Author's note: And we're back with another. We're starting to move further into really crazy territory now. But I guess anyone who's stuck with the fic this far won't be surprised. This chapter isn't too long, but it does set up the next arc. I think most of the main structure for where this story is going has been set up now. The cards are up. All that's left is to watch them fall.
Some of you will remember what I said earlier: the craziest fights in this story haven't happened yet. Not even close. I was able to do a bunch of shit that a lot of people say shouldn't be done. Like putting OCs in a fanfic. And going way, way off script. But I was able to do all of that, and I think the reason I got away with it was because I really care about both DMC and RWBY.
Going forward, I'd like to continue to be able to take this story and make it even bigger. But I can't do it without your help. So if you're enjoying this, leave a review. If you're hating this, leave a review. Good or bad, let me know how you're feeling! Without interaction, there's not much reason for me to continue writing this.
On a different note, here's to a fantastic new year for everyone. Live your best, and live to the fullest.
Chapter 37: The New World
"You want what now?"
A pair of crimson eyes narrowed, staring at the young huntress. She tried her best to meet the stare, mentally telling herself that the being in front of her was ultimately a vain sorcerer, pompous and far too full of himself, and capable of failing, no different from humans in that regard. The other voice in her head reminded her that while all of that might be true, he was also capable of blinking an entire world out of existence with a thought. Trying not to think of that, Weiss swallowed and forced herself to speak.
"I need your help," she said, making herself look the Demon in the eye. In his human form, he was a tall, slender man. It was disconcerting: had Weiss not known that his true form was a gigantic, murderous serpent, she would have thought him handsome. As things stood, all she saw was a facade masking the devil inside.
"If you're in need of fortune telling, the one you're looking for is Iris," Malevar said. "Though I suggest you forget about it. She is in no state to use that power any longer."
"I'm not in need of fortune telling," replied Weiss. "I'm in need of Magic."
Malevar raised an eyebrow.
"Hmm… I'm running a little low on ingredients, but I suppose I should be able to help. What is it you want? Elixir of Eternal Beauty? Draught of False Immortality? A good old aphrodisi-"
"I don't want any potions!" Weiss said, blushing furiously and trying to erase the images brought about in her head by the word she hadn't let him finish.
"Then I must confess, I am confused. What exactly do you want?"
"I want to learn how to wield Magic. True Magic, like you described. Can… can you teach me?"
Malevar's eyes flashed. For the first time since knocking on his door, Weiss felt like she had his attention. It was an unnerving feeling. He wasn't looking at her, so much as into her.
"You wish to wield the Divine Power of God. So you decided to knock on a devil's door?"
The enormous silhouette of a snake seemed to enshroud him for a moment, covering his entire form in shadow, even as his eyes stared into her own, a crimson more pure than any blood or rubies. The illusion of his youthful human form was broken then: those eyes were old. Older than Remnant itself. They had seen more generations of humans live and die than Weiss had had years in her life.
All of a sudden, every doubt she had rushed to the surface, stronger than ever before.
Every single decision she had made flashed before her eyes. All magnified, laid bare before her. She questioned them all. All of a sudden, they seemed nothing more than the naive whims of a child. She felt small. How could she possibly have been foolish enough, arrogant enough, to even think of this?
A deal with the devil?
How could she dare?
As the fear and anxiety rose to a fever pitch, she felt panic start to take hold of her. But somewhere in the noise and chaos in her mind, a single thought managed to break through.
Three faces.
She hadn't ever thought she would have friends. Real friends. A place where she belonged. But they had been that for her.
And if this world is under attack from would-be gods…
"Yes," she managed to say aloud. The word felt like an arrow loosed from her mouth. She had taken the shot. There was no turning back now. "Yes. I need power. More power. The Power of God."
Malevar's eyes burned even brighter. Weiss' heart pounded furiously, but neither fight nor flight would save her here. Her own glyphs began to appear around her, though she hadn't summoned them. Her Semblance was being used against her. Her eyes widened. Since she had chosen to become a huntress, she had faced the possibility of dying in several different ways. But never before from having her own powers used against her. Shards of ice began to protrude from the glyphs. Her first instinct was to dodge. But something told her to stand her ground.
I'm gambling on the intentions of a Demon?
Sweat rolled down her neck. It took a fraction of a second to make her decision.
The shards of ice extended towards her, faster than she could react to. Before she could blink, they had stopped. She felt the cold touch of a jagged point against her neck.
"... You saw through my intentions."
"Maybe," said Weiss. She forced the most confident smile she could on to her face as she stared him down. "Or maybe I knew that if you actually killed me, Dante would turn you into a foot rug."
"Oh, he would. But by then, you would have suffered a million deaths."
"I'll risk it. You aren't the type to risk your own skin."
For a long, tense moment, the two stared each other down.
Then, the glyphs disappeared.
"You have resolve," Malevar admitted. "Not much intelligence though."
"Hey!"
Weiss was about to protest, but he cut her off.
"You show potential."
Weiss took a step forward, feeling a thrill of excitement.
"You'll teach me then?"
"Of course not. It is impossible to teach someone to use Divine Power."
Weiss' heart began to sink, but Malevar continued.
"One has to find it within oneself. Training helps develop the knowledge, strength and skill needed. It prepares you, brings you to the point where you can find your own Truth. All I can do is give you that training. The rest is up to you."
Weiss' eyes widened.
"I would not get my hopes up. The number of humans who were able to touch Divine Power is exceedingly small. The former inhabitants of your world are an exception, because of the meddling of your false gods. You, of course, do not have the benefit or the detriment of said meddling. It is very likely that you will not succeed in finding True Magic within yourself."
He walked over to the window, and looked outside at the sky.
"At the very least, though, I should be able to help you wield your false Magic, your Semblance, more effectively."
"I'll gladly take that."
"Then we will begin immediately. Time is short."
Weiss nodded, then glanced out the window herself. It took her a moment to notice what was different, or rather, missing.
"The moon… it's gone."
Ironwood looked around. Down below, he could see Atlesian soldiers, going about their duties. The Staff had already been safely transferred into an armoured case, loaded into a Bullhead. An armed convoy was ready to leave for Beacon, escorting the relic to Ozpin, as soon as he gave the order. That was all that remained: a word from him.
A word from me?
And how was he supposed to give that? His soldiers were used to seeing the face he had worn all this time, propped up on a body of metal though it may have been. Now, not even that remained. The last vestiges of his humanity were gone.
What the hell have I become?
He looked down at the armoured gauntlet that hung by his side, where his old prosthetic hand had once been. Once upon a time, even longer ago, there had been the hand he had been born with. He'd had an entire body.
I was human.
And then, he had fought.
The longer the war waged on, he had lost more and more of himself.
With each new body, he had grown more and more distant from what he had been born.
And now…
What am I now?
Inside, he could feel his ego, his sense of self. He was still James Ironwood… wasn't he? And if he were to go down right now, and stand before his soldiers, would they see the General they had known all these years, or would they see some kind of monstrosity created by powers beyond their comprehension?
Warning: mental saturation at 60 percent. Purge recommended.
He gasped. Or he would have, if he'd still had a mouth, or lungs. The voice was mechanical. He would say it was robotic, but it wasn't. It sounded like a collection of audio waves strung together to resemble words spoken by humans. But the blank enunciation didn't fool him. He knew it for what it was. Sounds made by raw, unfathomable Demon power.
I have one of these monsters in my head now? Fantastic.
Negative. I am not a monster. I am Hellwalker, Type 666, version 1.0.
What are you? Some kind of AI?
Negative. I am true intelligence, not artificial, though all faculties possessed by living beings are unavailable to me.
Ironwood took a minute to process that. The voice of this armour that had become his body… it possessed actual intelligence, not just a collection of responses determined by pre-programmed algorithms. It was an absurd technological feat, well beyond anything Remnant could have achieved. The closest they had come was project Penny, but Ironwood had always had his doubts about the results of that experiment.
Mental saturation at 65 percent. Purge recommended.
Purge?
Affirmative. Thought noise levels are above ideal range. Recommend immediate multiple thread termination.
This sort of jargon would go above the heads of some people, but Ironwood knew what this… machine was talking about. He focused his innate power, and activated his Semblance. Immediately, he felt the doubts and noise clouding his mind disappear.
Mental saturation at 20 percent. Biological system functioning at 60 percent efficiency.
60 percent? Is that what you call a safe level?
Current level is sufficient to carry out basic functioning.
Ironwood felt a surge of anger, but shut it down with his Semblance. He forced himself into that familiar state of mind, closing everything off besides cold, hard logic. There was no ridding himself of the voice in his head. It was part of the armour, part of his new body. Besides killing himself, there was no escape from it.
Chosen course of action has 100 percent chance of failure.
… What?
Hellwalker type 666 cannot be destroyed by any means available to human beings. Recommend aborting operation.
Ironwood once more felt his temper rising.
It wasn't as though he had been seriously considering suicide.
But one never truly appreciates freedom until it has been taken away from them.
The freedom to live.
And the freedom to die.
Ironwood's control on his Semblance slipped.
Rubbish. I'll blast this body with…
Accessing memory files… possible tools of choice are AtlasDevProj01, AtlasDevProj03 and the abilities of the target known as Ozma. Estimated chances of success: 0.000 %.
Ironwood felt almost manic now.
Strong, huh? It doesn't matter. I've got experience. Living with the things I've done. I'll live. And I'll live. And I'll live. Until I die. Nothing lasts forever. Even this body.
The demonic voice, when it replied, was colder than ice in its sheer, uncaring matter-of-factness.
Negative. Hellwalker type 666 has active Temporal Nullification Field. This body does not corrode, does not age, requires no maintenance or fuel source, and has full immunity to death.
The last of those words echoed in Ironwood's mind.
Full. Immunity. To. Death.
Ironwood would have reeled, if he were still capable of reeling. But this demonic frame had no susceptibility to the weaknesses of the human body.
He would live. Now and forever. He would live, exactly as he was. Something less than human.
Mental saturation at 80 percent. Organic counterforce known as 'Semblance' is failing. Recommend immediate thought purge.
Ironwood grit his non-existent teeth. All he felt responding to his commands were the metal ridges of the helmet. He ground them together, forcing away the thought that they weren't flesh and bone, grinding them so hard, sparks burst from his visor. He might have lost the freedom to die. The comfort of humanity.
Denied. Do nothing.
His mental voice carried all the authority of a General.
Even the demonic intelligence of the armour did not argue.
Affirmative. Warning: Functioning is impaired at high mental noise lev-
I fucking know that. Shut the fuck up for a second.
Ironwood could no longer close his eyes. But he found he could turn off his optical sensors immediately if he so willed it. Darkness enshrouded him. He found it comforting. The noise in his mind hadn't faded. He was assailed by a thousand doubts. A thousand fears. All of the decisions he had ever made weighed down on him. All of the lives lost because of him. All of the suffering he had caused.
He could no longer run away. Even his Semblance wasn't enough to shield him from it any more.
So he did the only thing he could. He embraced it all.
I did what I did.
Am I evil?
He could not deny that from the perspective of any other human being, he might very well be so.
But they did not know what he did. They did not bear the same responsibilities that he did. Remnant was a cursed world. A world where manifestations of undeath hunted down the living, drawn towards their fears and hatred. A world where an immortal witch and a body-switching wizard played out their centuries old feud. A world where the average human being was nothing more than a pawn and puppet to forces they did not even know.
Salem. The Grimm. The shadows in the dark. The Schnee Dust Company. Vale. Atlas. Grimm killing humans. Humans killing humans…
That was the world he had been born into. And into that world had come another force, one that had changed the entire game.
Demons.
I did all that I did, because it was all I could do.
But now, he was no longer the same. Immortal, and inhuman.
Death was not an option. Nor was running away from his sins. Not any longer.
All that remained then…
Armour. Estimate chances of success at eliminating the Grimm.
Affirmative. Specify number and type-
All of them.
Chances of success are 100.00000000%.
Ironwood activated his optical sensors again.
Locate nearest Grimm infestation.
Affirmative. Location is marked on universal position indicator.
Somewhere in his mind, Ironwood could feel a 3D diagram of all of Remnant overlap with his spatial awareness. The sheer amount of information should have been overwhelming. But he was able to process it easily. It felt like a projection of Remnant, an accurate 3D model in his head. And marked on it was the location of the nearest Grimm horde.
Without a second thought, he leapt off of the floating city.
As he fell, he instinctively realised his body's capabilities. The shifting demonic metal it was made of transformed, and he protrusions extend from his upper back. Again, instinctively, he knew what to do. As he willed it, energy was shot forth from the vents, propelling him forward, similar to a jet pack. Unlike rocket propulsion, however, he found he was able to control the stream of energy shooting from his back, as if it were a pair of wings. Concentrating, he tried to veer right.
The energy wings followed his commands, and he found his flight path changing, as he curved through the air with more speed and precision than the finest Bullhead.
As he shot through the air, he could see specks of darkness far below. Circles and text readings showed up in his field of vision, as though he were wearing a combat visor.
Grimm located. Awaiting instructions.
Instead of answering, Ironwood turned off his thrusters. Gravity and momentum now carried him forward and downward with force comparable to a thousand tidal waves. He clenched a metal fist and drove his arm forward, half wanting his body to shatter from the impact, and half wanting the blow to land.
The fist went through the first Grimm, an entity shaped like a dragon, with all the ease of a hot knife through butter. Its force hadn't lessened at all. Metal knuckles connected with frozen rock. A low rumbling followed, and Ironwood felt the familiar sensation of an earthquake, but with a distinct difference. The very ground beneath his feet felt fragile, inconsequential. As if, by punching a little harder, he could have split the entire planet in half.
As it stood, cracks spread through the frozen earth, for miles. The singular blow had changed the landscape. Entire mountains began to collapse. The topology of Remnant had been altered.
Thousands of Grimm began to fall into the chasm that had been formed.
Those that had survived began to rush towards the general, drawn to the negative energy that surged from him like a dark spot on the fabric of the world.
"Pests."
Ironwood drew his trusty gun, levelling it at the advancing horde.
Chosen course of action is sub-optimal. Suggesting change of weaponry.
Ironwood's finger paused in the act of pulling the trigger.
All right. Show me what you can do then.
Affirmative. Deploying Reality Eraser.
What the fu-
Ironwood's left gauntlet folded back, revealing a cannon with glowing orange vents in it.
Reality Eraser is primed. Awaiting orders.
He pushed aside the hesitation in his mind, supporting the left arm with his right.
Fire. Now.
What blasted forth from the cannon wasn't a laser, nor any kind of energy blast that can be described by conventional physics.
The name 'Reality Eraser' was not one iota exaggerated.
A beam of pure destruction emanated forth, immediately graduating any matter in its path, whether it be rock, snow, air or Grimm, into non-existence. Not even the usual trails of smoke were left.
Targets eliminated.
Ironwood straightened up and looked at his own hands.
He was no longer human. But that did not mean he was useless. There were certain things that no human could do.
"Sir, we're receiving a transmission from Atlas."
"Put it through immediately," said Ozpin.
Finally. There had been enough delays. It was about time to get this transfer over with.
The screen in front of him lit up, and a face appeared on it. Well, it wasn't so much a face as it was a metal helmet. Nevertheless, the voice that emanated from it through the speakers was familiar, if distorted.
"Hello, Oz."
Ozpin's eyes widened.
"James…? Is that you?"
"I'll keep this communication brief, since we're both busy men. Henceforth, Atlas no longer has an alliance with Vale. All paths to the state are now closed. Needless to say, the Staff is property of the state, and will be retained by Atlas. That will be all."
Before Ozpin could utter a word in reply, the transmission ended.
It had taken less than a minute for the existing world order to be completely shattered.