Standing outside in the barren land and looking up at the darkening sky, Raven and Ruby noticed the cracks forming, disappearing, reappearing, all echoing in strange places. Not just in the air and the clouds, but in the fabric of the stones, the textures of the soil.
"What is all this?" Raven wondered, placing her hand on her blade.
"Ah, just in time," Rubio smirked, "definitely saw this one coming."
"You wanna explain to me what it is you're planning?"
"You don't need to worry about a thing. A god's business is their own. All you're here for is to cut. That's it, no questions asked."
Raven spat a mouthful to the side, clearly wanting to be anywhere but here. While, of course, holding back the urge to slap Rubio across his face.
"Look," said Rubio, "those cracks there are making the structure of the universe unstable. Meaning we'll be able to access far realms we normally wouldn't be able to. So it's the perfect opportunity."
"It takes a lot of energy to open a portal. Just a small one the size of a dog is already enough to concuss me. You do realize what you're asking me to do, right?"
"With my Aura here amplifying your own, I promise that you will live."
"And what if I tell you there will be more unforeseen consequences? You said you wanted us to be family, and yet, you're awfully unconcerned with what's about to happen to me. My Semblance is a curse, like a virus. It can fuck up my brain, and maybe even give me cancer. Some 'niece' you are."
"Then maybe with these cancer cells you'll finally have time to visit your daughter back home."
Dumbfounded, Raven stood there staring with her mouth wide open. Still struggling to process while Rubio gave the brightest smile he could muster:
"Now come on, shut your mouth and get to it."
Far out there, storms gathered, bringing with them strong winds that blew against one another. Cracks of bright plates continued to set ablaze, crackling with the sound of soft thunder and cold hail. Raven had never been scared of strong tides, cyclones, or even a tsunami. She sailed the seas for longer than she could count. There were no corners of the world's waters that she was unfamiliar with.
But this new sound of crackle was something else entirely. Almost like a crinkling of tin, smashing the air together, or folding it. But to bend something so big, so intangible, Raven knew this could only be the work of a god, a real god, one of divinity. And she could take a guess at who it was, for she knew that power once before, still stinging in her scar.
"Ready when you are."
Drawing out her massive scythe and planting it on the ground behind her, Ruby was ready, smiling and winking her silver eye. Her body now rippling with hidden gravitating Aura, shifting her form. Her gloves were tightened and the grip on the weapon firm, ready to carry it to the beyond.
"Well… it's been fun knowing you," said Raven.
Without a second to waste, the Aura from Raven's blade bloomed to the size of a mountainous tornado, towering far in the stratosphere, whirling with crimson clouds and sparks of light. Glowing like a murderous star, the whirling noise of bright quaking steel continuously sharpened the sword beyond the level of any mortal blacksmith.
The stamina of the Pirate God was yet to be fully recovered, there were still wounds from the previous battles that made things difficult. But the true strength of Aura came from the soul, the gravity of the spirit itself, even if one's physical attributes were not all there.
Driving down the sword with her left hand, Raven struck.
Exploding in front of her, creating a portal so large that it dwarfed every mountain or tower on the planet, stretching to a height enough to reach the moon itself. Taking advantage of the cracks from those cosmic storms, she tore the space and its molecular bond as far as she could, slicing it apart like it were a sheet of paper made out of indestructible steel.
Steel of a mortal meeting steel of the world, with the Aura of Rubio amplifying and protecting Raven's own, she was barely able to deflect any incoming damage to her mortal body, letting it slide off and hitting the ground behind her, cratering a large section of stone, crashing the ground itself into dust.
Now barely able to keep herself on her feet, Raven planted the blade on the ground to balance herself, preventing her from being knocked down. Glancing up, she saw the red portal, but it was only for a brief second. Matter of fact, it lasted even less than that, no more than a couple milliseconds at the most. For she knew the fabric of the cosmos was too thick to penetrate with any meaningful or lasting consequences. So far, the only person capable of such a feat was that white one who could fly.
And yet…
When Raven turned around, Rubio was gone.
The battle at Signal continued, where Yang dashed forward swinging her fist, clashing against the heavy head of Qrow's scythe. To follow up with several knee strikes before barraging him with combination blows, shooting forth several more shotgun blasts.
All of which would be gracefully blocked by Qrow's spinning scythe, almost letting the weapon spin on its own with the momentum and technique he imparted on the handle. While the blade was spinning, he dodged around the collateral damage created from Yang's shotgun blasts to sneak up on her, putting her in a headlock.
Only to then have Yang counter by setting herself on fire, elbowing Qrow in his gut and tossing him far in the distance to shatter a large section of walls, landing them outside in the courtyard of the Academy.
Qrow quickly stood back on his feet as he picked up a pebble to chuck it in the distance out of frustration before the pebble landed on a paint bucket, tipping it over to have it roll down some stairs, smashing into some scaffolding, crashing the entire thing, and there at the top of the structure were several workers' helmets bouncing off one another from this domino, climbing high in the air far enough to smash into a tall flag pole, bouncing one of the helmets off in the opposite direction with such speed that it zipped through the air back into the hole where Yang and Qrow came from, knocking into the scythe stuck on the ground to have it whirling fiercely through air, finally having it land firmly in the palm of Qrow's hands who was standing a good distance away.
"That Semblance of yours makes no damn sense," said Yang.
"Maybe it isn't my Semblance. Maybe I don't even have one."
Gripping the handle of the scythe, Qrow powered up once more. As Yang followed suit, with her antlers growing out farther and farther, her teeth getting sharper, and the scales on her body turning more numerous, hardening to almost like diamonds.
There, they dashed off the ground, ready to continue the fight – only to suddenly be stopped by a barrage of bullets raining from the far crackling sky.
Falling not far behind the heavy rounds came several massive metal balls the size of a person's fist, crashing into the hard concrete below to create vast tremors that shattered nearby walls and towers. That round smooth metal ball was unmistakable.
This was the work of none other than Samantha Vulf, General of the Air Force.
Flying far in the sky in a suit of armor that covered from her head to her torso, she circled the sky beautifully with a massive pair of mechanical wings roaring behind the armor, blasting with heavy fire propelling her in midair. Taking off the armor now that she had arrived, she dove headfirst onto the ground, landing gracefully on her feet with enough force to thoroughly crack the tiles of polished stone coating the grounds of the school.
And there, following shortly behind the General, was her disciple General Rredd Williams. Landing behind just like her after also taking off his own armor, standing tall, letting his long red hair flow.
Together, the two of them had arrived, bringing with them the Skyknights of Mantle. Proud warriors of the North donning mechanical winged armors to block out the very sun itself from the sheer number of troops alone. With wing spans that were easily as long as ten meters. These men and women carried their rifles with pride. Their helmets and visors protecting their face from the wind resistance. The metal on their bodies glowing with all the colors of Dust, ready to be deployed at a moment's notice.
These were the elite troops of General Sam's Air Force. One Sam had meant to do battle against the flying troops of the Vacuo Kingdom, if they had managed to arrive sooner. The Maidens entering the fight quickly shifted the playing field, which surprisingly resulted in a battle that ended a little quicker than expected. Or perhaps the truth was that it only really ended with the return of the Superman.
But here, with the new commotion now going on at the island of Patch, the Skyknights were still in need, with a new mission, as the fact of the matter was – the war was still raging on.
War by nature is unpredictable. But the will of gravity can go in many ways. Observe.
Standing there facing Yang, now a three-on-one, Sam and Rredd adjusted their uniforms, dusting themselves off, before Sam shouted at the dragon girl:
"What the hell is this? Some kinda circlejerk? I swear to Winter, you damn Valeans…"
"By the power of the Empire," said Rredd, "you are hereby under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything…"
"Oh, piss off!" Yang spat at Rredd, to which he promptly dodged.
"Kid," Qrow extended his hand, "listen to them. Turn yourself in, maybe you'll get a reduced sentence. Don't make this any more difficult than it already is."
Yang scoffed, before pulling out from her pocket a purple cartridge filled with Gravity Dust, to everyone's surprise. She jammed it into her right gauntlet, letting it glow brightly of that violent violet gleam before holding it out for the three of them to see.
"You people are going to fall," she said, "and no matter what happens, I am not going to miss that – but until then…"
Spinning around, she punched a hole wide open in midair, shocking everyone of her capability to generate a portal with such absolute ease. They knew the massive amount of energy required to accomplish such a thing. And nobody, save the Superman, had the raw power to brute force open a portal.
So the only logical conclusion here was that her weapon had been upgraded with a new modification for this portal ability. Energy and resources were finite, so she must have had a limited number of cartridges.
The real question, of course, was where would she even get the technology for this kind of device? Or perhaps they ought to wonder who was the one providing her behind the scenes?
All questions left unanswered as Yang disappeared into the portal, leaving behind no trace.
Throwing the ball as hard as he could, the ball leaped out of Jaune's hand at blazing speed, zipping through the air before landing squarely in the thin glove of one of the kids.
The scroll attached to the side of his belt managed to pick up a speed of 120 miles per hour, which seemed right at home for an ordinary person with basic Aura training. Jaune himself did not feel impressed, but the kids begged to differ on the account of their starry eyes admiring the young man.
"That was awesome, big bro!" Melone shouted, joining a few other kids as they crowded around Jaune.
"Aw, come on guys," Jaune scratched his head, "it's not a big deal. I know some of the guys at the Academy who can throw ten times as fast."
"It's still faster than any of us can throw," said Melone. "Show us how you did it, please. Pretty please."
"Alright, alright, ha-ha. I basically just copied what my buddy Cardin used to do. He's not actually a thrower, he plays first base. But you know what they say, everybody starts out as a two-way player, and they throw until they can't anymore. Then they choose between throwing and hitting. Let me tell ya, Cardin hits like a truck."
Bringing the ball forth for the kids to see, Jaune then said:
"So basically, you wanna put your fingers across the seam like this for a fastball. It'll create some backspin on the ball, making it fight the force of gravity. It'll give this illusion of the ball rising. For the curveball, you wanna place your two fingers next to the horseshoe like this. And for it to curve, we gotta create topspin, instead of backspin. So we turn the wrist like this instead. Pretty cool right?"
Far in the distance, the parents of the children rushed over, interrupting this moment. Melone's mother and father waved him over, shouting:
"Come quick! Come back home!"
It did not take long before Jaune noticed the pandemonium that followed behind. There, the tribesmen, all young and old, hurried off into the heart of their camp, herding each other into safety and numbers as they all stood witnessing the roar and crackle in the sky. Trembling with many falling to their knees either in reverence or fear.
Zipping behind those cracks were the Skyknights, conquering the sky. Flying in perfect formation, too numerous to count. Numbered in the hundreds, maybe even the thousands.
Emerging from the clouds behind these elite sky warriors came large airships. On the masts, the Empire's megaphones sounded off, echoing a stern robotic message:
"RETURN TO YOUR HOMES. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. DO NOT RESIST. FOLLOW YOUR ORDERS."
Sienna was not entirely sure if she was fully onboard with this absurd plan. On the account she really did not know what it was she was supposed to be looking for. Watts warned her just as much about the difficulty of this task.
Searching for the history of something that did not want to be found, something that perhaps the very cosmos itself was going out of its way to hide away.
She did not really understand the science behind it all, which seemed like magic to her anyway, but she was sure that there had to be something to find here in the Kingdom of Mistral. A long-lasting empire in its own way, one with a rich ancient history.
A land of rain, raining over muddy streets, over old architecture, over the Temple of Fall. There was a story here of Eastern oppression. A long story of rich emperors and empresses eating from the bowls the rice grown off the backs of farmers and peasants, pulling salt from their foreheads, and lashing them ever so silently. A country that isolated itself from the rest of the world, just so it could carry out the will of the unjust within its border without anybody from the outside bothering them.
In this sense, Mistral was a close sister to Atlas. Perhaps even worse in some ways, where it sat on its throne watching children playing in the mud, while other kids broke their backs carrying heavy stone fruits to sell, baskets on top of baskets, just so they could bring something back home to their shacks being held up by thin sheets of metal and thick cloth.
The fathers labored away at this salty soil where nothing could grow, shoveling manure, dirt, scraps, and even dead bodies, anything that they could sell to bring dinner back home. Home where the mothers cared for their children, still hungry, while men and women made of gold ate in the inner cities, eating other lower lords. Basking in the glory of their Maiden.
But of course, the Maiden was not here, nowhere back at home. Instead, she carried ships and troops off into the far lands, into the heart of the Valley. Where she herself traveled further length into the heat of the desert on the other side of the globe.
Sienna saw this, and felt sympathy upon the sight of those dying under the rain and the reign.
Cruel tyranny, she was deeply familiar with. What was one thing that was unique to this land, however, was a strange culture of gladiators.
Powerful golden fighters clad in armor to be put in an arena to fight one another for sport, for ceremony, for training, for power, for glory.
Many of these golden warriors were Huntsmen of the East. Some were not officially enrolled or enlisted, and instead were privately trained, paid for. But all of them were revered as heroes and gods. The strongest Mistral had to offer, for they ate out of glass bowls using silver spoons and marble forks. They were fed and conditioned until their bodies could take blows no other mortal could withstand.
The best arenas were no doubt located deeper in the golden jungles of Mistral, closer and closer to the heart of the capital. But there were many other places as well, smaller stadiums and even dojos to offer training and food for anyone willing to take up the life. For many children of Mistral, this was a way for them to escape the cruel grip of poverty. Out into the wild to fight, or they would starve. The choice here was obvious.
One of these places was an abandoned throwball stadium located somewhere near two hospitals. Though, truth be told, calling this place abandoned would be incorrect as many Huntsmen and fighters alike from lower income areas still used these moldy grassy grounds as a place to train. There was no maintenance, no tax money funding the repairs. Only the occasional sound of steel clashing, and the moisture of the sweat wetting the old concrete.
Sienna entered at the sounds of weapons clashing. Going through the darkness of the corridor and into the darkness of the night's field, there she saw four fighters – two men, two women.
By all accounts, these men and women were giants above mortals, all nearly seven feet tall. With two of the men wearing nothing but a single shoulder armor painted gold over the right shoulder to expose their strong bulging muscles.
The women, similarly muscular, stood no taller than the men, but were also massive beasts. All four glaring at one another with powerful combat Auras, sharp eyes staring through golden helms shining of a starry gleam in the middle of the night.
On their belts were sheaths hanging over armor woven into strips forming a defensive skirt, defending the lower parts of their bodies, from the waists down to their knees. And below that were simple combat sandals.
A shield in one hand, and either a sword or a spear in the other, these fighters swung with the force of focused disciplined beasts. Sparks of steel and Aura flying bright, sometimes without the metal making contact, only pure Aura. The round golden shields seemed heavy, but the strength boosted from sweat knew no bounds. Courageously dragging them along like they were made of paper.
Sienna saw this, and she was not necessarily impressed. Rather she was simply cautious, as this was still a foreign land, and she was outnumbered. It would be very unlikely to take them all out by her lonesome self. Her gut feeling, however, told her that this was where she wanted to be. She couldn't exactly figure out the reason why. But the mystery of the gravity between people was not something easily understood.
"Who are you?" One of them asked in an Eastern tongue.
Sienna could speak some of these, but she was more familiar with those in the Valley and in Menagerie. Straining her ears, she listened on.
"Come to join us in the fight? Tournaments are around the corner."
Revealing herself, Sienna approached. She then tried to say:
"What tournament?"
"Doesn't matter. There's always a tournament of strength. Many people host them. It is a good way to make a name for ourselves."
"But what we're really after is to be immortalized."
"Tell me more," Sienna said.
"Why? You should know about the Golden Gladiators. Unless, you're not from around here."
"That's a good guess."
"I thought you were a foreigner, alright. Your accent is very thick. Second language?"
"Yes. I'm… I travel the world. I would like to learn more stories. If you're willing to share."
"Certainly. We'd be happy to."
"Tell me about some of these immortalized Gladiators. Ones in the last five years or so."
"Well, that's oddly specific."
"You're in luck, because about six years ago, one of the greatest warriors of the East came to fight, wearing gold, wielding many swords."
"How many swords?" Sienna asked.
"Too many. That was her fighting style. We're not entirely sure how she was able to levitate them. Either she used a complex device with Gravity Dust cartridges, or she possessed some sort of telekinetic ability with her Semblance."
"She was the greatest among us. No one could best her in combat. It's strange she didn't stay long. Just came and went, like the wind."
Squinting her eyes, Sienna asked:
"What was her name?"
All in unison, the four of them answered:
"Penny Polendina."
Laboring away at the farm, Kali's headache struck her once more. Falling to one knee with a shovel still dirty, gripped tightly in her hand. The gloves had been ripped wide, now covering her palms only as a mark of tradition, of familiarity. For neither she nor anybody here on this island really knew what else to do with the world around them moving forward. Forth now, without them.
"Kali!" Ghira sprinted over, catching his wife. "Let's take a rest, dear. We've been at this for far too long."
Coughing, Kali replied:
"I'll be fine. Just gotta finish off this block. Can't… rest 'til then."
"Then please, drink some water… mother."
Spinning their heads around, and their eyes widened with tears welling up the moment the sun hit down unto the shadows of that young man, in his new outfit, with that imposing black long coat flowing from his shoulders. And that red hair shielding those bull horns, there was no mistake about it.
Walking toward his mother, over the seeds, over the growing crops, Adam took off his mask. Now with his eyes also welling up as he waved awkwardly, not entirely sure what to say.
"Hello… mother… father."
Leaping off from the ground, seemingly now without any of her injuries, worries, or other hidden pains, or perhaps it was simply so because she had forgotten them within the moment. But she stood strong, reaching out to touch the face of her son.
Caressing him as she once did years ago when he was a babe. With his soft, rough cheeks full of scars, she was then sure that the Dream of those far above was not tricking her with illusions. Her son was indeed standing here right in front of her. After all this time, living through so much torment.
He was finally back home.
"Please," said Adam, trembling, "please drink some water. I can see you're exhausted. Please don't punish yourself for me. I never wanted you to worry, I…"
Cutting himself off, Kali pulled him in for the tightest embrace of her life. Squeezing him as hard as she could, just as Adam himself reflexively followed suit. Despite him still being soaked with shock, knowing the blood on his hands was something not easily washed off. But he still missed his mother dearly, and that was something he treasured, burying himself deep in her hair, letting the tears all out, dripping down his face.
He believed in the cause, in virtues. But he was not proud of many things he had done.
And yet, still, after all of that, all the fighting, the loss, the bloodshed, the arguments, they could finally have one brief moment to let out a tense breath. Just to rest for one night, before the morning rose once more for a new day of toiling.
But Adam was never one to care for what was in that tomorrow. Gifts of prophecy eluded him, and he actively avoided them. The past was his true goal, only now perhaps realizing that it was a goal sometimes at the expense of the present. And the present told him he had a family still, back home on this island.
Emerging from trees and humble homes came the people of this island, his people of this island, this island in the South. So miserable but still hopeful and praying. All of which through despair had been answered at last as the best and strongest of them all had finally returned home to Eden.
They crowded around him, wanting to touch him, shake his hand. But truly, they just wanted to share in the pain and tears. They cheered for his return, but solemnly and quietly, just barely a whisper. For they still feared the watchful eyes of the Empire. Adam, too, was cautious of this when he arrived. Wanting to quickly go in and out.
But it was not so easy. Now that–
"You are home," said Ghira. "My son."