At Orion's Edge

by CIA 4UUUU

The Pillar of Creation and its sleeping occupant orbit a distant star at the edge of Orion's Spur. 170 million kilometers from this heavenly body is a planet unique to most others.

6. Chapter 6: To Kill a Grimm

Chapter 6: To Kill a Grimm…

---

Joan

---

The beast didn't give us time, with relentlessness it charged, forcing us back. Without thought, I pulled the trigger.

*Popopopopopopopopopopopopop!-click*

The bullets and dust-fueled fire hardly slowed it as they embedded into hide, visible by puffs of blood sprouting and the fire scorching its fur. If any of them dug deeper, it didn't show. Shit!

*Click-click-click-click*

Again and again I pulled the trigger, hoping that one or two bullets would lodge themselves out of the mag, or conjure!

Flee, flee, flee, flee!

I pulled the shield off my back, in one motion buckling it to my left arm and transforming Catherine. From within my aura surged, the formation of petals coming to being.

Rising on its hind legs, the alpha brought its paws up. Raising my shields (the one on my arm and those materialized), they met its claws–

*Bang-clang! Crack!*

Flee, flee, flee, flee!

They buckled on impact, shards chipping and dissipating as they fell away. With another surge of will, several more petals were conjured as a second layer to the first creating an ecompassing sphere around us.

*Bang-bang-bang!*

Claws beared down, their impact felt in the ground as subtle vibrations. I kept the sword pointed, the tip following its general form. My white shield became a barrier for my center mass. It was a firm posture that wouldn't dare move an inch.

*Bang-bang-bang!*

Lily's screams rang over us, only coming to me in bits: "It's on us! Jack! Arthur!"

*Bang-bang-bang-Crash!*

Two of them shattered. With a quick surge, several more petals came to being, shrinking our ground, each one draining my soul… I could feel electricity coursing through me, a sign of aura strain.

Several more clashes and it stopped, giving a stiff huff and a growl as it suddenly backed away, the whiffs of black smoke shrouding its form, the fog swallowing it.

It's gone, where did it go?! I could only see where the fog was disturbed. The sum of its presence were the paw prints in the ground that trailed back… But where? Where, where, where, where?!

Flee, flee, flee, flee!

I kept looking, searching… waiting…

"Joan, snap out of it!"

The sounds of creaking wood sprung forth, a shifting and scraping of the ground. My eyes strained to pick out any detail of its source. Where, where, where, where…

Lily's voice again came forth, her voice sounding a distant echo the first time, the second time clearer: "Let us out!"

There was a sudden shift of air from above, too quick to see the object, though before I could look up, my world rocked to the side as I crashed to the ground.

*CRASH!*

The sudden impact brought me into a daze. It took a second to notice she had pulled both of us down the side of the bubble of petals. The weight against my arm showed she and I had fallen on my white shield, with Catherine to my side.

Looking up to the sound of the crash, the same tree that had come down the hill broke past multiple petals, their shards raining down on us. Webs of cracks polluted each of the shields, and where it broke through it traveled far enough that our heads would have been crushed.

We were quick to stand, trying to see the wielder of the giant club. I could faintly see its standing form, front appendages gripping the log as though a hammer.

The billet moved, pulled toward it, then stopped. Again it moved, only to halt. For a third time this repeated, making it clear that it had wedged itself tight between the petals.

Stiffly, Lily commanded to "get back," backpedaling so our eyes remained on it. With will, several petals behind dissipated giving us an exit. No sooner had it noticed our exit, releasing the tree before dashing to the side. All I could think was to flee, pounding my feet to the dirt for a full sprint. I heard her footsteps not far behind and its gallops too close.

*Crack!*

The beast howled, the screech sudden and unbearing that I almost had covered my ears. We didn't stop.

We came behind one, bringing attention to the beast… or rather where it should have been. Gone! Where!? The last sign was again a swirling mist with shuffled branches and dirt with a splatter of black blood evaporating. It was injured! Is it dead!?

For several seconds we waited. "Where–where is it!?" I spewed between quick breaths.

"Joan, your breathing."

I kept searching, searching, searching… "How–how–how?"

"Joan!"

Cold gloves came to either side of my face. I was forced to look at her.

"It's there–it was there!"

"I know, but you need to clear your head–" She placed a finger on my forehead. "–It's in there."

Flee, flee…

(In the background, the railgun fired once more–)

*Crack!*

(–catching my attention for a second.)

As though a switch had been flipped, a subtle clarity started to build. I… My breathing became controlled, a contrast to the hyperventilating a moment ago (which I hadn't noticed until now). I needed it out of my head, whatever influence that alpha had.

Shuffling the shield between me and Lily, I placed a hand on my forehead lowering it into a cradle as though to sooth it away. Failing that I closed my eyes, bringing forth the soul to banish it. The unbearing dread… it was equal parts horrible and intoxicating, the adrenaline induced unlike what typical combat could bring. I need it OUT.

Lily's grip went for Catherine. I released my grip on her.

In the background, the sounds of howling beos, gunshots, and sparse explosions rang from the top of the hill Jack, Lilly and Brans. What's keeping them? The second one? It would explain their absence.

"Where are your mags?"

With my now free hand, I went to one of my utility belt's pockets, snagging the second to last mag. The sword's mechanisms made noise as she fiddled with it.

"Shoot… where's the release?"

… Flee… Fight…

*Boom… Boom!*

The distinct sounds of that shotgun echoed. Looking to the source, it was clear it came from Arthur's and Carmine's position. It had to be after them.

"Here," I grabbed Catherine, her grip releasing for me to eject the mag for a new one.

Fight… Flee… Fight… Flee…

---

Arthur

Moments ago

---

Minutes ticked by, and the fog grew worse. I only regret not having the eye clarity for environmental hazards like this. Even in pitch blackness I could pick out the faintest wavelength. The misty air only served to distort that, any object more than 10 meters away a mere distortion–

*CRACK!*

–which made VISR all the more critical.

They came in swarming, and before we knew it we had been outflanked. The now-vaporized-beowolf in question was one of the alarming dozens that registered on the tracker and HUD. Picking out targets proved difficult as they kept swerving back and forth as schools of fish would.

The sounds of gunfire and explosions (I wasn't entirely certain who had brought explosives, or whose aura caused them) were mere muffles in a dewy forest, hinting at the abrupt battle across the depression. I could see them on the crest of the hill, Jack, Brans, and Iris having rushed to cover Joan and Lily who found themselves in a less-than-ideal circumstance.

In hindsight, the two women screwed themselves. They should have moved as soon as they appeared. Useless pondering now. All that could be done (without compromising me and Carmine) was to cover them.

The presence from before was severe, and it took significantly more mental awareness to suppress it.

Flee… Fight…

Breathing in and out, with one beast in sights–

*CRACK!*

Hit.

–and another…

*CRACK!*

… Miss.

Playing long distance tag wasn't part of the first instinct, in truth. Even Carmine was less than happy having to sit idle as she kept guard and alert. With the thick fog, her bow and aura were near useless without a direct line of sight. She would have to sit still for every shot I missed.

"[Are they there]?" She asked, worry lacing her question.

"... [Not good, they face 63…]"

"[Can you see] Brans?"

It took a second to spot him. "[He stand,]" his form pivoting wildly as he dodged between wolf after wolf. If his stamina and aura held, he should be fine.

Jack, Iris, Lily and Joan were in similar fashion, the latter two fairly separated in their own cluster fuck. All they need to do is retreat, "front to rear, disappear…" It would have been immensely helpful if we had comms (the texting being less than ideal), provided they could receive instructions to un-ass themselves.

*Boom, boom, boom.*

Faint puffs, a series of explosions went off to my 11, in the distance seeing a group of 5 grimm ragdoll.

A spike of adrenaline pierced the mind, a cold sweat and rapid heart beats indicated the

presence.

Fight… Flee… Fight… Flee…

I kept eyes peeled, soon seeing it in the distance, the yellow outline distinctly highlighting a large beowolf holding… a log? Upon scrutinization, the beast appeared to be holding it as one would wield a pole, the stick being 13 meters long. With struggle it hauled it in a semi dash, remaining low and speedy… headed to Lily.

"[Something's there,]" she observed, or felt.

Aiming on the Alpha proved difficult with the creature swerving between the trees, further compounded as Lily stood in the way tangled with sets of teeth and jaws. The crosshair would hover too close for that tungsten round, so much so that a graze is, hypothetically, catastrophic. At that moment, the daughter also placed herself in my sights, further compounding the issue. If they could move…

*Pop!*

*Boom!*

Both beos released Lilly, one in a stumble and the other blasted.

There we are.

Free of their pursuers, the huntresses huddled close, Joan dragging Lily as she appeared injured. Along they went, yet (to my dismay) they stopped, turning to the approaching creature. In a rare moment, it felt like my heart collapsed into my stomach. No! Move!

With incredible control, it brought the log into a fast arc. A crack was heard, next their forms seen in air and falling, tumbling past brush and tree down that slope.

"[What was that!?]" she asked, certainly catching the sound and sight of their fall.

"[Alpha, swung log. Hit] Joan [and] Lilly."

"[We have to help them!]" Behind me I sensed her stand.

… She's right, no animal is worth dying over.

"[Go.]"

She took off, not questioning me staying behind. She'd at least be the first to attend to them.

There was a series of yells from the other side, and looking intently, the large alpha spun its stick with a heave, sending it flying in the same direction that they fell. It was incredible strength. Not a second longer had the sounds of banging wood and thumps been made as it crashed.

As dire as Joan's and Lilly's situation appeared, I had to pay little heed to their landing. Now that the grimm opened itself, no longer blocked by friendlies, there was a clear shot. And yet… something… it's eyes, it spotted me from across, red orbs piercing through the HUD like glowing eyes. That presence suddenly became more unbearable, an utter primal urge.

Flee, flee, flee…

The noises all seemed to blend together, for a second hearing Joan's voice.

The signs of dread–a cold sweat and heightened awareness–bore further. In the induced fright, perhaps from what little reason I had or sheer (fucking) will, something snapped.

Flee… Flee… Fight… Fight…

The crosshair fell on its head, and I pulled the trigger–

*CRACK!*

–and the left orb disappeared. A loud, ungodly screech followed. It brought itself high on rear legs, wrapping forepaws around its head.

Next was a flash of light, a sudden bang distinct from the ones before, at its epicenter stood VISR's outline of Jack. One more roar of pain sounded, with the beast suddenly pivoting, retreating into the deep fog. Smaller flashes and the sounds of the hunter's SMG rang through the dew as he made pursuit.

Like another switch, the presence released, though not… completely? There is a certain residual dread–a pounding heart and sweat–that permeated with a hint of bloodlust, but I could feel the force behind it weaker.

Shaking my head, I again took aim, the cover of trees it swerved through preventing a clear shot. Leading the crosshairs became fruitless as its movements grew sporadic, as though anticipating that round.

There was another explosive light; one followed by groans and snaps of wood. In the next moment Jack found himself swarmed, the beos rushing from rear and behind. It was a sudden and strange coordination, perhaps to protect it?

Little by little, the beast receded into that dewy layer. With an increasingly closing window, I slowly pressed my finger on the trigger–

Flee… Fight…

Voices again called out, only to be buried in internal noise: "[It's on us!] Jack! Arthur!"

*CRACK!*

… Missed.

Eventually, its yellow outline vanished as VISR could no longer track it, the only indication of its whereabouts a simple dot on the motion tracker. How frustrating.

I stood, unclipping my leg's side pouch for where the other three mags resided. Checking for the source of the call, my eyes fell on their landing zone. Down the hill.

Carmine then called out: "[Oh hells, oh hells!]"

Checking the tracker… 3 dots clustered below, 6 further along the ridge, right where she was. Tracing her trail, I spotted her further along the ridge… Oh shit.

I pulled one of the full mags, maneuvering my right thumb over the magazine release.

Flee… Flee… Fight… Flee…

The presence returned, which had too mean… Oh shit!

I proceeded to eject the empty mag (later finding its way into the pouch), in the same hand maneuvering the new one into place, the mechanisms clicking in rhythm.

Along the ridge I sprinted, rapidly approaching Carmine and several dark figures. Down from the ledge was the other massive wolf, more visible now than with its sibling–fairly similar to the form of the smaller wolves, black in matted fur with a striking skull of white weathered and worn; the mask bearing deep recessions and chips, though with the strange protrusions of two horns, with longer bone-growths at shoulders, spine and arms. It wasn't unlike the first alpha I'd seen, though if there ever was a werewolf it stood as the closest resemblance. Witnessing it lift down the same log that had been tossed–resting askew, perpendicular to the hill on an incline–attested to the same, surreal strength its sibling showed; and with strain heaved it into a fast arc, guiding it down with gravity.

*Crash!*

The target in question was the now-broken dome of cyan, pieces of it shaped as scales. Where the log broke through also made it a wedge, the beast struggling to pull it free. With as much scrutiny as vision would allow, I saw that beneath the barrier and barely covered by the stick laid their prone forms.

A quick glance to my right showed Carmine contending with 2, a 3rd bleeding dry as is it turned to mist; 3 others swarming their paws skittering through grass and brush, furred bodies disturbing the air as they galloped. They again adopted the same zig-zag formation as though anticipating bullets.

*Twang!*

Her arrow flew, with that same ethereal trace indicative of her power. I barely saw where it landed as my attention fell on the Alpha below.

In another series of clicks I pulled on the charging handle, bringing my rifle to bear. With the close distance to the beast, I pulled away from the scope, the HUD's reticle more than enough as the system adjusted to where the shot would land… on the head.

Flee… flee, flee, flee, flee… Inhale… Exhale…

Barely in my peripheral vision, the women below fled through an exit in the bubble. The beast twitched, releasing its grip as he leaped over the log and began galloping. The reticle shifted just in front of it, time dilatating as the moment became forever. My finger pressed the trigger.

*CRACK!*

The round tore bone plate and flesh, black ichor splashing the ground from a wound phasing through its chest. A deep screech assaulted the air, and in mad movement the beast reoriented to the opposite direciton, fleeing rapidly on all fours.

I trailed my aim, again moving the reticle in front of it, considerate of the trees it ran past.

Flee, flee, flee, flee, flee… Inhale… Exhale…

"Arthour!"

On instinct I crouched, curling my head down as I shoved my arm out for whatever mass came hurling at me. Sure enough, a sudden force of flesh and black fur rammed into my hip, just below the arm, and the feeling of pin pricks jammed into plating and the underskin. Twisting my head saw a beowulf at my side, the flash of shields glowing ever so slightly, draining in a trickle as systems sensed the intrusion.

99.8%... 99.2%... 98.8%... fight…

Twisting my left leg around, I slammed my boat down onto its rear paw, outstretched to its side.

*Crunch*

Surprisingly, its bite remained.

With my left hand free (the rail gun lifted up in my right), my fist came into contact with its neck–

*Crack*

–forcing its jaw to release as it fell to its side. Its legs spasmed, its body contorting after having its spin shattered. My boot came up and down, effectively compressing its skull. It was seconds after that the beowolf began evaporating.

Fight… fight… fight…

Looking up afforded the sight of another wolf meters away into a near-pounce, and without thought I lifted the rifle, the reticle hovering over its chest.

*CRACK!*

The round removed half of its head, exiting out of its back, its body coming to a skid that kicked up mulch and rock.

Carmine's yells and grunts caught my attention. Off to my right she parried with several beowolfs, her bow now transformed into spear as she wielded it defensively for the short distance, they kept her in. At one point she deflected a bite, sliding the pole into its mouth with the tip drawing black blood.

Fight… fight… fight…

The rail gun went to my back holster, retrieving my knife in the right hand. With mild fury I closed the gap, dashing forward to the nearest one. By the time it noticed it leapt back, though not far enough. Another long stride and I had a gauntlet dug into its hide at the back of its neck, the suit strengthening the grasp near three-fold. Proceeding to pivot it to its back, forcing its head back as the knife quickly found purchase in its neck several times over. The hind and front legs kept kicking, creating cosmetic scratches in the armor as it reached for me, harmless enough that the suit determined the movements inconsequential for use of shields. Those movements grew weaker and weaker as life flowed out of its neck and into that black mist. A 6th stab and it body fell loosely as my grip relaxed.

Refocusing on the last wolf showed it had a spear through its chest, the owner drawing it out and proceeding to stab the neck, black ichor flowing freely. It too began to evaporate.

Carmine was the first to stand alert. It wasn't a second before I came to full height. Now apparent that the immediate threat had been dealt with I sheathed the knife, drawing the M210 from my back. Quick inspection showed a G-Force round chambered through the top loading port (no need to pump), leaving 10 in the tubular. With the gun lowered I brought my attention to movement (on the tracker) at my 11.

I stared intently in the mist, trees and shrubs outlined in yellow. Past these growths, It appeared content staring back through thick mist.

Light panting came from the brunette, next the sound of her weapon transforming, the shuffle of arrows from a quiver and the bow stretching in sequence. From there we watched…. Waiting.

Fight… fight… fight…

"[It's there?]" she whispered.

I nodded, lifting the barrel up. Safety off–

*click.*

Slowly, still under thick fog cover it crept right, trying to flank us. Oddly, Carmine, matched its footing in the opposite direction, stepping subtly behind on my right, her bow remaining taunt as she aimed in its general direction.

Out of that dew, red orbs emerged, faint lights right over where the yellow outline of its head appeared.

Fight… fight, fight, fight.

Slow and sure, my finger found the trigger. "[Sounding off]" was my only warning.

*BOOM!*

Though overtaken by the noise, her bow loosed, the ethereal trace of the arrow piercing my peripheral.

It grunted in pain. With its cover blown the Alpha bolted, angled in such a way keeping behind the trees and enough to close the distance.

"[Back!]"

Behind a tree we sidestepped. The more obstacles we placed in its way the better.

Closer and closer it ran, red orbs shining brighter and brighter.

Fight, fight, fight, fight.

–and with a sudden jolt of adrenaline stepped into the open. There is now only that rage.

Her voice fell to a deaf background of noise: "[What–] Arth?!"

I cocked the shotgun and pulled.

— Part 2 beings here

*BOOM!*

Razor pellets embedded in parts of its mask and body, enough to draw another moan of pain, not enough to stop it.

My sudden change in strategy had not been thoroughly planned. No… this was to draw attention… away from Carmine.

Fight, fight, fight.

Intending to ram me, it brought claws up and forward. In a split second I bolted to the side, feeling one or two claws scrape against shields as my body shifted to face the creature. At similar speed, it also turned. I began retreating quickly, moving behind a tree which gave me a split second to cock the shotgun. With mad fury its claws dug through wood and sap, one-and-two swipes nearly cleaving the tree in two. Again backing away I aimed, noticing the deep, bleeding crevice of missing flesh on its chest as a weakness. It was a second too long, for as the gun went off–

*BOOM!*

–for the pellets merely grazed off its right shoulder. My aim was thrown off as I dodged a lunge.

*Shink!*

The arrow which landed came from Carmine, and from it intense arcs of voltage ravaged its form. For the moment it seemed its stun was enough, though as I pulled the forestock–

*Bang!*

I failed to dodge, knocked into a tree that stood behind hard enough to splinter wood. To the ground I fell, carrying momentum into a roll in dodging whatever attack it attempted next.

*Crunch–spark!*

Shit!

A vain attempt, now that I felt a maw attempting to pierce shield and metal, sensing the field brighten in response.

92%, 86%, 81%.

The bite was strong, even through the plating I could feel the pressure. It would only be a matter of time.

Fight, fight, fight!

The beast wildly shook with my appendage, though sluggish with the weight of the armor. Shifting to my back, I brought my free leg to my chest then springing it forward to this head.

*Crack!*

It bellowed in pain, releasing the hold.

S7:g4 mjolnir sys – 'camo' – on

Not a moment passed when my outline vanished, and I rolled behind another tree. As I stood I witnessed the ethereal trail of another arrow, missing the alpha to which it circled around and straight back

*Shink!*

The arrow sunk into its left arm, another explosion of electricity webbing its form from the impact. It was stunned for a much shorter time, enough for me to come to a crouch.

As I looked for the shotgun I found it not far from where I landed, laying two arm-lengths away lying in dirt and mulch. Within a sprint, crouching low, the gun found its way back into my hand, and in the next second the tree behind exploded into pieces, its slow fall a sound of creaking and snapping.

Spinning around with the barrel aimed, to my dismay it had disengaged, suddenly putting distance as it went after Carmine. Not good.

Aiming the barrel and pulling the forestock, pellets were explosively launched.

*BOOM!*

Again its back splashed from impact. If the Alpha felt pain it didn't show.

The huntress began retreating, placing herself behind thick shrubbery and a second evergreen, behind the first she used as cover. The arrow she had nocked released, with an aim meant for its center mass (likely the wound on the chest). A sudden twist of its torso made it sink into its right shoulder, fairly deep and nearly threading through, the discharge as bright but to no effect. With sudden acrobatics, it leapt above, pivoting off the first tree and speeding through the second with branches breaking and bark trailing with black blood staining their surfaces; in the next moment bearing down upon the huntress. Her expression was of lurid shock, and in retreating it was in her own set of acrobatics, her weapon reforming into that spear.

I was already in a sprint as soon as it had leapt. Upon its landing it made several swipes putting her on the defensive. Next I saw her aura had flared, launched back hard to the ground, carrying the momentum into a roll. It was in vain as the monster pinned her face-down from claws digging into her back. Before the beast could bite down–

*BOOM!*

Its mask further cracked from the impact, holes now visible from the round. No matter how many pellets it seemed to take, it simply would not die, die, die.

Again I cocked the gun's forearm.

*BOOM!*

It seemed as though the second round finally got its attention. For the briefest of moments, its cracked, white mask and red eyes fell on me (or where it saw the shotgun's flashes). Yet, it still didn't move.

Carmine's struggle grew more apparent as she had freed an arm that had been tucked under her chest, with it her spear. In a reverse grip she attempted to jab it into its leg, managing scrapes and a few cuts.

"EeeeeaaaaaAAAAAH!"

The Alpha continued to dig into her back, her aura glowing more and more dim. Her screams rang out.

Fight, fight, fight!

All that came to mind was a charge. I cocked the shotgun, my aim falling right on the center of its left fore-arm. At several feet away–

*BOOM!*

Flesh became shredded, strands of black muscle coming undone. It yelped but only for a second.

My mass came into contact with its side, bringing us to a stumble. I was the first to regain balance, burying the shotgun into its open chest. Though as I loaded another round its torn arm batted it to the side, a fast reflex I hadn't anticipated, and as fast its right arm came swinging only to meet my left palm instead of my head. The collision verberated deep into ceramic bone nearly stunning me. Looking up afforded the sight of its jaw extended, gums and serrated teeth exposed, and predicting the next movement I rammed forwarded into its chest, having to drop the shotgun. The sheathed knife was about in my hand were it not for the beast bringing its left arm into a fast motion. Seeing the exposed muscle–where the G-Force round tore through–, I grabbed and dug deep in raw, unnatural flesh that prompted a minor grunt. The Alpha's resistance to pain became more and more apparent as my grip tightened. If it would just succumb to agony.

Fight, fight, fight!

Against surprising resistance, I brought the appendage between my arm and side, and with just enough pressure–

*Crack.*

–another terrible screech was brought forth as it bent into an unnatural angle, its arm going noticeably limp.

With a now free hand, I drove my fist forward into that wound. 5 times the motion repeated, black blood splattering and vaporizing on the shimmering cloak of Mjolnir. It was on the 5th that one of its ribs cracked. Before the 6th was when I saw the arrow protruding from its limp arm. In a fast motion I grabbed the and pulled, bringing fur and flesh with it. Thrusting forward with the impromptu weapon, it went deep to where its "heart" should be.

*Scrunch. Snap!*

What should have been the full shaft was only half as it was pulled out, the carbon material of the shaft failing. The pointed end had become stuck, the other half a little more than splinter in its leaking chest.

*Popop–pop—pop-popop!*

A familiar sound of gunfire sounded at the 2:00 o'clock direction, audible pelts of bullets landing in its hide. Were it not a desire to skin the Alpha alive, I would have minded.

It was so sudden that a blunt force came to my mid section, and that time dilated. The stagger was enough for its other, functioning arm to come free from my hold. In the moment I saw its lower torso had shifted, next seeing its other arm into a fast motion that knocked my right arm away, the sudden grasp around my throat.

The HUD started a faint beeping as indication of the shields.

70.3%... 68%... 66%–

I felt the paws pressure lift up and under the rim of my helmet, next feeling the ground leaving my boots as all of my weight concentrated on my neck. My left hand quickly went to grab its wrist with my right forming a fist to break bone.

Fight, fight, fight… fight… fight…

The pressure had increased, the suit's skin doing all it could to disperse the pressure into the shoulders. Pummels to the fur and hide of its arm grew softer… softer… I began to see a blur at the peripherals, slowly following labored breathing.

64%... 60%... 57%...

Fight… fight… fight…

My thoughts went to the knife on my holster. Rapidly a maneuver formed in my head, a considerably risky one given my head's position. Softly I began rocking my weightless legs, meeting its abdomen briefly before the beast adjusted so that wasn't the case. As my torso began to pendulate, I quickly went for the knife.

*BOOM!*

The pressure vanished, my fall so sudden that my grasp to its arm came undone. Its screeching was the only sound to the ears as I stumbled backwards, my mind reeling from the sudden change.

Fight, fight, fight!

A sudden force met my chest. To my back I fell hard, cushioned enough from the gel layer that it hadn't knocked the air out of me. Shields flared again, still managing to hold for what felt as though a simulated brute rammed into me.

On instinct arms came forth and in front of the helmet to block the inevitable mauling… which never came. Peaking through the arms the Alpha wasn't to be seen, nearly bringing myself to anger that it escaped… were it not for Lilly's screams.

Looking to my right showed a despairing scene as the monster had jaws clamped around her shoulder, dragging her up and dangling her as the shotgun fell to the ground. Both of its arms–its left completely limp and right fore in utter ruin and twitches, black mist spewing forth–hung uselessly. It appeared that it had managed to crush her shoulder… No, there was the faint glow that her protection emitted. If I hurried.

Rolling from my back, my boots dug deep into mulch. Another command to the suits system was issued–

S7:g4 mjolnir sys – 'camo' – off

–a shimmering of the armor indicating its function ceasing, the greens and blacks of Mjolnir reappearing. My hand went for the sheathed knife, and moving myself just out of its field of view I made toward its back.

Her glow dimmed, the faintly greenish shimmer phasing in and out of sight. She frantically reached for a sword to her waist, in a swift motion unsheathing it from the scabbard, slashing at its chest and neck which drew bits of fur and blood.

Instead of ramming in the thing, my right foot came down hard on its shin–

*Crack*

–seeming to splinter bone but not break, which hardly mattered as it acted as a springboard. With a hop, I maneuvered my left leg up and around its back, kneeing into its back rib cage as I grabbed at a protruding spine from its back, then digging my right boot into its hip. At the nape of its neck, the knife kissed it once, then twice, thrice, repeating in continuous motions as it stood tall, thrashing itself with Lilly attached. When it was clear it would not let go, I jammed the blade into its shoulder, finding itself behind a collar bone where it held. Pulling forward I reached over with the left hand, sticking two fingers into its nostrils. The thrashing of its head made finding purchase unbearably slow, though once I found it I pulled, the head coming back as it struggled to resist. Slowly, its jaw unclamped, releasing the huntress she fell backwards in a heap, groaning in pain as she kicked herself away, her long knife still in her left.

`Pain! So long—so… long!`

It was tempting to release my hold were it not for the clamping mouth. Over its shoulder Joan approached from the front, stepping past Lilly with a shield raised and a gun resting on a slot carved at its top. She had it aimed the beast, clearly hesitant in pulling the trigger as she held a nervous gaze. Scared!?, I thought incredulously.

Fight, fight, fight.

As the beast noticed her, it began to step away, sluggish with my added weight with a limp in its right foot. Noticeable is how the thrashing seemed to cease, the strength in its head growing slack that also translated to its legs. Blood loss, it had to be.

Sensing the weakness, with a grasp still to its mask, I leapt off with its head and lower portions following. Falling backward and over its feet I was quick to restrain its head, wrapping my right arm around its neck as its protruding spines dug into me. The beast's arms flailed so weakly and painfully. Depressive moans were all it could do to sound its rage. What strength remained translated into twisting side to side.

`Is this—is this death!?`

When Joan came just before its kicking legs, she sidestepped to our right, her rifle aimed at the wound on its chest, now at point-blank range.

Fight, fight… kill.

Somehow, like a snake, my arm constricted further around its neck. Seconds ticked by, and she stood there… Why won't she shoot!?

"[Shoot!]" I growled through the strain.

*Popop!*

Gradually then suddenly, the Alpha went slack. I held tight in the moment for any movement… Great snorts filtered through its nostrils, growls mixed with a quick huffing of air that its chest followed in tune.

Any second… if it's faking injury...

After minutes of holding, it appeared the beast could do nothing of its predicament, all its strength sapped to pain and exhaustion. I pushed it off, retrieving my knife–the blade sliding out of the wound coated thoroughly with vaporing blood–standing and moving far enough that it couldn't spring up for me. With better scrutiny, the thing looked pitiful, thoroughly soaked in its own life essence and crumpled; no more a threat than an injured dog.

Joan kept staring at it with her weapon raised, still holding that frightened gaze. Whatever was going through her mind… her prerogative.

Looking back, Lilly laid on her back with legs curled, clear that she was suffering from extreme pain with the expression on her face. Her right shoulder held the evidence as to why: crumpled and soaked red.

"[Watch,]" I asked— ordered her. Should have said 'kill.'

Kill… kill…

`My–my compeer… where… where…`

Not waiting for her response I was already moving. From the background I heard her mumble "[I— yes.]"

Approaching the red huntress, beneath her the ground soaked thick in bright red, her face appeared rather flush masked with pain, not at all pale from the amount of blood loss she endured. It was clear her shoulder was in much, much worse condition, the kind gained when sergeants ran you through 10,000 ground-kisses while screaming you sang your hail marys… (Too soon dick head). Blood profusely spilt from deep cuts and stabs through the leather cloth of her uniform. A longer look showed that a good portion of her arm and shoulder were thoroughly crushed to the point that she'd be lucky to still have an arm. Even with her healing… No chance, she'll need amputation. It was a grim thought, I seriously doubted her semblance would be able to mend this.

Seeing me she answered with a surprising serenity, "Artho–Arthor, Carmine."

Carmine? Looking back, she looked to be struggling to rise from where she had been pinned. The fog obscured her form, there was little telling of what injury she sustained (if any). She'll be next.

With my attention on the redhead again, I pulled out the medkit and biofoam from its leg pouch, first pulling out a wad of bandaging and gauze. Her eyes trailed my movements. "[For bleeding,]" I told her. We'd need to amputate later. This location wasn't the most sanitary for that operation, even with foam.

She pointed her shortsword at me. "[Here.]"

I stared at her as I grabbed the knife. Or now? Her casual regard to potentially losing an arm is utterly baffling, unlike others who'd been luckless in a firefight or live-fire exercise. Perhaps its better that she isn't panicking.

Inspecting the blade, it appeared sharp enough for the job… "[No, bleeding… infection. Messy to cut.]" I shook my head.

"[Silly, my semblance–]" She winced briefly before continuing, "[It won't be an issue. The process will be faster if it's off.]"

Faster? No chance in hell.

Her pained grunts abruptly grew louder. It was then I noticed her exposed hand began shriveling at an alarming rate, the skin drying and cracking such that it exposed tendons underneath. Through the tears of that torn sleeve was the same process, only with more blood and muscle being brought forth. I was barely overcome with shock as I robotically took her knife, losing any hesitation as I began cutting under her armpit through the rough, blood-soaked cloth.

It was a messy endeavor, though with much less blood and speedy with how… brittle the bone was. With the arm severed it was awkwardly placed at the side. In fascination I witnessed it advance through stages of necrosis, no less in the span of a second.

Prying my eyes away, my next motions applied pressure to the now, rather large, open wound with gauze from the medikit… which proved unnecessary. In the same amount of time the woman's form became covered in a sean of green light, the wound healing itself so fast that the stages of hemostasis and maturation could have been missed if I blinked. The healed stump then sprouted a growth, one that could not be mistaken for anything else. In literal seconds, she had a fully functioning arm, skin void of blemishes and scars, so smooth as having little evidence of atrophy, size difference, discoloration, or any other indication of bio/prosthetic limb replacement.

"Arthor…"

How, how, "how?"… It was utterly baffling, borderline fantastical to the point that this shouldn't be possible. Where did the mass come from? The energy needed? How is the arm a near 1 to 1 replicant of her original? How? What I had witnessed could best be summed up as the greatest 'fuck you' to every established law of science.

"[What?]" She spouted in confusion.

It took me a second to switch tongues "[... That semblance?]"

"[Healing, more so than what aura can do, what it can't heal.]"

Bullshit, there has to be more at play. I had already given the existence of aura and (begrudgingly) semblances enough leeway. "[Not mention this,]" not to this extent. If the implications are true, she could be functionally immortal. So many questions.

A hint of mirth crept forth from her expression. "[No, but you would have seen it.]" Sitting up, she looked past me, that expression sliding away for concern, starting with a subdued tone that "[Carmine, she's injured.]"

I slowly nodded, not so much to agree with her but to purge my thoughts. I would need to… consult with Dash on this finding.

I took one last look at the decaying arm, most of the flesh having decomposed to the point where bone became exposed. As difficult as it was to comprehend the healing factor, it doesn't explain why the body part(s?) would rapidly decay once detached. Shouldn't it break down as any other severed limb?

Section 3 would have a field day with her…

"[Your gun had more kick than I thought it would. In fact I'm certain it dislocated my shoulder]"

"[Now know… Sorry of clothes.]"

She sat up, grabbing her knife while flexing her new arm. "[It happens more than you think. I should have another change back at camp.]"

Being the first to stand, I offered my hand which she took with her bare arm, gently rising from the ground as she sheathed her weapon.

"[No… nothing wrong?]"

She again flexed her arm. "[Not once has my semblance failed me… I do feel some numbness, though that usually fades away within seconds… and it's gone!]"

I kept staring at her, uncertain on how to respond.

Before moving to Carmine I was certain to grab the shotgun. Nearly running past Joan I had noticed that the thing was still breathing, the blonde having reformed her weapon to a sword that hung from her hand. She and the beast locked eyes as though challenging each other.

Kill… kill… kill…

Having every intention to finish it off, I chambered 1 of the remaining 3 rounds, but before firing she brought the sword up and forward into its neck, the initial stab merely piercing the hide. With greater force it was pushed further and further, its breathing now drowned as black blood sprouted out in mixed parts of vapors and liquids.

`Rest… You've deprived yourself of sleep…`

The red glint in its eyes morphed into a glassy look. Soon the breathing stopped, and the presence…

…

Ever so subtly its body began the transition into nothingness, black vapors sprouting from its most grievous wounds then over its entirety. Flesh broke away, leaving behind only the bone as expected of the creature. I left Joan, holstering the shotgun to my back.

Lilly was the first beside Carmine who still laid on her stomach. Immediately apparent were the 3, deep cuts in her exposed back, made parallel with her spine. The redhead was already washing the wounds with water from a canteen, the blood soaking deep into her magenta clothing.

"[Fuck, shit, shit, fuck!]" she muttered, her voice choked.

"[You're doing fine, you're doing fine]" she repeated smoothly, any trace of joviality from before gone, her voice comforting as a militia nurse tending to a wound.

The poor brunette sobbed, quietly breaking down.

"[Do you feel your aura? Is it there?]"

She mumbled "[yes.]"

I already had the medkit out, the biofoam canister brought alongside strips of gauze and rolls of bandage wrappings.

"[Aura mend?]" I asked Lilly.

She shook her head, "[Out of my expertise. It wouldn't be safe here otherwise.]"

"[You kill it] Aurthour?" the brunette asked rather jokingly through mucus, a sudden change to her demeanor. "[Bro, you came in sooo fast, tha-]ah!—... [That last second its weight left, it was like— like immense pressure had been released… maybe too much?]"

Its claws must have dug in last minute. With its immense strength it shouldn't be a surprise her aura broke.

"[Yes, it is dead]" I answered.

"Ha-ah!" She tried to push up, pitifully collapsing. She turned her head at me. "Ha… [What… what about the other?]"

Lilly looked at me with similar anticipation.

Handling the biofoam canister, I unclipped the trigger, unfolding the nozzle. "[Escaped.]"

Carmine's expression fell neutral, bordering on worry.

"[Where did it go?]" The Arc matriarch asked.

"[Headed north, deep in fog… Hit it once.]"

"[Anything vital?]"

My memory recalled two orbs of red light, one blinking a millisecond after the tungsten left the rifle. "[Not certain, made head shot… took eye,]" I pointed to my head for emphasis.

I brought the canister in my right hand with a finger over its trigger. I gestured first to the injured brunette, "[Carmine, this sting,]" then to Lilly, "[Open wound.]"

"[What–what are you sticking in m-]ah!"

"[Combat medicine,]" I vaguely answered, earning a rather suspicious look from red even as she complied, opening the first cut to the brunette's displeasure (emphasized with a hiss). "[It is safe.]" The tip of the nozzle gently touched her left-most wound.

"[Wait–shit!]" She yelped, just as the foam made contact. A modest amount of the substance was sprayed along the cut, the process repeating for the other 2 with similar application. The viscous reaction of red and white subsided into the wounds that should help sterilize and stabilize her internals (if they were also injured).

"[I… I feel numb.]"

"[Means it work.]"

Below us, Brans' voice hailed. "Carmine! Lilly!"

His position, easily within the tracker's radius, had him below us and to the north. He moved up the steep slope at a perpendicular angle to reach us, albeit in the wrong direction.

"[HERE!]" I bellowed.

He answered back, "Arthor?!" with the tracker indicating his course changed our direction.

With the sudden peace in the air, it was immediately apparent the noise of gunfire and explosions had stopped. I was prompted to inspect the other ridge, seeing no sign of a wolf or any living creature, the exception being two figures–most likely Jack and Iris–making their way north and into the woods. In the next moment their yellow outlines faded out of the range of VISR.

"[Bra–Brans!?]" Carmine called through pain.

My focus fell back to her. "[Lilly, assist?]" I held up the gauze.

The redhead nodded and began rolling the injured woman to her side.

---

Jack and Iris went after the other Alpha, seeing an opportunity with it injured. When their minions had been decimated (in no small part by them with the help of Brans), the remaining had fled. It was an unusual choice given what I knew as typical behavior of (relatively) young grimm–lacking any sense of self-preservation.

A battered Brans was soon with us, his arrival was in making certain we wouldn't be maimed, or worse. The hunter's composure became subdued upon witnessing the injuries to Carmine's back, and for the last several hours he spent equal parts consoling her and being reserved.

Low on ammo and exhausted, we made our way back toward camp. Before departing, a make-shift stretcher had been constructed out of two branches and from Lilly's, Brans', and Joan's jackets–leaving the hunters with only tank tops and a t-shirt (respectively)–with the injured huntress gingerly laid faced down as Brans and I hefted her. The grizzly hunter was adamant to carry the woman, refusing to leave her side even when Joan opted to carry, instead taking point while her mother covered rear. It was a difficult carry, not in the weight but in making sure she remained as stable and pain-free as possible. With how dangerously close the cuts came to her spine, I was concerned of inducing further damage (if any had occurred) to a delicate structure. Medical training would have me secure her in place, waiting for personnel to arrive or until she could be stabilized, though seeing neither as an option (with the present danger of grimm and lacking emergency services) we were forced to move. Our pace was quick, only halted by a brief scuffle with one nevermore–prowling in the trees–and several beos. Me and Brans were forced into the shelter of thick foliage as the others dealt with our assailants with some trouble. Without much more incident, suddenly coming out of the thick fog, the asylum of our camp was met in more than an hour, enveloped in the light of an evening sky which peaked through the foliage.

We wasted little time setting her in one of the larger tents (the one shared with Jack and the wives). With a fresh abundance of medical supplies, we redressed her wounds, both Lilly and Joan applying what little knowledge they had in aura mending to stabilize her. Thankfully, the signs of spinal injury were lacking, Carmine claiming not feeling any weakness or numbness, though the only concern was her weakening consciousness as she fell in and out over the course of the trip. It appeared that the biofoam… or aura, had done its job to clot the wounds, only trickles of blood escaping every now and then. Concerning still were her whines and moans, as well as her shaking.

At the tent's entry I stood by the medkit. I hesitate to outright lend it to them seeing as that may draw more unwanted attention as to the tech I carried. They already questioned, numerous times, what I had applied to the woman's back, their concerns not lifted upon notice that it's only "[combat medicine.]" There was also the fact that they would barely comprehend written English on the kit and its instruments–just as I struggle to understand their written brunic (without translation assistance)–which would require translation on my part. Besides the biofoam, and without access to the camel (for now), I doubt there was more I could do that they couldn't.

Inside Brans sat by, wearing a look of equal parts blank and dour, managing a different med kit the Arcs had stashed away, as Lilly and Joan hunched over the woman applying care. "[How far is Dasale?]" he suddenly asked.

Joan looked up in thought, then sinking her head with a similar expression to his. I ran a cross check of the hud's map, the program having triangulated our positions (relative to the satellites) compared to the hamlet in question. Roughly 9 kilometers from us, given topography– "[An hour… maybe 2]" Joan answered. Good guess, though it would be more (or less) 1.33 hours.

"[They'll have a doctor, a trained hunter at best,]" he hoped.

I looked back outside and past the canopy, seeing the remaining sunlight giving way to purple and blue hues.

Lilly had almost chimed "[She–]"

"[We're not keeping her here,]" the hunter interjected, earning my attention. He now stood as high as the tent's confines would allow, Joan looking between us expectantly, Lilly wearing a neutral expression as she concentrated on mending.

Carmine spoke with weakness and through pain, "[Brans… Brans, it's fine.]"

He paid her a quick notice, returning his sights past the entrance with a frustrated look. My eyes fell on her bare arm with brief… uncertainty. It still felt unnatural that the appendage grew back, in a manner that reminded me of an enemy best eradicated. Couldn't happen, shouldn't happen… My gaze fell to her shotgun/sword, resting in its scabbard as it so gingerly laid against the tent's wall. (Before we had left, she had pulled me aside in search of it after having been lost in a with the beast scuffle.)

Reviewing comms (making certain Dash had an updated position on my whereabouts as well as upload feeds of our recent excursion), I noticed the system had picked up a signal no more than 12 minutes ago. A CCT transmission.

In the background they continued their conversation. "[We shouldn't move, not at risk of damaging her spine,]" the redhead finished.

It wasn't to the hunter's satisfaction. "[None of us are trained doctors, and she doesn't have your healing ability. I'm not risking her dying–]"

"[Brans… it's–]" Carmine pleaded.

"[Last thing we want is to be stranded out in the woodlands. The grimm aren't hospitable to the injured. We need asylum. We're moving.]"

A constant repeat, intervals of 2 minutes… A distress call?

"[We're not moving, we don't even know…]" the woman trailed, conflict masking her undertone, earning his persistent look.

"[Warm beds and walls… safety,]" Joan whispered to herself.

A series of vibrations came from her pants. She quickly took out her blocky device upon which her screen brightened as it faced her. In crescendo, 3 other vibrations sounded unison, faintly enough that one could miss them. Neither Lilly, Carmine, or Brans checked their devices, either too busy, injured or preoccupied to notice (or care).

Joan kept reading, her eyes showing concern as she looked up to me. "[You got it too?]"

I nodded.

While not looking at us, Lilly asked "[What's happening?]"

"[Village, it hit.]"

Her face fell, "[... It's been attacked?]"

"[Yes.]"

"[What's the message?]" Brans asked.

Joan was first to answer, "[Sender is Dasale. 'At 0600 we suffered grimm incursion, send aid immediately.]'"

And a string of coordinates… right on top of Dasale.

"[We move,]" I called.

Lilly looked between me Brans with minor fury. "[There is no way to know if that village is safe!]"

"[And not here?]" I countered, then taking a moment to switch the translator on. "[We have no walls, no housing, no defenses, only the surety that we won't be spotted. The fact they are broadcasting shows they have secured themselves.]

"[That can be debated,]" the blond highlighted.

"[Likely better than us,]" I countered, returning my attention to Lilly. [And as] Brans [noted, we're not well trained in medicine. They may have a doctor, a practitioner.]

Exhaling, Lilly pulled back her hands as the faint glow fading. She directed her question to Carmine, "[How do you feel? Light headed? Headaches? Back pain?]"

The brunette shifted herself around, attempting to push herself up only to hiss and fall. "[Back–back hurts, maybe light headed… dunno about headaches.]"

"[And your breathing?]" I asked.

She took several deep breaths. "[Yeah… I'm good.]"

"[You are stable,]" I stated.

Lilly took another breath, then exhaling. Looking to the ground she then elegantly stood. "[Fine, though I'll need to grab a spare jacket… some ammo and food…]" She walked off to the corner of the tent, where her bag lay.

"[Same,]" Joan added, also standing.

Less than 5 minutes of preparation and securing the camp, we moved. Joan had made sure to notify Iris and Jack (through her scroll) of the situation. Since making it to camp, we had yet to hear of them. I could only assume they were still in pursuit or making their way back.

In the growing darkness, we marched, having spent considerable time finding a spot along the river to cross. I had taken point, leading us to the nearest roadway, a stream of dirt and gravel a kilometer away, and soon finding it we hastened our march, as fast as Brans and Joan could carry Carmine. We were fortunate that we hadn't been attacked by grimm (sighting one that looked to be a sleeping ursa at great distance). A fight in the dark would put the others at significant disadvantage, their only means of illumination being light of their torches as that from the stars above. The only other movement had been from small animals and an occasional avian that flew overhead, none of which kept me at ease.

Soon light crept through the trees and brush, the signs of a Dasale coming to view. True to their call they had suffered an attack, for the front gate had been clawed and splintered, haphazardly repaired by boards of wood. Areas of the wooden wall appeared less damaged, bearing claw depressions which cut deep into the surface, one portion having a hole which bore through.

Coming no more than 10 meters from the gate, we stood in the dark observing.

"[No, no…]" Joan murmured.

Lilly took a long look at the scene. "[The size of the claw marks… Our Alpha's?]" she asked as though looking to dismiss her fears.

"[Maybe it might have been plain—normal bears?]" Carmine asked, her voice muffled as her head laid sideways. All of us circled around the huntress like overbearing siblings.

Brans spoke, "[Grimm attack, nothing else.]"

"[... Reeeeally hungry bears?]"

I brought up the distress call, ID'd as part of Vale's [Ground-Based Distress Safety System] ([VGBDS]), still repeating the same message and list of coordinates.

A glance at the motion tracker showed several clusters of blue dots within the walls, dispersed. The residents. Looking along the walls they appeared abandoned. No guards?

"Joan, [who would be stationed here]?" Lilly asked.

She shook her head, "[I can't say… Even if I can, none of those who I patrol with are stationed this close to Vale.]"

I thought back to the tragedy of Laffe. Looking to the blond I asked if it was "[compromised?]"

"[By who?]" she asked rhetorically, returning her gaze with a cocked brow.

"Matholwch, [raiders, rogue hunters.]"

"[No kid, nothing similar to the Berg Cassidy's Holdout,]" Brans chimed.

"[Not know.]"

Low in tone, she continued. "[It's unlikely for them to come this close to Vale's border… even then, what would they have to gain from seizing territory so far from theirs? The kingdom would have the Guard down their throats… or us on them. It would be the same story with raiders and rogues.]

Looks like a lesson on Vale's geopolitics is in order. At least it reduces the chances of hostilities to nill. "[I move.]"

Pacing towards the entrance, I noticed Joan follow closely behind, leaving Brans and Lilly with the brunette. Once reaching the gate I gave three solid knocks.

… No response.

Another 3 knocks. "[Hello!? Someone!]"

… Still nothing. The only sound that could be heard was the buzzing of electricity and the movement of the evergreens to the breeze. Checking my tracker, most of the blue dots vanished, all signs of movement relegated to what is outside of the wall.

"[… Are they alive?]"

I nodded. "[They are scared,]" if their jittering is any sign.

This time it was her that pounded thrice. "[13th Patrol! We received a distress call!]"

I looked at her questioningly. "[13th Patrol?]"

"[... My group. Someone inside should recognize the name.]"

We waited a moment before she pounded on the door again. "[We have wounded! Is everyone uninjured!?]"

Movement was registered as a blue dot started to move, then another. In the distance, a door could be heard opening and closing with two sets of footsteps shuffling dirt and gravel. Joan brought her arm away, bringing her backpack forth to retrieve a pocketbook of sorts. When they came close, one of them spoke in a gruff voice. "[Which group?]"

Joan shared a blank look before answering, "[13th patrol… We have wounded.]"

"[We heard you, strange that one.]"

A more neutral voice spoke up with an imprint of desperation, "[Gods' sake–are you hunters or guardsmen?]"

This time, I answered "[hunters.]"

"[That'll do,]" the last man spoke, followed by the sound of moving chains, shifting gears, and the movement of wood. A sudden shuffle of dirt was made as two men stepped back, harsh whispering for which bits and pieces came to the ears: something having to do with us being "[strangers,]" their "[own injured,]" to "[needing their guns(?)]". Their footsteps came close again, the gruff one stating "[we need proof]" with a small panel on the gate opening at her eye level.

With the pocketbook opened, she brought forth an ID card of plastic material, an image of her with a neutral expression and strings of text and foreign numbering printed below. She displayed the card through the opening.

"[... Hand it through,]" the gruff man asked.

"[You can read it here,]" she responded.

"[How do I know it's no fake?]"

Joan made a faint sigh. "[Do you have net service?]"

There was a moment of silence, with a faint sound of tapping fingers on something solid in the background. "[... I'll need to see your partner's,]"

Joan slid her card back into pocketbook, where it returned to her backpack. "[No card, ID number?]" I asked.

"[... Alright, what is it?]"

On a neural prompt, the HUD displayed the ID. "[V A-N… four, six two and two… zero five zero six and seven, zero eight eight and C,]" the suit translated as I read.

Faint tapping continued on the other side. "[... Can I see your face?]"

Without warning, there was an audible click, then the gate started opening. "[Dipshit, it's the] Arc [kids!]"

By all accounts, the two men look fairly dressed for what one considers frontier ware: sturdy pants, boots, shirt and leather jackets, with unassuming facials rough with signs of clean shaves. Adorned to their sides were sidearms, and to their backs imposing rifles that a Guardsman would wield. On glance, they appeared no more different standard, old nato carbines, more removed from the standard-issues of planet-side forces. One handled the gate while the other stood awkwardly with a scroll in hand, now towing it in his pocket.

Past the gate, I caught a glimpse of what the town looked to be. Dasale was, in many ways, similar to the build and layout of Laffe and other small hamlets I've visited, a settlement large enough for 50 (or so) residents, serving as an outpost for mining, hunting, and foraging companies–to which one building appeared dedicated to their offices–as well as a rest stop for patrols and traders.

With a mildly desperate look, the gate handler looked to the huntress, "[Joan, is it?]"

She answered "[yes.]"

"[We've heard of your young brother, what striking luck that you found him–!]" He took a glance at me, then fixed a wide stare. "[In… armor?]" he ended quietly.

"[Says here—] 'Arther,'" The other corrected, who also took to a stiff gaze.

"[I've… might have passed through here once or twice, but I don't seem to know you?] Joan asked the gate opener.

"[Noo…]" It took a second to slowly peel his eyes away, and back to the blond. "[We've… heard stories, news, word of mouth.]"

Under better circumstances, our conversation could have gone further were it not for the circumstances. Revealing that we had an injured huntress shifted their tone a dour one. "[You've picked Hells' time I'm afraid.]"

"[Why so?]"

The gruff one answered, "[our doc passed on less than an hour ago.]"

Not good.

---

It wasn't only the doctor. Their huntress, "[Felina,]" had succumbed to grievous wounds, her death the result of the attack of two "monsters." 4 more had been seriously wounded, and another whose fate appeared uncertain, and it was by luck that the Alphas retreated–back from which they came (to the nest no doubt)–sparing the lives of the rest. In the time since, the residents had patched the damage incurred. A distress call to Vale had been sent, though to their disappointment help would not come until the evening tomorrow–1830 to estimation.

Getting Carmine situated in their clinic was quick, and with proper remedies we managed to redress her wounds with an anesthetic. With the assistance of their nurse, her cuts were also stitched together, a better alternative to the bandaging from camp. Aside from the patch work, the nurse was unhelpful in giving a thorough treatment, and there was a probability her recovery wouldn't be thorough. A small probability.

Their clinic wasn't up Remnant's modern standards–much, much less than those of most colonies. Aesthetically, it is as rustic as the hamlet itself, a cabin host to several patient rooms and a surgical station for minor to moderate operations (which had seen recent use in amputation). It's the second largest building, situated next to the court house attached to a saloon.

In "return" for using their facility, we would remain until Vale's relief arrived. Lilly and Brans were first to take night watch as Joan took rest, watching over Carmine in case her condition worsened.

For the last several hours I stood by the doorway, keeping visual through its window and another on the adjacent wall, providing a view of the front gate and the courtyard. Normally, it wasn't good to stand for so long, but with the armor's locking system I could effectively "sit" in place. (Using a chair or bed would be unwise considering my… weight. The floor already struggled enough.) Joan took to one of the few beds in the small room, resting her back up against the headboard, shifting between being awake and asleep in watching over the injured woman while remaining in armor. By all means, she earned rest, which she refused to take for whatever reason. Her sword was kept next to her, resting next to the nightstand.

There were only 5 of us present in the building, the 3 of us in one room with a villager (also injured) and the nurse taking residence in the other. The 4 others that had been wounded chose to remain in their homes, under the watch of family and/or friends.

Seeing that the village was connected to the greater roadworks of the Kingdom, it seemed appropriate in calling the camel to me, what with the medical equipment it held. At present, interference with the satellites made the task tedious. The CCT network could be used, though I was uncertain if me using it would alert authorities of our presence. It wasn't that the robot needed a constant connection for geopositioning. Its AI is more than capable of navigating on its own (provided working sensory hardware and a map), and all that it needed was the instructions.

Without that direct line of connection, I did the next best thing.

S7:dash, do you read?

…

No signal.

The groggy voice of Carmine broke the silence. "[Heeeey]... Arthooor, [are you awake?]"

I looked to Carmine, turning myself around (to the displeasure of the floor). "[No sleep?]"

She was, again, resting on her chest, 2 sheets of bedding covering as her head rested sideways on a pillow. "[Nooo… it still hurts… even with the medicine.]"

"[Want more?]"

"[Nooo… I don't like how it makes me feel… Will you talk to me?]"

"[... Yes… It hurt el–?]"

"[Nooot about thaat… Talk to me 'bout… stuff.]"

I unintentionally gave her an odd look. There was plenty of (other) things to discuss, those in my forethought having to do with Lilly's… regenerative powers, our remaining target, the properties of dust, and the general nature of aura and its intertwined existence with the humans of Remnant; none of which I could figure on how to weave into a cohesive discussion. Besides, I doubt it will be much joy for her (and Joan, if she awoke) to elaborate on.

"[Yooou think you… can you take off that helmet? It's a bit weeeird.]"

"[... Sure,]" and with a neural command, there was silent hiss and click. I brought both of my hands to slightly twist and remove the helmet, bending down to set it on a table next to me.

"[Better… How have you… you been standing like…]" She looked me up and down, [that?]"

It took me a second to think of a proper translation. "[Armor does work… give strong support.]"

"[... Doooes it get… hot and sweaty wearing it?]"

"[Sweaty, yes… not so hot.]"

She shuffled, curling herself in a way that allowed her better eyesight. "[And… does it give you your strength? It seemed incredible that you… knocked it around like you did… pulling its head back,]" she gestured by lifting her head back as far as she could before plummeting back into the pillow.

I shrugged my shoulders, "[Half-half, why surprised?]"

"[Nooot… just reeeally curious Liiiight Chi-eld. I meean, are we ever going to know more about it?]"

"[Depends]" on the questions.

"[Can you tell me about who built it?]"

At this point, Joan was awake enough to show some interest, eyes half lidded.

"[Waas it… Was it] Atlas?

"[No… Smart people, very smart, very efficient… use very good tools… and metals.]" That is about as much as I could share. I contemplated naming Materials Group but decided against it.

"[... Who gave it to you?]"

There was a brief consideration… Couldn't hurt… "[Mother.]"

"[Whaaaat?!]" She slurred, then giggled. It took considerable willpower not to snort… barely. "[Not even my mom would get me somethin' that coool.]"

I grinned slightly. "[... She is 'cool.']"

"[Sooo you dooo smile!]" She chirped.

"[What make you… not know?]"

"[You juust seem… grumpy, like Brans mos' of the time!]"

Grumpy? That's one way of putting it.

It was Joan that then perked up. "[What was she like?]"

It took me a second to realize who she was referring to, "[Work too much… too distract with projects... Wise, tending, smart… very considerate…]"

Carmine chortled again. "[Half of that sounds… like my mommy, 'cept she's… more bitchy.]"

"['Bitchy'?]"

"[She had… things… stuff she waaanted me to do instead of hunter stuff… like becoming a nurse… a financier… We got into a looot of fights over that… she even fought against dad.]"

"[She wasn't a hunter?]" Joan asked.

"[Mom always said she–]" In a different tone, she mocked "['waaasn't made for that work,' or 'it's not my thing.' Really, she thought herself above it all, 'you'll be better than them, than papa, sweetie,'] spitting out the last word. "[She didn't even have the decency of giving me a spacesuit for all of that, not even a weapon for training.]"

A smile plastered over Joan. "[Lucky,]" she joked.

"[Luuucky!? Your moms are sooo cool, even your dad. They must be coool to hang out with.]

She simply nodded her head, the expression dimming with closed eyes.

"[... You don't like them though.]"

"[I never said that.]" She quickly denied.

"[... Okay, maybe not hate them, but they did something…]" At this, the blond's joy evaporated, returning to a neutral and tired state. "[I mean, was it because… Jack cheated or something?]"

Joan gave an incredulous look. "[No no, they're… open. They aren't uptight about that sort of thing.]"

The matter-of-fact tone served as a stark contrast to the… oddity of her parents' relation(s). I couldn't help but ask: "[How does that work?]"

"[D–don't tell him! He's nooot old enough to know!]" Carmine spluttered.

"[Not the question,]" I addressed her. "[Why three parents? Not two?]" It shouldn't be that strange of a question, at least from what I gathered in their history. The practice of monogamous relations seemed to have faded out of practice in the times after (their) Great War. I had a vague understanding of why, but getting a personal answer would give perspective.

She slumped further into her bed in contemplation. "[It's… I mean, is it that strange to you?]" she asked with an unsure voice.

I shrugged my shoulders, "[Somewhat.]"

"[Were your parents excluuusive?]" The brunette chimed, with a mask of teasing.

"[... Yes,]" though Mother and the commander weren't… together, they were the closest to parental figures. Technically, several of my instructors and trainers could also be considered parents… for some of them, very strict parents. As far as I knew, there was at least one sargent couple, and a rumor of one officer fraternizing with a fellow trainee, though beyond that none of them were consensually 'exclusive,' much less than what Carmine implied. The UNSC has strict rules against officers seeing subordinates and vice versa (with a few exceptions and in certain battle groups and corps, the engineering corps for one), and heavily discourages those in the same unit of that practice, seeing as it can lead to… disheartening results…

"[That explains a looot 'bout yoou,]" She finished.

"[Say you,]" I countered jovially.

"[Well… something you have to understand–]" Joan continued "[–the Great War had… taken a toll on the world population. Even to this day, women outnumber men 4 to 1,]" holding up her hand with four fingers as emphasis, "[and it's much worse for the faunus,]" then holding her other hand up with 6 fingers.

It had floored me that such an imbalance exists, one that would appear catastrophic–coupled with declining birth rates and higher-than-average mortality rates–for civilization, let alone Remnant's human population. Recalling earlier studies, we only knew of the consequences in male-skewed populations, the most notable cases being the Earth-African states of the 22nd century–which saw near societal collapse–, and the most recent being the colony of Capella post the Covenant War. It took nearly a decade for the colony to stabilize, and another 10 for the population to balance (by means of cloning, relocation, and other unfortunate means and events that were less than morally just). For Remnant, the nearly 63 years of this status had significantly changed the dynamics of society, most notably on the family unit. Had Dash not pointed it out, I wouldn't have given it a second thought.

"[Two wives normal?]" I asked.

She repositioned her back, sitting straighter on the headboard she rubbed her eyes. "[It's still strange–]" she paused to yawn, "[–that he doesn't at least have another.]"

Huh. "Iris, Lilly… [no problem on share?]" I would imagine there would at least be issues of jealousy, especially with their 'open' marriage.

From the corner of my eye, I saw shake her head. "[No… they're fine with it.]" Or not. "[Part of it has to do with the alternatives, that and that they agreed to it when they first… coupled,]" she ended, which earned a glare from Carmine.

I could guess what Joan meant with 'alternatives:' either remain isolated or pair with the same sex, assuming the odds weren't stacked against finding an ideal partner. Under natural tendencies, those options are far from ideal.

"[Hooow, was it tha' your parents… met?]" The brunette questioned as she stifled a yawn.

Joan shrugged her shoulders. "[Likely the same as yours,]" she claimed.

"[Nooot true, not even close…]"

"[Well, how did yours meet?]"

"[… It's too embarrassing.]"

There was some silence, enough time for Carmien to shuffle herself into another comfortable spot on the bed, after that speaking out: "[How… hooow did you unlock your aura?]"

The question had caught both Joan and my attention, though it was clear that she was asking the blond. "[What makes you ask?]"

"[Papa…]" She paused to yawn, "[he mentioned that your family had a secret to it, and… I dunno… you seeem pretty strong for it.]"

She shuffled somewhat, seeming nervous. With a flat expression, the blond answered, "[I… don't think you'd want to repeat what we went through... It was… Jack's way of continuing tradition,]" finishing with a hint of emotion.

"[What happened?]" I asked.

"[... Imagine the stress method the schools put you through, and multiply that by 10. The spars we had were our rite… I was one of the few to have mine unlocked early.]"

"[Why not ceremony?]" For such an elusive force, aura had a profound structure to its practice, where one unlocking it would either undergo 'serious stress' or an intimate ceremony–"a bonding of two souls." There is clear favor to using the stress test, multiple studies citing "stronger than average auras" and "ideal semblances for combat." It is through the latter that, the resulting semblance tended to function well for more societal duties, concerning application in medical care, industry, resource gathering, administration, and even politics (some directly affecting one's charisma… however that worked).

She raised an eyebrow at me. I elaborated with "[at home… we see differently.]"

Carmine started giggling uncontrollably. "[It maakes so much sense!]" It took me a second to see what she meant. Right…

"[Or maybe you're secretly perverted,]" Joan lightly jabbed.

Her joy came under control. "[Maaybe… maybe you're right.]"

Turning back to me she went on, though only after taking a deep breath, "[It wouldn't have gotten us what we wanted, and it simply went against the family practice. Beyond that… it has oversight. I'm uncertain how the other kingdoms have it. For Vale, they only allow for certain students in specialized tracts. Even if you managed to jump through all the legal hoops, it still depends on the town and academy, and who would be willing to do it.]"

Appears reasonable. Without oversight, an entire civilization's worth of individuals could gain aura overnight by repeating whatever ceremonies and rites–the practice of which remains ambiguous to me–over and over. Ignoring the obvious complications–which essentially boils down to everyone being a potential, ticking time bomb–, there are other reasons why everyone having aura is a terrible idea. "[Population control?]"

She frowned, "[that's a harsh way of putting it... It's not without context. There have been short-lived tribes and kingdoms made almost entirely of aura users, and they all ended in disaster.]"

"[Grimm?]"

She nodded, "[grimm.]"

An interesting detail. It was clear that it had something to do with how the force attracted grimm. With that being the case, one would want to limit (if not control) on who would obtain aura. Should be an interesting study for down time.

Joan brought her attention unto our influenced brunette. "[Your turn.]"

She again giggled to herself, "[Dooon't tell anyone… not a peep!]" she hushed. "[I didn't act-chu-all-ee fight to near death for mine~]"

The blond chuckled. "[What, who unlocked it for you?]"

Carmine's tone became more subdued. "[It was a reaaally dumb of me, I mean, the kind of dumb only brought on when you're head-over-heels for a childhood crush… mixed with friends, and bribes… since he was attending Black Sand… or some school…]"

I could barely hear the blond whisper "[oh shit!]" as her eyes widened, which the brunette took as a cue: "[Dad was… was really, really, angry with me, and so was mom… eventually he came around, and actually became happy with it… all,]" she brought her left arm out from the under the bed, flailing it somewhat as emphasis.

"[How did you avoid juvy?!]"

Ever so slightly, her expression cracked. "[I didn't… I got stuffed away for maybe three weeks… before your dad and mine pulled some strings… a conditional release of tenure… and service.]" At this, Joan's expression also fell, which she seemed to notice. "[It had beeen satisfied 3 years prior… don't worry about it.]"

"[I can't imagine they went easy on you,]" the blond commented.

She blinked, as though perplexed. "[I… guess they didn't. Thing is, it was something I always wanted, even if it was hell… the power… it felt intoxicating…]" she whispered, her voice losing the slur.

"[Your friends… they make it?]" I asked. It seemed implied that they were also arrested.

There was some shuffling from her. "[... I know Aera and] Roman [had been released, and they…]" She took a deep breath, "[we haven't talked since then…. There's also Magnolia…]"

"[... Not out?]"

A deep exhale sounded. "[No… she's been locked up ever since…]" She lingered on those words, then lamented that "[there were other things she got charged for… I guess my stunt broke the camel's back.]"

Silence lingered, broken by Joan shuffling in place as she looked away in muse. She then turned to the brunette. "... Carmine, [I don't want there to be bad blood.]"

The brunette stared blankly at her. "[There isn't.]"

"[So we weren't ignoring each other the past two days?]"

"[Ooh, that… I'm just peeved of that stupid moove you made… and maybe at how… slow you and Lilly were to save us.]"

"[Ok, but what stupid move?]" She can't be playing dumb.

"[You… When you… you toook potshots two days ago, brought all the beoos on us.]"

The blond stared blankly at her, then smirked. "[... I did give a warning.]"

I shook my head.

The brunette moaned, paraphrasing my thoughts. "Ughh, [you're impossible.]"

She continued smiling at herself. "[What about you,] Arthor?" the blond questioned, looking my way.

Guess it's my turn to play dumb. "[What?]"

She gave a stink eye. "[Your aura, it has a… electric, golden look. Fairly unique from all others I've seen.]"

I had met only one who (correctly) guessed that the armor was responsible for the shields, with several more assuming there was some sort of connection. "[Must be… charm,]" I drawled.

"[I'm serious!]"

"[Maybee…maybe it's 'cuz… there's a lot… a lot of it.]"

Carmine suddenly had my full attention. "[Aura?]"

"[Silly, you know what I mean… Though yours is about as charmed as that crush I talked about… Sooo, how did you get yours?]"

If she's implying… Snapping out of my thoughts, I was quick to answer with "[same as all: training.]"

"[Where did you train?]" blondy asked.

"[Camp] Johnson." Not as though they'll ever find it.

"[Haven't heard of it.]"

It took me a second to find the right word. "[Disbanded.]"

"[How convenient,]" she pouted.

Browny then took her turn, "[Are you… you sure you're not an Atlas agent?]"

"[Sure… that–]" I almost answered before getting cut off.

"[Dunno] Carmine, Jaawnsu-n [doesn't ring with Atlas's lingo.]"

"[His whole getup doesn't… it doesn't sit with their lingoo. Maybe your dad know's someone that knoows of… 'Camp] Jaunsin'. [Let's just go ask them.]"

Joan shook her head, "[Noo…]" she stated before yawning. "[I doubt even my sister would know… Is it even in Atlas?]" directing that question to me.

"[Classified.]"

"[Are you, EVER, gonna share your secret origin?]" Browny complained.

I began toying with my gauntlet, removing some dirt that had lodged itself between the skin and plating. "[... No.]"

At that she groaned, digging her head into the pillow. "[Cheer up, he wouldn't be a secret agent if he started spilling secrets,]" Joan seemed to say sarcastically.

Carmine rotated her head slightly, eyeing me with half a face. "[... Could you at least tell us… what that symbol is?]"

I looked at the 7 imprinted on the chest plating, slightly covered by a pouch, placing a finger to point at it. "[This one?]" Looking up, I saw her nodding. It took a second to remember to right translation, "[7.]"

"[Lucky number… funny way of writing it though.]"

It was by now that I decided to have the helmet back on, grabbing it from the table.

"[Alreeeady?]" Carmine whined.

"[Needs… work.]"

"[Meanie… you shouldn't always have it on.]"

"[She's right,] meanie," Joan unhelpfully jabbed.

I simply shook my head, "[patience.]"

As soon as it clicked and sealed, the HUD immediately displayed a message.

DASH:i do, sir

Ask for the butler, he shall arrive.

S7:ping the camel?

DASH:i have a signal

DASH:why did you wait for me?

Wait, don't tell me.

S7:i had no signal

…

DASH:why did you not use the cct network?

Dammit.

S7:now it's secure?

DASH:for two months

DASH:you should have access through a private network

DASH:did i not inform you?

… No.

S7:i must have forgotten

S7:send the camel to my location

DASH:done

One more thing.

S7:will you also provide instructions on accessing the network?

DASH:done

There was silence as time ticked on. We had applied more anesthetic as Carmine's pain slowly intensified. Though numb again, she was still unable to sleep. Joan returned to her slumber within an hour's time, having tucked into the sheets of her bed with the armor now removed (also resting next to Catherine). I myself remained awake, alert to the faintest sounds within the building and from outside, looking through the door and window.

Much later, a message had been received from Jack, addressed to all of us–

JACQUES:resting at camp

JACQUES:enjoy dasale

–which explained his and Iris's whereabouts.

S7:no monster?

…

JACQUES:get some sleep, kids

That wouldn't happen until at least tomorrow evening, sorry Dash.

Approximately one hour later (past the stroke of midnight), commotion stirred. Outside, I could see Brans, along with one of the guards, up close to the gate. Through the gate's viewport they conversed with whoever was on the other side. In the next moment they began opening, on the other side a lone stranger clad in shades of grays trimmed with black and red. Adorned on his back was an oversized object, having the tell-tale signs of it being a hunter's weapon. At this time?

I moved to the door, carefully opening it in trying not to cause too much noise–

*Creeeeek*

–to no avail.

"Arrrrthoooour, [are you goooing outside?]"

"[Be back,]" I answered Carmine, shutting the door swiftly.

Out on the porch, moving to the right-most handrail of a staircase that was built to the ground. I eyed our guest, more so out of the oddness of his arrival and partly because of his wear–as most hunter uniforms are, I surmise. The clothes looked to be rather casual for rural travel: a pair of black pants matched with a dress jacket and shirt colored in shades gray with red trimmings, draping down behind him a cape also of red. Strapped to his back was a big sword(?)–the size already made it appear difficult to handle, and I could only guess as to what transformed into (if it did)–bouncing ever so slightly.

Along the courtyard he carried along, hands in his pants pockets. His path quickly became apparent as he approached the clinic and toward the porch. Not far behind, Brans followed with the guard. Only when came to the stairs did he spare a glance, not bothering to stop as he walked up and past me, grumbling with "[gettin' some sleep, long day.]" Through the entrance he went, opening and shutting the door behind him.

As Brans and his traveling companion arrived, I gave the former a look.

"[He got the distress call. Credentials came through.]"

"[Not worried,]" assuming he wouldn't turn hostile, improbable as that is.

"[We'll… you shouldn't be.]"

"[I'll be taking rest. Good night,]" the guard behind stated (who I remembered as the gruff one), just as Brans started taking the stairs. He pivoted, making way to a nearby house across the courtyard.

Brans moved behind and stood to my left, leaning on the fencing. Before speaking, he took a loud but quick yawn. "[I'm clocking out too. You get enough sleep?]"

"[No sleep.]"

"[Oh gods.]" He brought his hand up to rub his eyes. "[Just how much energy do you have?]"

"[Enough]" to last until midday.

"[If you say so… That other guard should be joining you.]" He dropped his hand, looking toward the south end of the wall. "[Have him on the north side. Chances are the last one may come back and finish the job, low as they are, and if that happens it will likely come from the south.]"

I nodded.

"[Don't engage, just holler for us.]"

"[Yes.]"

For the moment he kept silent as I did, surveying the perimeter. "[Thanks, by the way.]"

"[For?]"

"... [For saving Purple from that bastard.]"

"… [You're welcome.]"

---

Jacques

At Dasale, a backwater hamlet

The next evening

---

The events of the day could be best summed up as recuperation. Lady (Devil) Blue and I took a few extra hours of rest earlier in the morning as compensation for last night's marathon. The bastard and its minions eluded us as they crawled deeper and deeper into the abyssal forest. Even if it seemed we had it, the scent and trail would diverge. The further we went, the more resistance we faced, either in the form of natural obstacles it cornered us in, or of its minions. After hours, we eventually gave up.

The only consolation, a source of my extreme feeling of peace and ecstasy, was knowing that they–the others–had gutted its brother, part of which I had… Arthour to thank for. Though it wouldn't be enough, not until we eviscerated the other bastard. A complete downer was knowing that Koa's kid nearly died. Best inform him as soon as possible… that is until we could get a proper signal.

It was hard to tell if Iris felt the same. Even though she committed genocide against the endless foe, she still had a blank look, and it usually meant she was either frustrated, annoyed, or deeply troubled.

It seemed poetic that it would be the Jaune-alike and Joan that sent it to hells, not that I'd care much for a poem of that kind. Part of me wished that it was I or the she-devils that had executed it… what's done is done.

Past nightfall she and I made it to camp. We didn't expect to see the others there given their message. Being exhausted and needing someone to watch the gear, we stayed. By late morning, we began packing, at which point Red She-Devil and Brans arrived to assist. There was no sense in having a camp with everyone taking shop at the village and with our target gone. By afternoon, with full bags we marched.

The journey took nearly 2 hours, seeing as we had traversed the river and thick foliage (much to the wives' displeasure). Lady fortune appeared to favor us, for the grimm either spared us of trouble, that or saw what happened to their kin last night (as convenient as that would be). By the time we arrived at Dasale… hells, I assume it had seen better days. Parts of its walls were recently damaged, splintered by claw and force. Worse was that their hunter had passed on. I could only hope Felina had gone quickly in contrast to their doctor. The people appeared shaken if not fine, the same which cannot be said for 5 others who had faced their blood lust.

After Brans and Lilly vouched for us, we had no trouble settling in, some of the villagers eagerly housing us. The interior was at least in better condition, the housing and structures holding firm in the face of decades-worth of weathering and freedom from Vale's building codes. Joan–wandering at the far side of the settlement–spared us a greeting, only providing a glance and small hand wave to Lilly's exaggerated one. She and I made brief eye contact, only for her to continue patrolling as usual. A second longer… I'll take that.

Making our way to the clinic we had unloaded most of our gear, and I made damn sure to check on Koa's kid. True to their messages and Lilly's word, her injury was bad–really bad–even as mended as it was. Mentally, she was all there, her drained demeanor from being unable to sleep, and from the amount of anesthetic applied. She and I had a brief catch-up, to the tune of slight teasing:

"Sleep well?" I had asked.

"Nooo…"

I had taken on the bed adjacent to her, giving her a look over. She lay face-down on the bed, her back bear and exposed with bandaging and a white… foamy substance seeping at the edges… the hells?

I looked back to her, holding off on the question. "You think you can convince Koa not to kill me?"

"... Nooo guarantees. You know how he is."

"All too well… I heard you lead the charge."

"Annnd I got the souvenirs for it!" She jutted her right arm, pointing at the cuts.

I gave them another look over. "And they treated them well… well enough."

"Mmmhm."

Now to ask. "What exactly did they apply?"

"Baaandages, stichin's, and some of Arthoour's magic."

"Magic?"

"He… had this straaange thingy that glowed, a handheld computer of sooort… it made my back tingle a bit. He then applied that same foamy stuff from yesterday."

My mind traced back to Duke's tale and what had happened to that little kid. It first appeared the man had hit his head hard enough where he couldn't bullshit from reality, but considering how close they were to amputating… it was surprising that she made full recovery, within two weeks no less! Whatever happened seemed close to a damn miracle… Eh, if your wife can regrow limbs (however unusual her case is), I suppose anything is possible. With Lilly, her case is a complete outlier in the field of semblances… even in magic, if Ozpin is to be believed. Examining Carmine's injuries showed that healing was there. Only time would show if that miracle would repeat.

I nodded my head, looking around the room. "... Where'd he go?"

"Duunoo."

I gave her a look.

"... Heee… came in the morning for my medicine, then left. Hadn't seen him since."

I stood from my seat, stretching and rubbing the back of my neck. "Try and get some rest. I'll up-play your part if you uphold your end."

She cracked a wide grin. "... Deal."

After that, Iris soon came in for Little Purple, her motherly side brought forth from seeing her injuries. I didn't hear much of their conversation, having walked out.

With the afternoon passing on, Lilly and Joan took reprieve while Brans took post. Several travelers came too, partly out of needing shelter and from the distress call, simple cargo haulers making their way to Ansel then (eventually) to Vale, with a load of produce and wood from many other villages and hamlets. I found Green Soldier sitting on a crate–arms resting on his legs as he slumped back, the clinic's shade sparing him the heat of Solus–, next to him that carrier-contraption–still with the same rectangular shape and sloped sides, with various hooks and bars to strap cargo on top with various hatches–from 3 days ago. Before him, 2 kids had their scrolls out, clearly gathering media for that nonexistent place that is the net. (Truth be told, I'd have done the same thing at their age, for clout and all. And to think I was obsessed with it!) There was a fair amount to discuss with him, though I figured he earned his nap.

I eventually found myself in the hamlet's sole tavern, lightly occupied by others either looking to blow steam or to get hammered. It is as aged and uniquely charmed as any watering hole in the settlements, decorated with worn guns (mostly standard, with two hunter-based ones hung above the entrance) and frontier souvenirs from Vale's distant corners; the various pelts of blue foxes, red bears, golden buck, and other animals along with frontier hats and boots hung from the rafters. It wouldn't be my first choice, and it was more or less sticking my foot in for a minute. To my (non)surprise, I found our visiting raven hunched over a drink (perhaps Jasmine Totch on rocks, since he never was much of a tequita drinker, the picky bastard) with either stool next to him vacant.

Walking up, I grabbed the right most stole and sat myself down next to the Branwen.

"Didn't expect to see you here."

"Could say the same," he answered neutrally.

"Is there a reason?"

He took a sip, savoring the (not Jasmine) Totch for several seconds. "No, got a call like everyone else, and I happened to be in the area."

His tone didn't indicate deception, then again he wasn't one to withhold (much) on me. "Sure he's not having you look at anyone?"

He looked to his drink, swirling the cup in his hand. "No, no reason at this time… He has… other concerns, those skirmishes with the Matholwch. It's odd."

"The clan your target?"

"'Neither confirm nor deny,' as they say."

"Does that mean you're now part of OEA*?"

The man loudly snorted, cracking a wide grin. "Sure, let's go with that."

The next moment, the bartender came to me, then left for water on the rock. Bad Luck paid him some notice, turning back to me with a cocked brow. "When was the last time you had tequita?"

"Not long enough," and quite frankly I hadn't 'enjoyed' alcohol as I used to, simply not wanting to deal with headaches and drowsiness.

"How hypocritical of you," he (fairly) called out.

"I can't help it." I paused myself for the barkeep, having brought my beverage (making prompt payment and a tip). Taking a sip I continued, "If you're going to drink I may as well guide you to true bliss."

"You and your Vacuan taste."

"You and your heresy! There's a reason why it's called 'Gods' Gift,'" I finished before taking another gulp.

We took in the surroundings. The sparsely populated bar began forming a moderate crowd (about 5 others besides us and the barkeep) taking up residence. The lack of the fairer sex made sightseeing less interesting, and not even 15 minutes did we dive into an intellectually engaging subject.

"I still don't get it."

"It's not difficult to understand," I defended.

"I get the methods, what I don't understand is how Red and Blue are still fine with it."

"It's because they also get to enjoy them."

"But three in half a month? Even Ross doesn't have that power, not even over non-huntresses. Face it, you're almost like Oz."

"Nooo, I've seen how Ozy conducts himself. If he has a method, it needs to be gutted and refitted like my dad's Ninety-Thousand-Eleven Vitro, and that would take more than magic… maybe a bottle of Cescal**... actually, just a bottle of water."

Bad Luck shook his head, giving a smirk. "There's a reason the 'spy' stereotype exists, and he embodies it."

"Bullshit," I drawled.

"See him in action. The Old One already has the aura of mystery, you've seen it."

"I don't care about aura, I care about results. How do you explain Glynda and Cerra!?"

He was silent, then shrugged his shoulders. "Must be personality. If I was him I wouldn't exactly be chasing the new witch and instructor."

He had a point. Those professors were indeed hot, not academy-girl-hot but more of the stunning class. From our first introductions, their… attitudes were something to be desired.

"You got rebuffed?" I called out.

He took a swig of his refilled Jasmine. "Can't blame me for trying."

I took a moment to also down my (non) poison. "Now…" I began, tapping my fingers on the table, "you mentioned what's-her-name and Viki."

The man nodded his head, "Anber, and Vik was–" he stopped, bringing a fist to his mouth to clear his throat. "I think I'll need to switch to your drink. So… Viki is the gal I met last month. Unbelievably gorgeous, if somewhat quiet."

My mind trailed on that name… Anber… she sounds familiar. While recollecting, I asked "is it going serious?"

He swirled his hand in an unsure gesture. "Ehh, we're more or less there for the sex." He took one more drink of his Jasmine, then continued, "it's vanilla, enjoyable, but vanilla. The blond on the other hand…"

Anber… An–ber… Oh… oh no. I began groaning loudly, sinking my head down and into the palms of my hands at the realization of grave misfortune.

"Don't tell me the water got to your head," he drawled.

I quickly lifted my head. "Dump the blond."

He bore an incredulous look. "She's not–"

"Dump. The blond."

"... What am I missing Jack?"

"A barrage of bullets."

He gave me a questioning look, a further prompt to continue. Before the story could be told, I had the barkeep refill us (for him, water). "So, pay attention, for this may save you 20 years of life… Two years ago, some black bird's luck had rubbed off on me–"

"Jack-ass," he murmured-chuckled.

I shook my, smiling. "In seriousness… yeah, it was bad. She's… It's as though she's one caring loving princess, and in the next moment the… embodied fury of my aunt."

What followed was a tale of a (one sided) love story of which the likes of the Dark God could only conjure, one which (almost) brought us to our knees. I suppose her gaslighting and the wives'... concerns should have set off alarms, though it may have been the thrown objects, manipulation, threats of physical harm… and actual physical harm, which made me see the light. The bitch even threatened to stab Lilly (as hilarious as that is to imagine), and had stabbed Iris (not drawing blood, thankfully) after the second night. Our tryst had lasted a month (too long) before I had to completely ghost her. The… icing on the cake came three weeks later.

"She shat where!?"

"You heard me!"

"... Shit… and she still managed to find your house?"

"I don't know. She must have had some friends in high places," or hostages, Gods rest their souls.

His demeanor shifted. In the next moment, he withdrew his scroll, the thin-yet-blocky device coming to life with rays of pixels and charged dust that illuminated his face. "Gods dammit Jack…"

"Will she be able to find you?" I asked.

He shook his head, still looking down at the device, "We had only gone out thrice, banged once at a fancy hotel… By bitch," he finished, raising his head and placing the scroll off the side. "Thinking back… she seemed wildly emotional."

"Do you even still have that apartment?" I decided to change subjects.

Our conversation wandered between various subjects. We gotten into our families, particularly with his nieces and (technically?) brother-in-law. The little redhead seemed to be in the process of building her own weapon, a coming-of-age project for most aspiring hunters, and it appeared Little Blondy was excelling at Patch. His recounts showed he grew deeply attached to the rascals, pretty much the same way I had with our kids. Eventually, the conversation came down to business.

"And it got away."

"It did," I answered.

Crow picked up and swirled his glass of water, bearing a neutral look then giving a deep sigh. "Shame what happened to Carmine."

I took another sip, waving a hand. "She'll be fine…" Koa's definitely going to kill me, regardless of her recovery… not literally, though I wasn't walking out of this one.

He kept silent, the contents of his glass forming a small whirlpool. "This morning… Greeny came in early for some sort of operation…"

I gave a blank look. "Your point?"

Shaking his head, he continued, "His tech is weird. I'm no doctor or nurse, but I'm fairly certain what he used isn't standard for the practice. Whatever he had came from that vehicle of his."

I thought back to what Carmine had mentioned, something of a strange device that emitted a light… which could be anything. There was also the foamy stuff, something that I chalked up to simple combat medicine. I could give a shit less on what he'd done so long as it did the job, the same job as with Abe's kid.

"You're saying he's a nurse?" I joked.

He cracked a smile for a brief second. "You find anything out about him?"

I leaned my side against the counter, staring at the ceiling in recollecting thoughts. "... He's not him," I answered looking back at him.

"Then who is he?"

I shrugged my shoulders, "He's some kid."

"'Some kid' that killed your killer, and 'some kid' who has gear beyond what a normal hunter should have." I kept silent. "You can at least humor me for finding him," he persisted.

"Your guess is as good as mine," gear or no gear. As wild as it all is, his weapons and armor are a minor curiosity at best, a concern at worst. Who he is or where he comes from matters little, so long as his guns aren't killing the innocent, or turned on us. I had a higher opinion of him when he had saved Carmine and Lilly (a technicality for red she-devil, seeing as she unscrewed herself from worse).

"I'm specifically curious about the armor."

"Is it Atlas?" It's at least one question I'm genuinely curious about.

He stopped swirling his drink, taking a finishing sip and setting it next to his scroll. "Hard to say. If it's Atlas, I doubt even Oz would know… Did he recogni–"

"Didn't even recognize Iris, Lilly, Joan, or Jaune's crush."

"No Indigo?"

Fucking scary that stuff, and a wet dream for kingdoms… and interrogators. "... I can't tell. The usual signs aren't there, and even if they were I couldn't explain the different height nor accent… How long is its effect?"

Crow looked away in thought, "Give or take several hours to a week, depending on the dosage."

"Unless he's been overseen, it can't be that. Two month's he's been marching around Vale, and not once did Atlas or someone claim him."

He hummed in agreement, picking up his drink for another sip. We sat in silence, left to my thoughts. I eventually thought of something he could do.

"He has a license," I stated.

"And that's evidence of kingdom involvement?"

"Maybe… maybe not…" I scrunched my expression in thought. "... Can you get it revoked?"

Raven Hair took another swig, setting his glass aside. "Care to tell why I'd do that?"

I raised three fingers, bringing my hand forward. "He's below age–" one finger was lowered, "–, this will force the hand of whoever is overseeing him–" then another, "–, and you owe me one."

His brows furrowed. "I owe you one?"

"For the Anber warning."

"No, try again," he said, smirking.

The last finger went down. "Fine, but the other two still count."

Truth be told, I could give two shits less about his guardians, and I didn't expect having his license removed would do anything, at least long term. I could have him reported to the authorities, but that'd be a bit too dickish of me. I did not–and do not–want to see him ever again, for his and our own good.

Greeny doesn't need to be out getting himself killed as we do, and I wasn't falling for his bullshit. He has no aura, what's there is still locked for some reason. Whatever that golden shield was isn't it. His 'semblance,' impressive as it is, is a farce. Skilled as he is… even then… I'm not ready to see another youth die, especially one who happens to… share my son's face.

The man was silent in thought for a second. "I'll think about it."

So that's a yes.

Soon, our drinks went dry, and so did conversation. Crow was content to relax for the rest of the evening until he was on night patrol. When Vale's cavalry arrives, he'll be gone.

By the late evening I was back in the clinic, in one of the small offices of the late doctor. For the last hour I poured over maps, plotting out areas to scout. With the beo not being too dissimilar to wolves, tracking them and the Alphas should be simple. Should be, that is if it weren't for its intelligence. That aspect made the thing more unpredictable, its behavior a mix of wolf and human, a combination so alien even to the most experienced hunters. There was no telling where it would have gone, but we could guess. With it running deep into the grand forest, due north, would bring it close to the coast line. If we continued where the trail ended…

… Getting ahead of myself. I'd first need to see swapping Carmine (her being out of commission), Brans–since he would unlikely leave her side–, and Arthur, call on contacts to see if they'd join. Our supply and gear would also need to be taken stock of, calibrated to new needs.

The feeling of two arms wrapping around my waist, and a head resting against my back brought me out of concentration.

"Did I over do it again?" I asked rhetorically. With the lack of light through the window, it had to be after 8:00 ST.

The voice of Iris hummed low, the vocals singing deep into my being, through that special connection. She felt somber, engrossed to a dark drain.

Another set of footsteps stopped at the threshold of the door. Must be Lilly~

She kept her hug, her arms held loosely for a minute as folded the map and books. "Have you clung to hope? Do you feel it in the deep recess there?" I began to enchant.

Her hands slowly moved up my stomach, just beneath my pecs, her hands splayed as they traced up and along my shirt. She hummed, more long and drawn out. "I think… it's there… I feel it there… but it's really, really sad."

It was my turn to humm. I stood up, rising straight and tall from leaning over the desk."What is it whispering… there?" I placed my hand over her right palm.

She quietly hushed, as though guilty. "To fall asleep, to never wake up… and I don't want to, I really don't want to."

… She had yet to release herself. Pull her up, lift her mind. "Can you tell me… the last time your heart beated… beated so hard? Was it something you craved… where you lost track of time… when you were… doing something you loved?" I interlocked our fingers, gently circling our hands. My words took on a low, methodic, rhythmic pattern. If she didn't want this, she'd pull away.

I felt her head shuffle. It took her several precious seconds. "... I remember running from wolves, a pack I thought fierce and wild."

"Really, tell me more." I whispered. This is new.

"My heart raced, I was excited, free and powerful… It was the day my soul burst forth." So, the day her aura unlatched. I knew of the story, but not from this special place. "I ran, ran back to home. I couldn't be stopped, and when I got there it felt I had found safety."

"Can you follow where… your excitement traveled?"

"I… I can't remember, but he appeared relieved, happy, then excited."

"Iris… tell me where that fire… penetrated."

"... It went into my head, my arms, then legs… I can't remember." she husked.

I deliberately slowed our circling hands– "I would bet, then, it didn't matter where that feeling was," –swirling them down above my abdomen– "because… it swirls from our hearts… and you trace it deep and down to a warm spot," –bringing it down, down, down, and deep; "where it penetrates in that special place… to release that seed… within our significant place… the one we call sanctuary."

Her left hand suddenly grasped tight to my left, and I let myself be spun around. My head was then forcefully pulled down to meet a set of lips, ones which I eagerly took with my own. With eyes half lidded, I recognized her white face, noticing delicate streams glistening from her shut eyes. Next came her left leg, lifting up for my hand to grasp as the calf wrapped around and behind, then the other leg under the same motion, now for her to be fully locked with my waist.

For the brief second we parted for air, another set of lips belonging to a head of red came forth. Her's was furious, aggressive compared to Blue as her tongue lashed out. Her hands sought after the collar of my shirt, grabbing and beginning to pull us into the adjacent, empty patient room, and our movement became so frantic that I had to pull away, lest I and Iris fall.

I knew Joan and Carmine were in the other room. May warrant us to be quiet… as much as possible.

---

Dash

The Pillar of Creation, maintaining a 344,299.83 kilometer orbit around "[Remnant]"

5.621 "days" later

---

Test 19: Controlled pulse reading 3000 watts, 20 pulses. Result: Sample compromised. Statistically insignificant…

Test 20: Controlled pulse reading 4000 watts, 11 pulses. Result: Sample compromised. Statistically insignificant…

Test 21: Controlled pulse, 4500 watts, 6 pulses. Result: Statistically insignificant…

To think that the dust would be so mundane. They shouldn't be… should not… be… I had every right to anticipate, or hope, that something could be gleaned from dust.

Bollocks… my fault I suppose.

Even with the loss of 2.875 kilograms (and used under a different hypothesis), I had managed several discoveries, the most obvious being its inert nature in the far reaches of space. It was thought to be an issue of atmospheric composition, yet replicating Remnant's had little change to the outcome of the tests. Altering variables of temperature, pressure, and other atmospheric variables had also accomplished little. Even introducing elements common to the planet, as well of those native to a dozen colonies, achieved the same outcome. Utterly baffling. In their current state, they're more akin to a fragile quartz structure, any spark of the… supernatural lost. At least they still retain their colors.

Compared to the other samples retrieved, the dust at least had the dignity to remain intact, the same which could not be said of the grimm samples. Bone fragments, hair and feathers had been rendered to dust, and the organic structure of their goop broke down to the most basic molecular structures, having a high concentration of nitrogen and hydrogen (to my surprise). Any hint of the DNA and RNA structures had been lost. As anticipated, when exposed to a standard atmosphere, the compounds immediately evaporate. Even in a Vacuum there is a tendency for dispersion, which makes testing closer to a sore itch than a short-circuit.

Some of the other samples were more… responsive. A handful of the native's tech had suffered catastrophic failure during transport, the main cause being the breakdown of their dust-based components (which necessitates substituted parts and power supplies). One of the few devices to survive had been a "[Scroll]," needing only a substituted battery. Testing showed them to operate at a 20th fraction of the average capacity of standard consumer electronics (barring the frequency of bugs and crashing). I had yet to determine if their current capacity is the result of losing said dust components, or whether this was their baseline (and I am inclined to believe the latter). Needless to say, there is much more to gleam here.

What to do… what to do…

A total of 134 hours had been spent, 5 hours longer than protocol allows, on those obsessive studies. A break is in order…

---

Every sleep cycle seems akin to limboed rest. Not equivalent to dreaming but not nothingness, and in waking I find myself in a state of bliss and clarity, the weight of Atlas lifted off of immaterial shoulders. Strange, as it implies a loathing for my purpose… or perhaps an implication of excitement?

New cycles always follow a structured routine. My first (and primary) procedure was to confirm the ship's integrity, its systems, subsystems, and its relative position with the planet and shattered moon, and to the rest of the system. Being so routine I had a nearly automated process, requiring a fraction of effort.

Next came a self diagnostic… optimal. Even with routine memory purges, one couldn't be too careful lest something-that-shouldn't-be-deleted be deleted. It is the primary reason I back up pieces of myself, short of copying my neural network (a potentially disastrous procedure without the proper means, therefore useless).

The last need-to-do is checking the satellite network… also optimal.

Roughly 90% of the first hour is spent regarding these tasks, the other 10% related to menial duties: goal and task setting, and predicting the needs of the ship, myself, and her only captain. The list is consistently updated, refreshed to address issues that may arise, and satisfies desires a step beyond logic.

It seemed appropriate, then, that I find myself reviewing our planet-side investments. I've had the mind to at least review them once a week, finding that consistent monitoring changes little in their returns, of which we made a tidy sum of 33.4%, a 13,360 gain from the original 40,000 lien invested. My qualms with this was that it wasn't realized. That 13,000 was still trapped within those investments, lest I sold them, paid taxes, fees… It dawned on me that this is a less than ideal means of amassing resources.

Still, it's a useful starting point. The knowledge gleaned from research, and in the construction of the algorithm, was a gateway into the native's world of business, another resource stream.

In the study of business, even amongst the sangheili and jiralhanae (such the brutish race they are), exists the concept of niching. Having a business in a general industry, say in computer manufacturing, while (relatively) easy to establish, has the issues of needing significant time and resource investments, in no small part competing with existing firms, convincing manufacturers to buy your product (over the competition), and marketing. Really, the issues all stem from competitors. (In this particular case, I would be facing BYNIDA, Artifact Collective, and others.) Instead of entering the wider industry I could, say, service computer manufacturers located exclusively in Vale, who produce chipsets, specifically for consumer-rated robots. The advantage of this (both to the target group and to niching), means reducing the factor of competition. There is also the added benefit being perceived (whether true or not) of being the (only) expert in this field. All of this means making more money.

Of course, I would never dream of sharing our technological advances for mere profit, but I can guide… or modify, their development. The consumer sector should limit any advancement in military technology. Aside from being the most lucrative (Vale hasn't been kind to militia spending, instead focusing inward on social spending and its precious Beacon Academy), the impact of my influence will be much slower.

The niching component was the most exhausting, seeing as I've never done it before. The rest of the process should be straightforward, a mere numbers game to contact 419 firms/contractors. Even if 3 of those firms agree to business (a 0.7% acceptance rate) I could anticipate 18,000 lien (about 6,000 per entity) per (Earth) month, a better return than from my investing game. "Ians Dashiell Bangatler" will be needing a business front soon.

Unto other matters, or the sound of music… oooh, what to make of it? My stunt 26 days prior had left me with a sizable following. They, and that blasted radio station, had contacted me numerous times for some follow up, enamored with the "[exotic]" composition that is 'Soundtrack 144.' I could only feel embarrassed, equal parts giddy at the praise and equally nervous at the implications, and a tad stressed from a difficult decision to make. Hardcoded instinct (thank you, Mother) would have me believe my… interference made our situation more complicated. Part of me wants to remove the track and forget the matter entirely. Although… wait a second…

In the span of minutes, 100s of inquiries were sent, and gigabytes of data pulled from their net. A competitive industry… decent margins… but the public exposure… manageable. Yes, this could be turned into something worthwhile, though I'd need confirmation. I already had dozens of scenarios running through my head, and even more compositions to assemble (admittedly drafted years prior). "Ians" will be getting a second front… I'm getting ahead of myself. Best to wait for those responses.

For the meantime, it will be business as usual. The dust research still needs to be done, as disappointing as the tests have been thus far. Babysitting the little spartan… that's a little demeaning.

Monitoring Arthur is another on-call task, a periodic check-up making certain trouble wouldn't come his way. Yesterday had been especially interesting, if not annoying, in that his hunter license had been flagged for revocation. It didn't take long to file a counter, and I'm confident that this can be resolved. But, just in case, I began the process of creating a new license. It's in hindsight that we should have had an extra before this scenario (or something similar) occurred, though to our credit we took nearly every precaution, the chances of losing the license falling below 2%. Still, did it have to be an inconvenience?

Being mildly curious as to who filed the revocation, I did some investigating. It was quite surprising how open Vale's records are with internal matters, compared with most civilian-based governments of all colonies, and thus it didn't take long to find the submitter: "[Crow]." As far as aliases go, his (or her's?) left much to guess work. There was no associated profile image, no biographical description, and even the credentials provided little, a strange individual for a filing. Arthur had been in contact with numerous individuals, and it would take several hours of reviewing Mjolnir footage to narrow down the suspect list. It was more time than I wanted to spend investigating, and (as of now) the whole matter is very minor.

OP SYS:ping - notice: 'image_match' detection

My attention turned to the notice.

OP SYS:see url and timestamp

Another one? That would be the third one this week. Let's see who's posting about our green explorer…

---

Little Red

A safe and cozy bedroom

---

The afternoons had been very relaxing, the kind you'd have all(most) to yourself, especially away from Dad and Sis. The fact it was still summer, or maybe it was a schooling break, had to do with my predicament.

"Nooooo waaay…"

That meant more time for Crescent Rose… when I could get it. Dad and Sis were always dragging me out for some chore or training, and with the "vacations" it seemed I had less time now than during the academic year. It was always frustrating too given the issues I kept running into! It was like having to stop Steel Warriors mid show, like not finishing a Weapons Magazine issue, like leaving my baby disassembled (and vulnerable) mid-work!

Sleek, green plating, a full suit underneath, and that pure, golden visor~

So when I could get time to myself, almost all of it was spent working on my Precious, a rush of work before the academic year began. It was before summer that I had it working, before several modifications had snowballed into a ton of new ideas (thanks mostly to the gun forums and magazines). It really wasn't good that I felt rushed after having all that time sucked away, self-imposed deadline notwithstanding, and I really did not want to be the only huntress-in-training without a weapon. Really, Crescent should have been ready by mid summer!

It was on this particular afternoon that I was stumped on how to proceed. In such cases, I would have gone to my school's smith for help/advice… except he was away as well! I could hire online help, that is if I had the allowance for it (which I was already saving for additional parts… and magazines… and video games…) There is also my dad and sis, and maybe my friends… except they're, well, not much help. That meant I was stuck with more literary resources, hence the GunBolter's Forums now being browsed. It proved both a nice distraction and a way to find answers to most questions.

One recent post proved extra stimulating, and really interesting (if real, you never can be too careful with online resources, at least that's what dad and my teachers always hammered in my skull).

What are they saying?...

I scrolled down to read some of the comments, 5 only present, posted within the last several hours.

"No model or markings I can recognize… Maybe an Atlas suite?" The one reply following this wasn't much of a read.

The next comment had the same image enlarged to a weapon strapped on the suit's back. "I want to say that this might be a Raka, except the barrel and stock are slightly out of shape. Maybe it's a modified hunter's template?"

I scrolled back up to the original image, and on habit I enlarged the netpage to see if I could make out greater detail of the armor. My brows furrowed when the image only became pixelated… and after a minute of looking I came to the conclusion I couldn't see anything new (at least nothing more than the poster made out). Resigning, I zoomed back to default, the image becoming smaller and defined along with the post's text, and leaning forward I again attempted to examine for detail.

I kept looking at the overall armor, twice as attracted to it as with any newly made weapon would have me. The closest I could compare it too would be those prototype suits Atlas had been experimenting with, made to the size of a person, augmenting their strength (at the admitted cost to speed and flexibility). Without specs, and video to see what it could do, I could only guess. All I know is how cool it looks.

Resigning, I slumped back into my chair, leaning my head on hand and arm for some day dreaming. That the fact there are some things I'd never be able to try, let alone see, seems so unfair.

One day…

I again scrolled down to the second, zoomed-in image. The rifle in question… some sort of Sundris Arc?… maybe it is a Raka? No, stock definitely doesn't match… Oh! A Bullop? The design is sleek, coated or made of some kind of plastic as with same 550 model…

Suddenly, the page started refreshing on its own. Not the oddest thing (with my limited knowledge of computers). When the page finished refreshing–

"What!? Waitwaitwaitwaitwhat?"

–the images had suddenly changed, the armor now that same Atlas prototype, more bulky and awkward in the surroundings it was in. That is NOT the same armor!? What in the world just happened?

Over and over, I refreshed the page, then in the browser's history, seeing if I could get the original image. When that failed, I kept looking over the 'new' images' details, seeing if it was me seeing things differently. Soon it felt as though I had been messed with,the poster making a fool out of me… or someone was by pulling a switcheroo.

I slumped further into my chair. I didn't even get to save it… life is so cruel.

---

Dash

---

And that takes care of that.

Before me the image was displayed, the last copy (after the original and copies were replaced) displaying the glory of a sleep-deprived Arthur. Out of minor curiosity, I glanced at its metadata. Its timestamp showed it had been captured approximately six days prior. Usually, unwanted images tend to be posted no more than a day, 3 hours on average. Odd… or maybe not.

OP SYS:'instance 38' archived

In case the image decided to arise again, there would at least be something to match it against.

Were it several months prior, I would have voiced a string of complaints. To be so careless as to get photographed, in no small part by a child going by the alias of "FartausGun909," there were many things to say.

Speaking of the Green Stooge…

I brought forth the map of Sanus, and in that same moment his location was discerned.

---

Arthur

Two (Earth) months later

---

That venture with the Arcs ended suddenly and quietly. For what reason Jack wanted me off I wasn't given, though what was given was fair payment, along with his intention of avoiding contact. By all accounts, I was fine with this, more so than Carmine and Joan who made significant protests. Equally unceremonious was their departure, sudden and quick for a fleeing beast.

In the days that followed, I was left with Carmine, Brans having left with the group to continue their hunt. She had also unceremoniously been discharged given her condition, perhaps on friendlier terms given her relation with the family. I had every intention of leaving that day were it not for her begging and the pleas of the townspeople. Several days after Vale's relief arrived, and with the huntress's surprising recovery, I took my leave (much to her protest).

For the last 2 months it had been about the same routine that had transpired since landfall: a series of hunts and journeys across Sanus, of Vale's most forgotten regions. In that time there was another much-needed supply drop, courtesy of the AI-at-arms who kept his digital eyes on me at all times. Beyond his oversight, it was guesswork as to what his doings were.

He had been quiet on those affairs, and when asked he'd share the barest of details. I figured it had something to do with lien I had collected, weariness having me assume that he was somehow interfering with the natives in such a way to bring unseen frustration. Already I had been (briefly) apprehended over a "retracted license," then subsequently released when it was chalked up to an error.

Events over that time were sparse, save for the contracts. As usual, distance was kept from the major settlements, and ever so slowly did my lien reserve grow more and more. It seemed word of my exploits and odd appearance were becoming known in certain circles, and at times I was sought for by a few hunters for joint work. I had concerns the authorities would somehow catch up with me, though other than that issue with the license, nothing came up. Consequently, my Brunic also improved among the many exchanges with the natives, now comprehending certain idioms and nuances of the tongue.

One day there was one in particular event: a standoff with bandits and a caravan destined for villages in the Wetlands. Were it not for my intervention, they would have been overrun. The bandits' ruin was sudden, for 1 of them had been shot dead, half apprehended, and the other half fleeing west into the great Everglades. The care of the traders had been placed under me, so far as to the closest settlement with. We made due south-east toward Ansel, their journey hampered with the injured and captives. It was feared that they would double back to finish their robbery, yet the journey proved as uneventful as it was safe.

Arrival to the outskirts had been 6 days ago, and in that time I had been paid and settled to gather myself. I was sent for, no less, by both Vale's militia and Ansel's guard and given the price of the bandits' heads, the same bandits I and the caravan had become acquainted with. Not as coincidental, it was suspected they were part of the now-infamous Matholwch tribe.

---

The scene had taken an ominous appearance, a thick fog blanketing the valley between Forever Fall and the Grendly Wetlands, a strip of land hugging a mountain range to the north east. Dots of forestry–with trees not too dissimilar to those of the Evergreens–found interspaced evenly along the grasslands, their shading stretched as the sun passed its zenith. To my left a set of rail tracks swerved close and far off the dirt road within each hour. If memory serves right, I had been through this region 91 days prior. Funny. If this was the same path, I should see that old locomotive.

Some days prior, I left the outskirts of that large settlement. It and neighboring villages had suffered from similar attacks, a series of arsons and robberies that instilled dread amongst the populace as a grey plague, so similar to the designs of the bandits days prior. If their intentions had been to summon a grimm horde, it had partially succeeded, "if you count 2 beowolfs and a nevermore as a horde," as one of the guardsmen commented.

There was meant to be another hunter, at which his delay proved too much. The impromptu traveling companion had a sudden errand, leaving to my lonesome as usual. Undoubtedly I'd find others on their trail, for the contract was publicized for more than several weeks.

Already they made away with several thousand liens worth of provisions, ransacking infrastructure at quadruple times the cost. The evidence of their flee showed them heading off the main path, due north into marsh lands, then cutting back due east, along the rail tracks, and into the present region. It appeared similar to maneuvers we made in training, those made to confuse pursuers. Rumors spoke of a larger group hidden in the immediate territory which the bandits splintered from, and whether my targets would rejoin with them, I could only speculate. In their shoes, should such a gathering exist, I would do the same.

For the hours that went, the fog grew thicker, moisture coalescing into thick drip droplets on Mjolnir's plating. VISR made the visibility tolerable, the faint outlines of my surroundings an odd visage, flickering yellow outlines marking the flora and fauna like an odd painting.

Soon I was upon that derelict, a derailed locomotive and its train cars of broken wood and bent metal, either fallen to the side or standing tall, yet skewed. The accident that had befallen the vehicle was unknown, only the signs of its crumpled state hinting at a great crash. At the front, the main engine suffered some internal explosion, evident by the fact the compartment was blown wide open. Sabotage? Engine failure? Regardless, the reason mattered little. Much of its cargo had been… liberated, evident by nearly all of the carts being wide open, the locks and chains binding their doors cut and removed. It was beyond me if its bounty was retrieved by its owner or from unwanted hands, and what that cargo was I could only guess: likely agriculture as the line ran from Vale to the outlying settlements of ranching, of those so dispersed and guarded against the known threats. Along the rail sat a decent number of manufacturing outposts, so goods of other assortments wouldn't be out of the question.

For the moment I walked, my mind thought of the tracks which my query would have taken. It was when I started listening that things were strange.

Noise… No. Noise.

Much earlier I was accompanied by light sounds of singing avians, and the light breeze which shifted the fog. Now… Now there was nothing. Nothing except for the foot falls and rolling of the camel behind, and it was as though the environment was reacting to some sort of presence…

And so I stopped, waiting, listening…

Hearing…

Anticipating…

Like that memory of the sewers…

Without much thought, the DMR came to my hands, a few checks showing it to be loaded and chambered. I knelt down, bringing the weapon to bear, aimed down the road for whatever invisible enemy was there.

Sensing…

Waiting…

`Hunting…`

I stood up, glancing around for… something. "[Must be imagination,]" I growled in brunic. Indeed, for there wasn't a single movement on the tracker, which was also a problem. Not a crawl nor flight of a creature registered. Concerning… Forcing myself to move forward, I lowered the rifle, glancing side to side then behind for a visual of what should be there. Commands were issued to the camel for it to follow at a greater distance, at least to sate my paranoia.

I stopped again. At the edge of the motion tracker movement registered… a blue dot appeared then stopping… then moving again… slowly down the same trail and moving to me. The blue coloring did little to explain who it could be, friend or foe. Soon VISR had the figure's form highlighted, broad and tall in humanoid shape.

I strafed to the side, placing myself in stepping distance to the cover of a ruined cart. The man–it had to be–kept walking, his dark silhouette now in view.

"[STOP! Identify yourself!]" I ordered.

The shape moved suddenly and stiff, taking several more strides before halting. It appeared he was looking in my general direction, and for 30 seconds he stood awkwardly.

"[Identify yourself!]" I ordered again. Don't make me shoot you…

I chanced a glance at the tracker, and showed movement at 5 o'clock, no more than 50 meters away. It did nothing to ease tension.

All the while, the gun was trained on him, and in those minutes he kept standing there. Slowly, he brought forth an object, its outline vaguely long.

"[Say again!?]" he answered, holding the object as though it were a rifle. There was a gruff accent to his voice.

A strong tension with the trigger finger grew.

"[Drop your weapon, raise your hands!]" That he should hear.

…

"[Say once more?]"

Movement to my right again registered, the blue dot closing to 47 meters… 46… 43…

Flee…

I positioned myself to sprint, keeping the man in sight as a mental command for active camo became a thought away. If he was indeed innocent, I would not be responsible for what happened. If not… the whole scene screamed ambush, and I would not be pinched. Not easily—

*Boom!*

I grunted, the force knocking into my left side as shields flared. Before I reacted, more shots sounded—

*Boom! Boom!*

—the rounds reflecting off of my head. Instincts screamed for my attention, and looking up I caught a glimpse of a figure kneeling on top of the cart. That maneuver proved a mistake, for something rammed into my side at a high speed, and with an audible crash I cratered front-first into sheeted metal. Something, with a flash of blue light, had rammed into me from behind. A second!?

As quickly, I removed myself from warped metal. In that same moment, blue light again flashed twice, and from behind a sharp force applied pressure to the back of my right knee. It was sudden, seeming to have bypassed shields, feeling closer to a sharp jab than a laceration as it missed the plating.

To my knees I fell, hands splayed forth for the landing. There was no reprieve as pressure was applied to my neck, something long and solid pressing hard into the jugular as my head followed back. Now a third.

"[Hold him!]"

I chanced a glance at the shield bar, showing capacity at 34%.

The man from before was now much closer, sprinting the short distance with his rifle raised at my center mass. The gun flared several times, the shots making contact.

19%.

It took far longer to realize my rifle had been dropped. With air flow being choked out, options were depleting, even with my mind racing.

A solid, blunt object connected with the side of my helmet.

Now 17%.

At that moment, my hand met the grip of the pistol on the thigh's magnetic holster. Against instinct, I lunged forward, managing to bring my right leg up. From behind, a man's voice uttered "[shit!]" With the object, he attempted to shake me side to side, for little effect.

Bringing the pistol forth, its aim fell on the man in front, hesitation then panic spreading across his face.

*BANGBANG!*

A flash of light colored his form green, the force of the shots causing him to trip backwards. As quickly I lunged backwards, nearly landing into the man as he pivoted in response, and with his hold failing I lurched forward. The grip on the object broke, and now free the M6 was again drawn on the downed man, who fumbled for his rifle.

*BANGBANG!*

The last round broke through his aura, his screams muffled in the thick dew as he clutched his side.

Breath quickly left me as a flash of light crashed into my side, metal sheeting again catching my fall. The figure who appeared stepped back, their weapon drawn and aimed. Several shots were exchanged, such that shields fell to 4%, blue light flaring around the other's form. There was motion to my right, the sight of a long hammer came swinging–

*Crack!*

–into my chest. Shields burst, the plating and gel layer taking the brunt of the force, the sheet metal behind groaning in protest to my form.

The perpetrator stood stunned, though whether from the sudden burst or of something else, it mattered little. I clenched my right hand, though sensing the pistol lost from my grip I capitalized on the next best option: the hammer. With speed I gripped where the hilt met its head, with ferocity ripping it from his hands. Bright with red his arms shone, and with flying fists he dashed forward. It was a tussle as we both attempted to gain the upper hand. In the seconds that passed it was clear who would fall, for when my boot met his ankle he reared, hissing and grunting with the red light of his aura shining. Both of my hands grappled him, swinging him hard into the same dented spot on the train cart, once, then twice, then thrice. The third impact saw the last of his sheen of red, fading out as a dimming light. The man grunted loudly, strength seeming to leave him, and quickly lifting his head I interlocked in such a way that I could twist easily.

*Snap*

Releasing, he fell twitching.

In less than a second, that familiar blue light appeared, a cascading force intent to ram into me, though this time I was prepared. Soon as it connected, my arms launched forth, grabbing some article of clothing—leather(?) by its roughness—and without a thought pivoting the perpetrator into the cart's side. A feminine grunt echoed after the sound of impacted metal. A woman then…

Before I could fully grapple her, she moved with another flash of light, darting back as my grip was lost. If one's eyesight were slow they would have missed her trail of blue light. At its end, her form was shrouded in the mist, VISR outlining a weapon being raised in a flourish.

*Pop* *pop* *pop*

At the moment I dove, there was the sound of a bullet impacting metal from behind, and the feeling of two sharp stings erupting into my side. It was hard not to grit my teeth, the pain not enough to keep from reaching for the pistol that laid an arm-length's away.

*Pop-pop*

A noticeable spark flared on my left arm's plate, the bullet no doubt ricocheting. I hadn't noticed if the second had connected or not.

With a forward push, I lurched forth for the M6, quickly rolling to my back–

*Pop* *pop-pop-pop*

–and bringing it to a careful aim.

*BANGBANGBANG!*

She fell with a cry of pain, her simmer of blue fading.

Picking myself up, I kept the M6 aimed at her form, instinctively placing a hand where the bullets hit my abdomen, feeling only their indents upon the skin layer. No penetration, still stings like a bitch. Surveying the scene showed the other man incapacitated–moaning in similar pain as with the woman, still clutching to his side–, the other man unmoving. A longer look showed he had a complexion of brown, looking youthful with sad, glassy eyes and moving mouth gaping for what air he had left. Checking the rest of my surroundings showed no one else in the immediate vicinity, at least those that would do me harm… wait… that presence… a fleeing intent…

I shook my head, looking around again for some form of shelter to take defense against the grimm, their arrival almost assured. Coincidentally, the cart which bore our abuse had an interior which could be blocked with its side door. That will do.

Moving to the closest assailant, the downed woman, and briefly viewing her, it was apparent that two wounds were upon her shoulder and thigh, and laying on her back her pained face was in full view. The woman… I remember you… She had been at Laffa, the same jet black hair and piercing red eyes, identical skin complexion. It had to be her.

Not wasting a second, I kicked her weapon away (which was still clutched to her hand), and against some resistance I forced her to her back, clipping the M6 to my thigh as I retrieved zip ties from one of the (cosmetically damaged) pouches. As I had been doing this, the HUD's subtle beeping had been replaced with a gradual whirl, Mjolnir glowing faintly golden as the shields regenerated. With her hands and feet bound, I growled in brunic, "[stay here]".

The other seemed no different in the characteristics of the woman and their third partner: similar brown skin (if somewhat lighter in tone) though with eyes of brown. He looked at me warily, and weakly he attempted to lift the rifle with a finger on the trigger. That had also been (forcefully) removed from his hand, the kick perhaps breaking a finger or two as he screamed in pain. For what he and his accomplices attempted, there was no sympathy to give (that feeling being more akin to anger if anything).

Again the presence made itself known… I chanced another look at the tracker… 4 contacts as yellow dots… then 6… 7… 9… and rapidly approaching.

Flee…

My pace quickly picked up, though in only tying his arms time became too short to bind his legs. Grabbing him by the arm, I began dragging him quickly to the woman (much to his protest). Retrieving her, it was about the same speed to the cart, as fast I can go without unnecessarily injuring (or killing) them. Yet in the distance, as far the thick dew would allow, I saw their forms, beowolves in a mad sprint to where I was… and that growing presence… no…

A shadow appeared a distance away, larger than the other beasts, a single red light piercing the veil and staring at me.

The beast, the last one we lost track of.

Flee…

Just as we arrived at the cart, I heaved the injured woman, tossing her roughly inside. Before the same could be done with the man, the worst possible situation happened: several creatures came fast, and quickly they bore their teeth on the man's loose legs. When he took notice, he immediately began kicking but that only did so much. His foot became engulfed in one of their mouths, then part of his thigh. His screams were loud.

Keeping my hand on the collar of his shirt, I removed the pistol from its holster. With four rounds remaining I blasted into the growing crowd of beos, the one latched to his thigh shot dead.

"[Spirits please, don't let them take me! Please Spirits!]" he begged.

With the pistol empty and a sense of urgency, I clipped the weapon to its holster. What would come next is much less than ideal, and would incur more pain than I wished.

Before another beowolf could clamp down on him, my other arm, I grabbed and pulled. His screams intensified. The monsters tugged from the jaws, their grips becoming tighter even as their paws skidded across the dirt.

"[Let go! Let go! Let go!]"

Shit! My grip released, the man being quickly drug off into the fog. With both hands free I again equipped the magnum, removing the empty mag for a full one from the same holster. Before he could disappear, 3 of the wolves had been downed. Of the 5 remaining 4 swarmed him, 1 breaking off for a full charge at me which had been swiftly dealt with.

It then came into view, its familiar form sprinting on all fours, its killing intent on me. If it was even possible, the skull mask had grown even more feral since our last encounter, one side shattered where its left eye should be—where it had been pierced by my rifle—, its right eye glowing brightly red.

Flee, flee, flee!

An uncanny panic settled within, any thought of rescuing the man perishing as self preservation took over. Shots rang out from the M6 as I backpedaled to safety of the cart, several impacting its thick hide and forcing into the briefest of stumbles. Yet its momentum continued forth.

Upon stepping past its threshold, with great strides I grabbed and heaved on the door to close, the rail mechanism resistant to the push. Far too slowly did it shut, and right as it was about to close the beast's claws found the gap and halted it.

Stepping away, I aimed the pistol through the gap—

*BANG-BANGBANG-BANG-clickclick*

—, the rounds piercing the arm and paw for little effect.

It seemed that it struggled to move the door, more for slid open a quarter less of the speed. Sliding another mag into the weapon, the crosshair fell on the beast's head just as its eye peered through the gap.

*BANG-BANG*

The eye vanished in a puff of black mist, and the beast reared back howling. As it stumbled backward it swung wildly.

Composing myself I waited, stepping closer to the entry way for a better view. Where its head and torso moved too erratic for precise aim I instead aimed at its legs, 1 bullet exploding into its right joint while 3 others merely nicked the flesh. Down it went, the legs swinging as wild as its arms.

The sounds seemed to have caught the attention of the rest of the beowolves, the remaining 4 charging swiftly. Their deaths were made swift as they attempted to enter a narrow slit of the entrance—disregarding their sense of self preservation to satiate their bloodlust—where their heads lined up evenly for a shot to the cranium.

Sometime after their bodies evaporated, there was silence. I waited to listen, the gun aimed casually… Neither the man's screams nor the beast's grunts made a sound, and the tracker was as visually silent.

Perhaps because of caution, or maybe due to fear, I kept waiting…

And waiting…

When it seemed appropriate, I peeked outside, just past the threshold. The monster's corpse had vanished, leaving behind parts of its skeleton. Just beyond it lay the man, motionless on top of what appeared a red stained ground, his clothes in a worse state than his body. Damn…

To be sure of its death, I listened internally for the cursed intrusion the beast is known for… Its echo was prevalent, the fear still residing, but there was nothing else. So too is the monster ruined…

With quick pace I collected the DRM, bearing minor scratch marks a dirt smears but otherwise untouched. The camel was too shrouded in the mist for me to inspect, though its position was still apparent. I would have to attend to it later, for there was a more pressing concern.

The woman had herself on her back, ankles and wrists still tied together. The wounds on her leg and abdomen stained her clothing a deep, wet red. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing light. Placing two fingers on her throat I felt for blood movement… still a pulse.

I began cutting away at the clothing, priming a biofoam canister to stabilize her. With the suit's comms, I sent a distress call.

---

Notes

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*OEA = Order of External Affairs. Think the CIA of the US.

**Think the drink mezcal

One more chapter to go until book 1 concludes. Then on to book 2