"Conquest, War, Famine, Death. It is said that this ordering of the Harbingers is the true signature of their strength.
Conquest is first, the Title that grants its bearer the potential to house multiple fully realised Affinities.
Next is War. The only way in The World to break the limit on Magic.
Famine, the gluttonous title. Its hunger knows no bounds, with its favourite prey being the Souls of others.
Finally, Death. What is commonly called the 'weakest' of the Harbingers.
Don't misunderstand. None of them share a difference in power so great that one could be disappointed in receiving any of them. But, if one must pit them against each other, this is the commonly accepted answer.
That being said, there is a universal truth that all accept. The Title of Death can be called a lesser one to its siblings, but there is a connection it shares that all respect. Conquest, War, Famine, no matter which Title you hold, there is an understanding that they, as well as all lesser beings, share. Only a fool fears not the Reaper.
Of course, just having the Title of Death doesn't make you that ancient figure. No one knows of its origin, nor its exact nature. The only thing anyone is aware of, is its name, and the fear of it inbuilt into every living thing. A fear so inbuilt into us, that we all strive to speak not its name.
I wonder what steps one would have to take in order to bring forth such a thing..."
"Come on!" In an anything but graceful fashion, Brutus slammed his cards down onto the table with aggravation. The older man still wore most of his older looking plate armour, a decorating symbol of his higher status. The rest of them crowded around the table wore much simpler leather armour, dyed White with Light Blue trim, of course. "I should have the lot of you thrown in the dungeon for the night..." The old knight grumbled under his breath, much to the other's amusement.
Smirking as he split the Lien from the centre of the table to the others - baring Brutus - Michael gloated to the old Knight's face. "Guess there are a few things that age doesn't improve, huh? I wonder what some of the others are." Michael was a much younger man, barely over a century old. He was still in his prime, with clean brown hair and a well managed beard. It was contrasted against Brutus' own grey hair and unkept facial hair.
"Careful young man, lest I prove you wrong with your mother's assistance." Despite his age, the old Knight was still rather juvenile.
"I think you mean grandmother." Once again, to the commander's chagrin, it was Michael's comment that got a laugh from the others, and not his.
They had started another round as the men finished bickering, and the final hand was played as Brutus accepted victory without grace and a flagon of whatever alcohol he could find in hand. Just as the previous laughter died down, Victor, a much smaller man, placed the winning hand on the table. A roar of frustration was heard from all but Brutus, who yelled in retribution at the other's loss after his own.
"HA! That's what you all get for laughing instead of paying attention." They all quieted down as the commander began to let his words trail off into a rant about watching what you were doing and never losing focus. Meanwhile, Victor sat awkwardly, waiting for the chance to butt in and tell the commander that he had simply gotten lucky and drawn the best hand possible.
Though, he never got the chance. Both his patient waiting, as well as Brutus' speech, were cut off by the sounds of a blaring alarm ringing throughout the fortress. The sound was piercing and made more than a few of the men jump, but besides that, their reactions were dull and full of tired annoyance. "Again?" More than one of them sighed out.
"Alright, everyone to your posts." Brutus sighed out, sounding just as annoyed as his men, as he stood. "Victor, hurry up."
That was all the indication Brutus gave to follow, but the younger man was quick to keep pace with the older Knight. They moved quickly, the only sounds Victor caught as they moved through the tight stone halls were Brutus' own annoyed grumbles, and the constant screaming of the alarm that rang through every room. It wasn't until they made it to the main command room that the sound quieted, if only slightly.
The moment the doors shut behind Victor, Brutus turned to the only other person in the room, a woman who had still been at her post. "Sam, turn that blasted thing off." The commander was quick to bark out.
Samantha responded as plainly as ever, far too used to his personality. "Sir, it's a required procedure that the alarm stay on throughout any and all attacks-"
"Bah!" She had clearly expected to be interrupted. "Shut it off. That's an order. I can't focus with it on. I'll talk to the General myself about it if I have to." After his words, both Victor and Sam shared a look that conveyed their combined thought, to them, it was obvious that Brutus had never and probably would never talk to General Ironwood directly. Still, she shut it off, not wanting to argue.
It wasn't a real emergency anyway.
"Blasted things..." Brutus commented as he stepped over to one of the screens lining the desks. They had a direct feed to the outer walls of the fortress, giving them a view of the fields surrounding Fort Argus. It was the dead of night out there, the only visibility was provided by floodlights lining the top of the walls. Every now and again, a black figure would race into the beams of light, only to nearly instantly be eradicated by a blast from something else mounting the wall. "What have we got tonight?"
"Beowolfs, a Deathstalker or two... No Alphas or anything, from what I can tell..." Just as she finished her reply, a small beep came from the scanner next to her. Turning to look at it, she added, "Oh, we got a Nevermore too."
"Great..." Brutus sighed out. "Victor, can you handle it?" The younger man gave a nod in response. He was one of the newer people stationed here, but he had quickly become well known thanks to bearing a strong Affinity. At least, for this circumstance. Being an Elemental with an Affinity of the same kind was a potent boon, and his Air typing gave a great advantage against winged opponents.
"He won't need to." Sam cut in, looking as uncaring as ever. "The update arrived yesterday, we can use aerial targeting for the weapons now." Her eyes never left the scanner as she spoke, watching the approaching dot that was the Nevermore.
Victor frowned gently at the new information. "Aerial targeting for the weapons, huh?" The new turrets that Atlas had rolled out in the six months since the war had made their jobs practically redundant. Featuring the ability to automatically target enemies, the soldier's ability to fight had become unneeded if they truly could now pick out and accurately take down flying creatures.
"Yep." Emphasising the 'P', Sam dramatically pressed one of the many buttons in front of the scanner. "And all with the push of a button."
"If it was charging the fortress, won't its corpse hit us?" Victor asked suddenly.
The response came from Brutus this time. "It'll fade into nothing before it hits the base." His comment was accompanied by thoughtful strokes of his beard.
"Still," Sam commented, thinking out loud rather than talking to anyone specific. "It's weird... This Nevermore, it's not an Alpha size, but it's still giant."
"So?" Victor was confused about the problem.
"So," Sam continued. "Why is it displaying such a high Mana value..."
Her answer came with a crash of sound as a projectile destroyed a sizable portion of the base on impact with it. Victor himself was thrown against the wall behind him, hitting his head and disorientating him temporarily. The cause, and effect, of the impact was left unknown to him for about a minute, till his vision cleared and he could raise his head again.
His eyes found that the command room was now only consisting of the half he stood on. The cold night wind hit him pleasantly on the face as his eyes were wide with shock and horror. Where once stood the controls to the turrets, the scanner, and Brutus and Sam... There was now nothing. In the distance, in other parts of the fortress, he could hear the sounds of other soldiers being torn apart by Grimm. None of them had been prepared for a fight, they hadn't been ready. It was easy pickings for the creatures of the dark.
Upon hearing the sounds of stone cracking and wood snapping, Victor took a step further back from the massive hole in the fort. Finally wising up, he made his way for one of the surviving consoles, hoping it could still contact Atlas.
But he didn't make it. All his movements stopped when an unmistakable claw made of dark liquid emerged from the hole making up the other half of the room. While his mind instantly recognised it as a Grimm appendage, he rejected the very idea of it. After all, there was no way that thing could have survived that impact. Even he would have been killed by a fall like that when fully transformed, and he was stronger than any Grimm they would encounter here!
At least, that's what all he knew about the creatures led him to believe. Another claw grasped the top of the other side of the hole, and the creature pulled itself up from the break. Its eyes were a piercing Yellow, it had six of them on its White, bone-like head. Protruding from the back of its head, there were the unmistakable shapes of horns. Pulling itself up further, he watched as more of its size became apparent. It was gigantic, only a bit smaller than Giant Nevermores... But made more terrifying than them by its limbs.
Unlike the bird-like Grimm, this creature featured four long legs with five claws at the end of each, as well as two large black leathery wings sprouting down its back. Its spine was lined with bone-like spikes, which lead down to its whip-shaped tail. The creature's right wing, it was broken, he could see that clearly. But still, it confused him. The creature was thin, almost sickly looking or starved. Surely it lacked the durability required to survive such a crash... So how?
Victor got his answer, but he wished he hadn't.
As the creature turned its head to see him, he got a better idea of its length as it pulled itself fully from the hole. Standing with its front legs and back legs on opposite sides of it, it looked about thirty meters long. Then, with a face that showed only horror... Victor watched its broken wing, emanate a soft Green light. Then, crack back into place.
"... What...?" Equal parts confusion and terror filled his mind, he was frozen, unable to process what he was seeing. Grimm didn't have Souls. Grimm couldn't use Magic. It was just a fact! What he saw had to be a lie! It didn't make any sense, it couldn't make any sense!
As it pointed its head towards him, as its maw opened up to reveal only more darkness... Victor found himself so full of fear and confusion that he rejected this reality. This couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening. He must be dreaming, that must be it. Even as the creature's dark maw filled with the glow of a crimson-red fire, he still repeated that in his mind.
"You're not real. I'm just dreaming. I'm just dreaming!"
He repeated it right up until its breath of flame engulfed him.