Chapter 64 - The Game of Hearts, Part I
What causes fights and quarrels among you? Don't they come from your desires that battle within you? - James 4:1
Spring. That was the smell he picked up. A swirling constellation of aromas—of citrus, mint, rose. A vibrant scent. Stronger than vinegar, sweeter than honey, coming from everywhere around him.
It was warm too. Summer-warm. The grass was cool and soft as the other side of a pillow. It tickled the skin his armor didn't cover. Cushioned his back better than any special grade bed could.
The sunlight poured gently through his eyelids. It eased him to wake for the new day like a loving wife's kiss. The gentle wind tousled his hair, the distant sound of a running river, the tranquil cries of soaring birds. The symphony of nature at its most harmonic. A perfect day. A perfect world. So what was he doing just laying here? He ought to open his eyes and give witness to it all. He ought to wake and soak in all the beauty and majesty this land had to offer. So Jaune did just that. He opened his eyes and he stood up straight and he looked toward the great horizon with a broad, inviting smile.
And what he saw there killed the first real smile he'd had in years.
He was indeed in a vast meadow, overflowing with flowers of every color imaginable. The sun shone brilliantly. A river ran in the distance. Nature was in perfect harmony. But only in a tiny circle surrounded by a country razed to hell.
Once upon a time, everything had been on fire. The flames had burned for ages. Then they subsided but only because there was nothing else to burn. And the charred remains stood on blackened, broken, ashen foundations until the chalky wind knocked it all down, blowing away the clouds of smoke. Then the rain came and turned the ashes of countless villages to black mud. Time had not moved since then. For a thousand miles in every direction, there was not the slightest trace of life. Why would there be? The flames of chaos had reduced all of nature's beings to nothing. The world was empty.
All that remained was this meager patch of flowers.
Jaune felt a little guilty for walking through the meadow. Crushing what remained of this land's flowers beneath his boots. He whispered, almost shuddered at the insanity around him. "What the hell is this place?"
A gruff, beaten voice reached his ears. "It is as you say."
Jaune turned around. Not far off, there was a man in ragged eastern style undergarments. He looked like he hadn't eaten in years, with sallow cheeks, sunken eyes, skin hanging in some places and clinging to bone in others. He was as close to a skeleton as a living man could be. His short black hair hung in front of his eyes, dry and stringy. He was playing a kind of weathered violin with his emaciated fingers, the sound so gentle and beautiful that it clashed harshly with the man's appearance. An ugly, scary looking bum playing a beautiful, almost hypnotic song. The lesson was clear. The look of a man was not always an indication of his character.
Jaune approached him with this realization in mind, and while the man knew he was there, he did not take his attention off his instrument.
He was about to ask him to explain his vague answer, but the man was well ahead of him. "This place. It is hell. As you said."
Jaune looked around at the meadow. "Since when does hell have flowers?"
The man plucked a string and it released a high vibrating tune. "What man decided that hell could not be beautiful?"
Jaune looked around at the wasted outerlands. At the dark mountains hidden in the shadows of the clouds. "Why isn't the rest of this place covered in flowers then?"
"The world is never one thing. It is varied, bountiful, plentiful, ever-changing." A pluck of the string, a smooth hum. "As there are gods for the flowers," Another pluck. Low and ominous. "So too, are there gods of fire."
"One of your gods did this?"
"The gods have no interest in the workings of men. No, this," and he gestured to the ruined distance with a sweep of his arm, "This is the work of a demon."
"A demon?"
"One of unparalleled power and unmatchable greed. Our humble land stood no chance. The demon adopted our land into his iron rule. He took all he desired. Our coin, our crops, our women, and he used them as he willed. Our samurai, though brave, stood no chance."
Jaune grimaced. "His army was that powerful?"
"There was no army. Only the demon lord."
"He destroyed this land, your entire country, all on his own?"
"Is that not the power of a demon?"
Jaune stared around in shock. He imagined this to be the work of Grimm, but destruction of this level would take thousands of them. Perhaps hundreds of thousands. So perhaps it was one Grimm? But that had to mean it was an S-class Grimm. A designated flee on sight level monster. It was said that no two S-class Grimm were the same species, meaning you could literally never be prepared for them. The few that had been slain were said to have been due to luck. Jaune did not think he would have such luck. That is, if it was a Grimm at all.
"What's the demon's name?" he asked.
"He is the strongest beneath heaven. He is the storm in the mountains. He is the anointed one, the blessed. All things exist at his pleasure. He is the Demon of the Sword, Lord Adam… and he cannot be defeated."
Jaune closed his eyes and bit his tongue. He'd been praying it wasn't an Alter, but what else could it have been? "Where do I find him?"
The man looked up at him through his curtain of dark hair with one dim, lifeless eye. "You mean to challenge him?"
"If it comes to that."
"Then you are a fool."
Jaune allowed himself a small chuckle. "I'd rather be a fool than a coward."
"Spoken like a true shinobi. Judging by your attire, you must have taken up the wishes of your master."
Jaune was confused by what he said until he looked at himself. He was wearing a strange amalgamation of cloth and shinobi armor. A long white scarf, a dirty white haori jacket over a kimono top bound by a loose rope. Baggy hakama trousers were tucked into high vambraces, which stretched down into black socks and sandals. He guessed there might be a katana on his hip, but found there wasn't one. That weapon seemed too small, too graceful for his fighting style. His regular swords and ax suited him better.
He might have questioned how this had happened, but knew by now not to question the rules of Heart Worlds. Best to just work with it. "Sure, yeah."
"So, you intend to slay the Demon Lord Adam? Free the Land of Sakura Petals? You intend to save the Beauty?"
Those first two names were easy enough to catch on to, but the last stole his immediate interest. He had to keep from asking who she was, and instead said, "Er, yes. The Beauty. Where can I find her? Does the Demon Lord have her?"
The stranger pointed a weak finger over Jaune's shoulder. "There."
Near the end of the meadow, surrounded by flowers before a backdrop of chaos, a girl stood with her back to him. Her hair was bound up in an elaborate bun, raven-black, and she was swaddled in a trailing white coat with a symbol on the back. It took no second guesses. Sure enough, when he crossed the distance and looked her in the face, he saw that he was right.
It was Blake. Face done with white paint, black whiskers drawn on her cheeks, lips painted deep red. She showed no reaction to him. Stood there still as a porcelain doll, hands tucked into her long sleeves, eyes staring forward, colorless and empty. Just like how she'd looked in his room for days.
He waved his hand in her face. Snapped his fingers. Even touched her. No response. It was as if she was asleep, or trapped in an illusion, leaving her completely unaware of the world around her. "What did Adam… er, the Demon Lord do to her?"
The stranger plucked the string three times. A sad, miserable tune. Like the opening to a tragedy. "Let her tell you the story."
"How?"
"Listen to her. She speaks. She is always speaking."
"I don't hear anything."
"That is because you keep talking."
That was an admittedly clever way of telling him to shut up, so Jaune did. They stood there, he and the Beauty, for many long minutes, while Jaune waited impatiently for something to happen. The Beauty had not moved a lick, and damn sure hadn't said anything he could hear. Was that old skeleton screwing with him? None of this was working.
Then he looked at the Beauty again. Really looked at her. The hauntedness in her still frame, her parted lips, as if she was about to express a thought. The eyes which took in nothing, but perhaps once had. The eyes of the wounded, the eyes of the betrayed, the eyes of self-hatred.
Jaune reached out and took The Beauty's hand. Cold, but soft. Vulnerable. Needing warmth. Needing someone to hold her.
Jaune looked into her eyes. Focused on them. Eyes wide, trying not to miss a single detail. He watched and he waited. He watched and he waited. He watched…
There was a river in her eye. He heard the sound.
There were flowers in the field. He smelled their fragrance.
Time flowed backwards as a reversed waterfall. The reflections in the water told a story…
The first pink petals had begun to peel from the trees when the Land of Sakura was set upon by demons.
The villagers fled in every direction. A mass of confusion and fear. And the Beauty of Sakura Village was no different.
She felt her father's strong arm around her as he ushered the family through the thicket of panicking villagers, practically fighting them off as they ventured into the swell of bodies, all alive. For now. People struggled to pull wagons of needless things, carried their children over their shoulders and under their arms as they ran, some even broke into shops to loot whatever they could. Pure chaos everywhere. Just the way the demons liked it.
The great bone-armored wolves leapt in from the sky, dark shadows against the backdrop of a full moon. Their howls were like the wails of the dead, weeping in despair, knowing the fate of the living.
And so, the demons made blood.
Screams of horror and anguish managed even to surpass the roars of the beasts. Big and sharp claws tore through cloth and flesh, knocked people over, left them in pieces, ate them alive. The Beauty had never seen such a thing. She had only heard stories. Fairy tales. But this was real. A living nightmare had descended on them all.
Was this the end of her beloved village? Would she never find a husband and make her own family? Would the gods have mercy and save them from this madness?
The Beauty screamed as one of the beasts leaped at her, muscled arms wide for a crushing embrace, jaw open to take off her head.
But just before she could close her eyes, the beast fell in half.
A blur in the air. The flapping of cloth. The rattling of air. The hiss of drawn steel. She could not see how it was done, but all around her the beasts were rendered to pieces. Their murderous limbs flew, their heads rolled in rageful shock, and their spared victims watched with awe. The people huddled together, not only to escape the monsters, but the monster slaying them.
He seemed to fly about the village, though he had no wings. His feet appeared never to touch the ground, so gentle was his step. He was draped in crimson cloth, and it fluttered and flapped with every movement, making him look like he was carried on the wind. Elaborate red and gold armor, fastened to him by black ropes, and hemmed together with a billowing black cape. He wore an intricate headpiece shaped like a bull with massive horns. The Beauty wondered if perhaps it was the actual head of a bull, conquered, killed, and now worn as a trophy.
No beast was a match for him. In fact, it was as though he was the predator and the swarms of mindless demons were mere prey.
The Beauty had never seen anything so beautiful as a slaughter. Never had she approved, and less cheered for violence, but with every monster cut down, her joy increased. In his left hand, a great glaive that seemed to extend beyond its normal length, so fast were the swings. In his right, a beautiful red sword that he would draw from his sheath, cut a monster in half, then returned the blade to his sheath all in the space of a second. Around and around he went, turning this bloodbath into a mighty spectacle.
Then, at last, it was over.
Now, the strange warrior stood before the remaining villagers, as the bloodless corpses of the demons began to wither away. He was beautiful, she found. His eyes were a bright, glowing blue that pierced the shadows of the encroaching sunset. A light in the darkness. He sheathed his weapons and approached the villagers.
People prostrated themselves before him, bowing in great awe and respect, proclaiming him a blessing from the war gods. The warrior did not oppose that suggestion, he did not tell them not to bow, he simply carried on as if being shown such respect was merely his birthright. Owed to him.
The Beauty found herself paralyzed when his roving blue eyes fell over her and her people.
"The gates of hell stand open. The bell tolls for a new incursion. Celebrate not, for the beasts will return. You are not safe. In greater numbers they will come, and not even the memory of your existence in this land of Sakura flowers will survive."
Gasps and sobs of fear went all around. Even the Beauty couldn't help but choke up.
The warrior spoke again. "It would be my honor to protect your noble village as your warrior, and as your king. Submit to my rule and I will protect your noble village as beloved citizens of my empire. Long shall your village live and long shall it prosper." Again his blue eyes searched the crowd, strangely hungry, like a wolf searching out the weakest sheep in the flock. "Give me only a woman to make my queen. A queen to bear my sons, who shall in turn rule these lands for many generations."
The Beauty heard the whispers around her. All varied of shock, suspicion, excitement, and hesitation. But she could barely give them thought. She found herself utterly bewitched by the warrior and his strange proposal.
Her father, while not the village leader, stepped toward the warrior, big and fearless. He had never swung a sword in his life, being a mere farmer, but her father had never shown fear to any man, and this warrior was no exception. "Truly you have our eternal thanks for saving our village, but you ask us to hand over one of our daughters, that you may become king in a land where kings do not rule? What you speak of is—"
"No, father!"
The Beauty wasn't sure who cried it out at first, but when she saw all eyes on her, she realized it had been herself. Swallowing, she stepped forward, between her father and the warrior. "It must be done. What he asks for is something we can surely provide... I will be his wife."
Her father and mother looked horrified, and that reflected in some of the villagers, while the others cheered with relief. Celebrations of eternal protection and continued peace.
"My daughter," pleaded the Beauty's father. "Please, you mustn't."
"My decision is made," she said, then He turned to the warrior and his heavy shadow fell over her. "If you would have me, I will be your queen. I will bear you many sons, and I will love and care for you as I would my own soul and body."
He was silent for a moment, those eyes observing her as if weighing out her value. Then, in an instant, his face warped to a satisfied smirk and he held out his hand to her. "Very well," he purred, "Now and forever, you are mine and mine alone."
The Beauty took his hand. Strangely cold. Like a corpse that lost all warmth. And the longer she held it, the more she noticed the cold did not fade. But looking into the warrior's handsome face, listening to his honey voice, she didn't think too much of it. She broke into a wanting smile. "I am yours," she repeated, "Now and forever, in all ways and all things."
With his other hand, he touched her shoulder. She felt his thumb reach under the neck of her kimono. Cold fingers brushing her collarbone. His smirk widened. "Now, we must consummate our glorious union before the eyes of your village. That they might bear witness to the birth of a great dynasty."
Her smile fell. "Here? Before my village? My mother and father?"
The Beauty swallowed, but tried not to look at her family while she made her decision. Was this not for the betterment of her village? Not only that, it seemed the gods had finally blessed her with a husband. Everyone was getting what they wanted, which meant everyone would be happy. What was one's own shame compared to the needs of all?
So she disrobed before her new husband and he took her there in the square of her little village. Some folk cheered and applauded, others gasped or looked away. The Beauty couldn't bear to see the quiet fear in her father's eyes or her weeping mother. As if they both anticipated a fate no one else could so.
As her new husband achieved his climax, she felt his fingers press into the flesh of her back.
They felt like claws.
But the past was the past, and the laws of nature flow in only one direction. The reversed waterfall flowed forward once more and Jaune returned from the Beauty's memories. He stared at her empty, broken expression. Devoid of joy and sadness both. A husk.
The stranger's dry tone reached him. "A deal with a devil. Though unknown to her, it was not long before his true nature was unveiled."
Jaune frowned. "He brought the demons to the village."
"Though he is called the Demon Lord, he does not command them. Rather, they follow him, or perhaps pursue him. Or do they race one another to be first to make the slaughter? The questions are many. The answers are few."
Jaune could hazard a guess. Adam's Despair had infected Blake's heart. Or perhaps, the couple's respective toxic traits had bled into one another. Alter-Adam, an exaggerated reflection of himself, invaded Blake's world, took over the land, then destroyed it. The Grimm were simply products of the Despair, following it wherever it was strongest. The only reason he could guess for why they hadn't torn apart Alter-Blake was that it was close to being fully consumed by the Despair. Jaune stared at her—another dead thing amongst a world of dead things.
Obviously, beating the crap out of Blake's Alter isn't going to accomplish much. If Alter-Adam is the demon that plagues this world, then my only choice is to exorcise him. The irony. I get told not to confront Adam at all, but the only way to save Blake's heart is to fight his Alter. Does my existence just beget the fuckery of fate? "Where is the demon?"
"He stands atop the highest mountain peak," The stranger pointed at the distance, where amongst a mighty row of mountains, one jutted up noticeably higher than the others. "He waits there."
"Waits? For what?"
"Ask him."
Jaune sighed, but resigned himself. At the very least, this would be a straightforward journey. And as if his brain had been in lag up until now, Jaune realized he was two heads short. "Did two other people come through here? A guy with blue hair and a girl with dark hair?"
"The only stranger I have seen is you. Few new souls enter this land."
Damn it all. They were supposed to stick together, but because of that weird angel creature, he'd been split from them. Was it possible they landed somewhere else in the world? Had that angel snatched them up mid-dive to spout nonsense as well? Jaune shook his head. What choice did he have but to continue on? Neptune and Ruby were strong and could protect themselves. He simply had to hope he'd come across them as he headed for the mountains. He looked at Alter-Blake, then the stranger. "I guess I'd better get going."
The stranger looked up at him through one exhausted eye. "You truly mean to face the Demon Lord?"
"That's the direction I'm headed. I suppose I'd better try."
A pause. "If that is your goal, then bring the Beauty with you."
"Why?"
"It is likely that you will not defeat the demon, and her trance will persist. But… if you were to conquer the Sword Saint, if you were to emerge victorious, perhaps that would rouse her from this long slumber."
Jaune considered it. What was there to lose? If he failed to beat Alter-Adam, he'd likely be dead and Blake's heart would fall to Despair. She was in no greater danger no matter where she went. There very well could be merit to what the stranger said. Witnessing the fall of Adam could perhaps awaken her. The only way to come out of this with a happy ending was to defeat Alter-Adam totally and completely.
So he took her by the hand and led her with him as he began his journey to the highest mountain. And he prayed he'd find Ruby and Neptune on the way.
The broken moon was close. Close enough that its eerie glow illuminated the entirety of the Public Domain's industrial district. The high buildings cast strange long shadows across the vast road, down the twisting alleys, over the abandoned cars. The air reeked of dirt and musk, like the lingering aroma after a rainstorm. All was quiet in the wasted city and it left Peach eternally uncomfortable. Even after years of using the Public Domain for one purpose or another, that strange otherworldly feeling never went away. The thought that she'd once lived in this world…
"Why, Master Peach!" A taunting coo broke Peach from her thoughts. "Whatever could you be doing here?"
Peach couldn't help but frown as Cinder gleefully skipped toward her in a manner like a little girl playing hopscotch. Honestly, at times she envied her old apprentice. That strange ability to elevate the tone of a serious situation by behaving in an inappropriately contrary manner. As far as Cinder was concerned, going to war with the organization's most dangerous enemies was an early Christmas.
"I'm not in the mood for your games, Cinder." said Peach. "Must you insist on every opportunity to irritate me?"
Cinder gave a playful wince. "Oh rejection stings even from the same sex. What's with your sour mood? Did you look in the mirror and notice that your breasts aren't as perky as they used to be? I trust you know that's just the process of old age?"
Peach might have slapped her, but figured it best not to give Cinder the satisfaction of getting to her, again. Besides, there were people around. Not that it mattered, she was of senior rank, and took orders from no one except the Superior.
They were not an army in the traditional manner. There was no wide spanning sea of soldiers banked on the hill of a dusty plain, no formation of tanks or armored trucks, no flock of jets circling the battlefield. There were no uniforms that designated one's allegiances and no badges or hats which denoted rank. One look at this motley crew would convince anyone that they were the rebels. Transformed into strange costumes or armor and brandishing weapons of every variety, they looked a lot more like a gang of circus performers, rather than the last line of defense against interdimensional terrorists.
They probably numbered three hundred in total, all scattered about the great square in their own groups, engaged in conversations or training or even laughter despite the severity of their mission. But they were all veterans and journeymen. No more amateur crews storming the battlefield in great numbers just to fail at repelling the Rebels. Thousands had been thrown at the enemy and thousands had been killed. Certainly every rebel was powerful to the point of concern to a degree, but no one doubted that Hazel Rainart was the true force repelling the organization's forces. They needed no army because Hazel was the army. The Superior had, finally, accepted that numbers would not weaken his old Vicar. Where quantity had failed, quality would succeed. Hopefully.
"A war. A real war! Or something close to it." Cinder preened like a schoolgirl whose crush asked her out, "How very exciting. The Superior has become so desperate that he actually decided to start using his most effective soldiers! Truly, his intellect is to be admired. If we win, the organization and its noble goals are saved and we can pat ourselves on the backs that we did a good thing in the eyes of those in power. Perhaps the Superior will even reward us with tasty dog treats! And if we fail, we'll all be brutally murdered and our corpses will be secretly disposed of while our loving families are fed the lie that their loved ones mysteriously disappeared forever! How very compelling, wouldn't you agree, Master Peach?"
Peach could only shake her head as Cinder practically bounced with excitement. She left her apprentice to her insane, self-indulgent monologue in favor of more sensible company. Qrow sat on the hood of a car, elbows resting on his legs, staring at the distance in consternate thought. His red eyes found hers as she approached and he adopted a wry grin. "You get bored of sulking?"
Peach couldn't manage a smile. "Oh I've got plenty of misery to share around."
"I'll pass," Qrow scratched his beard, "Think the kids are alright?"
"I'm certain." Except she was not at all certain, but the last thing she needed was Qrow being distracted. "Ruby and Neptune are very strong. They can hold their own. And Jaune, well, he's too stubborn to let anything happen to them. Let's focus on surviving this ordeal and getting back to them."
Qrow nodded. He didn't seem scared like Peach was or excited like Cinder was. Perhaps that was a good thing. Fear was just as likely to make one run away as fight, and she didn't need Qrow emulating Cinder's excitement, who was now galavanting about the army and disturbing people with her insane drivel, like an extremely annoying door to door missionary. And that, of course, reminded Peach of her father.
"Do you…" Peach paused, nearly retracted her question, then pressed on. "Do you believe in God, Qrow?"
His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Not the best time for a therapy session, Vick."
"Is it? I would think you'd want to get all your skeletons out the closet. You know, before we become skeletons ourselves."
"Fair enough. I guess I do, sorta." He looked up at the starless black sky. "Like, something's gotta be up there. Right?"
"Maybe. Then again, the world as we know it could simply be an accident. Some big explosion in space, and all the conditions necessary to spawn life just happened to come together in one rare instance."
"Maybe the surface world. But this," and he gestured to the empty city, "This whole secret world of yours? Nah, someone or something made all of this. Made it all with a purpose. Maybe it was God. Maybe it's a devil." He chuckled, "Then again, I've started to think that not even God has anything on the type of shit humans come up with. Who's to say this place isn't the work of some guy's fucked up imagination?"
Peach gave that a bit of thought, wondering if at all it could be true. The fact that it wasn't impossible was an uneasy thought.
"Anyway, I can't say I go to church, but I know something exists. Just can't say what. You?"
"Me?"
"Do you believe in God?"
"My father did."
"Don't remember asking about your father, Vick."
Peach cleared her throat. "Sorry… Well, I guess I don't know anymore. I grew up in the faith, but once I left home, I forgot church and God existed. I got enraptured by the world. But that was when I was young. Lately I…"
"Started thinking about it again?"
"More and more, yes."
"Can't say I know if it helps personally. But I know a guy. Does a lot of praying. I asked him who he prays to. Want to know what he told me!"
Peach gestured for him to go ahead.
"He said, does it matter?"
Peach's eyebrow rose. "What?"
"I swear, that's what he said."
"That doesn't make any sense. Whatever god you worship, your prayers are made out to them. Of course it matters. What, does he practice every faith in circulation, hoping at least one of them will turn out true? It's not prayer then. It's gambling."
Qrow laughed. Actually laughed at her like she was somehow the fool. "Relax, Vick. It's not that serious."
Peach only shook her head. She'd never heard of such a thing. Prayers were personal, spiritual conversations with God. You said it before every meal to show your thanks. You said it before bed, relying on the Lord to wake you in the morning. You said it before and after service, to show appreciation for the community of people that the Lord had blessed you with. Prayer wasn't just making words that sound good. They had to mean something. They had to go somewhere beyond the mortal coil. Prayer was meant to reach the heavens. These were all the things her father had drilled in her head, day in and out. And while she didn't practice anymore, it was hard not to have strong opinions about the faith after they were beaten into you.
"Forgive me," she said, "I guess I just don't get it."
"Ain't a human who's ever lived who's built to understand everything about others. Hell, my sister and I are a good example. Forty years going, and half the time I can't tell what she's thinking, or why she does the things she does. Eventually you have to accept that there are things you'll never know or understand."
"What are you saying, Qrow?"
"I guess I'm saying it doesn't matter what you believe in, so long as you get something out of it. Gives you hope or something to work towards. That's why the man I know prays, though he's never been to church a day in his life." He shrugged, "In my case, if God is up there, I ain't mad at him, nor can I say I love the guy. But it can't hurt to try being a better man. Make myself look good in the eyes of the Almighty. I mean, who doesn't want to be received at the gates? That's like, the best way to know you lived your life right. That's what I think."
Peach gave that some thought, but the topic of faith was bringing on memories of her father again and she very much wished to avoid that. "Remind me next time never to bring up religion around you."
Qrow let out a hearty laugh. "Got it."
So Peach moved on to her third and last potential companion in this whole damn carnival. The captain of this raid. Oobleck had spent most of his time giving orders to various groups, overseeing it all, though there really wasn't much left to manage at this point. She caught him thankfully while he was standing off alone, staring toward the great dark plain at the edge of the city—where the rebels would be coming from.
She came up to his side. "I don't imagine you're experienced in war."
Oobleck looked calm. "No."
"Nor I. What's our strategy?"
"Fight with all of our might. No reservations. No mercy. Kill them all. Or as many as we can before we die."
Peach shook her head. "For a secret organization determined to keep its secrecy through every dirty and unscrupulous trick known to man, such a strategy feels so… pedestrian."
"Man has not invented a more effective strategy for war than total annihilation. I actually consider it quite refreshing. If there is to be death, I would rather be forward about it."
"Hm. Do you think we'll die?"
"It is the most likely outcome."
"You don't seem afraid."
"No. Are you?"
"Very." Peach admitted. "There's a lot I need to do. Things I need to live to see. I cannot die until then, even if I must run away and leave the rest of you to die."
Oobleck managed a small grin. "Well, I suppose there's no better setting for honesty than war. Make no mistake, I fully intend to live as well."
Peach held her hand out to him. He seized her wrist and she seized his. They gave each other the strongest grip they could. The closest they came to any sort of affection. "Thank you, Bart."
"For what?"
"Your consistency. In our work, fraught with lies and deception at every turn, at the very least I knew I'd get an honest response from you. You never deceived me. I appreciate that."
Oobleck didn't show what he thought of that. Even now when this could be the last conversation they had, he kept his cards close. "Mister Arc is not your nephew. Correct?"
Peach was surprised, but then let it go. She should have known he'd figure it out. "No. He's my son."
"Why did you bring him into our world?"
"I thought I could save him."
"Hazel thought the same about his sister. Tyrian thought the same for the woman he loved. Both learned otherwise."
"I know. I suppose I arrogantly believed I could do better than them. I suppose that is the height of arrogance, thinking oneself above the mistakes of others. I was wrong, of course. Unbelievably so."
"That is what love does to us all. It makes us feel like we can do the impossible."
"So I should give up? My son is doomed?"
"All who find themselves mired in our world are doomed. That is the nature of our work."
Peach looked around at their little army. "Don't suppose you know if the Vicar is here?"
"You know that I do not. Even now, their identity remains unknown to all but the Superior. Perhaps they are among us. Perhaps he has them on a more important mission."
"What could be more important than fighting a war?"
"Winning it."
Fair enough, Peach observed. What more was there to say? They waited in silence for the enemy to appear. They did not wait long.
Just like how she'd seen him on the road, he first appeared as a dark figure, alone in the empty plain. A shadow against the backdrop of a moonlit city. Then people filed in behind him. Two, ten, twenty, thirty, and growing all the time. Peach heard someone behind her blow the signal horn, and the deep sound jump started her already anxious heart. She found little security in the backing of her allies, all gathering up now to form a great wall, ready to bar any outsiders from entry. By now, Hazel's group had grown more considerably than Peach had imagined. Fifty, eighty, nearly a hundred now, and still growing. There was only the sound of a thousand footsteps in discordant staccato as enemy numbers continued to rise.
Peach looked up toward the scout atop one of the buildings. Periodically, he held up his fingers to communicate his count of enemy forces. One for a hundred, which had been about what they'd expected. Then, one and five for one-hundred fifty. Then, two. Two and five. Three. Three and five. Still growing.
It was some time before Hazel's army came to a stop, but by then, Peach had already figured they lost the numbers advantage. Granted, they hadn't banked on that advantage at all, but bigger numbers didn't hurt, that was for certain.
Hazel broke from his soldiers and began to cross. Negotiations, most likely. Or hoping to force a surrender in the hopes of spilling no more blood. Oobleck went to meet him and Peach followed, all while making sure to be ready for whatever might happen. She didn't know Hazel for dirty tricks, but so close to victory, who knew what he might be willing to do. They stopped a fair ten paces from one another—close enough to see an attack coming, far enough away to react properly.
Hazel's gray eyes darted between the both of them. Never betraying what was on his mind. He settled on Oobleck. "Well met, Bartholomew. I expected you to be here. You were never one to shy away from duty."
Bart gave a single nod. "No."
He turned to Peach. "I thought you might find some way to avoid this battle. Yet, here you stand."
Peach sighed. "Orders from up top. You know how it is. You've done a damn good job forcing the Superior's hand. I couldn't even talk my way out of this." She nodded at the forces behind him, "That's quite an army. You've adopted the Superior's tactics now, I see."
Hazel showed little reaction to be compared to the Superior. No longer a hot button of his like it had once been. "This was always in preparation. No doubt the Superior believed I had no need for one and didn't think twice about sending his men to their deaths. In those battles I have fought, I spared those who wished no longer to fight for the Church. Who sought to purge it of corruption. All else perished. I don't imagine the battlefields were very well checked. After all, we who die in these worlds are never given funerals. Our families are simply left to wonder where we'd gone. Never to learn the truth." He looked at them both. "What could be more fitting, than to assemble the forgotten and sacrificed to exact justice on the powers that abandoned them?"
"Never took you one for poetry."
"My sister was. You learn to appreciate things more after you lose them. For what it's worth, I wish none of this on you." he said, "An athletic runner has many obstacles on his course. He harbors no hate for them. They are simply challenges to overcome. I congratulate you on not making my journey very easy. Nothing is worth it in this world that is not fought for. You fight for what you believe in and so do I. That's what it boils down to in the end."
Oobleck removed his glasses. Stared hard into Hazel's eyes. "For years you've made my job quite difficult. You've made me pursue you relentlessly, wherever it is you've gone. I've lost many colleagues in the process. I suppose that's the nature of war. I harbor you with no ill will, only questions."
"Ask, Bart. I've no reason to be dishonest."
"What did the Superior do to you? What was it that made you declare war against him? There are things that only you, once the Vicar, could know. Tell me this, at least, before we kill each other."
Hazel sighed. "Is that truly what you want?"
"I would not ask otherwise."
The big man's shoulders sank. "That is what all who have asked the same question said. The answer I provided, though truthful, was one they could not accept. And how could they? Such a truth is beyond the scope of man's knowledge. Beyond the capability of our brains. It was not meant to be known. And even less to be meddled with.
"I was one of the Superior's finest apprentices. I take no pleasure in this fact. It is simply the truth. I was groomed to lead the organization in his place one day. To carry on his legacy. To continue the fight against the turmoils of man and the twisted worlds we create with our personal horrors. I was everything he needed… almost. There was one final step I had to take. One more thing he needed me to do."
"Which was?" Asked Peach.
"To lose myself to Despair. To be consumed by it and reduced to an empty shell." Hazel put a hand over his heart. "Only then could he assume control. Only then could he possess the body he'd put such great effort into training, that he may carry on into the future, and continue the struggle against his mortal enemy."
Peach blinked. "Possess you? What the hell does that mean?"
"Think of him as a ghost, or perhaps a parasite, seeking suitable hosts where it can thrive. That is the purpose of the Vicar as second. A body of incredible power which he can make into his next vessel. And once they are prepared according to his needs, he makes them fall to Despair, allowing him to easily take over their body."
"That doesn't make sense. How would he even make someone as powerful as the Vicar fall to Despair?"
"There is no one way. Tyrian, for example, was far too mad for the Superior's tactics to work. There are few ways to truly hurt a man who cares for very little. I, however, was not so lucky. The Superior knew me well. He knew what I loved, he knew what I treasured, he knew my weakness." Hazel's big muscles tightened, veins popping. "To force me to fall to Despair, he had my little sister murdered."
It took Peach a moment to process that. She had heard it said that Hazel had accidentally killed his sister's Alter and she became a vegetable. But thinking about it now, would Hazel really make such a mistake when it came to his sister? It didn't make sense, once you thought about it. And what reason did Hazel have to lie? "The Superior did it?"
"He knew she was my only love. My only weaknesses. Young though I was, I was well aware of the effect it would have if I was to lose my sister. So I protected her with all of my strength" He looked at his hands, clenched them into fists. "But my strength was not enough next to the Superior's hunger. For all my power, I could not protect the one thing I loved. That is the fate which awaits those who become the Vicar. The fate of all who align with the organization. Yours and mine, all which awaits us at the end… is despair."
Peach could not wrap her head around all of this. It seemed entirely out of nowhere. It was out of nowhere. How could Hazel think anyone would take this claim seriously? And yet, he said it with such a straight face. Not the face of a liar. "That's… that's insane. A parasite? Possession? The Superior is just a man." She looked at both men. "He's just a man. Isn't he?"
"Perhaps he is." Said Hazel, "but if he is a man, a human like us, he cannot be a human of our world. That is for certain."
Peach let out a disbelieving scoff. "Are you joking? Do not tell me you believe him to be some kind of alien? That's insanity!"
Hazel's expression did not change. He turned to Bart. "Did those answers satisfy you, Bart?"
Oobleck frowned. "Satisfy? Hardly. I have more questions than ever."
"Then I can help you no further. I have no wish to learn beyond what is necessary to avenge my sister's death. I do not know who the new Vicar is. And I do not know what he intends to do with Silver Eyes. You'll have to uncover these secrets yourself." He gave them a sad look, "If you survive tonight, that is."
This new information was still working in Peach's head, but she snapped back to reality of the situation. It hardly mattered what she now knew if she wouldn't live long enough to do something with it. However, now something new entered her mind. "You said he chooses those with exceptional power. As potential vessels for him to control?"
"I did."
"I suppose he doesn't care what the body is, then? Man, woman… child?"
"All who bear great power are targets. Without exception."
Peach's heart crashed at the bottom of her gut. That meant Jaune was likely a target. No, he absolutely was. She wanted to ask why Hazel had never told her this sooner, but had to remember they were not allies. Not friends. Suddenly it made perfect sense why the Superior had allowed her to take Jaune back, despite the law against involving family members. He had already had his eye on Jaune's potential, long before Peach had known. But how had he known? She could think of only one possibility.
The Superior had access to Jaune's key. He'd had access to it for a long time, no doubt.
And in realizing that, Peach felt sick to her stomach realizing what she now had to do. Her goals hadn't changed. She had to protect her baby, whatever the means, whatever the cost.
"Love makes us think we can do the impossible. Right, Bart?" She gave him her sorriest smile, wishing things could be any other way. "It seems you were right. I never once believed I could take down the organization. Until now."
Bart moved his hand, but Peach was faster.
There was an ear shattering explosion as the ground between the rebels and agents split. A great dividing chasm forced both armies to scatter back as the earth in the crevasse split, crumbled, crashed, and trembled. Peach cleared her side and landed on the other, fittingly, right next to Hazel.
He glanced at her. Calm and calculating even now after her sudden display. "Are you certain? You cannot go back from this."
Peach stood up straight. "Can you kill the Superior?"
"I can."
"Then that's all I care about. Come what may later."
Just then, Qrow came down from the air and landed beside her. He, sensibly, looked conflicted to hell. "Want to fill me in?"
"Later. For now, just know the Superior probably wants your niece dead, or worse to use her for his own purposes."
Qrow turned grim. Looked at Hazel. "That so?"
"I do not know your niece, but it is likely."
Qrow put his hands on his hips and sighed but crossed to stand beside Peach regardless. "I guess this is where I stand, then. "
Then, a third person landed in front of Peach. Someone she didn't expect.
Cinder sauntered toward them with a mad grin. She burst into laughter and somehow it was infectious this time, causing Peach to chuckle just a little. "You mad bitch! Of all the times to betray the organization, you do so at their most crucial moment? How perfectly appropriate. Your selfishness knows no boundary!"
"You're free to fight with them, Cinder. I won't hold it against you."
"And miss the opportunity? Heavens no!" She took up Peach's other side and summoned her glass swords. "This is perfect! What beaten dog does not wish to bite the hand of his master? Let us do the impossible! Let us crush the organization beneath our boots!"
Peach looked at Hazel. "Can you trust us?"
"I can trust you to serve your own purposes."
"What comes after killing the Superior? What comes after taking down the organization?"
"We shall see."
Across the way, Peach saw Oobleck looking across at them. Effectively alone and with a much smaller army. Of course, those were the organization's most powerful Hunters, so they were hardly to be underestimated. Hazel may have the numbers, but most were the pickings of the weak armies the Superior had sent out, and as such they likely wouldn't accomplish more than being bodies to the grinder. Had Peach stayed on Oobleck's side, she was far more likely to win. Far more likely to survive.
Now, it was dead even across the board. Anything could happen.
Someone let go a vicious battle cry. Loud and unintelligible, but it was the call that got the battle going. Rebels and Hunters charged and thundered and stormed in their hundreds. The world around them enveloped in their monster bellows. Peach saw Oobleck amongst the masses and he saw her. They leaped at each other. He with his steel club and she with her scalpel.
Their clash split the skies.
A mere appetizer, friends. You're not fine dining quite yet. Save room for the main course. It's not far away now.
ISA