Professor Watts had given Tukson some instructions for a little library located far in the depths of the Valley's metropolitan area. This was not a difficult task all things considered, especially when the Professor had provided him with a fake passport in case he were to run into any of the patrolling units.
The human soldiers were a cakewalk, because they were fallible and could be fooled. The Knight models, however, and other similar patrolling drones had access to a large police database, and on top of that was the fact they were recording everything they saw whenever they were online, so the best course of action was to avoid their paths entirely.
Five years of the kingdom's rapid transformation from its older ancient magical roots to the industrial might of the Empire certainly gave Tukson a stinging culture shock. He still remembered the old wild days of the Valley with loose local laws where skilled men and women would be out there keeping peace and resolving the problems of the people with magic duels. Fighting off scoundrels and criminals with their own powerful Semblances. There really weren't a lot of regulations if any at all concerning what was permissible.
At least, this was what Tukson remembered more on the smaller towns and self-contained regions. The God King Oz still had great control and tyranny over the capital and its people, but elsewhere the magick of the people was potent enough to make their own laws of the lands.
There were no patrols, no registrations, no licenses, no androids roaming the streets. Especially with the fact that local schools and Huntsmen Academy were producing mercenaries and private gunslingers rather than full-blown official servicemen. This was not the case the deeper you went into the heart of the Valley, of course, which was where the capital was, and where Beacon Academy was first built. The school famous for being the second largest military in the world.
Perhaps this was part of the reason why Oz's kingdom fell to the hands of the North, for the foe they faced was fully militarized, and they were absolutely unrelenting. In Tukson's heart, he still remembered those days, however.
The days of brave valiant warriors of the Valley standing up against a power beyond their imagination. They wore no badge, but they were among some of the most powerful Huntsmen this planet had to offer.
Sneaking into the shadows and slipping behind this clean white intersection, Tukson would find himself in the darkness of the bricks that once remembered the distant past. There he remembered children hiding from behind barrels and crates to watch their Valean heroes fight with nothing but heart and skill. His daughter was also among those children who once stood right here in this very back alley.
He thought of her sleeping safely back at their hideout as he approached the old library hidden in the dusty corner lit up by a single dim night light hanging far above. The faded mahogany of the entrance was signal enough for Tukson to realize that the Atlesians had not yet been able to renovate this whole area. But another possibility he considered was the fact that they may not have even known of this place's existence. Which seemed farfetched until he remembered what King Oz and his inner circle were infamous for.
World-shattering illusion magicks.
Entering through the surprisingly unlocked front door, Tukson was greeted by the sight of what seemed like a small bookstore rather than an actual library. It felt oddly familiar to him, somehow, he wasn't entirely sure why. But he quickly let it slip his mind the moment his eyes caught the sight of an old gentleman standing behind the front reception counter. He wore a simple blue apron and white shirt, and his bald head and white mustache ultimately made him come off as completely unremarkable.
That was, if it wasn't for his strangely vacant eyes that never seemed to blink as Tukson approached.
"Hello, welcome to the Library of Street 8. Please, help yourself to whatever you fancy."
Briefly glancing about the place, Tukson noticed half the shelves were strangely empty, with the other half being filled with simple colored books with generic titles that seemed too plain to have been legitimately published. Certain books being titled 'Cooking Volume 1' or 'Dancing Volume 3' all scattered about, unorganized. The hardback covers on each of them seemed brand new, as if nobody had ever opened them before. And yet the dust and grime covering the surface would suggest that they had been sitting here on these wobbly wooden shelves since perhaps even before the invasion.
"I'm looking for someone…" Tukson said plainly.
"Oh? Not something? Business hasn't been kind, with us all the way out here. It'd be really nice if you could borrow or buy something. I'll slap on a big discount."
"What do you mean by 'us?' Are there others around?"
"Why, yes. I run this place with my family, sir. They are plenty."
"Hmm…"
"Is… there something wrong?"
Tukson glanced around, making sure they were not being watched, before he finally spilled it:
"Alright, you can drop the act. You don't have to pretend around me. Professor Watts sent me here to talk to you. It is urgent. We need to talk."
With that, the old man's faint smile instantly faded away, and instead his eyes would strangely shapeshift into a sharp shade of green. And from there a smirk emerged.
"Finally, that old fart better have some good news."
To which, Tukson nodded.
"I didn't realize he would let a Faunus be privy to our plan."
"Well, three Faunus actually, two of us are back at headquarters. We are all members of the White Fang, or what's left of it anyway."
"Ah, yes. I've heard of you. Shame what happened. But let's not dwell on that, welcome aboard. The more the merrier."
"I never caught your name. The Professor wouldn't say."
"Doctor Bartholomew Oobleck, Chief Torturer under the God King Ozymandias. At your service."
Tukson's eyes grew to three times the normal size the moment he heard the old man utter that name. The infamy of the magicians in the Emerald King's court could not be understated. The immense power of the King's military might within his generals and lieutenants was known far and wide, but what remained a deep mystery was the full extent of what was known as the magick of the kingdom.
Dr. Oobleck simply smiled on, clearly amused at Tukson's reaction:
"It's been years since our home fell to the infidels. But our hearts remain strong. My power growls, hungry for food, for light out of the shadow of this alleyway."
"And what exactly is your power?"
To that, Oobleck simply placed his finger over Tukson's lips, shaking his head:
"Patience, my friend. There are other matters to attend to first."
"Such as?"
Oobleck smirked:
"You want to know what the Superman is, don't you?"
Walking toward a bookshelf in the back, Oobleck pulled from the top shelf several grimy tomes covered in small cobwebs that had been growing since a time no one could remember. These books had no titles nor markings of any kind, and tossing on the counter they would summon forth old dust bursting all over, forcing Tukson to cough uncontrollably.
"I can give you lessons," said Oobleck. "Lessons on etymology, on philosophy, maybe even history, and context to explain how and why people started calling that woman the Superman. But I'm not going to do that."
"Why?"
"Because people don't believe in myths, my friend. And there are even people out there who don't believe in magick. But fact of the matter is – I am a scientist! And the fundamental myth that makes up the foundation of the universe, or at least this universe, is the tale of the Giants. Primordial beings whose sizes are incomprehensible. Predating everything in this world, descending from a plane that lies beyond planes. Into abstract conceptual worlds of cosmic laws."
"Okay… but what does this have anything to do with anything?"
To that, Oobleck responded with a smirk:
"Don't you find it odd that there are no Giants left on Remnant? Except for the corpses of monsters being piloted by the creatures of Grimm? Where have the Giants gone?"
"What are you saying?"
"Why, it's so simple I don't know why you still don't get it. It's the theory of gravity, my friend. Do you believe in the forces of myths? Of stories? Of gravity? Of Destiny? These are all related. The force of gravity moves all things in the universe. But some creatures have a stronger gravitational force than others. Imagine a Giant – so large, it could easily dwarf the universe, maybe even more. Now imagine that very Giant being shrunk down to the size of a human by its inner potential, its inner force of gravity."
Tukson's eyes furrowed, trying to process this information:
"I still don't understand… what about… the name? Superman?"
"If there are gigantic conceptual beings emanating their essence down into our material worlds to shape the very fabric of reality, what makes you think there aren't other concepts up there emanating downward to shape the very fabric of our culture? Scattered across Remnant are ancient slabs marked with old prophecies. They are carved with the tongue no modern man can read. Our King Oz believed long ago that this language did not originate from this planet, but in a place far beyond. This is the emanation I was talking about. And it will be key in our quest to defeat the Superman."
"How so?"
"Learning of the existence of the multiverse is simply the first step. The key here is understanding that there are things out there far in the depth of the cosmos. Things that we could potentially weaponize. That is how we will kill this accursed tyrannical god. It will be nearly impossible, but it must be done."
"I couldn't agree more."
From behind, came the quiet clapping of a tall lean man slowly emerging from the shadows. The man sported very long black hair stretching all the way down to his waist, draping over the black sleeveless long coat with blue accents he wore over his shirtless torso underneath, confidently displaying his tanned chiseled body above his long stylish black leather pants. His shining blue eyes glowed in the darkness of the library with a subtle electric flare, patiently waiting to burst forth.
Standing behind the man was his partner, another man of similar height. Standing back smoking a large cigar that lit up the face of a blond young face. Curiously, this man wore with him what seemed like a long crimson pirate coat with golden round epaulettes adorning his shoulders. On his head was a simple red bandana with subtle flowery ruby pattern woven on the surface. This young man did not smile, and instead stared onward toward Tukson and Oobleck, not blinking once, while impatiently tapping his large black boot on the wooden floor below.
The man in the black coat chuckled, and continued:
"Of course, there's no way we're going to let the two of you get away with any of this."
"Who the hell are you?" Tukson readied his battle stance.
"Oh, since you're going to die anyway, I suppose it wouldn't hurt. My name is Azur Myst," he said as he placed his hand on the blond man's shoulder. "This knucklehead reeking of smoke and ash is my brother, Krim Rosso. We are the sons of the Fleet Admiral Maru, and on behalf of the Atlesian Empire and those on its High Council, we hereby place you under arrest for war crimes against the good people on Atlesian soil. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say shall be revealed upon your date before the court. You have no right to an attorney, for we are tasked with bringing you back dead or alive. Here under the flag of Atlas, your crimes will be paid in full."
The room fell silent as Tukson's eyebrows grimaced into an expression of pure rage and hatred. Standing before him were the very manifestation of everything he stood against for all these years. The oppression and tyranny of Northern cruelty was something he held deep inside, only now to finally boil over as he had been given a fated opportunity to rightfully claim what was truthly owed.
And yet…
Before he could even bare his feral Faunus claws, a sharp thunderous roar of a giant hand cannon could be heard bellowing from across the room. The electric current of the bullet came piercing through Tukson's skull before he could even properly process what just happened. The back of his neck began to feel cold as liquid crawled down the rough exterior of his skin.
Looking toward the man called Azur, Tukson would only now notice a special revolver drawn from the holster by his hip. He drew it so fast his eyes never even saw it coming. And that gun was no ordinary weapon either – it was a sword hybrid, with presumably a retractable blade placed on top in its current compact mode. But what was more notable was the electricity oozing out of the mechanism of the weapon, with several small cyan tubes lighting up the loading chamber of the revolver.
After stylishly spinning the revolver in his finger and placing it back into his holster, Azur confidently snapped his finger.
And the moment he did so, his brother Krim spat his cigar to the side before powering up his raging red Aura. From the palm of his right hand wrapped in boxing tapes, he would summon forth a thick metal stick sliding out of his sleeve, from which the stick proceeded to transform into a long spear with a golden burning bladed tip.
Within a split second, Krim had already prepared his battle stance grabbing on tightly to this fiery lance, charging forth at a speed Tukson could no longer keep track of – and there he would feel the full force of this man's hidden fury when the blade pierced Tukson's torso, crushing his entire ribcage all in one go.
The last thing he saw before losing consciousness were the sharp animalistic fangs Krim would bear for all to see, alongside a lion's tail wagging under his long coat.
To think that his own people would willingly become an instrument for the cold tyrants of the machine he had so long opposed, there was no nightmare to equal this one he was beholding unto. A nightmare he would never wake from now that his lifeless body had collapsed on the floor.
"Well… that was easy," Azur rubbed his hands together. "Good job, brother."
Krim nodded, before taking out another cigar, huffing the smoke through his nose.
"Now – Chief Torturer," said Azur, "do you have any last word? We'll write it down for your obituary."
Strangely enough, however, the old man did not move a muscle standing behind the counter, being obscured by the shadows of the library. What was more peculiar, however, was the fact that the two brothers could still see his devious smile shining in the darkness beyond.
Krim wasted little time and immediately picked up his spear to once more drive it forth into Oobleck's torso. His eyes, however, instantly lit up in confusion the moment the blade phased through his body like that of a ghost. It was as if his flesh were made out of a thin layer of fog, and yet the image of the man was still there.
Azur's cocky smile had been firmly transformed into a serious expression now that he realized the level playing field was shifting. So there, he laid his hand on the holster a second time, ready to fire the moment he saw anything coming toward them.
What he did not foresee, unfortunately, was the strange green liquid dripping from the ceiling. This mucus-like substance slowly made its way down from the old wooden floorboards far above their heads, leaking through the cracks in between.
"You should know better to challenge a man from the God King's court. Master illusionists and magicians of the Valley."
From behind the green goo came a slender figure with spiky green hair and a pair of round spectacles obscuring the crazed sparkling emerald eyes of a man in a sharp olive tailcoat dangling upside down from where the liquid was coming from.
His cold breath came muttering near Azur's ear. As he, for some inexplicable reason, could not take his eyes off the old man at the counter. Who slowly, but surely, removed his face off his head, almost as if he were wearing a skin mask. But it was no mask, the flesh on his body seemed completely real, melting away from the structure like melted candles, and what was more was the fact that the ripping of his face made absolutely no sound.
And underneath the thick skin of the old man was the face of that same spiky-haired man in spectacles.
From the back of the bookshelf far behind the counter came a rattling noise as the remaining books on the top shelf shook themselves off, dropping to the ground. From behind the books, at the back where there should be nothing but the wooden board, a pair of arms would emerge. Followed shortly by two legs, and eventually, the lanky limbs covered in beautiful expensive garments pulling its torso out of the back of the shelf to reveal that very same spiky-haired man once again.
The three figures smiled at the two brothers, as they both struggled to comprehend what was going on.
"We're taking back our kingdom, TODAY."
At the core of every drop of green liquid emerged these subtle sparks that grew and grew, eventually converting the goo into small bursts of flames. Azur noticed that the liquid was not really ignited, instead it was literally transforming.
Before they knew it, the fire grew, and grew, and grew and grew, and from two drops next to two, into through the true dark beyond – the entire building caught fire and exploded.
"Rear Admiral Vester, reporting for duty," Ghost saluted as he entered Weiss' tent.
"At ease, soldier," she said, glancing back down at the paper reports.
"Early sensor systems report Vacuan troops mobilizing from Coquina. Scouts estimated they will arrive in approximately one day."
"Hmm, they seem to move fast. I think we should set up a base up north on Patch. Our target should be the supply line in Feldspar. It shouldn't be hard with my speed, but we need to be cautious of what Oz is capable of. His magick is unpredictable, so we need to advance at a steady pace."
"Sound assessment, ma'am. We will need at least half of the fleet we have here on the side of Mt. Glenn. To ward off the pirates and the rebels. They shouldn't be a big problem compared to Vacuo's larger forces, but they should not be underestimated either."
"Simple enough then. Splitting the fleet in half. I'll leave the logistics in your capable hands."
"Thank you, Chancellor. Now there's the matter of…"
"HIGH CHANCELLOR!"
A soldier barged into the tent, sweating from having run a good long distance.
"I apologize for the intrusion," he said, "but there's something you have to see."
Using her super senses and vision, Weiss glanced into the far beyond. And to her absolute shock, she saw something that seemed to defy all the logic of the universe.
"That's… not possible," she muttered.
Flying out of the tent and straight into the crowd of soldiers still settling down and building this outpost, Weiss would find herself flying into the middle of two soldiers brawling as many others gathered around to witness the commotion. Some were trying to break up the fight, and a small minority was cheering loudly in the back. But with Weiss' overwhelming strength, it took little effort to get in between the two of them, tossing both onto the ground.
"That's enough!"
There lying on the ground, trying to dust themselves off were two young men. One of them was ordinary, and not very notable. However, the other one – was a young soldier with short white hair, smooth fair skin, and a pair of shining light blue eyes. He immediately stood up the moment he saw Weiss looking down at him, readjusting his uniform and saluting in the middle of this large gathering.
"Private Whitley Schnee, reporting for duty, ma'am."
The moment he uttered his name, everybody in the camp started whispering amongst themselves, retreating into further commotion while Weiss floated there in disbelief. Her mind raced through many possibilities, none of them gave a satisfactory answer.
And when her own intuition could not provide that answer, she tried to recall back to those who could help her. Those who would have the knowledge.
After a brief moment of contemplation, Weiss powered up her Aura and flew off into the sky faster than the speed of light. Darting toward the direction at the heart of the Valley.
"I want to tell you a story," Ironwood sat behind his office desk in the video recording. "I've been investigating this for quite some time now. But with the expansion of our Empire, it's kind of taken a back seat as of late. Years ago, back in Atlas, a woman in one of our platoons came to me asking for a personal favor. She told me her husband named Ranger was stationed out somewhere in Mantle, far in the west. They were helping with a trade shipment coming in from Feldspar, signed by King Theodore. Things were going smoothly, until they were attacked by an unknown creature of Grimm. I had found this fact to be… odd to say the least. Considering how little trouble the Grimm monsters are for our military force. But regardless, I went out there to investigate it myself. And what I found when I arrived was bizarre, to say the least."
Ironwood pulled up a holographic map from his desk, then continued:
"The truth is – there was no military outpost stationed there at that time. The Fleet Admiral's troops had plans to make base, but they were ultimately forced to relocate to our eastern seas due to logistics and other pirate problems. The settlement at Mantle was under-protected, understaffed. But the one thing that was most strange to me was the fact that nobody at the settlement had ever heard of anyone named Ranger. I wanted to get to the bottom of this, so I checked in with our records department alongside consulting our other commanding officers, and this was what I found – the name that woman provided me did not exist in our database. I thought it must have been a mistake somehow, but the fact of the matter is – Atlas does not make mistakes."
He put the map away, tapping his chin, pausing for a brief moment before resuming:
"I did consider the possibility of court-martialing the woman, but ultimately, I let it go, since it didn't really do that much harm. It only took my afternoon to make the trip, did take a big chunk out of the airship's fuel, though. Or that was what I thought – until three days later when I overheard a conversation from some of the privates about that same incident involving the man named Ranger. I thought little of it, until the same story was repeated by other higher-ranking officers, then among the students, the lieutenants. Before long, even Maru and General Vulf had caught wind of what was going on."
Ironwood began typing something into his holographic computer, still speaking:
"It was strange to me how far and wide the story was traveling. But what was much stranger was the fact that there were reports coming in of a Lieutenant Ranger coming back from the settlement at Mantle by way of airship. It seemed impossible to me at the time – until the man himself stepped right out of that ship and onto Atlesian soil."
And there – on his computer screen, Ironwood showed off the profile of none other than the one and only Lieutenant Ranger himself. A bald muscular man with a modest mustache.
Ironwood continued:
"I was lost for words. But in hindsight, I really should not have been that surprised. Professor Watts had a theory about strange phenomena such as this. He speculated that the force of gravity not only exists within all matter in the universe, but it exists in more abstract places as well, such as that of the human mind and spirit. It is said then that if enough people were to believe something to be true, even though it does not exist, but as long as they believe it hard enough and there is a sufficient amount of people – then the gravitational fields of the cosmos will literally bend the fabric of time and space and make it true."
Weiss sat in her chair, crossing her arms with a stoic face. But Pietro was quickly able to pick up slight nuances in her expression to indicate that she was having a difficult time processing this. It was as if this was the first time in her life she had been this bewildered.
Ironwood went on:
"This is something I want you to try out for yourself. Not only to dispel any doubt you may have with the story and theory, but to also prepare you for the next recording I want to share with you, one that is very important but difficult to understand if you do not know of this strange power of belief. Pietro will now hand you a file, inside will be an empty profile with an address to an abandoned house owned by the state. Your mission is to fill out the name of this profile page and convince enough people that this name exists to the point where they become real, having them appear at the address listed. I'll even leave their physical description blank for you to fill in if you wish. This may seem like a strange task I'm asking of you, but it is important. May the power of Atlas be with you – Weiss."
And with that, the recording ended.
Flipping open the case file Pietro handed her, Weiss noticed what Ironwood said did not actually match what was written on the paper. While many of the boxes pertaining to what this person's traits were had remained completely empty, there were many others that were inexplicably filled out with proper font printed from a computer. Certain things like height, weight, and eye color.
What was most concerning to her, though, was the fact that the box where the portrait was supposed to go presented her with a blurry picture of a white-haired young man whose features were difficult to fully discern. And the moment she read the name printed at the top of this sheet of paper, her eyebrows further furrowed into an emerging sense of confused concentration.
Lo and behold, the name at the top read: Whitley Schnee.