"Giova! How dare you intrude on my mission!" Bastion's voice shook the gray realm as his white spirit grew thrice in volume.
The orange spirit huffed and remained calm.
"I did what had to be done," the orange smoke huffed, "Hawkins has been too lax of late. So it was time to introduce him to the dangers of leaving the passive confines of Vale."
Bastion's presence grew twice as large and emanated its spiritual prowess to the point that the entire spirit world shook.
"Hawkins has only encountered the witch's influence on a sparse moment! How on Remnant can you find it plausible to expose him to such a foul presence of that of the pale witch?!"
"You're too short-sighted, Bastion," Giova was also losing patience. "We know the pale witch plans war within the coming decade, and we cannot lose sight of our true goal. You've seen it time and time again, that your champion is no more than a hollow husk of a warrior. If anything, Hawkins' characteristics hold true to the scarecrow he takes after in battle. All intimidation from a distance, and once you've breached his feeble defenses, he's no more than a broken pushover."
"Have you not seen his growth as I have?!" Bastion yelled. "He's grown to care for those who have helped him, he's willing to listen to several angles of different perspectives before taking action, and as we speak he's fighting a man with the powers of metal chains at his disposal! How can you sell Hawkins short after all he's accomplished so far?!"
"That does not provide enough compensation for his other lackluster qualities." Said a voice of authority.
In two swirling masses, both the green spirit and blue manifested. They kept their focus on the enlarged white spirit, who did not smother at his companions' arrivals. Instead, Bastion broke into another rant, declaring that it was his right to persuade Hawkins when he could; as to ensure his noble bloodline held strong.
"It's all a means to an end, Bastion. We swore the same oath that you did when the war began and when it ended. Remember, a world of peace cannot exist without discipline." The green smoke said sternly.
"Discipline?" Bastion was offended by such a crude remark. "You mean to tell me, that plunging Hawkins into a dark pit, and expecting him to climb out while we guard the top with swords and spears? You've thrown the magician into a bottleneck, and with only one exit to leave through, I pray to the powers above that he has the will and insight to see past the pale witch's lies."
"While you may have the privilege of direct oversight of Hawkins'actions," the blue spirit chimed in, "do not forget that your peers also hold some council over his future. I need not repeat myself or the recent words of Giova, but the idea that Hawkins is the ideal warrior, and the notion that he will ever become one, is absurd. You must have the wisdom to see that at least."
Bastion's white smoke sparked, and the winds in the sky came crashing down on the withered tree's branches. The blue smoke sought cover behind the splintered bark, while the orange and green smoke stood firm.
"This constant criticism of Hawkins' deeds, both the good and the bad, has long left a bad taste in my mouth! We may possess powers beyond a mortal's comprehension, but we too were once flesh and bone fueled by pumping hearts! If we treat Hawkins as no more than a means to an end, it could strike an emotional rebellion within him, and obliterate the trust I've earned over these past six years!"
Bastion's size was reduced in shape and returned to its original quantity.
"We've all made mistakes, but if we choose to ignore their faults on the pretense that what we did was for the greater good, then we'll shed the humanity that we claim to understand! I urge you, my companions, my brothers, and sisters, that we allow Hawkins to continue to carve his own path. You all can see it too, can't you? That the beast below the waves is no longer dormant, and its master is eager for death and despair."
The other spirits remained silent as the blue slinked back into the scene. There was a pause, but the tension could be cut with a knife. Finally, the green smoke exploded in power and dwarfed Bastion's previous form, then relented and eased back into the humble shape of its peers.
"I do not question your loyalty or your desire to maintain the peace, Bastion, but you've coddled Hawkins into a state where he no longer wishes to grow. The magician needs proper motivation, and while cruel, I believe the abduction of his adopted son was a stroke of luck as Hawkins must now face an opponent stronger than him and adapt accordingly to survive."
"Yes," Giova added, "we should have sent Hawkins to Vacuo from the very start. If he was under my guidance, he would never have been allowed a moment's rest to wallow in self-pity and deprecation. Why, he still hasn't moved past his trauma over bright lights! I honestly cannot comprehend how you decided on a champion who was damaged right from the get-go."
"Not to mention his only care is for his own peaceful life." The blue spirit huffed. "Ever since he lost his chance to be with the red reaper, he's been nothing more than a mopey slug whose sole purpose is to stay out of the spotlight."
"Enough!" The green spirit interjected before tempers were riled. It then brought all focus to Bastion, who remained adamant about his resolve.
"I do have concerns for your choices, and those of Hawkins, but I will allow the magician a chance to prove that he has the strength to wade the upcoming storm, then I will remain vigilant and open-minded for improvement. However, should Hawkins fail in his battle with Mad Treasure, then I'm afraid a new champion will have to hold the mantle and take his place."
The green smoke vanished on a whim, and the others followed suit. Yet, Giova, the second most vocal of the group, turned back to Bastion as his white smoke fell lower to the ground. She pitied him, truly, as an honest heart was often more of a hindrance during the war than a benefit. Still, there was merit in Bastion's actions, even if the green and blue spirit refused to see it.
Though losing face in front of her peers was not a favorable option, and there were too many instances where Bastion allowed his emotions to guide his path. There was a sense in pragmatic and harsh choices, even if many had to close their eyes in performing these tasks. Giova had learned that long ago, but...
"I hope your champion wins," Giova said before she left. "But don't expect me to stand by you should he perish."
Bastion's white smoke flickered at this, and an ember of hope still burned among the ashes of doubt, he then descended to the roots of the withered tree and sighed deeply.
"I should have been around a little longer for you and your father, Harold. If only age had been gracious to me, I never would have let you marry that hag..."
/-/
"Are you alright, Watts? You've been shivering since the moment you stepped inside the castle." Carmel teased her mustached cohort who rolled his eyes in response.
Both the doctor and the holy mother strolled side by side under the dim lights of the flickering torches that lined the daunting halls that belonged to their master. Glass panes with a silver complexion on either side, the vast planes of darkness were patched with deep pits of blackened ooze and purple crystals as tall as fully grown trees.
"I'm simply not a fan of the decor." Watts sighed. "I am a man of technology and science after all."
Carmel laughed. "If you continue to delude yourself with that piece of paper you're so proud of, then I must say I truly pity you."
"My doctorate is not to be mocked." Watts huffed. "I earned my education and surpassed the original expectations of Mantle's hunter academy. Not only that, I along with my foolish peers, established the very project that Atlas is so proud of to get underway."
"Hmm..." Carmel tapped her chin with a manicured fingernail. "Yes, I've heard that George intends to weaponize that giant being who was the last one brought into this world. It's funny really, as how Atlas' headmaster declares that he's for the people, he intends to use a dead one to create life."
"A zombie manifested," Watts smirked, "I may have my gripes when it comes to the morals of Atlas' progressive advancements, but at least I do have morals."
"Well, look who finally arrived." Grumbled a gruff voice from up the hall.
"Dr. Merlot." Carmel sighed and her smile disappeared.
The doctor, a tall man with an unkempt head of short, wild silver hair and a robotic left eye with a prominent red glow, leaned against the doors of his master's meeting chamber with crossed arms and a soured frown. He wore a white lab coat with an extended collar that reached upwards, with long sleeves that each sported a hexagon on the shoulder.
"Carmel, Watts." Merlot grumbled and glanced behind his cohorts. "Where are the others? The meeting was supposed to happen five minutes ago."
Watts shrugged. "It seems Hazel has been given an assignment prior to our encounter, and won't be present for it. As for Vergo, he's still keeping an eye on Crocodile's activities, while Monet..."
"Is ever punctual and ready to serve.~" Came the sweet voice of the cold snowbird.
Strutting toward the group with a sassy sway in her hips, Monet wore a black, tight-fitting trenchcoat fastened with gold buttons with matching ankle boots. Her green hair cascading freely over her pale shoulders, Monet's amber eyes twinkled with mischief as her companions showed little interest in her arrival.
"Are we prepared then?" Merlot gestured to the meeting chamber's doors. "It won't do well to keep our goddess waiting, especially when she's in a sour mood."
The others shared a confused glance.
"And why would our leader be distressed?" Carmel asked. "Did we not complete our given tasks? Or is she upset that the fall maiden managed to slip away from Hazel's grasp?"
"That, and apparently she's been brooding over some sort of mind persuasion that went wrong. I don't know anything about the powers of the soul, but I do understand that she's been in a grouchy mood ever since." Merlot replied and stood himself straight.
"Whatever the case," added Watts, "we mustn't keep our grace waiting any longer. Oum knows how long she's been waiting to begin her first campaign on the four kingdoms. I wonder which one she'll choose first?"
"Vale would be the most fitting." Monet yawned. "It's been relying on the assistance of Vacuo's dust imports and Atlas' technology to keep itself relevant. If it weren't for its bountiful harvests and tactical politicians, that kingdom would have been the first to crumble during the great war."
"And yet history describes that Vale put up a powerful front throughout the entire war." Carmel pointed out.
"It was foolish for Mantle to start a war with its scattered territories and its shaky relationship with Mistral. Once Vacuo joined their closest brother kingdom, it was obvious that the war would be decided on attrition, which Vale would outlast without a doubt."
"Enough with the history lessons," Monet whined. "I didn't come to this gloomy place to be lectured."
Merlot and Watts each pushed a door, and once they were open, the group was greeted by none other than the pale witch to whom they swore allegiance to. She raised a brow at her subordinates and raised a hand to the chairs beside her.
Carmel was the first to enter and bumped past Monet who clicked her tongue at the rude gesture with Merlot and Watts humbly following next.
The meeting room, only slightly brighter than the hallway, was given sight thanks to the seven-ringed chandelier that nested two-hundred candles that glowed a dim gold. A large statue, made of silver that held the four sigils of the kingdoms of Remnant, stood behind the pale witch and was surrounded by a diagram of various cities and settlements that were carved from stone.
Perched upon her black, glass chair with wicked protrusions, Salem; the pale witch feared by even the most ancient beings on Remnant, commanded respect. Her eyes, pure as blood with a blackened lacquer around its pupils, were set in a sharp face of chalk-white that extended its colorless complexion in place of what should be skin with black veins pulsing within it. Her hair, as pale as a fresh sheet of snow, was tied in a thick bun with six offshoots wrapped together that suspended several obsidian-colored ornaments.
Salem's dress, devoid of brightness, matched the ever-spanning darkness of the castle's black walls and cascaded over her slender yet imposing frame.
The chairs of her followers were large armchairs crafted from white wood but had lost their initial coloring over time and we're now a tinted gray. Monet took the chair farthest from her master, as she disliked the decor and the one who preferred it, with Merlot not caring for where he sat and decided to put himself across Monet.
"This is everyone?" Salem turned to Watts who had to take a deep breath to not stutter.
"Yes, your grace," Watts said. "However, I was told that Tyrion would be attending as well. I didn't give him another assignment after I finished my business in Mantle, so he should be here."
Salem's eyes narrowed and Watts felt as if he'd indirectly slighted his leader. Yet the anger in Salem's eyes faded as quickly as it came and the pale witch drew a long sigh. She raised a hand to the chandelier overhead and flicked her index finger. Upon this command, a candle crumbled to dust and dispersed into a golden mist that descended onto the blackened table.
Salem made circles with her finger, and the golden dust swirled into a map of Vacuo and its vast sections of desert.
"Mad Treasure has been dutifully keeping the potential of Vacuo's warriors to a minimum by abducting its talented children and killing off its old warriors. However, I hear he's hit a rut as of late, isn't that right; Carmel?"
The holy mother nodded. "It's true, the assassins I've been having to train are lackluster and a few have been thwarted here and there. The best example of this would be the failed attempt on Ghira Belladonna's life, truly a pity, as the faunus' contributions to peace between species have been quite a thorn in my side."
"Perhaps the money-loving mercenary has finally lost his ambition for gold," Watts smirked. "Mad Treasure was never to be trusted with the matters of our inner council from the get-go. He's your typical brute after all."
"While your statement does hold value, Watts, I've been told that Mad Treasure has encountered a powerful adversary. Is my information valid, Monet?" Salem's raised a dainty brow at her green-haired minion.
"Y-Yes." Monet cursed herself for feeling so weak. "I've learned that Vale's magician intends to rescue his son from Mad Treasure's clutches."
"How odd," Salem rested her chin on an open palm and leaned forward slightly to analyze the dusted map she'd manifested, "I thought you and Vergo said that scarecrow would be of no concern to me. Yet here he is fighting for his life in a faraway land from his peaceful home. Did you whisper falsehoods in my ear? Or have I misjudged your ability to deliver competent information?"
Monet visibly shivered and scowled at Watts and Carmel who chuckled at her dismay.
"Hawkins is a lazy person by nature," Monet continued though her voice was shaky, "and the only reason he's decided to move against you is that his own family is at stake. I do not doubt that once he has returned to Vale with his son, Hawkins will continue to remain obscure and live out the rest of his life nonchalantly."
"Very well," Salem turned her gaze to Carmel. "Has there been any news of your son, Carmel? The arc bloodline is a precious asset to have, and while your daughters do carry your former husband's blood, they do not possess the same aura values as their father. It's been six years since you started the search for him. I hope the trail hasn't run cold."
The holy mother pursed her lips and sighed softly. "News has reached me in regards to possible locations where Harold could have hidden my son, but as it stands I cannot give you a definite answer. The tomb of the arcs also remains unseen, but I assure you that I am putting all the resources that are at my disposal into finding my lost heir."
"Excellent," Salem then put her focus onto Watts. "How has George's project developed? I trust you are keeping a close eye on its potential to both destroy Grimm and the people its supposed to protect?"
Watts nodded eagerly. "Project Penny has received countless support from both Mantle and Atlas folk alike. The most prominent supporters are that of house Goodwitch, Marigold, Garf, and Ivy with a few others lower on the political ladder."
Salem tilted her head. "Are the Winchesters not involved? Their bloodline has also deterred a few threats of my Grimm on occasion. I would have thought that noble house would have been a forerunner for sure."
Watts stroked his thick mustache. "While the treasury of House Winchester is a backing that George desires, it appears that Griffin does not wish to commit his family wholeheartedly despite the pressure from his wife and peers. Then again, Griffin usually solves his problems with his mace, so the idea of him not being a financial adviser and aid does not surprise me."
"Then we must keep an eye on the other influential nobles and businessmen. While their contributions to combat are purely monetary, we cannot overlook the power of riches and resources. Watts, I want you and Carmel to continue deconstructing the social structures in the Mistralian settlements and their main kingdom. The eastern parts of Remnant have always been loose on their unification, and my Grimm do enjoy devouring those too poor or foolish to remain within Mistral's umbrella of protection."
"Of course, your grace," Carmel made sure to answer first and conjured her devil fruit powers. A little sun emerged from her palm with a happy face, but the sun's joy was short-lived and a more malicious visage was plastered on its fiery body.
"Yes, mother?" The sun asked in a teenaged voice, one that would be associated with a male.
"Prometheus, you heard what our grace demanded yes? There are several sources of fresh water in the southern and western sections of Mistral. I want you to dry them all up." Carmel's smile could be associated with kindness, but all those at the table understood the true nature of the cunning viper.
"Of course, mother!" The sun beamed at its master's order and didn't bother to exit in a clean fashion and smashed through the nearest window to disappear in the blackened horizon that loomed over Salem's castle.
"Was that really necessary?" Salem said in a voice cold as ice as her eyes veered to the shattered pieces of glass strewn about the floor.
"Forgive me, your grace, but it's been some time since my soul minions have been allowed to wreak havoc. That, and having to uphold my duties as holy mother has been quite taxing."
"Please, this coming from the same woman who decided to indulge in Jacques' banquet instead of rubbing out important figures does not sound dutiful," Watts remarked.
A vein twitched above Carmel's forehead. "Oh? Is a subtle approach to my methods too slow for you, Watts? Perhaps I should try getting fired from a prestigious science position and whining about it until I'm evicted from my home kingdom? That sounds like a splendid idea."
Watts snarled and Carmel reached for her sword, only for a clap from Salem to silence them both.
"Enough, this is not the time for petty squabbles. I am impressed with the progress so far, but there are still improvements to be made. You've all been notified of your duties beforehand, and as such I expect those assignments to be completed. That is all." Salem flicked her finger and the dust on the table dispersed, then reformed into a candle atop its original spot on the chandelier.
Carmel, Watts, and Merlot stood from their seats and headed for the door, with Merlot grumbling about not having anything to really talk about given his research often bored his company, but when Monet attempted to stand; the greenette was halted by a quick word from Salem.
"Monet, a word please."
Her back turned to the pale witch, Monet bit her tongue in frustration, but swallowed her pride and faced her superior with a practiced curtsy.
"Of course, how may I be of service to you?"
"Sit," Salem commanded and gestured to the seat directly beside her where Carmel previously sat.
Stuck, alone, and fearful, Monet could feel the sweat on her brow and quickly brushed it aside. She couldn't afford to let her words slip again, not after what happened to Vergo when he tried to directly defy the pale witch when he was first brought into this strange world. For a combattant as strong as Vergo, neither he nor Monet understood the true extensions of Salem's magic, and the mystery rightfully terrified them.
"Watts has informed me that you've been visiting Vale quite frequently," Salem hummed in a softer voice. It was as if she were speaking to one of her own children, but there was always a certain flicker in her blood-red eyes that rubbed Monet the wrong way.
"Yes, it was the place I first landed in before you found me a day later," Monet replied with her hands tightly clasped on her lap.
"And what activities have you indulged in that peaceful kingdom? I recall assigning you to make notes on the instabilities of Vacuo and Mistral's outer settlements. So Vale is quite off your map is it not?"
Monet showed discomfort.
"It wouldn't happen to be because of the magician you told me not to worry about?" Salem witnessed Monet shiver, and that small giveaway was all the pale witch needed to deduce her assumption correct.
"The tasks I assign to both you and Carmel are those of espionage and deception, so having a loose tongue around perceptive company is not ideal, and from what Tyrion tells me, is that Hawkins tends to question many things that pique his interest. This includes you." Salem reached out and covered the clammy hands of Monet with her own.
Monet hated how cold Salem's hands were, and she hated how the black veins inside them pulsed towards her as if Salem's hands were trying to strangle those of Monet with a touch as gentle as a feather.
"H-Hawkins hasn't said anything along the lines of questioning my activities outside of Vale." Monet hated how her voice stuttered.
"And yet Tyrion has informed me that Hawkins has concluded that the reason the white fang's strife has not reached the kingdom of Vale, is because of our shared desire to wreak havoc where Ozpin does not govern."
"H-How does he know that?" Monet whined.
"He knows, because of the accessories and the clothing choices you decide to wear. All it takes is a quick check in a fashion catalog, to find where you purchased your preferences. Tyrion has also informed me that Hawkins is aware that you've been lurking around in Vacuo. This does not bode well for someone entrusted with my secrets, wouldn't you agree?"
"N-No..." Monet tried to pull her hands away but found her muscles limp under the calm grip of her captor.
"Thus, I want you to properly introduce me to this magician you show lenience to."
Monet felt her heart sink and her lungs deflate.
"I've ignored this Hawkins character because Crocodile has gone out of his way to make a name for himself and impact the world through means of commerce and supposed unification, and Tyrion's statements of Hawkins complacent nature, but if there is a chance to rally a man with exceptional strength against Ozpin and the other kingdom councils, then there is no reason for me to offer him a seat at my table. Do you understand, Monet? I want to meet this magician in person by the end of the month."
Monet dared not deny her master's wishes, for while the pale witch's expression was calm, the grip on her underling's wrists was not. Monet did not trust her mouth and offered a stiff nod instead.
"Good. Very good. I wish you the best in your mission, Monet, and do not disappoint me." Salem released Monet's hands and allowed the shaken woman to stumble out of the room with as much clumsy grace as she could muster.
Once the doors of her meeting hall were sealed and Monet's footsteps were no longer audible, Salem called for her seer Grimm, a small thing reminiscent of a jellyfish with a spherical head, to come forth and present her the image of the world that she desired.
"Now then, how are Tyrion and his stoic magician faring against Mad Treasure..."