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Fighting Rose, Bloom Again!

Chapter

Downtime

}- Central Mistral-{

"We're too late," Ren said plainly, the rest of the team looking over the ruined town.

Jaune set his jaw, eyes darting across the town as he tried to search for survivors. Nora's normally cheerful demeanour was also absent as she and Pyrrha observed the carnage.

"We still have to try and check," Jaune said after a moment, all of them quickly making their way down the hill and racing into the town. It was quickly apparent that that any help they had to offer would be meaningless to corpses. They searched every house and building as quickly as possible, only finding more and more bodies (or what was left of them). All were left in various states of defilement, some torn to shreds, some pulverised, others even looking half-eaten as if animals or Grimm had gotten to them. The former wouldn't be so unusual nowadays, given just how many weird new fauna had popped out of the woodworks since the opening of the Great Rift.

Giant canine and feline beasts, raptor-like reptiles, massive birds of prey, rumours had begun circulating of flying creatures that looked like the wyverns and Elder Dragons of myth and legend like the fabled 'Amatsu' that stalked the mountains of Mistral, violent storms left in its wake. That was beside the point though. It was tiring work, but the team had managed to comb through the town to find almost no survivors, save one. Sort of. The man, local militia going off his sturdy but makeshift armour and weaponry, was already too far gone by the time they found him, propped up on a house with his innards fused into the wall.

"…B-bandits…" He gurgled, his unseeing eyes confused as much as he was in pain. "Branwens? D-demons…"

Pyrrha was quick to put him out of his misery, the team carrying onwards towards Mistral in silence for a mile. Sights like those were becoming depressingly common, not just in Mistral either. Settlements close to Newvale were already suffering the same fate, though with the likes of Artoria and Venti nearby, they had the luxury of being dealt with before the situation got too out of hand.

"Light's fading," Nora noted, always managing to keep everyone's spirits up with her infectious good-nature. "I'm not against sleeping in the middle of a road if we gotta, but last thing we need is for a horse to trample us while the lights are out."

"Yeah, you're right," Jaune chuckled, "Map says there's a clearing covered by a bunch of trees just off to the right side of the path, and a river we can wash up at a minute away. We'll set up there for the evening."

They set up camp with practiced efficiency by Ren and Nora alone, their time living in the wilderness before Beacon having made them well-adjusted to travelling, much to Jaune and Pyrrha's surprise. Within fifteen minutes, a massive, camouflaged tent was erected with a pit-fire going not far from it, Ren already beginning the process of cooking some wild rabbit he'd managed to catch earlier while fending off Nora's attempts to snatch some food.

Jaune and Pyrrha had taken their turns to spar and hone their skills while the others were prepping the campsite, their blades ringing off each other's with each parry and deflect. Every ounce of training and experience they would get could be invaluable, even if they'd somehow managed to reach this far into Mistral without running into any trouble (their luck hadn't been that good of course, given the multiple daemon-packs they had to slay already).

She parried a thrust and slashed low at his knees, Jaune shifting his legs to take the attack on the thickest parts of his greaves while chopping down at her exposed head. She blocked at an angle and stabbed up at his throat at the same time, his sword scraping off her shield and throwing him forward, directly into the path of her rising blade. Yanking his head out of the way, he regained his balance and slashed up in between the edge of her shield and point of her blade. She backstepped and he put on the pressure, changing positions as he slashed at whatever opening she presented before her back hit a tree. He gripped Crocea with both hands and breathed out sharply, swinging and hammering the flat of the blade into her shield, forcibly knocking it aside as he transitioned into a straightforward thrust at her neck. He stopped the moment his blade made contact with her throat, the two of them panting a little from the exertion.

"First blood goes to me," He said with a triumphant grin.

"Almost," Pyrrha smiled back, glancing down.

His eyes followed her gaze and he kissed his teeth. Her own blade was positioned directly under his chin. If she'd reinforced her neck with aura the moment before he'd stabbed her (which she was certainly capable of doing) while his own was focused on enhancing the muscles in his arms and legs, he might've impaled himself while she'd walk away alive with a sore throat.

"Damn," he chuckled.

"A draw," Pyrrha conceded, still smiling as she sheathed her blade and put her shield down, Jaune doing the same as they sat under the tree to catch their breath. "You've been improving even faster than when we were at Beacon."

"Yeah, well… a quest for a divine relic and fighting daemon after daemon kinda forces you to get good quick," He chuckled. "I wonder if my dad's Custodian genetics are kicking in?"

"Though I wouldn't mind if you grew an extra foot taller, I'd prefer you as you are," Pyrrha laughed.

"Me too," He agreed, Pyrrha laying her head on his shoulder. He relaxed and leaned into her even as he felt his face tingle, comforted by her own reddening ear tips before his mind started to wander. "…Mom gave us one hell of a task."

"Mrs. Arc wouldn't have asked us to do it if she didn't think we could do it," Pyrrha replied. "And we are doing it, so far."

"I know," He huffed, "I just wish…"

"That we could be back in Newvale close to the front lines?" She guessed wryly, "The feeling is mutual, but you know we aren't ready for that yet. The number of cultists alone would be too much for us, and that's not even mentioning the stronger Daemons and others like Lorgar."

His face fell but he nodded begrudgingly.

"They'll be okay," Pyrrha pressed on, feeling his hesitance, "Your mother's weapon alone is a powerful enough asset to keep the hordes in check, and that's not even mentioning others like Ruby and Yang's father, Venti, and the other Professors to boot."

"…You're right."

You're too weak.

Jaune knew that the underlying message was just in his head, but he couldn't deny the truth of it. With his father missing and his uncles captured by Salem, he needed to get at least as strong as them in order to be of any help at all.

'I need to train harder,' He though, clenching his jaw, 'I need to pour everything I can into getting stronger and…'

Pyrrha's gentle breathing made him realize that she dozed off, and he couldn't help but smile.

'…No. No, I can't just recklessly throw myself at a wall over and over again hoping for results, not when I have a team that's counting on me to keep my cool. And…' His heart squeezed painfully in his chest as he gently moved some hair from her face, 'I can't afford to distract anyone with personal matters.'

The smell of Ren's cooking wafted over his nose and he inhaled, the smell making his stomach cy out.

"Hey," he gently shook Pyrrha awake, stifling a grin as she tried and failed to quickly wipe away the drool that slid down her chin, "Come on, Ren's almost done."

All the while, someone watched them from a distance. They were easily as large as an Astartes if not a head taller than most. Their features were hidden by a ragged cloak, a gentle breeze revealing dull-teal scaled armour and a mouth with olive skin. He said nothing, silently observing them for a moment longer before turning back to maintain his weapon, a strange spearhead broken off from the rest of the staff and fashioned into a shortsword. He sighed through his nose, his hand going to a wound on his neck that didn't exist before going back to ensuring the area was free of any hostiles.

}-Schnee Manor, Atlas-{

Weiss spat blood in Whitley's eyes and snarled as she stabbed at his exposed neck. Even being blinded by blood, her 'little' brother grinned and snatched his head out of the way, rocketing a left into her already torn lips. Her head snapped back as her body went flying, but she tucked and recovered, powering through the stabbing pain of her busted lip and numb face to land on her feet, throwing herself out of the way as Whitley divebombed in with a wild haymaker that threatened to take her head off. She pointed a condensed Propulsion Glyph at his exposed ribs and fired, the concussive force punching into his side and sending him tumbling across the floor, though he too recovered quickly, leaping right back at her with another right hook aimed to cave her chest in. She was faster, stepping inside his much longer arms and thrusting Myrtenaster at his neck, all his forward momentum ensuring that he'd be skewered onto the point of her blade even through his aura.

"CEASE."

An invisible vice-grip took hold of both of them, Whitley's gaze locked onto the point of Myrtenaster so close to his throat. Weiss took smug satisfaction in Whitley's pinched expression of restrained fury before the invisible pressure released its grip on them, her smugness quickly turning into a scowl as she turned to face the balcony that her father was observing from.

"You've yet to make use of the summoning aspect of your semblance," He noted to her. She rolled her tongue and spat on the floor in response. She felt her scowl deepen as he simply grinned. "I will make use of your Semblance soon enough."

The sensation of smug satisfaction returned to her: she'd resisted his attempts and honeyed offers to make her use her summoning so far, and while he was smiling now, she could feel the occasional ripple of frustration emanating from him whenever she denied him.

"And you," He said, turning to Whitley, "Are putting too much stock into your genetic gifts rather than mastering them. I will not have my Equerry be an inept combatant."

"Understood father," Whitley bowed.

It stung to know that her father was right. Whitley being the direct son of Jacques naturally meant that his genetics were extremely compatible with the latter's genetic material, likely the most compatible in the world. He stood half-a-head taller than the other Astartes of the Atlesian Scions and was a good deal stronger and faster than most of them too. The only reason she was capable of winning their spars here without her summoned arsenal was purely because of his overconfidence and inexperience. If he wised up and started actually using his training…

"Go now," Jacques waved a hand, turning and leaving without another word.

Weiss and Whitley glared at each other, scowls on their faces, their muscles tensed. She rolled Myrtenaster in her grip, his fingers flexing as they resisted the urge to make a fist. Weiss snorted through her nose and she sheathed her blade, Whitley relaxing in response. It had been jarring to see how much her brother had artificially aged, the once skinny boy towering over her with a face that looked far-too similar to Jacques's own but for a hint of the Schnee roundness to his cheeks. They walked out of the training room in silence, Weiss all too happy to be out of the place that her father had pitted her against the Arma Gigas in.

"You know," Whitley said with a raised brow, "You'd be far more useful if you just listened to father."

"I'd rather cut my hand off than listen to a word that monster says," She spat, "And what's it to you? The moment I start using my Semblance is the moment you become a stain on the floor."

"One, I doubt that," He snapped, "And two, father has great plans. I intend to be part of them."

"Always his little lapdog," Weiss mocked before she flinched back at the disdainful glare he sent her way. She'd seen him angry, petulant, smug, but this disgust was new.

"Better than you and Winter's toy to beat around."

Weiss was unable to maintain eye-contact with him, shame worming its way up her neck. He kissed his teeth and rolled his eyes, the two of them walking in silence until they reached her room. He opened the door for her and she quietly walked in, a neutral look on his face as he simply nodded a goodbye and left, closing the door behind him. She sighed, placed Myrtenaster on its stand and went to her bathroom, taking a quick shower to freshen up.

She exited dressed in her usual nightgown not long after, still towelling her hair off as she flopped onto her bed. It was as soft and luscious as she remembered, a king-sized behemoth fit for someone of her status. It was so lonely. Certainly not for the first time and likely not for the last, she felt her lip involuntarily wobble as her tears spilled onto the blanket.

She missed Ruby's brash leadership, unbearably cocky attitude, and shining kindness. She missed Yang's awful jokes, her obnoxiously loud laughter, her warmth. She missed Blake's annoying moments of poorly-hidden brooding, her surprising stubbornness, her gentle thoughtfulness. She missed the feeling of Ruby leading the charge, Yang and Blake by her sides, the sensation of invincibility coursing through her. God, she missed them so bad it hurt.

"Hmph."

She stiffened at the amused huff, barely loud enough to be considered a slight breeze, launching herself off of the bed and using a Glyph to throw Myrtenaster into her hand, immediately in her battle stance with her blade pointed at the intruder seated in one of her fine chairs in the corner of the room. The appearance of the individual was jarring: she was a mix of black, white and silvers with accents of red here and there in her finely-made suit-like jacket, form fitting to a slim but powerful frame, though that was hardly among her most disturbing features. What Weiss thought to be black gloves, upon closer inspection, turned out to be her actual hands, its black fingers tipped with still-darker talons. They reminded her too much of the claws of Grimm. Her face, beautiful as she was, was drawn in a calm yet piercing look, her pale skin highlighting the red of her lips. Her hair, stark white with black tips, grew longer on the right side of her face. And those eyes… her irises were pitch-black, but her pupils, if they could even be called that, were blood-red 'X's crossing through the centres. Weiss realized why this woman was so unnerving to look at, beyond her odd eyes (or perhaps even because of them). She was the spitting image of Ruby, if only all grown up. And those eyes…

A crimson moon. Crimson flames. Two towering gods, laughing as they toyed with an old man holding a scythe. The Burial Blade.

"Staring into my eyes is ill-advised," The woman said bluntly, her voice deep and cutting, "I can't promise you'll like what you'll see."

Weiss switched her gaze to the woman's lips.

"Who are you and why are you in my room?" Weiss asked.

"Not going to scream for help?" The woman prodded, raising a brow.

"…I get the feeling that you won't give me the chance," Weiss admitted. If this woman could so easily slip past her awareness, Weiss had no doubt that she was strong. The woman huffed again, and despite her flat features, Weiss realized that she was amused. The woman stood and walked over to Weiss, her hand going into her pants pocket and pulling out a little icon that made Weiss even more nervous around her. It was a stylised letter 'I' with a white skull imprinted in the middle.

"I am Lord-Inquisitor Arlecchino, of the Ordo Hereticus," She introduced herself, "And I am here on behalf of your older sister."

Nervously, Weiss realized that she was still pointing her weapon at her and quickly lowered it, bowing respectfully to Arlecchino.

"I-I am Weiss Schnee, Heiress to the Schnee Dust Company… I think."

Arlecchino returned the bow, a small smile actually playing on her lips this time.

"You're much like your sister," She noted. "Very good. She is my subordinate and has done fine work under me."

Weiss remembered the memories she glimpsed from her sister's weapon and shuddered.

"What would a member of the Inquisition have need of me for?" She asked, feeling that getting straight to the point would be the best course of action. Arlecchino nodded, and Weiss was relieved that she was right.

"To the point then. It is to my and my colleague's understanding that you hold no love for the Primarch or his plans, is that correct?"

"Yes." Weiss answered instantly.

"Good. The Inquisition has made some discoveries over the past month which cement him as a heretic using powers far beyond anyone's understanding, and thus must be dealt with post-haste before he brings the Imperium down with him."

"And your plan involves me because…?" Weiss pressed.

"Because your Semblance cannot be allowed to fall into his hands," Arlecchino said simply, "You've resisted him so far simply because he's allowed you to. Now with his march across the Golden Path underway, he will openly use any and every means necessary to get what he wants. That includes forcing you to use your gift, and I think you understand what lengths he's willing to go to when he wants something."

Her mind immediately went back to the Atlan Councilmembers, and her skin went clammy.

"Then what would you have me do?" Weiss asked.

"You may eventually become strong enough to kill him, so listen well," Arlecchino instructed, "Learn what you can of him and your Semblance, then get out of Atlas. The Inquisition will arrange for your transport directly to Mistral within two weeks' time, where you'll be safe from his grasp within the Raiden Shogun's army. Do you accept this task."

The idea of killing Jacques was so far-fetched, it was almost laughable. However, she remembered summoning the weapon of a Primarch, the Blade Encarmine, and how it carved through his arm (fake as it was). If she could consistently pull off something like that…

"…I accept," Weiss said, her grip around Myrtenaster tightening.

"Then the deal is settled," Arlecchino nodded. "I must go now. You will know when the transport is ready. Stay safe, and good luck." She walked over to the balcony but paused before leaping. "Winter believes in you. I think I can see why, and I hope you don't prove her belief wrong."

...TWBY Continued...