I do not own RWBY or Warhammer 40,000, only my original characters.
Return of Faith
Chapter Seventeen: Beacon Assault, Part 3
Margan squeezed the trigger of his lascannon, unleashing a deadly beam of cerulean energy directly at the gigantic beast that had crashed into the northern sector of the city. The las beam struck it just behind one of its six eyes, burning a hole into its black hide that was already beginning to heal. Durrandon fired a krak missile that detonated against the healing wound moments later, and the beast roared in frenzied agony. Its massive head slammed into a hab-spire, demolishing the structure with ease. Thankfully, it was not the one Margan and his squad were in.
"Closer. Come closer, damn you," snarled Evin over the squad vox. He was on the lower levels of the building, waiting for the beast to come close enough for him to unleash the wrath of his multi-melta. It irked him that he could not join his firepower with the rest of his battle-brothers, and he made sure they all knew it. "Let us see how well you fare against Hatred's Kiss."
"Doubt it will get the chance," Durrandon commented. "It's too stupid to even know where we shot it from."
"You tempt fate with your words, Durrandon, and weaken His protection," their sergeant admonished, firing off a bolt of plasma from his combibolter. "Squad, relocate."
Affirmatives sounded as Margan loosed one final shot with his lascannon before ducking out from the window and moving for the stairwell. He ascended swiftly, making for the roof of the hab-unit. Durrandon caught up with him quickly, while the others took a ground route. The two devastators reached the top and ran for the adjacent hab-unit.
It was well timed, as only seconds later the giant beast plowed into the hab-unit they had been garrisoning, smashing straight through the structure and into another street, where a waiting squadron of predator tanks opened fire on the beast. It writhed and screamed with each round and lasbeam that struck it. Black sludge sloshed from its body to transform into the beast's smaller kin, which charged toward the tanks, only to be shredded by the predator's pintle and sponson weapons.
Margan looked to Durrandon, who cocked an eyebrow. Durrandon had eschewed the use of his helm, preferring to rely on the eyes the Emperor gave him rather than the targeting array of his armor's Machine Spirit. "What?" Durrandon asked, but Margan did not answer him, letting the silence of his stare speak for itself. "What?"
Margan shook his head at his brother's idiocy and turned to the beast, raised his lascannon and fired.
Other devastator squads began firing, joining their fury with that of the predators. Plasma, las, and bolt rained down on the beast in a storm of destruction capable of leveling a fortress, yet the thing refused to die. It was wounded, of course, nothing could endure a devastator squad salvo – let alone seven – without sustaining some form of damage. But it wasn't enough. The tanks did more, but not by much. Mostly they served as a target for the beast to vent its rage upon.
As Margan tore through the red membrane of the beast's wing, its tail lashed out toward the predators. The tanks began backing up, but too late. The clawed appendage on the end of the tail took hold of one of the tanks, crushing it like an aluminum can. It hissed with malicious satisfaction at the death of one of its tormentors before throwing the wreck at a hab-unit where another devastator squad was hold up. It roared in triumph as the ammunition in the tank went off, leveling a significant portion of the building and burring the marines inside alive.
Its moment of triumph would be short as the remaining predator tanks opened fire again. An autocannon round struck the beast in the mouth, cutting short its victory roar but doing no serious damage. It thrashed against the barrage, slowly advancing toward the tanks, even as they and the devastators unloaded everything they had into its unholy form.
"Brother-Sergeant," Margan voxed, "any word on air support? Have our gunships finished rearming and refueling?"
"Negative, Brother-Margan," The sergeant said, his words accompanied by the bark of a bolter, "Gunship support is unavailable at this time, but reinforcements are on their way. The Land Raider Salem's Hammer and a squad of vindicators is on its way. I am also-"
The blare of a warhorn cut the sergeant off as the ground began to shake. Margan turned, looking down the street in the direction the horn had sounded from, but the beast hadn't. It was too focused on the immediate threat in front of it, it did not sense the fury of the foe behind it until his roaring blade was carving through its tail. The beast wailed and tried to pull free, but the frantic movements only served its opponent, who cut the beast's tail off at the middle, its grasping tip squeezing and flailing before slowly disintegrating.
With speed surprising for a creature so large, the beast spun to face this new foe, letting loose a shriek of challenge at what it saw.
Abysswalker answered the challenge with another blaring of its warhorn, weapon-arms held out in welcome. Within its silver and blue frame, upon the Throne Mechanicum, Artoris smiled. He felt the eagerness of his Knight, felt its desire to slay this draconic foe in the name of glory and the Emperor. Artoris leveled Abysswalker's Reaper Chainsword at the monster, metal teeth revving hungrily. "Come to me, thing of darkness," he demanded, his voice amplified by Abysswalker's vox systems, "Come meet your end at my blade!"
The beast obliged.
~o0o~
"CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE!" Kress shouted as his men and the Black Lions spat bolts and las-beams at the silver-haired headmaster. The Space Marines had reacted first, firing their weapons the moment Kara's body stiffened then went limp. The stormtroopers had been slower on the draw, firing more in response to the Black Lions than the psyker's sudden collapse.
He had come all this way, spent months preparing for this moment. He would not see his efforts thwarted by a stray bolt shell or las-beam.
Even if they obeyed his order however, Kress knew it was too late. The combined fusillade would have torn the headmaster to pieces, Aura or not, and reduced the machine behind him to a pile of scrap. Even if by some stroke of luck, the machine survived the fusillade with only minor damage, Kress doubted its occupant would.
This fate was averted at the last second by the headmaster himself. Just as the first bolts came rocketing toward him, a barrier of green energy formed in front of him, expanding itself to cover both the headmaster and the device behind him. Bolts detonated harmlessly off its emerald surface and las beams seemed to simply disappear into it.
They stopped firing, whether from hearing his order or because they saw the futility in throwing their ammo into the shield, Kress didn't know or rightly care. He looked past the headmaster and to the device, which to his relief was untouched, the girl within apparently oblivious to the battle taking place mere yards from her.
Syrus charged then, the Chief Librarian lashing out with a bolt of psychic energy as he closed with the headmaster. Where bolts and las had failed, the psychic electricity smashed into the barrier like a stone hurled at glass. Spiderweb cracks flashed into existence a fraction of a second before the Librarian struck the shield with his force staff.
The weapon cut into the shield as if it was not even there, disrupting its stability and causing it to burst into a thousand incandescent shards that evaporated harmlessly into the air. The headmaster leapt back, just avoiding the staff's initial swing. Shock played across his features before settling into what Kress recognized as horrified realization. The expression faded swiftly as Syrus pushed his assault, swinging his staff at the headmaster with astounding speed and a grace that clashed with his oversized bulk. The headmaster dodged every strike, his agility far greater than what the Space Marine could match. Sliding underneath the swing of his staff, the headmaster lunged forward with his cane, thrusting it forward with impossible speed at the Librarian's chest. Unbelievably, the blow pushed Syrus back, staggering him for a moment, and allowing his opponent to deliver an onslaught of similar jabbing blows, each one faster than Kress' eye could follow.
Syrus jolted and flinched with each blow, as if he was being struck by a hail of bolt rounds. The headmaster pulled back to deliver what looked to be a finishing blow. Kress raised one of his hellpistols, but did not fire, fearing the damage he may cause should his shot miss.
In the end however, his aid was unneeded. Just before the cane could impact against Syrus' head, the Librarian lashed out. A blue gauntlet of ceramite swung up and grabbed the cane just inches from his face. Witch-lightning crackled along its length and wreathed the human in angry bolts of psychic electricity.
Then, still holding the cane, Syrus hurled the headmaster away and into a wall. The wall cracked from the force of the impact, the sound of it echoing through the empty underground halls. The Librarian turned to the Inquisitor and the others, his golden eyes shining with power and majesty. "Secure the Singer!" He instructed, before turning back to face the headmaster.
To Kress' amazement and disbelief, the headmaster was still alive. He stood tall and defiant, taking a relaxed duelist's stance with his cane, not a single sign of injury showing on his body. Even his clothes remained fine, if only a little disheveled.
The strength of an Astartes was not something to underestimate. Even with only one arm and no weapon, a Space Marine is capable of killing dozens within seconds. Syrus had thrown the man with enough force to dent the hull of a battle tank, yet the headmaster had walked it off seemingly no worse for wear.
Could it be his Aura? One of the Twins' reports had mentioned that Aura strength and utility varied drastically among different individuals, with some stronger or weaker than others. Given his position as headmaster, it was highly probable that Ozpin possessed an unusually strong Aura, perhaps the strongest on the planet.
But that didn't feel right somehow to the Inquisitor. That shield he had summoned, the speed and strength of his attacks, his surprise toward Syrus' psychic abilities. It was clear to Kress that the Beacon Headmaster was more than simply a skilled and powerful Huntsman. He was something else, something… inhuman.
"Yole. Renfield," Kress began, turning to his spy and one of the Stormtroopers, the insignia on his shoulder marking him as a lieutenant. "Take Kara and head back to the surface. Contact the Light. Tell them to send Orbeck down." Both of them nodded and ran back the way they had come, with Yole throwing Kara over his back as easily as one might heft a sack of tubers. To the Space Marines and remaining Stormtroopers, Kress said, "on me."
They ran for the machine, circumventing the duel as best they could. The headmaster quickly realized their objective however and tried to intercept them, but he was kept at bay by Syrus and the bolter fire of the other Black Lions.
Within a few seconds they were at their goal and Kress made a curious discovery. Next to the stasis coffin that held the Singer, sat a second, unoccupied, stasis coffin. Kress took note of the many cables and thick wires that connected the two pods, raising further questions in the Inquisitor's head. He spied a data console and attempted to activate it, spending several crucial seconds rousing its Machine Spirit.
Words and numbers ran across the screen, much of it meaningless to the Inquisitor. He cursed himself for not bringing Orbeck down with them from the start. Kress turned to one of the Stormtroopers. "See if there's a way to move this thing," he ordered, then turned his attention back to the fight between Librarian and Headmaster.
Kress' eyes widened as he saw the headmaster shooting toward him, cane raised. He had managed to slip past Syrus and the other Black Lions, seeking to eliminate the one who sought to take the Singer away, despite the clear and greater threat the Space Marines posed to him. Kress quickly threw himself to the side, the servos of his power armor thrumming loudly as they propelled him out of the headmaster's path. But he was too slow, he had noticed Ozpin too late. In spite of this, Kress brought up one of his hellpistols. He doubted he would kill or even hit the headmaster, but he refused to die without trying to take this bastard with him.
The cane came closer. His pistol shrieked. Both struck a shield of psychic energy that suddenly appeared between them. Kress' reaction was interrupted by his collision with the floor, his armor clanking hard against the hard stone surface. Ozpin's reaction was far more graceful, backflipping away from the barrier and studying it with narrowed eyes before spinning around to face its summoner.
Chief Librarian Syrus swung his force staff at the headmaster, once more, he moved to dodge it, but too late. The horned skull atop the staff's head collided with Ozpin's chest just as the man leapt away. For a baseline human, even a glancing blow from a Space Marine could lead to death, but Ozpin had been hit square in the chest. What's more, the staff that struck him was a force-staff, a most dangerous arcane device.
It was not powered by a mere disruption field generator, but by the Librarian's own Warp spawned powers. It channeled his psychic abilities in a way that allowed him to not only wound flesh, but spirit as well. It is even said that force-weapons have the ability to destroy the souls of those struck by them, and that even daemons fear their touch.
But the soul was not viewed the same by Remnant as it was by the Imperium. In the Imperium, the soul was a thing to be cherished, guarded and kept safe from the corrupting touch of chaos and xenos. On Remnant, the soul was seen as a tool, a shield and weapon to help mankind in the fight against the Creatures of Grimm. It was not guarded but instead made to guard, used to protect its vessel from mundane harm.
No one on Remnant would have thought that there existed weapons designed to harm the spirit as much as the body. Nor would the Imperium ever conceive of using the human soul as a type of personal force field.
Both concepts were almost anathema to their respective cultures.
So, when Syrus' staff struck the headmaster, and soul rending weapon met soul-powered shield, it did not break his Aura.
It destroyed it. Utterly.
When the staff struck him, the headmaster's body became encased in a green glow that intensified in brightness before shattering into a million evaporating pieces. Then, his eyes shot wide open, as if he was experiencing a horrifying epiphany, even as the force and inertia of the blow sent him barreling toward the wall. Only he never hit it.
A fraction of an eyeblink after the staff struck Ozpin, the Headmaster of Beacon Academy exploded in a ball of white light. It hurt to look at, and even with his helm's autosenses compensating, Kress's eyes burned. He wanted to close them and spare himself from the pain, but something told he needed to witness this.
He stared into the light and saw the headmaster's face. Then he saw another, unfamiliar face, then another, then another. There were colors too, blue, yellow, red, grey, and especially green. It lasted no more than a fraction of a second, but for the Inquisitor, it felt as if the universe itself had slowed. Kress saw a thousand faces, young and old, male and female, handsome and ugly. They flashed in front of him, overlapping one another but never fully fading behind the next to replace it, and each was haloed by a sinister green glow…
Then it was over, and the shockwave of the explosion struck with tremendous force and noise. It was as if a hurricane gale had been unleashed inside the underground vault. Stormtroopers not fast enough to grab onto something (which was sadly most of them) were picked up and thrown against the vault's walls. The Space Marines fared better due to their heavy power armor, but even they were knocked back by at least a dozen yards. The Chief Librarian was hurled further than this, landing hard on his suit's powerpack. Whether he or any of his battle-brothers survived, the Inquisitor did not know.
Weighed down by his own suit of powered-armor and still low to the ground thanks to his dive to avoid Ozpin's attack, the Inquisitor was spared the indignity of being thrown about like a ragdoll. His form was pushed back, skidding against the floor, but otherwise, Kress was unharmed.
The same could not be said for Beacon's Headmaster, the body of whom now lay within a shallow crater, shriveled and black. When Kress pushed himself back to his feet, the corpse even began to disintegrate, becoming dust that was carried off by a nonexistent wind.
The Inquisitor tensed, expecting and searching for the presence of entities he had fought before and had no wish to fight again. A death like he had just witnessed should have been like a dinner bell for the evil denizens of the Immaterium, calling them forth to tear into this part of reality and lay waste to everything in the name of their Dark Masters. Kress did not possess psychic abilities of his own, but he did possess knowledge on psykers, extensive knowledge.
He knew that the stronger a psyker's abilities were, the more brightly their soul shone in the Warp, and the more it attracted the attentions of those who dwelled in that terrible place.
Kara had told Kress about the strange force that surrounded the planet, how Remnant was made almost invisible in the Warp by it. He had taken it as an acceptable place holder for the time being, putting their immediate objective before solving this admittedly fascinating mystery.
But after the Headmaster's… death, Kress did not think it would be enough.
A second passed.
Then two.
When three seconds passed, Kress heard groaning. His eyes and pistols shot toward the sound, but he saw only a Stormtrooper, slowly getting back to his feet. The soldier removed his helmet to gulp down air unhindered, and Kress inspected him.
The Inquisitor lowered his pistols when he deemed the man untainted.
He saw others begin to recover themselves, but not many. Of the Stormtroopers he had brought down with him, Kress counted only five still alive, and two of them were badly wounded. The sound of whirring servos alerted Kress to the four Tactical Marines, all of whom had survived the explosion. They rose swiftly, eyes searching for enemies. One of them caught sight of where Syrus still lay and went to him, kneeling at the Chief Librarian's side as he examined him.
Kress turned from this and went over to the stasis device containing the Singer. Whether by luck or the Emperor's grace, the device remained undamaged and its occupant unharmed. Kress let out a sigh that his mask turned into a rasping growl. They had secured the Singer.
He was about to order one of the troopers to the surface to convey their success to the Solaire's Light, when he noticed something, just out the corner of his eye.
A glimmer in the dark halls, like light reflecting off metal…
It was all the warning Kress got, but it came just in time for him to act. "Contact!" He shouted even as he threw his arm out to catch the obsidian arrow meant for the Singer. It pierced the soft elbow joint of his armor, digging deep into his arm. The pain was immense, and Kress suppressed a howl of pain, instead choosing to raise his remaining good arm and take aim at this would-be assassin.
A woman glared back at him, her amber eyes burning with fury and hate.
~o0o~
Cinder gripped her bow tight with barely contained rage as she glared at the armored figure who had ruined her shot and denied the True Fall Maiden the power that was rightly hers.
How had he even noticed her? She had been completely silent in her approach, not that it was very hard. They had obviously been fighting someone, likely that arrogant buffoon Ozpin or one of his stooges before that explosion rocked the whole vault. Now it was just the invaders.
A part of Cinder was irritated she had missed the fight. She had come down just before the explosion went off, summoning two glass swords moments before the elevator door opened. That had proven wise, as most of her choices were, as she was met by three of the accursed interlopers the instant the elevator slid open.
They had been two men and a woman. One of the men wore bulky red and black armor while the other was clad in a black armored bodysuit of some kind. The woman was held between the two and wearing dark robes, though if she wore anything beneath that, Cinder hadn't known or cared. Her limp body had made Cinder deduce she was either dead or unconscious, not that it really mattered.
She killed the two men easily enough. Surprised by her unexpected arrival and weighed down by their burden, they could do nothing before she swung out with her swords and cut their throats. The one in the bodysuit had managed to raise his weapon at her, but it was too little too late.
After all the frustration and grief these interlopers had caused her, the catharsis she felt from killing them was beyond words.
Just before she could kill the unconscious woman too, a terrible BOOM echoed through the vault followed by tremors and an unnatural wind. When the shockwave hit Cinder, she felt a chill run down her spin and something in her scream.
She ignored it, leaving the woman where she lay amidst her dead comrades as the True Fall Maiden made her way to her prize.
The invaders had been dazed when she arrived, no doubt from whatever caused the explosion. Distracted as they were, they didn't see Cinder as she approached, but she knew that wouldn't last. She acted quickly, summoning up her power to form a bow and arrow of black glass, then took aim and loosed her shot.
It had been perfect. It would have penetrated through the glass and gone straight through the unworthy wretch's heart, killing her too quickly for Cinder's liking, but there was no time to savor this long-awaited moment.
But instead of the girl's heart, it struck the outstretched arm of the invader who had been fiddling with the device. Suddenly, every gun in the chamber was pointed at Cinder, and what should have been her coup de grace was now nothing but a botched assassination.
"You have ruined everything," she told them, her voice laced with venom. "Months of planning, of bidding my time, of manipulation and subterfuge, wasted because of you… you cosplaying crusaders!" Cinder felt the air around her grow hot as she called on what shreds of magic she possessed. "You are interfering with forces beyond-"
"Kill her," the order was immediately followed as a storm of miniaturized rockets and red lasers hurtled toward the Fall Maiden. She scowled, artfully dodging the majority of the shots while the rest she deflected with the aid of her magic.
Cinder expected a charge after the volley, it was how most Huntsmen and Huntresses fought after all. Test your enemy's agility and reflexes with an opening salvo then close the distance, preferably while they are focused on avoiding your bullets. But there was no charge, they just kept firing.
A scowl crossed her features as she realized her mistake. These were not Huntsmen. They did not rely on agility – how could they with that bulky ugly armor – to win, but on their brutal weapons and sheer strength. They knew that Cinder would not be able to close the distance if they kept up their fire, so why risk it? Easier to simply wear her down.
Cinder knew she possessed incredible grace and agility, but she could only do this dance for so long before fatigue set in. One of the miniature rockets shot passed her ear, close enough that she felt the heat of its passing scald her skin and the shriek of its passing left her ear ringing. She could not keep this up, she needed to break out of this soon or she was dead.
Just then, one of the four giants turned his gun toward his comrade and fired. The rockets detonated against the pauldron and helmet of the unsuspecting warrior, blowing apart armor and flesh. Shock and horror froze the regular humans, and one of the other giants tackled the murderer to the ground.
Gunshots sounded from behind Cinder as three of the human soldiers fell dead and two familiar presences fell in at her sides.
Cinder felt no relief at their arrival, she would never admit so to anyone, let alone herself. Instead, she scowled at her two underlings. "You took your time."
"Told you she'd be mad," Mercury Black said with an amused sigh as he got into a fighting stance. "You're welcome by the way, boss."
"Shut up, Mercury," Emerald Sustrai hissed, her two revolver-sickles raised and pointed. "Sorry we're late ma'am. We-"
"Shut up and kill these interlopers!" Cinder snarled, breaking her bow into twin swords and charging into the fray, with Emerald and Mercury close behind. Cinder ran at the last standing giant, dodging his shots easily now that he was the only one firing.
In response, the giant stowed his gun and pulled out a huge, blocky pistol and a combat blade that was as long as her arm. He ran to meet her, pistol barking. His shots were not at her, but at Mercury and Emerald, who deftly avoided them. Before they could rejoin Cinder, the giant reached her. He swung out at her with his blade, moving faster and with more grace than anything of his size should be capable of. Cinder ducked and weaved through his attacks, then swung out with her glass swords at the giant's weak points.
She slashed into the softer joints and exposed cables of the armor with a surgeon's precision, making five expert slashes before she had to move away and out of the giant's reach. To her frustration however, the giant seemed unaffected by her attacks. Had her cuts not been deep enough to draw blood?
Cinder decided to try a different strategy. Her eyes went to the giant's backpack, noting the two round exhaust jets on either side of it. She deduced the backpack had to be the power source for the armor and thus, a weakness. Cinder gave her blades a swift, flourishing twirl before shooting forward in a burst of Aura enhanced speed that cumulated in a jump that sent her soaring over the giant's head in a graceful spin. Landing low, she spun around with swords raised, slashing at the exposed knee joints of his armor before pulling the blades back to plunge them into the center of the powerpack.
The powerpack was just as armored as the rest of the giant was however, and the glass blades bounced off its hard surface, their tips blunted by the force of impact. Her arms reverberated from the backlash of the blow, leaving Cinder open for the giant's counter. With speed that surprised her, the giant swung around and struck Cinder with a powerful backhand that sent her stumbling back several feet. Her neck and jaw ached like she had been struck by an Ursa Major. He would have snapped her neck with that blow if her Aura had not absorbed the damage.
That this warrior had rebuffed her attack with something as demeaning as a backhand enraged Cinder. Throwing caution to the wind, she called on the power of the Maiden. A fiery glow ruptured from her eye as she tapped into the magic, a sadistic smile forming on her lips. The giant didn't hesitate. Whether he thought she was using her Semblance or just recognized her actions as dangerous, he hurled himself forward, combat knife raised for a decapitation strike.
Cinder thrust her arm forward. The floor beneath the warrior erupted with pyro-kinetic force, throwing back and charring his armor. Unwilling to chance him surviving somehow, Cinder quickly opened up another canister of sand and formed another pair of blades and leapt at him. Her smile grew wider as she cut into the soft neck seal of his armor. She wrenched her blades to the side, ripping out most of his throat. Vibrant, bright red blood splashed across her face, its aroma almost intoxicating in how strangely rich it was.
She somersaulted off the corpse, dodging a beam of energy fired from the armored man by the sleeping Maiden. Cinder glared at him, only to be met by the impassive visor of his helm. He stood with the remainder of the regular humans, standing protectively in front of the capsule. Cinder shot a glance to the other two giants and was rewarded with the sight of her underlings keeping them busy. She doubted they would be able to hold out for long, but she didn't care. She could always find new pawns.
Cinder turned back to the armored man and his soldiers. "I am going to make you scream," She snarled, not noticing the second voice that whispered the last word she spoke. Cinder felt the thing inside her, the Grimm inside her, she felt its anticipation and hunger surge at the prospect of devouring the rest of the Maiden's soul and butchering these damned meddlers.
The man, his face hidden beneath his helmet, opened fire, as did his soldiers. Lacking the same reaction speed as the armored giants, Cinder was easily able to outpace the aim of the soldiers' firing at her, though some of the beams had only missed by a few inches and caused her Aura to flare up to protect her skin from their intense heat.
With the grace expected of one destined to rule the world, Cinder moved through the volley of lasers, drawing ever closer to her prize and the obstacles in her way. She could not wait to rip off this fool's helmet so she could watch his face contort in agony as she slowly tortured him to death. He deserved it after ruining her plans.
Yes, Cinder could see it now. The panic in his eyes as she slowly burned away his skin. The pitch of his screaming as she ripped out his teeth. The pathetic plea for release when she finally broke him, and the pure despair when it was denied.
Cinder was only a few yards away from him now. She raised her swords up, preparing to decapitate the two soldiers on either side of the man before bringing them down onto his arms. Yes, she'd cut his arms off first, then deal with the rest of his bodyguards. Then, she would take her time, drawing out each moment before taking the rest of the Maiden's power for herself and using it to slowly burn this pathetic insect to ashe-
Angry bolts of electricity shot out to ensnare the True Maiden in her tracks, mere feet from her quarry. Pain coursed through Cinder's body as her muscles spasmed and tensed in violent rhythm to her laboring heart. She clenched her jaw and tasted iron. Her Aura refused to absorb the damage. She couldn't move. She couldn't summon her powers. She couldn't even scream. What was happening?
'Cease.' The thought was not her own, but the pain was too much for her to realize this. Why would she think to cease now? She had endured pain like this before, back before she had been found by her mistress. It had made her stronger, made her who she was today.
'Cease.' But the compulsion was strong. Why should she keep fighting? She'd been fighting for so long, ordering her minions around, obeying the whims of Salem. It was… tiresome. And this hunger she felt, for something far above mere food or water… it burned so much… to just have it… stop…
'Cease.' Cinder could not resist it further. Fatigued from the fighting and unprepared for the psychic attack on her mind, the False Maiden succumbed to demand. As the lightning caging her petered out, she felt her mind dimming, her eyelids growing heavy, her body going limp.
Cinder collapsed on her side, eyes half closed, unable to move as soldiers rushed to secure and restrain her. She couldn't hear fighting anymore. Did that mean Emerald and Mercury were dead? Why didn't she want to move to see? Why couldn't she move her head to see? She should feel panicked, afraid, confused, but she was not. Why? The Creature of Grimm inside her felt these things. It wanted her to run, to scream, to kill, to escape from this place, but Cinder could not work up any desire to do so. She just… laid there as her arms and legs were restrained.
Then, her vision was obstructed by a massive, blue, armored boot. She could make out voices… talking, but it was distant and faint, as if spoken from far away or over the roaring of a river. She tried to understand what was being said, but she could only make out some of it.
"… Pull what… swift… dispose of…"
There were other words after that, but Cinder's enforced apathy prevented her from understanding more.
Cinder was suddenly wrenched up by her hair, the pain of it eliciting no reaction but felt all the same. She came face to face with one of the giants, armored in blue rather than black, his head bereft of a snarling helmet. A strange metal hood rose from the back of his armor's gorget, connected to his scalp with wires and cables, and radiating a faint aura of power. His face was wrinkled and old, much of it covered by a graying beard. He looked like a man on his last legs, not a divine warrior.
But then… his eyes…
There were many different eye colors on Remnant, from dull brown to electric blue to blood red. Most meant nothing. They were simply the result of certain genes being passed down the generations. Only silver eyes actually meant something, the innate power to destroy Creatures of Grimm with a single glance… but this man's eyes…
Cinder had never heard of golden eyes before…
The blue armored giant reached down and held Cinder's head in his massive hands. They encased her head completely, and his armored fingers interlocked over her scalp.
"Reveal your secrets," His voice boomed in her ears and in her mind, clearer than anything she had heard in her whole life.
Then his golden eyes glowed with power, and Cinder Falls screamed.
~o0o~
Oscar Kress took in a long, labored breath as the Chief Librarian did his work. His mask cycled the oxygen into his lungs, filtering out any bacteria or toxins lacing the air. When he exhaled, the carbon dioxide was shunted through the filters of his mask in a harsh, mechanical rasp.
The noise was temperamental and unpleasant, but Kress ignored its grating rhythm, as he had learned to years ago. Instead, he turned to his remaining Stormtroopers. "Go secure the lift. I do not want to have to deal with anymore interruptions."
The troopers nodded, and one asked, "What about the others, Inquisitor?"
Kress felt his irritation rise but quelled it before speaking. "Verify their fates, and if they're dead head topside and contact Orbeck. Tell him I want his mechanical ass down here. Now!" He growled the last part, his anger resurfacing. The Stormtroopers obeyed without complaint, breaking out into a run back toward the lift. They passed the two remaining Black Lions as they ran, the Space Marines moving to stand guard by the Chief Librarian, though at a visible distance.
The two children that had thrown themselves at the Astartes lay dead and broken on the floor. They had fought with skill and tenacity but had allowed themselves to be distracted when Syrus apprehended their leader. The emerald-haired girl especially, who had turned her back completely on her Astartes opponent in order to gawk at the sight of her leader being encaged in lightning. Her stupidity had earned her an Astartes combat blade through the back, rightfully earned in Kress' opinion.
The grey-haired boy had had more sense than his partner. Where the emerald haired girl simply stared in shocked horror, the boy had turned tail and ran. He made good distance before a bolt took him in his right leg and sent him spinning to the ground. The shot destroyed the limb, – which was revealed to be a bionic of sorts – but left the boy relatively unharmed. He had tried to surrender then, but a second bolt to his skull silenced his plea for mercy before it even left his lips.
Kress looked at the two bodies, laying in growing pools of blood. It was a shame, really. If they had lived, they could have told him valuable information, perhaps even prove worthy of becoming acolytes. The grey-haired one had shown a fair degree of talent, after all, and more than one of Kress' apprentices had been assassins sent to kill him. What is done is done, however, and there was no point in sulking over it.
He would have them taken up to the Solaire's Light for study when this was over. Even in death they could provide useful insight. Orbeck would be eager to study the bionic legs of the boy, for certain, but there was also the chance they could discover something about this Aura power the people of Remnant used.
Aura… When the Twins had sent the first documents regarding the phenomena to the Inquisitor, he had written it off as some form of psychic ability or sorcery, but then he had read further, noted the amount of research put into understanding Aura by the populace, as well as its widespread use. But what really got his attention was the lack of deaths caused by Aura usage.
In the wider galaxy, psykers were at constant risk of daemonic possession and worse due to their abilities. It was commonplace for psykers to burn themselves out from prolonged use of their powers, literally in some cases. But Aura… Aura was different. It didn't harm the bearer, but protected and enhanced him, giving him speed, strength, and agility on par with the Emperor's finest. And anyone could use it, so the people of Remnant believed. There was no genetic tampering, no powerful bloodlines, all that was required was a soul and a strong will.
But there was still a catch to using Aura, a hidden flaw to this so easily acquired power.
Dependency.
It was such a powerful asset, such a useful and reliable tool, that the Huntsmen and Huntresses of this world had become utterly dependent on it. They could not fight without their Aura, could not utilize their strange Semblances or wield their impractical weapons. They depended on it to protect them, to shield them from harm that would otherwise prove lethal. And that made them reckless.
Kress had witnessed it firsthand, on the skydock. The schola cadets had charged Space Marines, the Imperium's finest warriors, thinking they could actually beat them. It was not simply that they did not know what they fought, it was that they were certain of their victory. They had been trained to fight monsters their whole lives, wielded mighty weapons and arcane abilities, how could they not succeed. Besides, their enemy had no Aura of their own, they would be easy to defeat.
But Space Marines were not Grimm. They were not mindless monsters driven only by the need to kill and destroy. They were soldiers, designed for wars far more terrible than anything this planet new by a being so powerful he was worshipped as a god by untold trillions across the galaxy. Yes, they wore power armor and wielded mighty weapons, but take away a Marine's armor and boltgun and he was still a force to be reckoned with, capable of killing dozens of men.
But take away a Huntsman's Aura, and he was the same as any other human being: weak, fragile, mortal.
"Inquisitor Kress," a voice crackled out from his armor's internal vox. "Sergeant Maxson reporting. We've reached the lift, my lord. No enemy contact so far."
That was something at least, Kress thought to himself. "Any sign of the others," Kress asked. There was a momentary pause before he got the answer he already knew.
"Acolyte Storrel is alive, but unconscious, my lord," the sergeant replied, "Lieutenant Renfield and Interrogator Lond are both dead."
"Cause of death?"
"Their throats were cut, my lord." Maxson answered, his tone professional. Kress let out another loud, grating rasp, the chilling noise carried over the Vox for the sergeant to hear.
"Very well," Kress began after a moment. "Prepare their bodies for extraction then make for the surface." The Inquisitor did not elaborate further before he cut the link, trusting the sergeant to be wise enough to not require a second reminder to contact the Solaire's Light.
He clenched his hands into fists, ignoring the brief flare of renewed pain in his right arm where the obsidian arrow had pierced him. Yole and his sister had been with Kress for three decades, serving as his eyes, ears, and hands in countless operations. From exposing corrupt Imperial officials to assassinating cult leaders, the Twins had proven themselves time and again to be amongst the Inquisitor's most useful acolytes. He'd have put them forward as Inquisitorial candidates long ago, if not for their dependency on one another.
The Twins always worked best together. Back when Kress had first recruited them, he quickly noticed dips in their performance whenever he put them on separate missions. They would pull unnecessary risks, goad their targets in action, leave clues that hinted to infiltration. They would treat it as a game. But when they were both placed on the same mission, they remained professional and focused, completing their objectives with commendable efficiency and leaving no trace of their involvement.
But despite this flaw, Kress valued them greatly, even considered them – Yole especially –friends. Whether they thought the same of him, Kress did not know. He lowered his head and took a deep breath. Many Inquisitors would condemn such a show of weakness, but Kress knew better. Humans were, by nature, social creatures. They formed bonds with one another, and when those bonds were severed it left a wound upon the soul. Rather than ignore this pain, like his more callous peers would, Kress embraced it.
The pain kept him focused on his duty, kept him sane, kept him from stepping over that line so many Inquisitors ultimately crossed in their never-ending quest to protect Mankind. It reminded him that he was still human.
He would not allow this grief to consume him, however. There was still much to be done here, and only once he had the answers he sought, and Remnant was once more under Imperial control would Kress retire to his quarters aboard the Solaire's Light and properly mourn for Yole's death.
Pushing back the grief with a prayer for the man's soul, Yole regarded the Black Lions' Chief Librarian.
Syrus had not moved from where he stood, his hands still grasping about the woman's skull as he bore into her mind. She had not stopped her screaming, not even to take a breath. The loud shrill cry had since devolved into a pained croaking as her lungs refused to inhale fresh oxygen. Her pale face had turned blue, tears and mucus streaked down her face as her body struggled to remain conscious.
Kress felt no pity for her, he never did when it came to her kind. Kress had dealt with others like her countless times, people desperate to fill the power vacuums left in the wake of his investigations. She was nothing but a scavenger, an opportunist who sought to take advantage of the chaos to secure power for herself. He had put down thousands like her in his life, they were all the same, believing themselves destined for power simply because of the suffering they had endured to get where they are now.
It was a childish mentality; one Kress always took satisfaction in dismantling. Right now, however, he wanted answers.
She had known about the existence of the Singer, that much was obvious, but there was more to it. Syrus had told the Inquisitor he felt a connection between this woman and the Singer, a thread linking both women together. What was the nature of this link? She had tried to kill the Singer, so perhaps she sought to severe the connection, if so, why? How had she come to learn about the Singer, how much did she know? Was she acting on her own or at the command of another? What sort of resources did she have at her disposal?
So many questions, too many possibilities. It didn't sit well with the Inquisitor.
Minutes passed, though they felt like hours. Syrus' eyes dimmed and he released his hold on the woman. She crumbled to the ground, coughing and gasping for oxygen. The Librarian regarded her with disgust.
"What did you find?" Kress asked, and the Space Marine regarded the Inquisitor with a grim expression.
"I have discovered much within its mind, far more than I expected to find." Syrus stated cryptically. "But this… thing," he gestured to the woman curled up at his feet, "sought to steal the power of the Singer, who it calls the 'Fall Maiden', for itself. It failed, taking only some of her power and leaving the Maiden in her current state."
That… was not what Kress expected to hear. Steal her power? How could you steal psychic power? Was such a thing even possible in the first place? "How did she accomplish this?"
Again, the Librarian's gaze turned to the woman, hatred burning in his golden eyes. "It had… unholy assistance."
The other two Black Lions aimed their boltguns at the woman then, ready and waiting for the order to open fire. Kress saw no reason to deny them. He had dealt with Daemons only a handful of times – thank the Emperor – and each time victory had been achieved at terrible cost. If this woman was in league with Daemonic entities, she could not be allowed to live.
"Kill her," Kress ordered. Syrus did not countermand him.
The two Battle-Brothers opened fire at point-blank range. The bolts tore her body to pieces, sending blood and viscera flying onto the armor of all present. The first shot had killed her, but the Marines fired into her three more times, rendering the body completely unrecognizable. Kress would have another team come down here to burn and dispose of the remains as well, to be certain.
But as the first bolt detonated inside her chest, something happened. A strange nimbus of orange hued energy erupted from her shattered corpse, spiraling through the air above them and toward the pod containing the Singer. Before Kress could say anything, the energy slammed into the comatose girl, passing through the armorglass canopy like it wasn't even there. Her body jolted and shock as the glow enveloped her. Alarms sounded from the machine as its limited Spirit tried to comprehend what was happening to its occupant.
The Black Lions brought their bolters up to fire, but Syrus stopped them with a raised hand.
Instead, all present watched as the glow around the Singer dimmed, and her eyes fluttered open. She blinked at them, her expression one of drowsy confusion. Then her vision focused, and she saw them more clearly.
Or, more specifically, she saw the Space Marines.
A weak smile formed on her lips, and with shaking hands, she made the Mark of the Aquila over her chest. The Singer said something then, but her voice was soft with disuse and muffled by the glass canopy of the machine. Kress began moving toward her, but she had already fallen back into unconsciousness.
Kress stood in front of her now, starring at her through the lenses of his helm. The Inquisitor had not heard a single word she said, but he had managed to read her lips.
"What just happened, Librarian," Kress asked. He had heard Syrus walk up to stand beside him. "What did we witness?"
The Librarian was silent for a moment. Behind them, the two Battle-Brothers had yet to lower their bolters. Then, he said, "We restored her power, and in doing so, saved her life and soul."
"And made her far more dangerous," Kress added with frustration. Psykers were not easy to hold, let alone interrogate, even for members of the Inquisition. And a psyker of unknown power was as unpredictable as they were dangerous.
"She is not our enemy," Syrus countered, and Kress looked at the Librarian. The old Space Marine was regarding the unconscious woman with a guarded by curious expression. He no doubt, was as eager for answers as Kress was, but unlike Kress he did not regard her with wariness. Caution, yes, even a Space Marine knew to be cautious of a psyker, but he did not seem concerned she would turn her powers on them.
It did not take much for the Inquisitor to figure out why. He may have only read her lips, but Syrus' superior Astartes senses no doubt heard every word she spoke as if she was speaking right into his ear.
You heard me…
And the implications behind those three simple words… were far too many for the Inquisitor's liking.
~o0o~
Author's Note: UUUURGGGH! FINALLY! DONE! I am again so sorry for how long this took. Writing motivation has been slow coming to me these past few months, and work has left me drained so I did not always have the energy for it. Not to mention I had a big trip to the Himalayas in late September. That's right! I got to see the future site of the Golden Throne! An amazing experience. But still, it should not have taken me this long to write this much, and for that I apologize and thank you all for your patience.
NOW! I know there are gonna be some questions, especially regarding what the fuck just happened to Ozpin. Well, Force weapons are designed to not only hurt like hell, but to also damage a person's very soul. On a world like Remnant, where so much is reliant on the use of your soul, a Force Weapon is like the ultimate kryptonite, turning Aura into a liability rather than an advantage. HOWEVER, Ozpin was not any normal Huntsman. At this point, he has accumulated hundreds if not thousands of souls, assimilating them into his own and growing in power. My headcannon was that when a being Ozpin, while boasting an aura, get hit with a force weapon, it basically does not end well. Does this mean Ozpin was completely destroyed? Possibly, but again, he had assimilated a lot of souls. Chances are, he might have managed to survive, but if he did, he would be extremely weakened.
Also, I know a lot of you were probably expecting a far more satisfying death for Cinder, but to tell you the truth, this just flowed far better for the story. Same with Emerald and Mercury's deaths. But the thing about RWBY fighting is that its like 70 percent showing off while 40k is just straight to business, and that difference can lead to interesting outcomes. I do hope you enjoyed the major fights though. I enjoyed writing them and hope you liked reading them.
This story is almost wrapped up. Expect one or two more chapters after this and thank you all for sticking with this for so long.
As Always: please Fav, Follow, and Review! Thank You!
DeadRich18 Out!