I do not own RWBY or Warhammer 40,000, only my original characters.
Return of Faith
Chapter Fourteen: Might of Angels
"Fire!"
The Dauntless gave a slight shudder as its main cannons opened up on a notably large aerial Grimm. The massive nevermore, along with dozens of lesser Grimm, were vaporized by the twin lances of energy that struck it head on. A brief cheer went up through the command bridge at the kill, but the general silenced them.
"All ships, maintain fire on the horde," Ironwood began, his words transmitted to every ship in the fleet, "reserve lance cannon shots for alpha level Grimm and above. Gunship squadrons Violet and Indigo maintain air support for ground forces. Teal and Saffron, keep the Grimm off Violet and Indigo."
Affirmatives answered each of his orders as the soldiers of Atlas put their training to the test against this sudden attack. The bridge was a scene out of a war drama with men and women running to and from their stations, verifying intel and providing orders to the rest of their forces.
To an outsider, it might seem chaotic, but James saw the truth. There was no pushing and shoving, no officers scrambling and running into each other. They were calm. Officers about to collide moved out of the way of each other while everyone maintained a level head, despite the chaos raging outside their warship.
Their professionalism was to be expected. They were some of the best the Atlas military had to offer; handpicked by the general himself to operate his flagship, the pride of their kingdom's military.
Still, to see them in action like this stirred a great sense of pride in James. When this was over, he would ensure every member of his bridge crew received a commendation for their bravery today.
He turned his attention to a series of holo-monitors by the bridge's captain's station. Winter did the same, analyzing the scenes playing out on each of the screens. Each showed a different part of the battle and offered the general with a greater understanding of the wider conflict. Some came from the external cameras of his own and other warships in the fleet, while others showed the battle on the ground through Knight optics or helmet cameras.
The Grimm's ground forces seemed endless. Every screen showed soldiers and robots facing down a black, white, and red tide. But some showed something else. James' eyes narrowed on one of these screens. Through the helmet camera of a squad leader, James and Winter watched a squad of soldiers move up to open fire on an approaching beowolf pack. They wore strange black and red armor, an aesthetic mix of high tech solider and medieval footman. Each carried a rifle that shared this bizarre theme, looking both primitive and advanced at the same time. He watched as they raised these rifles at the Grimm and fired, unleashing a storm of laser fire that cut through the Grimm like butter.
The general narrowed his eyes at the sight. Questions filled his head as to the purpose and origin of these strange soldiers and their massive fortress ships. Though they were aiding in the defense of Vale, their arrival coincided a bit too perfectly with that cultist's broadcast for his liking, and the iconography on their armor and ships screamed Imperial to him.
But that just raised further questions. If these men were members of the cults, how had he never heard of them? Where did they get their weapons and equipment? Were they a secret army created by the remnants of the Faith for this very moment? If so, how long have they been building their strength, and how far did their reach extend?
How many men would he loose when the last Grimm was killed, and the two forces no longer had a common enemy to fight?
"Sir," a deck officer called out, bring the general out of his thoughts, "sensors just picked up a spike in seismic activity!"
"What? Where?" He demanded. The officer turned back to his console for a moment, then turned back to the general.
"Scans indicate its coming from Mountain Glenn, sir!" The officer answered.
James wasted no time and turned to his communications officer. "Alert Blue Four and Blue Six of the seismic disturbance and have them turn their main guns on the Glenn. If there's something going on over there, I want them to blast it to pieces the minute-"
"General!" an officer cried, "unknown contact on approach vector with the Dauntless!"
"On screen!" He ordered, turning to face the wall of screens. The multiple camera feeds vanished, replaced by a singular display screen showing the Dauntless, her escorts and gunship squadrons as blue dots, and the Grimm, depicted as red dots. Approaching this chaotic dance of death, a white dot shot across the screen, quickly gaining on the Dauntless' port side. A moment later, and James saw more white dots appear, each one going after a different warship.
And each one moving at alarming speed.
He cursed under his breath. There was no doubt in his mind now that the reinforcements his ground forces had received were anything but. These new contacts had to be connected to the black armored soldiers below. But what were they? Assault craft? Interceptors? Missiles?
The general didn't have time to consider their nature, only that they were closing in on his ships fast. Too fast. "Alert all ships!" He said, "incoming contacts are to be treated as hostile. Once they are in range, target them with our point defense guns and shoot them down!"
A series of 'aye sir' and 'yes sir' follow as his orders are relayed to the rest of the fleet. Winter approached him then, heels clicking together as she stood at attention.
"Sir, should I order the men to standby to repel possible boarders?"
Repel boarders. It sounded almost absurd to the general. In this day and age where machine soldiers marched in place of men and warships soared the skies, the thought of someone trying to board one of his ships seemed ludicrous. But James did not know this enemy and so, he could not rule anything out.
He considered it only for a second, then nodded. He was about to vocalize the order too, when the sensors officer spoke up again. "Sir! Contact has entered firing range, guns are- its increased speed!"
"What?" Winter demanded, both her and the general turning back to the screen. Through the swarm of red around them, they saw the white dot, barreling toward the Dauntless at double its original speed.
"It's moving too fast, and there are too many Grimm in the way for our guns to get a clear lock!"
James wanted to curse as he watched the white dot speed toward the Dauntless. But there was no time for that. Instead, General James Ironwood grabbed onto his captain's chair and shouted, "Brace!"
Seconds later, he felt the whole ship lurch. Winter and several of the other officers had managed to brace themselves in time, but most hadn't reacted fast enough. Men and women were thrown from their feet, smashing headfirst into their consoles or ending up sprawled out on the deck floor. Most were saved by their Auras, but one ensign was not so lucky. He was thrown backwards against the deck railing, hitting it is hard that both his Aura and his spine broke.
He lay unmoving on the deck, dead. Another ensign ran over to check his vitals, but James knew it was pointless. He turned instead to his holoscreen, ordering the crew to pinpoint where they had been hit and by what. When a crewman found it, she put it on screen for all to see.
And what they saw filled each and every member of the bridge crew with shock, horror, and awe.
~o0o~
Jorran lashed down with his lightning claw at the Atlesian solider before him. The weapon's adamantine talons sliced through armor and flesh like paper, reducing the man to a pile of bloody ribbons that splattered bloodily to the floor. Electricity danced across each talon, cooking the blood and viscera clinging to the claw and reducing it to disintegrating dust.
Around him, his battle brothers were finishing off the rest of the Atlas soldiers sent to welcome them, their broken bodies strewn across the large interior space their assault craft had deposited them into. The Caestus assault ram remained lodged inside the hull of the airship, its magna-meltas still glowing hot from firing.
With their enemies slain, Jorran took a moment to examine the chamber they were in. It appeared to be a training or recreational area. Exercise equipment and strange machines filled the space, along with what appeared to be a sparring ring off to the right. Close to this sparring ring was what appeared to be a firing range, though it appeared absent of targets.
His scan of the room lasted barely a second. Once completed, he turned to his squad. As this was a boarding action, each of his brothers bore a heavy breacher shield. Each of the thick metal slaps was richly decorated with knightly heraldry and holy scripture, painted onto the shield by the battle brother who bore it.
"Targets neutralized," announced Holt, his words harsh and metallic through his helm's vox grill.
Jorran nodded. He blink-clicked a display over his visor, prompting a ghost-blue replica of the ship's internal schematics – graciously provided by the Inquisitor – to come to life before his eyes. He mind-pulsed the display to move and shift, focusing it on their location before shifting to the bridge and then the enginarium.
Despite having looked over the map several times prior to the assault, it still baffled the sergeant to how easily both areas could be accessed from their current location. An Imperial vessel was a maze of winding corridors and dead ends, designed to impede the progress of boarders until the crew mustered the strength and numbers to repel them.
This airship, in contrast, had no such defenses, its designers seemingly unaware or unwilling to acknowledge the possibility of a boarding action being launched against them.
Foolish.
"Holt, I place you in command of securing the ship's enginarium. Nethan, Lanner, Miltar, and Roberd shall go with you," Holt and the other four marines nodded. Jorran turned to rest of his squad. "Arin, Cedrick, Rendal and Dontin, with me. We make for the bridge."
Arin thudded his boarding shield against the ship deck in answer, causing the older of Jorran's brothers to chuckle. Jorran did not. He appreciated the youth's enthusiasm and zeal, and if he maintained it, Jorran was sure it would take him far.
"Spare no traitor!" Miltar snarled, hefting his heavy bolter and causing the Beast skulls on his pauldron to rattle.
"Spare no traitor," repeated his brothers, before all ten marines turned and left the training hall. As soon as they were out the doors the squad split off to secure their respective objectives. Alarm klaxons blared and warning lumens bathed the sterile halls of the ship in eerie crimson. They met little resistance at first; primarily tech adepts and maintenance drones that had no time to react to the massive transhuman warriors barreling toward them before Rendal ended their lives with well-aimed shots from his bolter.
Rendal strode at Jorran's side at the lead while Arin and Dontin took up the rear with Cedrick in the middle. The ship's interior had not been designed for beings as large as the Adeptus Astartes in mind and it prevented them from adopting the arrowhead assault formation favored by their chapter.
Soon, they came into a major arterial intersection. It was spacious, providing enough room for the marines to no longer be brushing against each other's shoulders and more importantly, it marked they were close to the bridge.
That was when the bulkhead doors slammed shut around them, magnetic seals locking them in place. The Lions did not hesitate. As one, they took up a defensive circle formation at the center of the crossroads, shields and bolters raised, ready to face whatever foe they were about to face.
Moments later, two of the bulkhead doors shot open, revealing dozens of Altas' mechanical soldiers. The robots advanced swiftly, weapons raised and firing. Behind them were the mortal soldiers, their white armor marked with green accents as they moved to take position at whatever scant cover their ship provided, which was not much.
Jorran and his brothers braced their boarding shields against oncoming hail of gunfire, trusting in the strength of their wargear to protect them. The barrage was relentless. Bullets pelted against the lavishly decorated shields like rain in a monsoon, stripping paint and shredding purity seals.
But that was all they did.
Designed to kill lightly armored Grimm species like sabyrs and beowolves, the Atlesians' guns were next to useless against shields built to withstand sustained boltgun fire.
Jorran clenched his jaw beneath his helm. Though the damage they caused was negligible, each shot against the blessed ceramite of his shield stripped away more and more of the holy verses he had written upon it. Ignorance was no excuse for such sacrilege, and Jorran vowed he would make them pay for each and every letter of His holy Word they defiled.
"Return fire," he ordered.
His brothers obeyed, opening up on the heretics with cold fury. Bolt shells dug into metal and flesh alike before detonating. Men exploded like bloody balloons, painting their comrades red. Shrapnel from the robots hit by bolter fire embedded itself into the walls of the ship and the bodies of the troops, adding to the death toll.
Shimmers of light enveloped several of the soldiers as the bolts hit home, forcing them to detonate prematurely. They still died. As the bolts exploded, the force of their detonations broke these barriers, while the shrapnel buried itself inside vulnerable flesh and thin armor.
There was a sudden rise in temperature as Cedrick fired his meltagun. Super-heated air filled the eastern corridor, reducing everything it struck to ashes and slag. Soldiers disintegrated; war machines melted into puddles of glowing metal. The intense heat stained the once white walls of the corridor black, with only the shadows of those slain left unmarred by the melta's blast.
A force of some of Atlas' greatest soldiers, armed with some of its most effective weaponry and state of the art armor, men and women who had faced impossible odds time and time again…
Were wiped out in less than five seconds.
Without batting an eye to the carnage, they had wrought, the Black Lions broke their defensive formation and turned to the bulkhead now blocking their path. Jorran looked to Cedrick and nodded. The marine moved up, meltagun raised, and pulled the trigger. A hole appeared in the bulkhead a moment later, white hot slag dripping down its surface like candlewax as heat haze danced over the freshly made breach. Jorran was about to order his men forward when a noise from behind caused all five of them to turn and raise their weapons.
One of the soldiers had managed to survive the Black Lions' return fire, though only barely. His armor was battered and broken, its white paint either chipped away or covered by the blood of his comrades. Blood flowed from his right shoulder where his arm should have been and his obscuring helmet had been lost, revealing red hair shorn to the scalp and a young, freckled face that regarded the marines with determined hate as he struggled to his feet. In his one remaining arm, he held a small pistol.
Arin raised his bolter to gun the man down, but Jorran stayed his hand.
"Hold," the sergeant said, and strode toward the dying man. The Atlesian raised the pistol at Jorran and fired. The shot bounced off his cuirass. He fired again, and again, each shot either missing or deflecting off the Astartes power armor as Jorran continued his stride until he was right in front of the man. Jorran towered over the Atlesian solider the way an adult might tower over a child. He stared up at marine with abject horror, as if finally realizing the true nature of his foe.
The empty pistol slipped from weak fingers as Jorran raised his de-powered lightning claw to end the heretic's pathetic life.
Only for another to take it instead.
Just before Jorran could bring his claw down on the filth, a blade burst forth from the soldier's neck. It was thin, like a needle, designed for piercing thrusts rather than cutting swings. The solider tried to clutch at it, only for it to be pulled out at the last second. He fell to his knees, hands grasping his throat as he choked to death on his own blood and revealing the one who had ended his life so suddenly.
A diminutive human female looked up at the Black Lions sergeant, brown and pink eyes meeting the cold blue of his helm's lenses. She was dressed in attire befitting of a hive noble, with a focus on the colors white, brown and pink, which complimented her pale skin. Her hair was dyed in similar colors, with one half a standard brown while the other had been dyed pink. In one hand she carried the thin blade she had used to kill the dying solider, in the other was a pink parasol.
She set Jorran on edge instantly.
"Identify yourself," Jorran demanded, hearing his brothers move up with weapons raised at her.
Noticing his brothers' approach, the human raised her hands and took a single step back. She blinked, and Jorran saw her eyes had switched color. Was she a mutant, or was this one of those 'semblance' powers he had been briefed on?
"Identify yourself," Jorran repeated, more forcefully this time. They needed to move out.
The girl smiled at them. Instead of answering, she twirled both the parasol and blade in her hands before sliding the weapon into the parasol which she then used to perform an elaborate bow. As she rose back up, she placed both hands over her chest and made the Mark of the Aquila.
Jorran raised an eyebrow beneath his helmet. A member of the Faithful? Here? Now? He could see his brothers lower their weapons by a fraction at the gesture, though not completely. They too were unsure of the sincerity of it.
"Why are you here," he asked, though it came out more like an order. The woman rested her parasol against her shoulder and pulled a small dataslate from within her coat. Her fingers danced across the slate's surface for a moment before holding it out for them to see. Jorran's helm's visual sensorium auto targeted the slate, haloing it with targeting reticules. He blink-clicked them away so he could better focus on the words written upon the slate.
'My name is Neo. I am here to save my friend. Praise be to the God-Emperor of Mankind.'
~o0o~
"Rise up, brothers and sisters in faith! The God-Emperor has heard our prayers! His holy Angels have come to strike the wicked down and delivery us all from the chains of oppression! Sing! Sing, my brothers and sisters! Sing the hymns of our faith openly and loudly, for we have nothing to fear anymore!"
A fierce cheer rang out through the crowd of people surrounding the preaching faunus woman before she started leading them in song. She stood in the back of a beaten-up pickup truck, slowly proceeding down the boulevard like she was part of the Vytal Festival opening parade. A massive two headed eagle had been painted onto the hood of the truck, with more icons of the Imperial Faith dangling from the windows and sides of the vehicle.
Yang turned her head to the right where she saw her father adding his voice to the mob's choir, a huge smile on his face as he folded his hands over his chest in the Sign of the Aquila. Her uncle, on her left, kept silent with his hands firmly shoved into his pockets as they trailed on at the very back of the procession.
The three of them had come across the mass of zealots shortly after leaving the motel. The broadcast had stunned and terrified Yang and Uncle Qrow, for more reasons than the young girl had time to count at the moment.
Yang was no stranger to violence. She was training– had been training to become a Huntress, after all. But what she saw… all those people…
It made her realize how lucky she was that Grimm didn't have guts… and that she'd skipped lunch today.
Uncle Qrow had shut the screen off before they could watch the fat bald guy shoot himself. He then cursed and shoved Ember Celica into Yang's arms while he grabbed Harbinger, telling the blonde teen they needed to find her dad before he did something stupid.
The chaos outside was beyond anything Yang had seen before in her life. Even the Breach of a few months ago seemed small compared to the anarchy now infesting the streets of Vale. People fought each other, shops were broken into and looted, banners depicting the two headed eagle of the Imperial faith hung from lampposts and windows while religious zealots released eighty years of resentment.
They found Yang's father talking with a group of these zealots, then hug one of them as she and Qrow drew close. Tai released the man, a tattooed biker by the looks of his leather jacket and turned to the pair with a smile and tears in his eyes.
"They've come," her father had said, voice choked with emotion. "They've finally come. They're going to save her!"
The biker man than told they were meeting up with another group of faithful to march on city hall, saying 'the Angels needed them there.' Uncle Qrow scoffed at the idea and had been ready to pull Harbinger on the group of bikers, but Yang stopped him.
She wasn't really sure why she did it. Maybe it was self-preservation. The Imperial cults were out and about in Vale now, targeting anyone who they saw as a heretic. If they attacked these guys, they'd have the whole city bearing down on them.
Maybe it was because of her father. While Yang had never had the same bond Ruby shared with their dad, she still loved him. The disappointment he held for what she'd done ate at her soul like a creep, and she desperately wanted him to forgive her for something she knew did not deserve forgiveness.
Or maybe, it was the realization that she, and so many others, had been wrong.
The shrill roar of jet engines tore the young blonde from her thoughts as a black aircraft tore through the skies above them, hot on the tail of a nevermore. The cultists roared their praise as the gunship shredded the Grimm under a hail of hard shells from its twin-mounted miniguns. Its prey slain, it flew off to find more targets, barely giving Yang time to get a good look at it.
She could only make out a few details before it was gone. A squat, compact frame. Two massive VTOL engines. And more guns that a craft that size had any right carrying. It reminded the brawler of a snub-nose pistol and was as ugly as one too. Hell, a Bullhead had more aesthetic grace than that thing.
But to the people below, it was magnificent. Yang could hear more than one person shouting something about angels and divinity, but not much else.
"See how His divine Angels smite our enemies! See how they make even the Grimm flee in fear. Our time has come again! He sees us, brothers and sisters! He sees us, and He will deliver us!"
The purple haired faunus, Mother Viole Yang had heard someone call her, continued preaching about righteousness and retribution, stirring the mob into more of a frenzy. Some among them collected the spent bullet cases that had rained down during the gunship's run, raising them into the air like holy items or fighting over them with their fellows.
"Divine my ass," Yang heard Qrow mumble, "why would an angel need a damn gunship in the first place?"
Yang winced and cast a glance around them. Thankfully, no one heard him. Well, almost no one.
"Even Angels need weapons to fight evil, Qrow," Tai Yang said, watching the contrails of the squat craft disappear. "In the old stories, it was said the Angels came to Remnant on beasts of black metal that spat death and fire. We just saw one of them."
"Uh huh," Qrow replied, unconvinced, "because a gunship capable of shredding a giant nevermore to pieces is totally something a divine being would use."
Her father looked at Uncle Qrow, pity in his eyes. "You believed every word that liar told you about his gods without him giving you any proof, but when you see the holy warriors of the Emperor right in front of you, you question it? And you call me stubborn."
"These aren't your 'Angels'," Qrow snapped, fixing a glare at the single father before looking away. "The Angels don't exist. This… this is all something else. A group that escaped the Kingdoms, or a bunch of zealots who stole some tech. This isn't what you think it is, Tai." He said something else, under his breath, but Yang couldn't hear it.
Yang expected her dad to shout at Qrow, like he had always done whenever they got into discussions about religion. To her surprise, Tai just shook his head and looked back to the singing faunus in the truck. "I don't think, Qrow. I believe, and belief is stronger than fact." He spread his arms out toward the crowd of marching, singing cultists as they traveled down the road, "I mean, just look around you. Everyone here believes in the God-Emperor, and it is their belief that has given them the courage to finally rise up against injustice."
"By starting a citywide riot," Qrow snapped.
"By starting a revolution," Tai corrected. "I know you don't like the Faith, Qrow, but even you know what the Council does to us is wrong."
Qrow scoffed and turned his gaze to the ground, but he didn't reply.
Her dad was right. Qrow might not like the Faith, especially given they started the Great War, but even he couldn't justify the levels the Councils went to get rid of them.
Neither of them spoke for a while, after that. Qrow contented himself in the back with his flask of whiskey – or whatever alcohol he had in it today – while Tai marched on proudly, hanging on the preacher's every word. Yang didn't say anything either, too caught up in her own guilt over what she had done to Ruby and Jaune.
Normally, she might try to break the tension with a silly comment or a dumb joke, but as Yang took in the sight of Vale burning at the hands of vengeful cultists, Grimm soaring through the air as black gunships shot them down with thunderous guns and heard the frightening booms of unfamiliar and powerful guns in the distance, even she, Yang Xiao Long, the self-proclaimed pun master of Team RWBY, couldn't work up the nerve to say anything.
So, she just kept walking… and regretting the choices she made in life.
Until the crowd suddenly stopped, and a hard voice called out: "Cease and disperse immediately, or we will open fire!"
~o0o~
Second Lieutenant Anders of the Atlas 24th airborne lowered the megaphone as he glared out at the crowd of cultists gathered before him and his men. They brandished makeshift weapons and banners of their faith, shouting angry words at the Atlas soldiers and VPD SWAT officers arrayed before them.
Anders and his men had been in the city when the broadcast came on. They were some of the only soldiers still in the city, having been exempt from the redeployment order by the General himself. Their orders had been to assist the local law enforcement during the festival to ensure that everything went off without a hitch. Officially, it was to improve relations and encourage international cooperation. Off the books, it was to make sure these sorry excuses for policemen weren't slacking off and report any infractions to the General for him to bring before the Council once this was all over to encourage Vale's leaders to take a more… proactive approach with their law enforcement.
Anders had been at the west station when the broadcast aired. Chaos followed it almost immediately afterwards, with several officers pulling their guns on their fellows, shouting about some nonsense that Anders had little mood or time for. The ensuing firefight resulting in many deaths, including the station's police chief. After that, Anders' CO, Captain Soap, took command and managed to get control over the situation. In truth, the captain didn't have any real authority over anyone in the VPD, but since he was a military officer and their city was descending into chaos, the policemen decided to follow Captain Soap's orders rather than argue bureaucracy.
The captain had tried to establish contact with the other police stations and coordinate with them, but not all of them responded and most that did were already tied up dealing with rioters. He had managed to get in contact with the fleet at least, but they had not been able to spare reinforcements as they were busy holding off the Grimm.
It was around then that the report came in about a large mob of people heading for Town Hall. Anders and his men had been ordered to prevent these zealots from reaching the Councilors by any means possible. Anders obeyed, taking his squad of Atlesian soldiers and a dozen or so VPD officers out to blockade the mob's path. On their way, they had a turn of good luck when they met up with two SWAT teams and a Huntsman, the latter of the two providing a much-needed morale boost.
When they reached their position, they didn't waste time. The VPD moved their cars to block the road while the rest took up position behind the impromptu barricade. The Huntsman, man named Bolong, utilized his Semblance of controlling earth in conjuncture with several Earth Dust crystals to create a low stone wall to further fortify their position.
Anders was grateful for the Huntsman's efforts, especially when the mob came into sight. Hundreds of people choked the street, singing praise to their fake god and ignoring the chaos they had brought to this city. It made Anders grit his teeth. Clearly, the Vale Council had been lax in enforcing the prosecution of these religious freaks for them to have grown this numerous.
Amongst the cultist there was a purple-haired woman, a faunus, Anders realized when he noticed the fox ear. She stood in the back of a pickup truck at the center of the mob, wearing a ridiculous outfit. She was dressed in a dirty white robe covered in long strips of paper. Anders could see lines scribbled over the paper but couldn't make out more than that. No doubt they were indoctrinating verses from their holy book, and the whole outfit was meant to give the look of some holy prophet.
She looked like she was wearing some kindergartner's failed arts project to the lieutenant.
"We do not fear you, murderers," shouted the faunus and earning a chorus of assent from her deluded followers. "The time of our persecution by your hands has come to an end! No longer is your evilness hidden from the world! No longer will you hunt us through the streets! No longer will you tear our families apart! No longer will you murder us without retribution! The Angels have returned to us, and they carry His justice and fury with them!"
"Get ready to open fire," Anders told the solider next to him, "and target that animal in the truck first." The man nodded and relied the order to the others on the barricade. Anders was about to speak into the megaphone again, when the Huntsman, Bolong, hopped up onto one of the VPD patrol cruisers. His weapon, a long two-section staff with a head spiked with Earth Dust crystals, was held to his side. What the hell does he think he's doing, thought Anders, as the Huntsman began to speak.
"You all need to leave, now," he said, "we aren't here to fight you, we're here to protect you. The Grimm are closing in on the city. If they get past us, they'll kill all of you. Please, just return to your homes and I promise you, on my oath as a Huntsman, we will do all we can to protect you from the Grimm."
Anders couldn't believe this, was this guy serious? Was he actually trying to convince a mob of religious fanatics to go home and wait out the storm so he and his men could protect them from the Grimm? Did he not understand why they were doing this?
Anders wasn't the only one confused by the Huntsman's words. A few of the police officers lowered their guns and looked between themselves, unsure of what they should be doing.
The mob, however, was unmoved by Bolong's words. If anything, his attempt to defuse the situation only made them angrier.
"You expect us to put our lives in the hands of the ones who butchered our brothers and sisters in Vale's back alleys," the animal snarled, her face a picture of pure fury. "You expect us to take you at your word, Huntsman, after everything your kind have done to us? To trust these northern barbarians to forget our faces when the fighting is done and not come after us and our families?"
Bolong seemed unprepared for the rebuttal, making Anders lower his opinion of the man. Did he honestly expect that little speech of his to work? Did he not realize they were dealing with insane zealots?
As the Huntsman fumbled to come up with a response, Anders cut in. "This is your last chance. Leave now or we will fire on you!" Bolong turned at hearing that, shock on his face.
"What? You can't do that, they're civili-"
"My orders are to prevent these criminals from reaching town hall," Anders cut in, grabbing his own gun and pointing it right at the purple-haired preacher. "You have ten seconds to comply, or we will open fire!"
Over the crowd jeering and shouting, a noise could be heard. It was faint, and the noise of the mob muffled it to the point where it went practically unnoticed by everyone, but it became louder and louder as time went. It sounded like jet engines to Lieutenant.
He ignored it, focusing instead on the woman as she spread her arms wide at them, all but daring them to shoot her.
"You cannot stop us," she responded confidently and without fear. "Our time has come, and the God-Emperor's Angels will-"
"OPEN FIRE!"
As he said this, the noise that had been so faint became deafeningly clear as a black shape slammed down from the sky onto the street. The asphalt lay cracked and broken where the shape had landed, revealing itself to in fact be a figure in heavy black armor. The figure rose, and a number of soldiers and police officers let out gasps of fear, Anders included.
Red eyes glared hatefully out a helmet fashioned in the likeness of a human skull. A ribcage decorated the breastplate, the sternum a golden relief of a woman with no face. Strapped to its back was a bulky jetpack, decorated in the same morbid style of its armor. Bones, prayer scrolls, and other strange religious trinkets decorated the figure. In its right gauntlet he carried a beautifully crafted mace, wrought in the shape of a faceless angel with wings raised high. In the other, it carried what had to be some sort of flame weapon, given the pilot light at its muzzle.
Both weapons were chained to the figure's wrists, their links wrapped tight around its vambraces. They only added to the fearsome visage it projected.
Gods of old, the thing looked like a human Grimm…
Then, the figure spoke. "Rejoice and repent," he, – for it had to be a man with how deep its voice was – began, his words powerful and furious, "for we bring the Emperor's retribution upon you, heretics. Cower before His wrath made manifest!"
With that, the figure's jetpack flared to life, and he soared toward the barricade on a plume of fire. Before anyone could blink, he had passed the earth barrier Bolong had created and was gunning straight for the Huntsman, mace raised to strike. Bolong managed to parry the blow with his staff, but the force of it sent him flying off the patrol car as the Grimm warrior surged after him.
Anders couldn't react in time to help, or even order his men to fire. The Grimm warrior's charge had frozen the lieutenant in place, his mind unable to comprehend how something so massive could move so quickly. It had to be some sort of Semblance, he tried to rationalize, or that jetpack he wore. Still, a more instinctual part of his mind whispered otherwise, that the being now fighting Huntsman Bolong was something else, something more than human.
And that terrified Anders even more. But before the lieutenant could break himself free of this paralyzing fear, ten more black giants came crashing down from the sky on roaring jetpacks, slamming into the blockade with the force of falling meteors before setting into the soldiers and police officers with snarling chainsaw swords and barking pistols. Some tried to fight back, but they were too slow and the giants too powerful.
One of the giants came at Anders, chainsaw blade whirring. He raised his rifle to fire, but the giant was already on him. He carved the gun in half before ramming the cruel weapon into Anders' gut. It smashed through his Aura and combat armor like they were made of paper. He screamed in pain as metal teeth shredded his insides, before the blade was yanked free and he collapsed to the ground.
As the world faded around him, the last thing Second Lieutenant Anders saw was the crowd of cultists charging forward to join the fray.
Then, he knew only darkness.
~o0o~
Rickard sneered as he swung his crozius at the Huntsman, who dodged the blow with spilt second roll to the side. The psyker then slammed his staff on the ground, And the rockcrete beneath the chaplain suddenly opened up to consume him. As he fell, Rickard activated his jump pack, blasting out of the trap on roaring jets of fire before the Huntsman could capitalize on his maneuver.
Rickard reached an altitude of thirty feet before killing the pack's power and angling himself for descent. At his new vantage point, he was given a better view of the area, and saw the crowd of Faithful surge forward just as his brothers finished off the remaining heretics. The mortals swarmed over the stone barrier and land cars, attacking what few heretics remained with clubs, hatchets, and knives.
Their fervor impressed Rickard. Perhaps this world was not as lost as he had thought.
Rickard reactivated his jump pack, causing the chaplain to hurtle down like a comet at the Huntsman. This too, the Huntsman dodged, but just barely as the debris sent up from the impact sent him staggering backwards. Rickard raised Light Bringer and depressed the firing stud. The relic flamer roared as it spewed gouts of burning promethium, thrice blessed by the priests of Evangela, directly at the Huntsman. The intense glare of the flames activated his helmet's light dampeners, reducing the brightness to tolerable levels.
Rickard released the firing stud, and Light Bringer fell silent. Still burning flames clung to whatever they could, unwilling to burn out just yet. Rickard had expected to see the Huntsman reduced to a blackened husk, utterly consumed by Light Bringer's hunger. Instead, he saw a large earthen slab, scorched black by the flames. The Huntsman leapt out from behind the slab, unharmed.
The Huntsman propelled himself toward Rickard, lashing out with his staff. Rickard raised his crozius to parry the blow, but this proved a mistake. The weapon's chain connected with the haft of his crozius, lurching the spiked head of the staff and causing it to strike against Rickard's helm. He staggered to the side then steadied himself. Static and warning runes flashed over his vision before he blink-clicked them away.
The chain of the Huntsman's staff was still wrapped around his crozius. Rickard pulled the crozius back, intent on tearing the weapon from the human's hands. The Huntsman resisted however, using his witchcraft to anchor himself in place as the Space Marine pulled. As such, instead of ripping the weapon from his grasp, Rickard snapped its connecting chain, causing the spiked mace head to go flying off and the Huntsman to fall over.
His primary weapon neutralized; Rickard advanced on the Huntsman. Around them, the fighting had stopped. Rickard's brothers and the Remnant Faithful watched as the chaplain and the Huntsman dueled, unwilling to intervene. His brothers did this out of respect, for they knew it was his fight. The Faithful did so out of awe.
As Rickard allowed the Huntsman to return to his feet, he struck the man with his crozius. The Huntsman was sent flying into the crowd of onlookers, who moved out of the way as quickly as they could. He hit the ground, and Rickard noted a strange shimmer ripple over his body. The Huntsman rose again, this time with greater difficulty. His staff was heavy in his hands and Rickard saw blood dripping from the corner of his lips.
"You…" The man began with effort, "you haven't won." He stepped forward, unsteady. "We… will stop you…"
"For ten thousand years, the enemies of Mankind have tried to snuff out the light that is His Imperium," Rickard replied. "For ten thousand years, the Black Lions have defended His worlds, protected His people, and slain His enemies." The chaplain walked toward the Huntsman, his stride slow and deliberate. "We have defeated xenos hordes and brought low heretic armies. We have spread His Word across the stars, bringing hope where there is fear and enlightenment where there is darkness. We have faced horrors a thousand times more terrible than your Creatures of Grimm over and over again... yet you believe you can stop us?"
Rickard was standing before the Huntsman now, glaring down at him through the red of his helmet's lenses. The defiance in the man's eyes was feeble, but he mustered what courage he had. "Maybe I can't," The Huntsman said, "but us Huntsmen can be trickier than you think."
He shifted his weight and swung his staff around at Rickard. The chaplain saw the blow coming and batted it aside with his crozius, causing the shot from the staff's secondary gun mode to go wide. Rickard then activated his crozius' power field and brought the mace down on the Huntsman's head. The man's skull was crumbled in on itself and pushed into his chest cavity, breaking ribs and rupturing his internal organs.
His armor splattered with blood, Rickard wrenched his crozius from the mutilated body and turned to the crowd gathered around him. He scanned the sea of faces, taking in the awed reverence and fear that each displayed. Many backed away from him, others fell to their knees and began praying, some did nothing but stare, slack-jawed, their mortal minds unable to fully comprehend what stood before them.
"Who leads you," Rickard asked before he even realized he had spoken. Many gasped or shrank back, intimidated by his snarling, vox-corrupted voice. He lowered the volume of his helm's vocalizer and asked again. From the crowd came a woman, clad in a white robe festooned with prayer scrolls. She had long, flowing purple hair and atop her head was a triangular growth of bestial origin.
The female abhuman stopped before Rickard and bowed low. "I am blessed with leading these Faithful, Great Angel," she answered, her voice trembling with excitement. "I… I cannot begin to express the honor it is to be in your presence."
Rickard gestured to her with his crozius. "Rise," he told her, and she did so, revealing a face filled with such relief and joy that it gave the chaplain pause. "What is your name," he asked after a long moment.
"Viole," she answered, "Mother Annabelle Viole, Priestess of the cult of the Emperor's Golden Shadow and humble servant to His Angels."
He nodded at this, "Well met, Mother Annabelle Viole. I am Chaplain Rickard of the Black Lions Third Brotherhood."
Viole bowed her head once more. "I am honored to know the name of one of His Angels." She looked up at him, eyes gleaming, "how may we serve you, lord?"
Before he could answer however, the ground began to shake. The gathered mortals cried out in alarm. Some managed to keep their footing but a great many fell over. Rickard and his brothers remained standing, reacting instantly to the sudden tremors and adjusting their stances to maintain balance while their armors' in-built stabilizers battled against the inertia.
"Earthquake," the assault sergeant supplied over the shared vox network, but Rickard was not so sure.
"There are no fault lines beneath Vale," he said, "something else is at work here." Rickard cast his eyes toward the humans. Many of them were moving toward him or his brothers, seeking safety in their presence. As they did this, they kept their eyes glued to the ground, as if expecting something to shoot out of it. "Prepare for combat."
The Black Lions stood there, waiting for their foe to appear. Nothing happened. A minute passed and the shaking stopped. The people looked around in confusion and worry as the Space Marines exchanged glances with one another before a voice crackled into life over the Vox network.
"All forces, be advised," it was the mortal captain of the Salem's Will, "auguries have identified a new contact approaching Vale from the southeast. It just showed up out of nowhere."
Many voices replied, demanding clarification on the nature of this contact. Before the serf could respond, a shrill cry echoed through the air and a great shadow fell upon the city. Rickard's gaze shot skyward, and he saw a creature torn straight from the pages of ancient Salem myth.
The daemonic dragon roared once more as it flew over the city of Vale, causing many of the mortals to clasp their ears and wince in pain. Each beat of its huge red wings blew powerful gusts of wind down on the city, shattering windows and knocking humans from their feet. Hundreds of lesser Grimm flocked about it, flying either as escort or as living shield, Rickard did not know.
As it moved to make another pass over the city, Rickard noted something falling from the creature's body. He willed his helm's optical sensors to zoom in and he saw something puzzling. Up close, the daemon appeared to be… melting. Its skin was flowing and clumped, and each time it beats wings, huge droplets of tar-like sludge would detach and fall onto the city below.
"All gunship squadrons, focus fire on the dragon. Strike it from the skies!"
The measured voice of Captain Ando crackled over the Vox, answered quickly by gunship pilots who broke off attack runs and made for the great beast. Rickard watched for a moment longer, wondering how such a thing could remain hidden so close to one of this planet's largest population centers. But such a riddle was irrelevant to him right now.
He blink-clicked his optical lenses back to their original setting and turned to the assault marines. "Our mission remains unchanged," he told them, "Every shrine and temple dedicated to the false gods of this world must be destroyed. We leave nothing standing." He looked back up at the draconic Grimm as it turned its attention toward the great plateau overlooking the city. "Our brothers in the sky will deal with that monster."
"By your word, Brother-Chaplain," the sergeant acknowledged, and he and his squad began to shoo the terrified humans away from them so they could ignite their jump packs. Rickard did the same, pushing the huddled humans away as gently as his genehanced strength allowed.
"Back away," he ordered them, but only some of them backed away. Most regarded him with confusion and fear, some even begging him to stay and protect them. He was about to tell them to move again, when the abhuman priestess spoke up.
"We must not hinder the Angels, for they do the Emperor's work," she said, her voice loud and assuring. "Stand aside so that they may continue to carry out His Will. The Emperor protects."
Her followers did as she asked, and Rickard nodded to her in thanks. "Seek the idols of false gods and tear them down," he told her, "Burn away the lies your rulers have propagated, until only the Emperor's Truth remains."
"By your will, Holy Angel," the priestess said, bowing her head and making the Sign of the Aquila.
"No, not by my will," Rickard corrected her, "By His will." With that said, – and the mortals finally at a safe enough distance – the Black Lions activated their jump packs and took off into the air on roaring wings of fire.
Rickard did not notice the blonde man as he pushed his way through the mass of humans to reach the chaplain, for he was already gone by the time the man reached the front of the crowd.
~o0o~
James glared defiantly at the door leading into the Dauntless' command bridge. Following protocol, the entrance to the bridge had been locked and its defensive blast shields were dropped. A solid foot of strong Atlas steel now separated the bridge from the rest of the ship. Not even an ursa major could smash its way through before the ship's security detail eliminated it or reinforcements arrived from the other ships in the fleet.
But they were not dealing with an ursa major and there were no reinforcements coming.
From his place on the bridge, James had watched via security cameras as the black armored boarders butchered their way through his ship. He had pushed aside the unsettling similarities the warriors held to the fictious angels of the Imperial Cult and sent every solider and war machine still aboard the Dauntless to drive these invaders off his ship. A mistake he came to regret as he watched brave men and women be cut down without mercy by these terrible warriors.
Every attempt made to spot the boarders failed, and in barely a handful of minutes since boarding the Dauntless the engine room had been taken. James had tried to contact the other ships in the fleet after this, but to his dread, most did not respond to his hails, and those that were cut off mid transmission, leaving nothing but static in their wake.
A lesser man might have reacted differently to all of these. He might have raged at the unfairness of it all, or collapse to the floor in a sobbing mess, or simply stood frozen, unable to move or even speak. But this is not what James Ironwood did. Instead, the general of the Atlas Army order every nonessential bridge member to grab a gun and prepare to repel boarders. He gave a speech, telling them he had been proud to lead such fine soldiers and that he was honored to have led them. Roused by his words, they grabbed their weapons and aimed them toward the sealed doors of the bridge.
James stood among them, Due Process aimed straight for the sealed doors, counting the seconds until the inevitable occurred. Beside him was Winter, saber drawn and ready. He didn't want to give himself hope, but having Winter here made the general feel better about their odds.
When the boarders finally approached, the booming footfalls of their heavy boots sent shudders through the floor before coming to a halt at the sealed door.
"Winter," James said, "when they breach, I want every summon you can manage running at them full speed. Draw their fire away from the crew and keep them bogged down dealing with your Semblance." He spoke quickly but quietly. They couldn't hear what was going on on the other side of the door, but a quick look to the screen showed the boarders affixing a strange cylindrical device to the face of the door.
Despite its strange appearance, the general knew an explosive charge when he saw one, and his augmetic hand clenched his pistol tighter.
"Don't waste your shots aiming for their chests or heads," He instructed, his voice now clear and loud. "Their armor is too thick for us to penetrate directly. Aim for armor joins and seals, and if you can't hit those, then go for their weapons. Don't give them the satisfaction of an easy victory. Show them that Atlas doesn't go down without a fight! For Atlas! For Remnant!"
"For Atlas!" The men and women repeated, their voices strong and determined.
"Get ready," said a man closer to the security screen. He was armed with a pistol and was watching as the giants backed away from the door. James clenched his jaw and prepared for what was likely going to be the last fight of his life.
"It's been an honor, men" he said to them, one final time.
The charge detonated.
A flash of blinding light filled the bridge as a miniaturized sun burned into existence for a fraction of a nano second. A wave of intense heat buffeted against the bridge crew, inducing perspiration that evaporated an eyeblink later. The light generated from the breach overloaded helmet optical systems and blinded many. Only their Auras prevented any retinal damage from being permanent.
The door had been reduced to hissing slag. Surviving wires sparked and died as molten metal dripped down like candle wax. It was still glowing white hot when the boarders marched in, their huge shields raised and brutal weapons barking death. Blinded as many of them were, the bridge defenders were cut down in seconds, terminated with precise single shots that ripped them to bloody pieces. Some, those with stronger Auras or who had the foresight to shield their eyes, managed to get a few shots off, but they might as well have tried to take down a goliath with a pistol. All they achieved before their deaths was scratching the paint on the boarders' shields.
Then, it was over.
The boarders' guns went silent as they marched further onto the bridge, uncaring of the bodies they crushed beneath their tread. What few survivors of the command staff remained were quickly executed by the armored giants, their brains splattered across their stations by explosive rounds.
"Bridge secured," one of them said, its voice deep and harsh and made harsher by the snarl of its vocalizer. It was a befittingly evil sounding voice for such a destructive and heartless a thing, intended to make its enemies quiver in fear. But none could deny the truth it spoke.
The Dauntless had been seized. The most advanced warship on Remnant, the pride of the Atlesian air fleet, had fallen to an enemy squad of ten soldiers. Ten soldiers. The fact they were armed and armored like tanks did nothing to mend the shame of the world's greatest military power losing one of its greatest vessels to just ten enemy soldiers.
But for James Ironwood, that shame was nothing compared to the betrayal of feeling Winter Schnee's blade pressed against his throat.
It had happened quickly, the moment the breaching charge went off. Winter had knocked Due Process from James' hand with a high kick that left the general stunned. Before he could react, she slid behind him and pressed what had felt like a gun barrel against the small of his back while resting the edge of her saber against his throat.
By the time James realized what had happened, the battle was over. While his men fought and died to protect the bridge, he hadn't even managed to fire a single shot. Nor had Winter lent any of her strength to the defense. But that was because she had never intended to fight.
After all, it was bad form to attack one's allies.
"Well, General," Winter began, in a voice that was not her own, "I'd say it's been fun, but you really made this too easy for me to enjoy it."
James opened his mouth to speak, to demand answers, to know what she meant, but before even a breath could leave his lips, something struck him in the side of the head. The last thing James saw before he was dragged into unconsciousness were the bloody and broken bodies of his crew, who stared back at him with open eyes.
Then, there was only darkness.
~o0o~
Ruby didn't know how much time had passed since her arrest. Sometimes it felt like days or weeks since her talk with Ozpin, other times it felt like it had been just a few hours. She had tried praying, but that didn't help fill the time as much as she thought it might when she ran out of verses. Then, she had thought to keep track by marking every hour that passed on the wall, but she kept getting distracted by her own wandering mind. The fact that the cell was completely dark, and therefore would make it impossible for her to see her tally marks, also affected this plan.
The darkness had been her constant companion during her uncounted time aboard the Atlas ship, broken only when the guards opened up a slit in the door to give Ruby her food. That was the only time she saw something other than black nothing and was the only thing she had to look forward too. Sure, the light that slipped in through the food hatch hurt Ruby's eyes, but it was better than nothing. Hell, at this point, it might be the one thing keeping Ruby from going completely crazy.
She hoped it helped Jaune too.
Ruby braced herself as the ship gave another shudder. It had been doing that for a while now. They had caught her off guard when they first happened, causing her to slam her face up against her cell door. Then another shudder gripped the ship, and another. Soon, she managed to get the pattern down and was no longer worried about her face hitting the door again.
Ruby knew it was the warship's main guns – what else could it be after all – but the fact they were firing made her wonder what was going on outside.
Was there another Grimm attack going on? Had the White Fang come back?
Ruby didn't know, but she was grateful for the change of pace. Sitting silently in the dark got real boring real quick.
But then, something else happened.
Outside her cell, Ruby heard something. It was faint and muffled by the metal walls of her cell, but she could definitely pick out voices, shouting voices. Curious and worried, Ruby stood up and pressed her ear against the door of her cell. Just as she did so, she heard gunfire, followed by what sounded like a… a cannon going off? No, that wasn't right. It was too soft to be a cannon, it sounded more like her Crescent Rose… only more powerful. The discharge had been loud, loud enough for Ruby to guess the caliber. It had to be somewhere between .60 and .70, at least. God-Emperor, she'd love to give it a full look over…
Caught up in her theories and speculations about this mystery weapon, Ruby failed to notice the sound of heavy, armored footsteps marching up to her cell. As such, when the door she had been pressing her ear against suddenly slid open, bathing the young woman in bright, sterile light, three things happened.
First, Ruby screamed in alarm, surprised to find herself no longer propped up against something or shrouded in complete darkness.
Second, Ruby screwed her eyes shut as the harsh glare of the ceiling lights stabbed into her sensitive retinas and filling her sight with splotches of color.
And third… she fell face first onto the brig deck.
Ruby let out a drawn-out groan as she tried to stand up, eyes still closed tight against the light. She swayed, but felt a large, armored hand grip her arm and steady her. It fully encased her thin arm, the way a grown man might hold a twig. When the hand let go, Ruby heard heavy footfalls, and the soft whir and hum of moving servos and tensing fiber-bundles. It kind of reminded her of an idling engine, a fact that confused her.
What exactly was going? Had she been rescued by a robot?
"Well, well, well, well, well," drawled a familiar, smug voice, "I knew the guards had brought me some company a while back, but you were the last person I thought I'd see locked up here!" The voice let out an amused, mocking chuckle, "What happened, Red? Stay up past your bedtime again?"
By now, her eyes had adjusted enough to the light of the brig that Ruby could open without serious discomfort. She blinked a few times, hoping it might help somehow, before she turned to see, standing outside an open cell, Roman Torchwick.
Next to the master thief was that weird mute girl from the fight under the overpass. Roman had called her… Neo? Either way, she was handing the criminal his coat and hat, which he quickly put on before taking his cane from her with a polite 'thank you'. Outside of his lack of makeup and the fact his hair was a mess, he now looked the same as when Ruby had first met him in at Dust shop so many months ago.
"What did you do?" She asked, glaring at the smug thief and his sidekick.
Roman grinned and leaned forward on his cane, "Me? Not a damn thing, Red," he told her, "All credit for this spectacular jailbreak goes to Neo and her new friends. Seems I'm still on Big E's good side!"
"Don't you dare use His name in vain like that!" Ruby hissed, then stopped. Did Roman Torchwick just-
"Ruby…"
That was Jaune's voice. Ruby had forgotten about him for a moment, focused on Torchwick as she was. Equal parts relived and worried, Ruby spun around to find Jaune on his knees, starring up with a slack jaw at… at…
Ruby felt herself fall on her knees. Standing over Jaune was a giant figure, clad in heavy black power armor. In its arms it carried a huge, blocky gun that Ruby had only ever seen in old paintings. Lines of text were etched into nearly every plate, too small for her to make out any of the words. Scrolls and strips of parchment hung from its armored frame, held in place with wax seals. Huge pauldrons protected its shoulders, painted dark red and trimmed in bright gold. On one, Ruby saw a stylized black lion's head, jaws open as it roared a silent challenge.
"His Angel…" Ruby whispered.
As if hearing her, the Angel turned. Cold, blue eye lenses studied the kneeling girl, and for a fraction of a moment, Ruby thought she saw the Angel freeze.
Then, leaving Jaune where he lay, the Angel walked up to Ruby, and knelt in front of her. Emperor above, she had not realized how massive he was. Even kneeling he still towered over her by at least a foot. His snarling helm glared down at her with frozen fury, and a distinct unease suddenly crept its way into her soul.
For a moment, she feared the Angel was judging her, measuring her faith and her conviction and finding her wanting.
Then, he spoke.
"You have silver eyes," he said, loudly. It might have been intended to be quiet, but the vocalizer in his helmet must have been malfunctioning or something because his voice came out sounding like a growling beowolf mixed with a robot.
"I…" Ruby stammered, but before she could say anything else, the Angel stood back up.
"Can you walk," he asked, but it sounded more like a demand. Ruby nodded dumbly. "Help the lad up. We are leaving this place." With that, the Angel marched past Ruby and toward the brig's exit.
When the holy warrior past Roman and Neo, the master thief shot Ruby a grin and a wink before he and his diminutive companion followed after the Angel. Ruby glared at both of them, then ran over to Jaune. As she reached him, she saw that Jaune was in a terrible state. Bruises covered his body, and his clothes were torn and stained a dark hue in places. His left eye was swollen shut and his breathing was hoarse. Had the guards been torturing him?
Sure, the guards hadn't been gentle with Ruby either, but the worst they ever did was jab her in the gut with a shock baton. Why had Jaune been brutalized like this, but she hadn't?
Ruby forced the anger she was feeling down and focused on Jaune. "Jaune," she said softly, "can you hear me?"
"Y-yeah," he groaned, then coughed. Ruby rubbed his back a bit before hooking her shoulder under his arm and helping him to his feet. He leaned on her as they walked, and Ruby noticed he was limping. "Ruby… that… that was…"
"It is," she answered as they made their way out of the brig and caught up with Roman, Neo, and the Angel. "They're here, Jaune. They're really here."
Jaune didn't say anything, and that was likely for the best. He needed to conserve his strength. Everyone crammed into the service elevator that led out of the brig, trying not to make eye contact with each other in the confined space. As the doors closed, a soft glow enveloped Jaune as his Aura started kicking in and began to slowly heal his injuries.
The cuts and bruises on his body started to fade, but not completely. Physically exhausted and spiritually drained as he was, his Aura would not be enough to completely heal him. Only time, and proper medical attention could do that now.
As the glow of his soul's light began to dim, Ruby felt eyes on her and Jaune. Both Roman and Neo regarded Jaune with mild curiosity, but quickly lost interest when nothing else happened. The Angel however, maintained a hard gaze upon both of the teenagers. Eternally glaring eye lenses bore into Ruby and Jaune, coldly judging them.
The intensity of it caused Ruby to become very interested in the floor, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of that gaze.
As such, Ruby failed to notice that the Angel's finger was now resting patiently on the trigger of his gun.
~o0o~
One by one, the warships of the Altesian fleet fell to the Black Lions boarding parties. For a while, the vessels remained in the fight. Unlike the mighty void ships of the Imperium, which required a crew of thousands in order to function, the airships of Remnant could operate effectively with a crew of less than a dozen, and even then, their automated internal systems handled the bulk of the work.
This allowed the warships to remain formidable in battle, even when manned by a skeleton crew.
As such, the only clue the Atlesian ground forces received that something was wrong was that they stopped receiving orders from the general. Many of the officers did not think too much of it at first. The bigger the battle, the more chaotic things got and the more the general would need to keep his focus on neutralizing the oldest and largest Grimm. Plus, the ground forces had more… immediate concerns at hand.
It was hard to worry about radio silence when you were busy keeping a beowolf from ripping your face off.
It would not be until much later, at the eve of the battle's end, that anyone would realize something was wrong, but by then it would be too late.
Atlas soldiers would watch, horrified, as every one of their warships turned about and flew directly into the Grimm ground forces. The massive ships would plow through the hordes, digging mile long trenches in the earth and crushing hundreds of Grimm beneath their weight, before igniting in great conflagrations that consumed hundreds more of the demons in searing flames.
In moments, the vast majority of the Grimm horde would be wiped out in a way never seen before on Remnant. Atlas survivors would insist that the Dauntless, flagship of the Atlas fleet, crushed an entire herd of goliaths, along with three deathstalker packs, when it crashed, and a further thousand lesser Grimm variants in the ensuing explosion. However, no solid evidence was ever found to support this claim.
As the ships died, so too did the operating systems controlling the hundreds of robotic soldiers on the ground. With the connection severed and the servers destroyed, every one of the Atlesian Knights in Vale was deactivated, becoming as lifeless as rocks and leaving General Ironwood's army with barely a third of its original strength.
When the dust settled, the black clad soldiers that had fought beside the white armored soldiers of Atlas turned their weapons on the Remnant forces. Many surrendered to the strangers, utterly demoralized by this humiliating defeat. Many more fought back and were cut down by the deadly energy rifles the black soldiers carried.
A few managed to escape, either on foot or in bullheads, retreating to predetermined fall back points or to wherever their feet carried them.
But such things had not yet come to pass.
The Atlas warships still fought in the skies above Vale's border, the city was still engulfed in riots and violence, black armored giants still slaughtered their way through the streets, and the dragon Grimm was still trying to reach Beacon Academy.
From his office at the top of Beacon Tower, Ozpin watched the ancient Grimm as black aircraft bombarded it with all manner of weaponry. Missiles exploded along its spined back, tracer rounds tore holes through its wings, laser beams burnt away chitinous armor and black flesh.
The monster fought back as best it could, beating its huge wings to bombard the small aircraft with hurricane grade winds, closing its fang-filled jaws down on anything that got too close, or swinging its clawed tail back and forth like a club in hopes of either smashing the craft to pieces or grabbing hold of one and crushing it in its tail-claw.
But its movements were clumsy and panicked, and the pilots of the aircraft were incredibly skilled. A few were struck down by the Grimm's flailing, but the majority peeled away the moment it began thrashing, or nimbly avoided the strikes while continuing to pepper its body with shots.
Despite the damage they were causing, Ozpin knew it wouldn't be enough. The ancient Grimm dragons, Creatures of Grimm so rare as to be considered almost mythical, did not die easy. Each one was an avatar of destruction, capable of spawning entire armies of Grimm and destroying whole civilizations.
Even the people of his first life, men and women capable of harnessing the awesome power of magic, were hard pressed to slay these titans of doom. Most were instead trapped and forced into deep hibernation with magic before being buried deep underground. Unfortunately, with the passing of time, the spells ensnaring some of the dragons would begin to weaken, allow the beasts to wake up and wreck unimaginable havoc.
The last dragon to wake up had been so powerful that Ozpin had been forced to use the Relic of Destruction to finally end its rampage.
That dragon had been twice the size of the Grimm now flying over Vale, but that was little comfort to Ozpin right now.
Soon, the aircraft would run out of ammunition and withdraw, leaving the dragon to resume its path toward Beacon. It was inevitable, but so were many things in life.
Ozpin looked away from the battle raging in the sky, toward his cane. He really did not want to use it. He had spent centuries absorbing the power of his opponents within its deceptively unassuming form, waiting for the moment when it would best serve his goals.
This… was not that moment, but the headmaster had little choice. The sword was all the way in Vacuo and none of the Atlas warships had shown any inclination toward shooting down the flying horror.
"Is this what your so-called 'god-emperor' wants," He asked aloud, though he was alone. "Is this his 'holy' will?"
He let out a heavy sigh and turned from the window, making his way to the elevator. Glynda had already prepared the school's defenses and rallied every faculty member and willing student that she could to the defense… those that hadn't turned out to be secret members of that accursed religion, at least.
Ozpin made a mental note to apologize to James when this was all over. It seemed Atlas had been justified in their harsh treatment towards the followers of the god-emperor, after all.
As the headmaster of Beacon Academy stepped into the elevator, his Scroll rang. He pulled it out and pressed the accept button when he saw it was Glynda calling him. "Is everything prepared?"
"As well as it can be," she answered, "Port and Oobleck are still stuck on Amity, and I still haven't heard anything from James. The reports coming in from the city…" she trailed off, unable or unwilling to finish.
"These aren't angels, Glynda. Angels don't exist," his tone was stern and final, but also reassuring. "These invaders could be more of her witless pawns, or the remnants of the old faith, but they are not divine demigods." He paused, waiting for a response. When none came, he asked, "What about the Grimm?"
"James' forces seem to be keeping the majority of the Grimm at bay, for now. A few stray packs managed to slip past their defensive line, but the students took care of them," she told him. "So far, its mostly beowolves and creeps, along with an ursa or too, nothing too-" The assistant headmistress stopped speaking as another voice began talk on her end of the line. It was faint and muffled, just close enough to be picked up but far enough away that what could be heard was completely unintelligible.
"What is it," Ozpin asked, but received no answer. "Glynda? What's going on?"
A long moment passed before Glynda responded. "Black gunships were spotted flying toward Beacon," she said. "Three of them. They'll be here soon."
Ozpin bit back a curse at the news. He knew they would come for his school, sooner or later, but he'd have preferred later. Whatever damage it suffered, Vale could be rebuilt, but the secrets buried beneath Beacon Academy could not be allowed to fall into Salem's hands.
The dragon would have to wait.
"Keep the students safe, Glynda," He told her, "I'm going down to secure Amber and the vault."
"Sir, with all due respect-"
"You've been an invaluable ally and friend to me, Glynda," Ozpin said, cutting her off, "One of the few people I can put my faith in without a shred of doubt. Hold them back for as long as you can. Then run. Do you understand? Take as many with you as you can and flee Beacon."
"Wha- Ozpin, you can't be serious!?" She protested, "The vault-"
"Will be well guarded, don't you worry about that," he assured her, "I still have a trick or two up my sleeve. And it isn't like this will be the first time I've had to meet death. Though I think he's becoming a bit annoyed with seeing me over and over again."
Glynda didn't respond to the morbid joke.
"If that happens, I will need someone looking after the school until I return," he explained, "You are the only one I can trust to keep Beacon and Vale protected in my absence. And, if Beacon should fall… I will need your help reclaiming it. Do you understand me, Glynda?"
"…I do, sir," she bit out begrudgingly.
"Good," Ozpin said, "this is far from over, Glynda. Thank you, for everything."
"It… It's been an honor, sir." And with that said, the call ended. Ozpin returned his Scroll to his coat pocket and let out a tired sigh.
"Why couldn't you have just let me rest," he whispered softly to himself, as the elevator carried him down, past the ground floor of the tower and into the hidden depths below.
All while cursing his impulsive decision to enter that damned tower, so many lifetimes ago.
~o0o~
Author's Note: HAPPY NEW YEAR! YES, I DID IT! I GOT THIS DONE BEFORE 2022! WHHOOOOOOO!
With that out of the way, thank you everyone who has stuck with through all these years. I know it's been slow going, and I cannot express how much I appreciate your patience with me. I hope you all continued to follow and read Return of Faith as we move into a new year of our lives, and hopefully all this craziness will finally start to die down.
Now, onto other matters. In regard to the Dragon, while I did give it a bit of a buff, that doesn't mean its invincible. It's still a massive threat, but due to its rarity, none of them have really been seen in the modern RWBY timeline, at least in this story. I wanted the kaiju Grimm to have a far more threatening presence than they have in the show, so I decided they are gonna be WAY tougher than shown in canon.
However, that doesn't mean they are indestructible. When Ozpin was talking about fighting one before, he was doing this back when Remnant didn't have modern technology and giant flying warships. He also may or may not still see humanity as needing his guidance and protection in order to survive, even when it might not actually be needed.
Just wanted to clear that up cus it felt like it might raise a few questions.
Well, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Next one, we will be having some fun with everyone's favorite secret police, the Inquisition!
Huge thanks to Tormenantor1 and Parks_98! Thank you for your help!
As always, please Fav, Follow, and Review! Thank you!
DeadRich18 Out!