I do not own RWBY or Warhammer 40,000, only my original characters.
Return of Faith
Chapter Twelve: The First Move
The hololithic projection of Remnant rotated slowly within The Wrathful Roar's main strategium. The three-dimensional sphere shimmered slightly due to the soft clouds of incense smoke that filled the massive room. It did not bother those present, quite the opposite. The sweet-smelling smoke imbued the mind with clarity and focus, ensuring the full attention of everyone present fell upon the construction of the Black Lions' invasion plan.
The incense had little effect on the Space Marines however, their transhuman physiology negating the effects and their own ironclad focus rendering it nearly moot. The lighting of the incense candles had been part of the ceremony prior to the meetings' start. The Chaplain Rickard of the Third Brotherhood had blessed the already sanctified space with holy smoke and the ashes of the fallen to ensure the Emperor looked up the proceedings with favor.
It had taken the honored Chaplain nearly an hour to complete the blessing.
Kara Storell had nearly let out a sigh of relief when it finally ended. She may be a gifted psyker and agent of the Throne, but even she was not immune to the terrors of boredom.
Thankfully, the war council moved swiftly upon the blessing's completion. Chapter Master Castimere and his Captains quicky set about discussing the division of chapter forces across the planet for maximum Effect.
While the lords of the chapter crowded around the center hololith display, the rest of the massive space was taken up by the sergeants of every Black Lions squad in the Crusade. They watched the discussion of tactics and strategy unwaveringly, occasionally speaking up and offering their own insights or suggestions, all of which were heard and taken into consideration.
A number of them sent untrusting glares towards Kara and Inquisitor Kress, though she ignored them to the best of her abilities.
Excluding a few menial serfs, the only non-Astartes present in the chamber were Kara, Artoris, Inquisitor Kress, and Canoness Eleanor of the Order of Our Shrouded Lady. Clad in her ornate white and grey power armor, the Canoness stood out sharply against the black armored Astartes. She was unhelmed but hid her features behind a dark veil of cloth that covered her face.
Kara was told that all the sisters in the Order of Our Shrouded Lady did this, a way of honoring their patron, the mysterious Nameless Saint of Evangela. She had been the one to deliver the sub-sector into the Imperium's hands, so the legend goes, by leading a rebellion against the tyrant ruler of Evangela and ultimately sacrificing herself in order to kill him. This saw her immortalized as a Saint by the whole sub-sector, to the point where even the Black Lions venerate her as a holy figure. However, despite her role in shaping the fate of the Evangela sub-sector, her name or appearance was never recorded in any of the texts and logs detailing that time in Evangela's history.
Her anonymity was no issue though. If anything, it further strengthened the sub-sector's perception that she was the patron saint to all the Imperium's forgotten martyrs and unsung heroes. 'Who better to watch over the lost and nameless than one bearing no name herself,' the priests had said.
The sisters hold the belief that hiding their faces furthers the Nameless Saint's message of selflessness and sacrifice, something about a person's identity being less important than their deeds, or something like that. Whether that was true or not, the veils did make it harder to get a proper read on the Battle Sisters.
Not that that was much of a problem for Kara. She didn't need to see someone's face to know what they were thinking.
"We shall divide and conquer," the Chapter Master's voice saw Kara direct her attention back to the display. Five areas on the globe had been highlighted, pointing out the four city states of Atlas, Vacuo, Vale, and Mistral, along with the abhuman governed island continent of Menagerie. "Strike forces will be deployed to each of the designated areas and move to eliminate any and all opposition met. Primary targets will be the Huntsmen Academies and Council buildings. Intel provided by the Inquisitor's agents indicates that the capture of these locations will be vital to the invasion."
"Are we to terminate political leaders on sight," asked one of the sergeants. Kara took note of how the armor of his right arm was painted gray instead of black. "They must face retribution for turning their people from the Emperor's Light."
Many agreed with the sergeant, nodding their heads or pounding pauldrons with armored fists. "The Chapter Master has decreed that any political figure found is to be taken into custody and handed over to the Inquisitor for interrogation," answered Third Captain Ando, "they may hold useful information we can use. However, should capture be impractical, they are to be terminated."
The sergeant accepted this with a nod and the briefing carried on. Kara could sense the satisfaction drifting from the minds of several other Astartes. She wondered what they might consider to be 'impractical'.
The chapter master continued, detailing the initial assault strategies that each strike force would employ, more primary and secondary targets, the composition of each strike force and who would lead them, before finally bringing up an inevitable issue.
"The Creatures of Grimm will be drawn to our assault," he explained, "they will seek to rush in and slay everyone in the cities, heretic and loyalist alike. This we cannot allow. Battle serf hosts will be deployed to take up defensive positions around the target areas and hold the Grimm back until our primary objectives are complete. Once local resistance is eliminated, all squads are to join up with these hosts and drive the demons back."
None present raised concern or questioned this strategy. It was a sound one. Still, Kara could not help but feel somewhat worried. The Grimm had to be some form of demonic creatures or Warp corrupted beasts, monsters that Remnant has spent generations fighting with no avail. Yet the Black Lions seemed unphased by them, even placing faith in mortal soldiers to hold them off during the invasion.
Kara gave a subtle look around the chamber, noting how several of Black Lions wore the skulls of large beasts upon their armor, though no two skulls were the same. Curious.
"What can we expect in terms of local resistance," another sergeant prompted, drawing Kara's attention back to the meeting, "only one of the world's kingdoms has the sense to host any army, but the rest must have some defenses prepared. How else could they have lasted so long against these beasts?"
"If I may, Chapter Master," Oscar Kress asked as he rose from his seat, his raspy, synthesized voice echoing in the large chamber. Chapter Master Castimere gave the Inquisitor the gesture to speak. Kress nodded his thanks and moved to the center of the room where the Captains and Chaplains of the Black Lions stood before turning to the sergeant who had spoken. "Most of the Kingdoms, baring Atlas, possess no standing armies and must rely heavily on their caste of warrior-psykers called Huntsmen as a result. Huntsmen are their primary defense against the Creatures of Grimm. They possess great martial skill as well as dangerous and unnatural abilites. These can range from bursts of great speed and increased strength, to conjuring solid illusions and control over natural forces. However, they are few in number, lack any real organization, and hold no allegiance to any one kingdom."
Kara could feel the disapproval pouring off the Astartes. From what she had learned, Salem's knightly culture put great importance on allegiance and oaths over favors done for coin. Mercenaries were not well loved on the that world, where honor and faith were amongst the highest virtues. It led the Black Lions to loath Remnant all the more fiercely, for it was a world that relied and celebrated those who would fight for coin rather than honor.
"Outside of that, Remnant's kingdoms rely primarily on militia forces and automated defense stations. However, my agents assure me that these outposts are not consistent between the Kingdoms. Furthermore, their machine spirits are slaved to target only Grimm signatures and will ignore any human targets in their crosshairs."
"That may change once the traitors realize they have more than Grimm to worry about," interjected Eighth Captain Celgane. The Black Lion's Lord Executioner regarded the Inquisitor for a moment, his bionic eye wiring as it focused on him. He then typed something into the projector, prompting several dots to appear across the false image of the planet. He then looked to his brothers. "To prevent this, Scout teams will be sent in ahead of our main assault to neutralize the kingdoms' primary defense guns. Battle serfs will then move in and secure these stations for our own use."
"A sound strategy," Artoris whispered to Kara, who chose to keep her mouth shut as the space marines were talking. She just nodded in agreement. On it went, strategy and tactics, deployments and displacements, contingency plans and back up plans should those contingencies fail.
It struck her as slightly odd. The Black Lions had a reputation for charging headlong into battle, especially when they were sent to deal with rebellious worlds. The reports she had read about them made the chapter out to be fanatical glory hounds, yet here they were discussing the invasion of a primitive and lightly defended world like it was the fortress world of the Despoiler himself.
It was more than that though. Kara could feel their anger and hatred for this world, bubbling just below the surface of their minds. The despised Remnant and its people as traitors to the Emperor, but it was more than that… Something else lingered beneath the hate and rage, something that tempered their fury and kept them from crashing down to the world in droppods and butchering everyone they saw.
It was familiar… but she couldn't quite figure out why. It almost felt like… like…
"What of Remnant's Faithful," spoke Canoness Eleanor for the first time, cutting off Kara's contemplation. She spoke softly and with a strange hint of mourning, yet her voice carried across the chamber. "The initial assault will cause mass confusion among the civilian population, there will be panic and bedlam. How will we be able to tell our estranged brothers and sisters apart from the heretics?"
"Your concern, though well intended, is misplaced, Canoness," assured Kress, "my agents still down on the planet have informed me that they have made contact with a majority of Remnant's Imperial Cults, who eagerly await the return of the Emperor's Angels of Death." He smiles beneath his respirator at the assembled Space Marines. "Even now, they prepare for our return, and I am told they will make sure they are easily told apart from the guilty masses."
The Canoness made the sign of the Aquila and bowed her head to the Inquisitor, accepting this answer. The report from the Twins had detailed far more than what Kress had revealed, but the rest was either unimportant or irrelevant to the meeting at hand.
Further details of the invasion were brought up, though little that Kara considered important. She already knew her role in the coming assault. As the Black Lions brought their fury down upon Remnant, she would be accompanying Kress in locating and securing the source of the Psychic Song that led them here in the first place.
Kara could sense it, even now. Upon their return to the Remnant system, its weak whispers had tickled the edges of her mind, desperate to reach her but too afraid and weak to take hold. When she tried to reach out to it with her own powers, the Song would shrink away from her touch, unsure. It was like it did not know what it wanted. The Inquisitorial psyker did not pursue when it did this. Whatever the source of the Song was, it was clearly fragile and scared. Chasing after it with her own powers could see it go to ground or even destroy it.
She could only trace the Song for now, letting it move about her mind and following it back to its source upon the planet. It had been like leaving out food for a swarm of spinerats and following the first one to leave back to the nest. She had needed to tread softly and calmly, let the Song feel like it is leading her rather than being followed. This had let her discern the Song came from Vale's capital city, but until she reached the surface, she would not know where in the city.
Her gaze turned once more to the assembled Black Lions officers. The Chief Librarian was not among them, though he was aboard the fleet. He had shown great interest in the Song, as well as Remnant itself. He was powerful as well. Perhaps Kara could seek out his assistance in this matter? She would need to clear it with Kress first though.
This proved unnecessary, however.
Whether through the Librarian's own great power, divine providence, or sheer coincidence, upon the meeting's conclusion – and the overly long prayer of dismissal – a serf approached the Inquisitor and his companions. The chapter slave was an old, unremarkable looking man, save for the many lines of minuscule text tattooed into the flesh of his face. The man bowed his head toward Kress. "Lord Inquisitor," he began, his voice sounding exactly how he looked, "Chief Librarian Syrus has tasked me with escorting Inquisitorial Acolyte Kara Storell to his quarters."
"For what purpose," Kress asks, though Kara could sense he already knew why.
"He wants to speak with her," the bluntness of the answer came as a bit of a surprise. Most people were more careful with their words when speaking to a member of the Inquisition, yet this old man did not. Even stranger, Kara could sense little to no fear toward the Inquisitor within the man, as if he did not care for the power Kress wielded.
Kress eyed the serf for a while before turning his head to Kara. He made no noise beyond the rasping hiss of his respirator. He made a gesture with his right hand, subtle and quick, easily mistaken as a random clenching of fingers. Kara reached out with her powers to hear her master's thoughts.
Go with him, she heard him think, the Chief Librarian already knows about the Song. No doubt he feels it now, just as you do. I give you leave to answer his questions at your own discretion but be careful. Make sure he answers more questions than he asks. Understand?
I understand, Inquisitor, Kara responded, I will not reveal our intentions toward the Song.
With that, Kress bid her leave his mind, which she did. Only a fraction of a second had passed during their psychic conversation, and the serf was non the wiser to what had been discussed. Kress gave Kara a nod and the psyker bowed her head in a show of acknowledgement before turning to the old serf.
"Lead on," she said, and followed the serf out of the strategium to meet with the most powerful psyker Kara had ever met in her life.
~o0o~
Above the skies of Vale, the Atlas fleet loomed. The northern kingdom's great warships soared just barely over the skyline of the city, uncaring of those below them, those who did not ask nor desire the fleet's presence or protection.
The fleet had grown recently. Just this morning, three more warships had flown in from the north, carrying soldiers, warbots, mechs. The "token" escort force that had flown in with the Atlas students all those months ago was now an army, ready to defend the city from any threat, be it from within or without.
The outrage from the public had been loud but brief. Many were growing tired of Atlas gunships flying overhead, and Atlas soldiers patrolling their streets. But few had the courage to do much else but give voice to their displeasure at what was now being viewed as an occupation.
Only to go silent when the thirty or so Altesian Paladin war mechs strode out into view.
Those advanced machines now patrolled the perimeter of Beacon Academy, as well as the designated fairgrounds. The mighty Atlesians were kind enough to keep the deadly walkers away from the civilians and students by placing them at the edges of their defensive perimeter. Not that it helped much. The slight tremor of their tread could be felt by the more focused Huntsmen students, and every once and a while, the sound of a tree falling could be heard, or a flock of birds seen shooting out into the sky.
Tensions were high in the city of Vale, growing worse with every day. Soon, things would reach a tipping point, and all hell would break loose between the people and their Atlesian 'defenders'. It would cause mass confusion and chaos as leaders and officials struggle to restore order, desperate to stop the violence before the Grimm arrived.
The perfect cover for Cinder Falls and her followers to accomplish their goal. Indeed, the Fall Maiden could not have asked for better. As things were now, she would be able to complete her mission without issue.
Yet… as Cinder stared out from their guest dorm room window at the Atlas fleet, watching them hover in the sky as gunships flew around them like rapier-wasps around their hive, she felt nothing but frustration.
"I'll give it a month," Mercury Black commented from his bed, not looking up from his maintenance of his mechanical legs.
"What," asked Emerald Sustrai, who eyed the gray-haired boy with curiosity and annoyance.
Mercury chuckled and shook his head. "Come on, do I really need to spell it out?" He looked up from his work, setting his tools to the side. "The spark. I bet it will only take a month to go off, and then, all hell will break loose."
"City people are too soft for that sort of thing," Emerald argued, "they're all hot air. They'll shout and whine, but they aren't brave enough to do anything else. Besides, they don't have mechs and airships."
"Nobody thought Vacuo could put a fight either, until they kicked Atlas out during the Great War," Mercury countered.
Cinder tuned out the conversation, preferring to boil in her own aggravation. Despite Mercury's belief, they didn't need a riot for their purposes, just enough negative emotion to draw enough Grimm into the city. It was still possible, but the removal of the White Fang by the Atlas military made it much harder than she had planned it to be.
Cinder clenched her teeth. She had been furious when the news of the White Fang's destruction in Forever Falls reached her, the call from Adam Taurus hours later was like salt in the wound. He had somehow managed to survive the assault along with a few others, fleeing into the forest just before the bombardment. The call was brief, well, when one filtered out the raving bigotry and hypocrisy of that bullheaded thug. Adam blamed Cinder for the destruction of the White Fang camp, and that he would no longer be aiding her in her mad plan to take down Beacon. He hung up before Cinder could get a word in, not that she would waste them on him.
She had recruited him and his mongrels because they had the numbers and equipment needed to ensure her plan's success. Now, with only a handful of them left and their resolve broken, they were useless to her.
Not that they would be needed, if things continued to escalate as they were. As Mercury stated, the tension between Atlas and the other Kingdoms would reach a breaking point soon, one that would draw in the Grimm and give Cinder the chance she needed to claim her birthright.
All thanks to someone else…
The increase in Atlas forces within the city, their massacre of Imperial cultists, the removal of two teams from the Vytal Tournament roaster, it was all the work of another. Cinder was no fool, she did not believe in coincidences. A third party had inserted itself into this old game between ancients, and it infuriated Cinder to no end.
How could it not? She had spent months, nay years, planning this, down to the slightest detail, only for some random upstart to barge in and ruin everything? Even if it did ultimately benefit her goals, how could Cinder take any pride or satisfaction in her victory if it was achieved by a hand that was not her own? She did not even know who was doing this, and that just made it sting all the more acutely.
She could already hear them, the members of Salem's Court. She could hear them mocking her for her failure. Watts, with that stupid mustache of his, smugly remarking how he would have done things differently in her place. Hazel, silently judging her with those infuriatingly calm eyes. Tyrian, giggling like a maniac as he celebrated her 'victory' with his deranged mockery. And Salem….
Her anger stuttered at the thought of how her Mistress would regard her after this, and goosebumps crawled across her skin. Salem was not unforgiving, but neither was she merciful. Cinder had no doubt that any punishment dealt out by Salem would be cruel, informative, and lasting.
She had seen it before, once, back when Salem first took her into her fold, showed her the truth that had been buried beneath mountains of lies. The woman had been Cinder's predecessor and had been steadily losing favor with the Grimm Queen prior to Cinder's recruitment. She was given one last chance to redeem herself in Salem's eyes, a sliver of hope which she eagerly chased after.
She failed however, and the punishment Salem meted out upon still shook Cinder to this day.
I won't fail, she told herself, before closing her eyes and taking in a deep breath. She was nothing compared to me. I will take what is mine and show the world that I am a force to be respected and feared.
She opened her eyes and stared out at the Atlas airships once more, determination and malice burning in her.
And I will see anyone that dares to get in my way burned to ashes…
~o0o~
"You shouldn't have brought more soldiers, James."
General Ironwood stared at the back of his fellow headmaster and friend as Professor Ozpin stared out the window at the newly reinforced Atlas fleet. He couldn't see his face, but James could hear the subtle disapproval in his words, the wary exasperation. He sounded like a grandfather who had just been told his grandchild had broken a priceless family antique after a dozen warnings to be careful.
"Even for you, this is stupidly arrogant," Glynda Goodwitch chimed in, glaring daggers at the leader of Atlas' military. "We are still trying to contain the fallout from your latest blunder, and you think bringing more soldiers and war machines is the answer? Does the idea of subtlety not exist in Atlas, James, or does your Council find it simply easier to shoot their problems away and damn the consequences?"
"Subtlety is not working anymore, Glynda," James responded, keeping his voice calm and even. "The White Fang led a horde of Grimm into Vale, they had an army hidden just outside the border of the city, the cults are becoming more active. War is coming, and the only way to stop it is to meet it head on."
"Does stopping it involve slaughtering unarmed civilians?"
His eyes narrowed. He knew she would bring this up again. "They were members of the cult of the emperor. Outlaws and dangerous fanatics-"
"They were civilians, James!" Glynda snapped back, "homeless people and gang members. They didn't even have Aura, but instead of letting police or local Huntsmen deal with it, you send in your death machines to butcher them like cattle!"
"They had two Beacon students in their ranks, they could have unlocked their Auras for them! I had little to no intel on the size or strength of this cult, and I wasn't about to risk the lives of my men against an unknown force, nor will I apologize for putting their wellbeing before the politics of your Kingdom!"
Glynda was furious at this point, gripping her riding crop so hard her knuckles went white. Before she could launch into another tirade, someone cleared their throat. James and Glynda both turned to the one who had made the noise, A woman clad in a finely wrought suit of whites and blues that stood at Ironwood's side. Her white hair was done up in an elegant variation of a military bun and a fine saber rested on her waist. She stood at attention, hands held behind her back, but looked ready to move at a moment's notice.
"Specialist Schnee, you have something to add?" James asked, noting that Ozpin had also turned to regard the young woman.
Winter Schnee gave a crisp nod and regarded her general and the assistant headmistress of Beacon. "Sir, I only have reports to go off of so I apologize if I sound ignorant, but if things in Vale are still as bad as I have led to believe, then arguing about who caused what won't solve anything and will just make things worse."
James blinked. Glynda gawked then gave a disgruntled huff. Ozpin nodded in weary agreement. "Well said, Miss Schnee," The Beacon Headmaster said, then turned to James, "and quite true. I am disappointed that you brought in more soldiers without discussing it with me first, James, but I also know you did it to protect Vale from any more possible threats."
Glynda folded her arms and rolled her eyes.
"I know there is no point in asking you to pull them out," Ozpin continued, ignoring his second in command's disapproval, "so instead, I ask that you keep your men out of the city while they are on duty. They are here to provide security for the Vytal Festival only, not act as an occupational force in Vale."
"My men are not occupying Vale, they are protecting it," James argued, and Ozpin's eyes narrowed behind his spectacles. "Vale was suffering from a massive crime wave before I arrived with my men, now crime in Vale is at its lowest in years thanks to them. The Breach was sealed thanks to Atlas intervention and the White Fang force camped right outside the city was destroyed by the Atlas fleet. Vale would be in a far worse state than it is now, if it wasn't for me and my men."
"We would also have fewer international crises to deal with too," Glynda muttered bitterly.
"There would have been no crisis if the VPD had been more diligent in enforcing the law," James shot back, and another glaring match began between the two.
Ozpin gave a long, drawn out sigh as he reached up to massage his temples, drawing the two's attention. The older man looked at the pair of them with a rye smile, "Miss Schnee points out that we should not argue, and you two immediately go back to trying to get one over the other," he shakes his head and looks at Winter, "I swear, if I didn't know any better, I would mistake them for a married couple."
James blinked and raised an eyebrow while Glynda blushed and threw her glare Ozpin's way. "Headmaster!"
"They do give off a certain… energy," and James blinked again, turning to his subordinate who smirked back up at him.
James did not respond, stunned by the fact he had heard Winter Schnee, a Huntress Specialist of the Atlas military, tell a joke.
It was… beyond unexpected, and for a brief moment, James could have sworn he saw something in Winter's eyes, something he had not seen before in all the years he had known her.
The feeling vanished when she looked back to Oz, who now smiled with some genuine mirth while Glynda looked like she was trying not to pout. The atmosphere of the meeting was now lighter, thanks to Schnee… another unexpected thing.
"Glynda is right though, James," Ozpin suddenly said, the mirth from a moment ago gone. "Your hasty elimination of the cult has caused resentment toward Atlas to rise, attracting the Grimm. That resentment grows every time someone looks up into the sky and sees your fleet looming over them, your canons aimed right down at them."
James' temper flared at that, and he took a step toward the silver-haired man, "Oz, none of my-"
Ozpin cut him off with a raised hand. "I know that you gave each captain of your fleet explicit orders not to fire upon Vale under penalty of court marshal and execution, but the people of Vale do not," The headmaster of Beacon sat down in his seat, elbows propped up on his desk, fingers interlocked in front of his mouth, "nor do I think they would care if they did."
James clenched his fists, the barest whisper of a mechanical purr coming from his covered prosthetic limb. Such was the skill and ingenuity of Pietro Polendina, that only James could hear the artificial noise the limb created, and even then, just barely.
James wanted to go over and slam his fist down on Ozpin's desk then, smashing the piece of furniture to splinters with the bionic limb. He was more disciplined than that, however. He did not rise to become the General of the Atlas military by letting his emotions get the better of him. He leveled Ozpin with narrowed eyes, and Ozpin returned it with an unreadable stare.
It seemed to go on for an eternity but lasted only a few seconds. When it broke, James was the one to relent. Ozpin was right, James admitted. He had handled the situation with the cult poorly, treating them like the White Fang rather than the deluded civilians that they were. They likely had no idea they had been discovered until he sent his knights to eliminate them.
He would not apologize for it though. The Imperial Church had instigated the Great War with their fanaticism and were directly responsible for some of the greatest atrocities in the war. Their pure hatred for Mantle and Mistral had made peace talks between the Kingdoms impossible, prolonging the war for longer than it had any right to be. Even their King, the man they had crowned under the light of their 'god-emperor' had seen them for what they truly were.
The dissolvement of their Church and the outlawing of their faith was meant to protect the world from those who would dare try and defend their actions as being the will of some false god. It had brought stability to the Kingdoms after the war, and eighty years of peace.
Peace that was now threatened by Salem and the scattered fanatical remnants of the faith.
He would not apologize for carrying out justice on those who plunged the world into ten years of bloodshed, regardless of whether they were civilians or not. He had done his duty.
Still though…
"The Vale and Atlas Council's chose me to provide security for the Vytal Festival, Ozpin, and that is what I intend to do," he stated, keeping his voice calm and back straight, "However, you do raise a valid point that the presence of my fleet no longer has the desired effect."
Ozpin kept his gaze neutral as James spoke, while Glynda didn't bother to hide her skepticism. Thankfully, she chose not to voice her disbelief, allowing James to continue.
"Grimm activity is on the rise, and with the White Fang dealt with for now, I believe my forces will be put to better use ensuring the Grimm do not breach Vale's defenses. I'll send word for the captains to begin patrolling Vale's borders when I get back to my ship, however," James locked eyes with Ozpin, his gaze steel, "The Dauntless and Blue Wind will be moved to hold over Beacon Academy."
Glynda rolled her eyes and huffed. "Typical," she muttered under her breathe, but said no more when Ozpin shot her a look. The Beacon Headmaster returned his gaze to James and after a long moment, nodded.
"This is the right thing to do, James," Ozpin agreed, though his tone of voice showed he was still not satisfied with it. "I would prefer it if your whole fleet was moved out of sight of the people, but-"
"If I pull them all out of the city, both Vale and Beacon will be vulnerable," James quickly answered, growing tired of being talked down to in such a condescending manner by someone he respected. "They will respond to any threat that manages to slip through the Kingdom's defenses and provide support to local forces, if it is requested."
Ozpin narrowed his eyes at that last part, easily seeing the second meaning behind it. If Vale didn't want the Atlas military protecting them, then they could protect themselves. And when they realized they needed the Northern Kingdom's big guns, advanced robots, and trained soldiers, they can come and beg for it.
It was only partially accurate. He would hold his forces back from interfering with local affairs, as desired by the people, but if something happened that demanded the deployment of his forces, James would do it, with or without permission.
Ozpin was likely aware it was a partial bluff but given he did not call James out for it, it was clear he either approved of it, saw no reason to argue the matter further, or simply did not care.
Either way, this discussion was over. "If you will excuse us," James said, after a long moment of silence, "I need to begin organizing the patrol routes for my fleet. I will send you and the Council a report when I am finished."
"I look forward to reading it," was all Ozpin said as James and Winter turned to leave the room.
Only for the door to suddenly be slammed open as two men stormed into the headmaster's office.
James instinctively reached for his pistol, stopping himself only when he recognized the two men.
The first man was broad and well-built, his skin tan and hair blonde. He was dressed in simple clothes, a brown vest over a short-sleeved khaki shirt and basic cargo shorts. His right arm carried a small metal pauldron and was decorated with several tattoos. His face, often bearing an expression of friendly confidence or inviting calm, was now contorted into a rictus of pure fury as he glared daggers at the general and Ozpin.
The man behind him, though different in appearance, regarded the general with equal disdain. Where the first man's aesthetic was warm, the second man was cold. His pale complexion complimented his outfit of various shades of gray while contrasting with his black hair. Where the first man was broad and muscular, the second was comparably thin and scrawny, though not by much.
James knew both of them and did not need to guess why they were here.
"Taiyang, Qrow," Ozpin began cordially, acting as if the two had not just smashed his office door off its hinges. "I was not expecting you so soo-"
"Give me one good reason not to punch this bastard in his throat," Taiyang Xiao Long, father to Ruby Rose, growled out as he gave James the mother of all death glares.
"And why I shouldn't help him," added Qrow, voice low and threatening. Ozpin's agent's fingers twitched, ready to pull free the blade holstered on his back at a moment's notice.
Winter pulled out her saber before Ozpin could respond. She placed herself before James and leveled the blade at the two men, glaring coldly at them. "Stand down," she said, "before you do something stupid and cause even more strife between our kingdoms."
"Stay out of this, Ice Queen," Qrow warned.
"You had no right. No damn right to do what you did," Taiyang growled at James, eyes burning with parental fury. "Ruby's done nothing wrong. You have no proof-"
"Unfortunately, he does have proof, and technically, he did have the right," Ozpin cut in, causing Taiyang's head to whip around toward the headmaster. "I'm not condoning what he did, just providing context. A copy of the Lex Divinitus was found under her bed, and the law states that one in possession of a copy must be put in custody pending an investigation."
"I know the fucking law," Taiyang snarled. The man's fury was palpable, lacing each word he forced through his teeth. "Just like I know he's from Atlas," he pointed a finger at James accusingly, "where they shoot believers of the Emperor like dogs!"
"Then it is a good thing we are not in Atlas currently," Ozpin responded, voice still calm, "I've discussed this with the General multiple times, Tai, but there is nothing that can be done until the Vytal Festival is over."
Qrow gave a snort, "right, 'cus she's such a big threat to the safety of the people," he said, every word dripping with sarcasm. He clicks his tongue and sneers at the two Atlesians, "Only military in the Kingdoms and a damn kid has you pissing yourselves in fear. Gods forbid, you actually have to fight her. Just a blink of her eyes might break all those fancy toys you brought along."
"One shouldn't underestimate a potential saboteur," Winter responded, "for all we know, her demeanor could be an act to make us underestimate her."
It was the wrong thing to say.
Taiyang rounded on Specialist, fists clenched. If he was going to strike her, he never got the chance, as a purple glow encased Taiyang, freezing him mid turn. Glynda had her riding crop out and was pointing it the former member of Team STRQ. She ignored the death glares sent her way by Taiyang and Qrow, though she gave the latter a warning glare of her own.
"Apologies, Tai, but I cannot abide violence within my office, especially over matters such as these," Ozpin said, giving Glynda an appreciative nod before turning back to James, "you should go give your men their orders, General. I'll see what I can do about these two."
"Orders?" Qrow asked, confused and wary. "What orders?"
"We'll take our leave then," James responded, thankful for the opportunity. He did not want to be berated further for his choices, especially by the family of the girl he had taken prisoner aboard his ship. Even if they did have the right to be furious, he had upheld the law and done his duty. "Schnee, with me."
"Sir," Winter said, falling in next to James as they made their way to the elevator. As they did, Qrow spat on the floor in front of the general. He paused, staring down at it before looking back at Qrow.
The Huntsman said nothing, the utter loathing on his face saying everything James needed to know.
The general stepped over the wad of spit and entered the elevator with Winter. Before it closed, he saw the purple aura encasing Taiyang vanish as the man could move once more, rounding on Glynda and Ozpin as he began to shout furiously at them. When the elevator doors closed, the shouting became muffled, and as they descended, it grew more and more distant before vanishing all together.
James nearly let his exhaustion show, the desire to let out a massive sigh was great, but he restrained it. He had explained his positions and reasons countless times, yet Ozpin refused to see things as he did. It left the general drained. He wanted nothing more than to fall into the small cot that served as his bed aboard the Dauntless and surrender himself to the bliss of sleep. Sadly, he had more duties to perform.
"Winter," James began, pleased his exhaustion did not bleed into his voice. "I want you to go inspect the Vale defense stations tomorrow at o-six-hundred hours. Make sure they're up to snuff."
"I'll make sure they are sir; you have my word."
"I know I do," James, said, and this time some of his exhaustion managed to creep its way into his words, causing Winter to regard him for a moment. Her expression was stoic and guarded, the result of years of training in Atlas Academy and serving as a Specialist for the military, yet there was concern hidden in those blue eyes of hers, for which James Ironwood was grateful.
He had been feeling very alone lately, and it felt far more reassuring than he had been expecting it to be, having someone stand in support of his decisions. He turned to Winter, offering her a smile.
"I know I can always count on you, Winter," he said.
Winter just smiled back.
~o0o~
"You may enter, he is expecting you."
This was all the old serf said before bowing his head to her and walking off without another word. A quick probe of his mind told the psyker he was heading to the ship's librarium to retrieve several tomes for his master. Kara watched him for a while, before he turned a corner and disappeared from sight.
She turned back to the door to the quarters of the Black Lions' Chief Librarian. Save for the many purity seals and wards of protection that adorned its surface, it was no different from any of the other doors on the ship. It did nothing to conceal the power of the individual waiting for her on the other side, however.
Kara took a moment to compose herself before entering the chamber. She made sure her mental barriers held firm. Kara had raised them the moment she had begun following the tattooed old serf through the ship. The Chief Librarian had caught her off-guard back on Salem and she was determined not to let it happen again.
The door to the chamber parted with a pneumatic hiss and the young psyker walked inside. She began examining the room, Inquisitorial training kicking in, only to fail as her focus found itself set on the large figure who occupied the room.
Chief Librarian Syrus was sitting at a large oaken desk, built to the proportions of a space marine. A quill was in his hand, not an autoquill, but a real one, plucked from the wing of some great eagle or hawk native to Salem. The quill moved with shocking grace, its feather dancing through the air in a way that made it seem like some invisible wind was moving it rather than the hand of transhuman warrior, the illusion only broken when he stopped to dip the quill into the inkpot.
She blinked when he tapped the quill tip on the edge of the pot, snapping her back to reality. It allowed her to finally notice that the Chief Librarian was out of his cobalt armor. Instead, he wore simple black robes that, adding to his already wizened features, would have fooled Kara into believing him some Administratum archivist.
If he wasn't so damn big, that is.
He did not look up from his writings when Kara entered, nor when the door closed behind her. She gave a polite cough to get his attention, but this also was ignored. She knew he heard her come in, knew he sensed her presence when the serf brought her to his chambers, yet now he ignored her presence?
"Apologies, Kara Storell," the space marine psyker said, answering her unspoken question and keeping his eyes on the parchment before him. "I shall be with you in but a moment. Please, pull up a seat."
Kara redoubled her mental defenses, worried he had snuck through them, before looking for somewhere to sit. She found a chair – human-sized, miraculously – resting in the corner of the room. She pulled it over and sat down, watching the Chief Librarian as he continued writing. As this went on, her gaze flickered to the room itself, though cell would be more appropriate a descriptor.
The chamber was spartan in design, bare stone walls and a large cot, along with a small shrine to the Emperor in the corner. Shelves of books and scrolls and clusters of incense candles were all that kept the space from looking like it belonged on a prison ship, and even then, not by much.
A rustling noise made Kara turn to the cot, where a small bundle of brown fur lay upon a thin slab of cloth, she assumed was meant to be a pillow. No, Kara realized, sensing a primitive consciousness from the 'bundle' as it shifted and squirmed upon the pillow.
Then, it rose, transforming from a nondescript ball of fur into a vaguely feline-like animal. It arched its back and yawned, revealing tiny needle teeth. Its long bushy tail bristled and shivered as it stretched its muscles before one of its large ears twitched in her direction. The creature turned, large emerald eyes staring at Kara with animal curiosity. It then leapt from the cot to land upon the space marine's back where it climbed up to stand on his broad shoulders.
Kara blinked as the beast moved back and forth along the Librarian's shoulders, purring like a house cat as it rubbed its head against his own, uncaring that he remained focused on his work. What was it, she wondered? A pet of some kind? She had never heard of space marines having pets. Perhaps a psychic familiar of sorts, though it did not seem to be psychically attuned. Surely it wasn't some random stowaway that managed to sneak onto one of the Black Lions' warships.
The sound of the quill tapping against ceramic stole her attention as Chief Librarian Syrus set the quill aside, finally finished with his writing. He took a pinch of sand and sprinkled it over the parchment to dry the ink before turning his head toward Kara, finally deigning to look at her.
He looked ancient. His face was a map of lines and old scars stretched over skin that clung to his skull. He was bald, and the only hair he possessed was on his eyebrows and face, where a thick by short cut beard of gray hair masked the lower half of his face. He was old she realized, very old, but that did not mean he was weak. He was a space marine, and moreover, he was a psyker.
He smiled to her, the expression warm and apologetic, made more sincere by his golden eyes. "Your patience is appreciated, Acolyte Storell," he said in a voice that matched his wizened features, "I offer my apologies once more. I did not intend to become so engrossed, but I had to finish it. I hope you understand."
"I-it is fine, my lord," Kara offered, barely hiding the discomfort in her voice. He spoke like an old man would to his grandchild. "You seemed quite focused on your work. Was it a report of some kind?" She dared not reach out and feel his thoughts to find the answer, lest he reach out to her in kind.
He offered her a smile, and Kara instantly knew she'd be wrong. "It was nothing so important, just some poetry."
Kara blinked, "Poetry?" Of all the things she had expected it to be, poetry was not one of them.
The Librarian nodded, then adjusted his seat so that he was now facing her, "yes, poetry. I know it may seem odd to a human, but we Astartes are capable of more than just killing in His name. We can have hobbies," he chuckled, amused at his words. Then he stopped. He still smiled, but the amusement was gone. "However, that is not why I had you brought to me."
"You wanted to discuss the Song," she stated, and he nodded.
"Indeed," he reached up and began to absently run his fingers over the head of the small creature perched on his shoulders. "I sensed it just before we translated in system. A quiet melody within a typhoon. I tried to reach out to it, but it shied from my presence, afraid and weak, but I sense you already know this."
"I do. The same happened to me when I first tried to contact it. It is unlike anything I have felt before," she admitted, "it is almost as if the one responsible is both skilled and unskilled at the same time or fears the consequences but cannot bring themselves to stop. Every time I attempted to reach out, it would fade, as it did with you, only to remerge hours later."
"And you believe this Song to be a call for help, yes?"
"What else could it be?" she asked.
"Many things," he responded, still petting the creature, "it could be the lure to a trap, or the work of arcane technology. It could also be a mere psychic echo of a long dead psyker."
"It can't be an echo," she argued, "if it were, it would not react to our attempts to reach it. The Song is being broadcast by a living psyker somewhere on the planet below."
"But do you know why," Syrus asked.
"I have several hypotheses," Kara stated, "though nothing set in stone. The world is quite unlike anything ever encountered, as are its inhabitants. It could be for any number of reasons. It is possible the Singer is not even aware they are a psyker and thinks that they have one of those "Semblances" that the planet's mercenaries have."
"Yet you described it as a call for aid," pointed out the space marine, "if it were a mere subconscious projection, then you would not be able to ascertain any meaning from it. Nor would it be able to reach so far from the world's surface. This is a concentrated effort, "he insisted, as the creature on his shoulder jumped down to sit in his lap. He looked down at it, and his expression softened a bit, "yet I sense there is more at work here. Someone or something does not wish for the Song to be heard."
Kara turned from the creature to the Chief Librarian, "you feel it as well too?" she asked before she could stop herself.
Syrus looked back at her and nodded. "The world of Remnant holds a strange energy around it, one that encases the world like a protective shield. I have never seen such a thing before, but when we first exited the Warp, I could sense nothing of the world, nor its people, nor its location. Save the weak cry of the Song, Remnant was all but invisible to my witchsight."
"Do you think it is what has kept Remnant isolated all this time," She asked.
"It is a possibility," he said, "but whether it is the only reason is yet to be determined. Why the planet even has such a barrier in the first place is the more troubling question. It shrouds Remnant from psychic sight, but for what end? What is down there that the makers of this barrier did not wish discovered?"
"You believe there is something hidden on Remnant," Kara asked, curious, "an artifact of great power, perhaps, or some form of ancient technology?"
"Maybe, but I am not certain," he replied vaguely, "but what I am certain of is that this cannot be left alone. I have already broached the matter with Chapter Master Castimere, and he agrees that we must investigate this phenomenon. The danger it could pose to the Imperium is too great to risk it falling into the wrong hands." He smiled at her again, but with a hint of slyness, "which is why I have decided to accompany you and your master in your search for the Song's origin."
Kara was shocked. "W-what do you mean? Are you not needed in the invasion? Surely your brothers would appreciate having you fighting by their side." The Inquisitor had wanted to keep their intentions for the Singer on a need-to-know basis. The Black Lions were meant to be the hammer to crack Remnant open, a distraction to keep the world's attention while Kress and his team swooped in unnoticed and retrieved their prize before anyone knew what happened.
How could they do that with the Black Lions' Chief Librarian, a powerful psyker and veteran of Emperor knows how many wars, breathing down their necks?
He chuckled at her flustered attempts to dissuade him. "My brothers will not mourn my absence from battle, nor will it diminish their effectiveness. No, I would be of more use in helping locate this mysterious Singer, as well as the source of this bizarre barrier, where my powers may be used to mitigate any resistance posed to us." He looked at her expression and frowned. "You do not approve?"
"N-no!" She blurted out before she could stop herself. Besides, how could you say no to one of the Emperor's Angels of Death? "I am merely surprised that Kress did not tell me before hand."
"That is because he does not know," Syrus answered simply, and Kara could only blink at him. "I wished to have someone close to Inquisitor Kress inform him of my choice, rather than send some serf to tell him, and as I also wanted to discuss matters regarding Remnant with you. I figured I may as well kill two orks with one bolt, as the Guardsmen say. You understand, of course?"
"Of course," she said, smiling at him while in her mind she was already dreading the conversation she would have in the near future.
Ignorant – or simply uncaring – of her inner turmoil, the Astartes psyker continued their discussion, idly running his fingers through the fur of that small beast as he spoke on and on and on.
~o0o~
"Approaching the first station now, Specialist Schnee," the pilot called over Snow Dancer's intercom system. "We will be landing shortly."
"Copy that," Winter replied as she performed one last check of her equipment. "Have they asked for authorization codes?"
"That's a negative," The pilot answered, "but that's Vale for you. Less security than a Vacuo brothel."
"I hope you aren't making that comparison from experience, Marcus," Winter warned, looking over toward the door to the airship's cockpit.
"Uh, of course not, ma'am! Just a figure of speech," he stayed quiet for a while, then after about ten minutes announced, "Landing now."
The Snow Dancer touched down on the landing platform with all the grace of its namesake. Once she heard the engines cycle down and the disembarkation doors open, Winter made her way out of her personal airship and onto the platform of the Vale border defense station locally known as Lightning Ridge.
Lightning Ridge, along with the other Vale defense stations, started out as simple towers built along the pathways leading into the Kingdom through the Phalanx Mountains. Their purpose had at first simply been to keep an eye out for Grimm and to alert the Kingdom of any hordes trying to make their way through, but after the Great War their purpose changed. With the aid of Atlas, the towers were fortified, becoming, becoming outposts, then forts, then advanced weapons control centers. Each station was connected to dozens of defense guns, hardlight barriers, and spider mines all along the mountain range. They were Vale's first line of defense, gunning down any Grimm that tried to make it through the mountains and sending out alerts to the Kingdom and settlements if any serious threats were spotted.
Which made her question why the place looked like such a mess.
Lightning Ridge was a small complex made of five utilitarian structures – although two of them looked abandoned – and was surrounded by a thick wall of concrete and steel. Watchtowers rose from sections of the wall, each topped with an automated turret gun, but no snipers or patrolling guards. A heavy gate led out of the base and was the only way inside besides its two landing pads. Even from where she stood, Winter could see rust forming over the metal of the gate, and the paint of the platform she stood upon was chipped and frayed.
Despite the importance of such a station, it looked as if it had been forgotten by the rest of the Kingdom, and this was further enforced when a man ran out of the main building, struggling to get his uniform jacket on. He ran toward the landing pad, climbed the short flight of steps up it, and stopped a few feet from Winter. He doubled over, hands on his knees as he sucked in air. He was very fat.
When he finally caught his breathe, he straightened up. Winter noted by the markings on his jacket that he was a ranking member of the Vale militia, likely the commanding officer of the station. He gave her a sloppy salute, not even bothering to stand at attention or wait for her to return it before lowering his hand. "Welcome-" he began, but Winter walked past the fat man, hands behind her back, as she made for the main control center the man had emerged from.
He gawked at Winter, then ran to catch up with her, huffing as he went. "We weren't expecting you so soon," he began, eyes darting to the abysmal state of the outpost, "I know it doesn't really look like much, but we haven't really had much time to clean up, what with everything that's been happening. We've had a lot of Grimm trying to get through these past few months and have been too busy holding them back."
"If that is the case," Winter said coldly, not slowing her pace, "Then why are your men not manning the walls or towers? Surely, if you've been forcing back Grimm, you would have your men ready to repel an attack on your position."
"Well, we haven't had to," the fat man admitted, sounding confused, "The Grimm haven't pulled any serious attacks on this station in years, and any that do are shredded by the turrets. Besides, I need my boys monitoring the defense grid."
Winter's frown deepened. Such laziness was dangerous, especially out here. It seemed the Vale mindset of relying on others to fight in your place was held even by those expected to fight. Were the Huntsmen and Huntresses really the only semi-competent group in this Kingdom, she wondered?
The man moved to open the door for Winter, but she wrenched it open before he got the chance and stormed right in. It was warmer in the control room, and louder. Music blared from an old radio near the back, behind the ten or so individuals occupying the station.
Winter's eyes narrowed as she scanned the space, taking in the trash filled bins, piles of magazines, filled ash trays, and more. Everyone was frozen where they were, stunned by her entrance, save for the one who had the wits to turn the music off. Most of them were anywhere but their stations, with only a few having looked up from monitors to see who was here.
Disgust and disapproval radiated from Winter as she turned to the fat officer. "Is this what you call: 'monitoring the defense grid'?" She prompted and took a bit of pleasure in watching the man shrink back. So much for Vale's militia being useful. As the officer tried to downplay the state of the station, Winter turned back to the ten men and women present. "Well? What are you waiting for? Get to your stations!"
Her clear strict voice snapped them out of their stupor, and everyone rushed to their stations, chattering between one another as they checked the perimeter and the state of their guns. She would give them this, at least they knew not to waste time.
Winter walked into the station, passing by each of the militiamen, looking over their shoulders at the screens they were staring at. Some were radar displays, others showed live feed from cameras in the mountains or checked the status of the proximity sensors, turrets, barriers, and mines.
Despite the unprofessional state of their base, as well as their clear lack of discipline, they at least knew to keep their equipment looked after.
"See?" The fat officer said, a bit of pride in his voice now, "we might not as good as your Atlas soldiers, but we do our job. I can promise you that Vale's in safe hands with us."
"Wait," Winter said, stopping at one of the display monitors. The woman sitting there turned around to look at her, wincing away as Winter leaned forward to stare at the screen. It showed the live feed of one of the cameras, specifically one that monitored the only ground path to the outpost. "Rewind," she told the woman, and she did so, playing back the feed until- "Stop!"
The display froze on the image of a drab, empty road, flanked on one side by a great wall of rock, and a sheer drop into nothingness on the other. Winter narrowed her eyes as she studied the approach. She could have sworn she had seen something, moving along the rockface of the mountain, but now…
"Is something the matter?" The officer asked, and Winter looked back at him. He looked worried.
"No," she answered, pulling back from the monitor, much to the relief of the woman manning. "I thought I saw something, but it was just my imagination."
He blinked, then smiled. "I know what you mean," he said, chuckling, apparently less afraid of her now than he had been just a little while ago, "with how aggressive the Grimm have been acting lately, my imagination sometimes gets the better of me too. I almost called in a code orange just last week, because I thought I saw pack of Apathy moving through one of the passes, but it was just some beowolves. Was foggy that morning, let me tell you."
"How many men do you have stationed here? Is this all of them?" Winter then asked, looking over at the assembled militiamen, all focused on their screens, not daring to look up while the Atlas specialist was still in the room with them.
The fat officer shook his head, making his extra chin wag, "No, no, we have about twenty more here at Lightning Ridge. These are just the part of the day shift. The rest are sleeping in the barracks, but they'll be up soon to switch out."
"I see," Winter said, her eyes flashing back to the monitor she had inspected before returning to the officer. "Would you mind taking me to your barracks? I know you would want your men to have their rest, but given it is almost their shift, and I am here to inspect this entire facility, I do not think they would mind waking up a bit earlier than normal."
"O-of course, ma'am," he said, "follow me." He then made for the door, only to stop suddenly as the sound of a sword sliding from its sheath reached his ears.
He tried to turn. But when he did, he found himself suddenly on the floor, looking up at his now decapitated body as it stood for a moment longer, then crumbled to the floor.
The sound of his corpse made everyone look up. They stared at Winter in stunned horror as she flicked the man's blood from her blade and turned to them. The world seemed to just stop for a moment for them then, as they tried to process what they just saw.
Winter took advantage of this. Reaching into her military coat, the Atlesian specialist pulled out a strange looking pistol with a needle-like muzzle. She aimed the odd gun at one of the militiamen, just coming out of his shock, and pulled the trigger. The gun didn't make a single sound, it didn't kick in her grip, or even trail smoke from its absurdly thin muzzle. It was almost like she hadn't fired it at all.
But the man fell to the floor all the same, killed in an instant by the deadly poison that covered the needle now resting in his chest.
His death returned his comrades to reality, but by then, it was too late. As they rose from their chairs, Winter shot three more, ending their lives with precision shots to their heads and chests. She killed another two as they tried to go for guns holstered at their sides, before gunning down a pair running for the emergency alarm. The last of the militiamen tried to charge her, but she cut them down with her saber in two clean swings, severing body parts with a surgeon's grace.
In less than ten seconds, she had cleared out the entire control center.
Winter sheathed her blade but kept her needle pistol out, just in case. She knelt down by the headless officer, turning him over and searching his pockets before she found what she wanted. Winter then went over to the control monitor for the outpost's defense turrets and, using the codes of the fat officer, shut them down.
"There we go," she said, a serpent's grin growing on her lips. She moved to another monitor, one that showed the feed of the base's security cameras. At first, there was nothing, but then there was movement. It was difficult to make out, and she only saw it thanks to her years of training and experience. Figures, ten in total, their bodies concealed beneath color shifting cloaks, ran toward the now defenseless outpost, reaching the main gate within moments of her spotting them. Once all of them were there, Winter pulled up the gate controls and clicked 'open'.
Winter didn't stop to watch them run into the outpost. Instead, she stood up from the screen and turned to face the building's main doorway. She returned her needle pistol to its concealed holster, replacing it with another, far more precious object. She did not want there to be any misunderstanding between herself and her new guests. Once it was in her hand, she held both her arms up, just before the door to the control room was smashed open by a massive, armored boot.
A bolter was leveled at her not a heartbeat later, its dark muzzle pointed right at her head. Winter remained calm, not making any sudden movements, but making sure the object she had in her held-up hand was visible.
That she still had her brains firmly within her skull confirmed that it was.
"You know," she began, her voice amused, "it is quite rude to point your gun at someone after they opened the door for you."
The man, the giant, didn't respond. His features were hidden under to cowl of his hood, though the rest of him was not so obscured. The cameleoline cloak he wore had been blown back, revealing a broad frame encased in black and red carapace armor and grey fatigues. A golden winged skull sat proudly on the warrior's chestplate, somehow kept obscured when he and his comrades made their advance on Lightning Ridge.
Though she could not see his face, she knew he was studying the object in her hand. It was a simple thing really, barely bigger than a pistol magazine, but the weight and power it held was so widely known and feared that even a vaunted warrior of the fabled Adeptus Astartes was given pause.
The Scout Marine didn't lower his weapon though, instead, the initiate began speaking into a vox bead. She couldn't hear what he was saying, but she didn't need to. His lips told her everything.
"You could try contacting Inquisitor Kress aboard the Solaire's Light, if you want confirmation to my identity," She suggested casually, giving the Marine pause. "Or you could simply lower the gun now and we can move onto more important matters?"
"Stand down," a low, gruff voice ordered, and the hooded Marine lowered his gun and moved to the side, allowing another giant to squeeze in through the control center's doors. Unlike the one who had until recently been aiming a gun at her head, this Marine's hood was down, revealing a young, square face. Several scars marred his features, giving him a gnarled appearance that contrasted sharply with the bright silver eyes he fixed her with. They gleamed with suspicion. He must be the Sergeant, Winter figured.
Winter rolled her eyes, though her amused smile remained as she lowered her hands. "There are still ten or so militia sleeping the barracks," she told the newcomer, ignoring his wariness in favor of getting to the point. "I'd recommend keeping at least one of them alive to teach you how to operate these machines. You can kill the rest."
"They have already been secured and subdued," the scarred Marine replied. "The facility is under our control. Your assistance is… appreciated, but no longer required."
"How right you are," she said with a smile as she began making her way to the entrance, "I have many more outposts to check up on before I need to return back to that oaf of a general. I am not privy to your chapter's vox frequencies, however. Could you vox ahead and let them know I am coming? I would not want there to be any confusion when I arrive to inspect the stations."
"They will be notified," he answered, stepping back as she walked out of the building. He did not offer her a farewell, glad to be rid of her no doubt. It didn't offend her. Duplicity was something most Space Marine chapters disliked, barring those like the Raven Guard. They preferred a straight fight, not the cloak and dagger game she played.
She made her way back to her ship, spotting several more Scouts as they moved through the facility, making sure it was secured. Some of them looked her way, but none tried to stop her.
She made her way up the ramp and into the belly of the aircraft. When she did so, the cockpit door opened, and a man stepped into view, clad in the standard pilot's uniform of the Atlas military and carrying a helmet in the crook of his arm. He grinned at Winter, and she smiled back, pleasantly surprised.
"You took your sweet time getting back here," he said, going over and giving her a hug. She returned it, happy to see him, "leave me here to do all the work while you go around having fun and playing dress up." He pulled back from the embrace, chuckling, "and when you finally get come back, you don't even stop by to say hello. I'm wounded, dear sister, I truly am."
'Winter' giggled at his theatrics and punched him lightly in the arm. "Don't act like you haven't been having fun on your own," she chided him, "you've been causing a stir while I was gone."
"I had to do something," he shrugged, not a shred of remorse in his voice, "I was getting bored."
"Well, I can't fault you there," she walked past him and into the cockpit, looking over the controls for a bit. "Can you even fly this thing? I kept that man alive for a reason you know."
"You'd have had to kill him after this anyway," the man said, "and yes, I can. Controls aren't much different from a valkyrie, simpler even. A lot less buttons." He chuckled again, clearly in good humors now that the two were reunited. He moved around her and sat down in the pilot's seat, flicking switches and powering up the engine turbines.
"Just don't crash and I will consider you an ace, dear brother," 'Winter' said, before returning to the crew compartment of the Snow Dancer and strapping herself in as the airship took off and headed off in the direction of the next defense station.
~o0o~
Author's Note: There we go! Got this chapter finished. Man, the last two scenes flowed way easier than the rest of this chapter, allowed me to write them out faster… though that didn't help me stay focused on writing them consistently… Still, finished them faster than I did other parts, which is a win. Came out way longer than I was expecting though, like holy hell.
By the way, some clarification with the jumps in this chapter. The scenes on the Black Lions' ship take place roughly 2 or 3 days before the scene in the tower and 'Winter's' inspection of the outpost. Furthermore, the Lex Divinitus that I mention in this chapter is the Remnant verision of the Lecticio Divinitus. Just want to clear up any confusion.
Speaking of HA! You thought it was Winter, but it was actually me! Dio- I mean, Yuria!
I wasn't actually going to have this twist originally. The OG plan was simply having Yuria sneak onto Winter's ship to get a ride back to Vale, but a comment someone made over on SpaceBattles gave me the inspiration for this twist and I think it turned out wonderfully.
To clarify though, Yuria is NOT a Calidus assassin. Yes, they are shapeshifting assassins, but they are not the only ones. Polymorphine isn't used exclusively by them, it can be obtained and used by others, as seen in the book Lord of Night. Yuria knows how to use polymorphine, and change her voice, but she isn't on the level of a calidus. The reason she took Winter's spot was not only because she was a high-ranking officer, but because they look, relatively, similar. Same hair color, both female, that sort of thing. Its less strain on her body and does not require as much polymorphine as if she was transforming into like a guy.
Granted, I know very little about the drug, so I might just be wrong about that.
Also, yes, the Black Lions are on the ground. You read right. Sorry its not the badass intro you wanted, but that is coming soon, don't worry.
And for anyone wondering, the animal Syrus had with him is called a Vixrell, a small predator that is native to Salem. They are adept climbers and hunt mostly in the trees of the forests, but also make their homes in the castles and towers of the people. They are often kept as pets by nobility and commoners alike, as they eat rats and other pests that could spread disease or ruin crops. Not to mention their coats are very soft, and they are very loyal to their owners.
Basically, they are the cats of Salem. If you want a visual reference, look up fox squirrel Ghibli and imagine it with darker fur.
And in regards to all the hell that is going on with GW, I am still going to be posting this story. Mostly cus I am having too much fun, and because I enjoy Warhammer lore too much to give it up over this. Yes, I am sad with how things are going, but I am not going to stop doing what I love just because this happened. I am staying optimistic that the guidelines will soon be changed and things will get better.
Until then, Imma steer away from Warhammer+. If there is one thing we can blame for all this, its that stupid service.
Thanks for sticking around with this story and I hope you enjoyed reading it.
As always, please fav, follow, and review. Thank you!
DeadRich18 Out!