emerged from the other side, his cane rose and lopped apart their source in a brutal method of slowly disarming this horrid beast. All pretense of dodging had quickly disappeared when faced with this creature's incredibly precise attacks and had instead been entirely replaced with raw persistence.
It was the least graceful style of fighting she had ever seen. It was disgraceful, sloppy, unnecessary, and downright insane.
It was also hypnotizing.
The man dove straight into a spearheaded attack by the Grimm supporting over 20 tendrils he quickly tore away. The blood splurting from its slowly diminishing form pooled across the ground and was seemingly absorbed by this man - Weiss watched in horror as his wounds were closed by the ichor seeping into them. Was this his semblance? To heal by killing? Or was he some freak of a Grimm himself?
His cane clicked and she finally saw his weapon in its full glory. Sunlight reflected off its form - an almost beautiful thing, if you could call a bloodstained whip made exclusively for pain and carnage beautiful. It raced through the air in a tantalizing show before slicing innumerable deep and painful gashes in the Grimm's brain as a flurry of shining blades. The Grimm clicked in pain and fear and he drew his weapon together once more and sidestepped another attack. His body twisted in a full 360 turn and he speared the Grimm directly between where its eyes would've been. Letting go of his cane he let it remain in the beast's body before he reached in and tore it in half with his bare hands. In a fluid movement, he deposited three vials into the beast's fountaining blood and collected its vital black ichor.
Oh yes, she was most definitely still going to die.
She shakily raised her weapon. She may be weak still and her aura may be a barely flickering thing, but she was most certainly not going to go down without a fight. Two gray eyes peered curiously at her - they and his equally gray hair were the only bits of flesh, of person, she could see.
"Greetings. I both humbly and deeply apologize about your pilot. A good man, I am sure he was, and a fight would've been gladly partook to save another life. " The man gestured in the direction Weiss assumed the rest of his body was. She didn't look. "I arrived too late. I was following your quickly descending ship - which, I may add, fell to earth in quite a strange way." He gave her a quizzical look.
"Yes. That was me. And I'm more than capable of doing far more dangerous tricks in addition to that, so you'd best keep your distance." An eyebrow raised in curious amusement mixed with genuine confusion. "I am a huntress after all." Leaving out the 'in-training' bit was more than fine for this occasion.
"Ah. Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Huntress." A deep bow confused her. His fighting style had been brutal and ridiculous, but his words and demeanor spoke nothing but of a gentleman. And his voice - it was young, light, hopeful. Her weapon dropped a few centimeters. "You mark the fourth official huntsman I have officially met, and the first not trying to get me to go to Beacon." She blinked. "I am G.H., but we really ought to get moving Miss Huntress. The White Fang will be converging on this site soon, and I would prefer to keep my interactions with them to a minimum." The small bit of expression she could see darkened. "I presume you're 'Schnee?' I overheard one earlier mention that name with the intent of bringing down an airbus." All of this was spoken as he quickly gathered himself and put away his weapon. His eyes were no longer on Weiss and instead intent on salvaging whatever he could from her downed airbus. If she were to attack, now would be the time.
Instead, Myrtenaster fell to her side, and she helped scavenge whatever she could. This man clearly wasn't trustworthy - but in the wilderness surrounded by Grimm and White Fang, he seemed to want to help.
And she desperately needed help.