Atlas
Ch 13 - Drums in the Deep
A/N: Been a hot week since I've worked on this. I blame Europa Universalis 4, and my stubborn refusal to let the game tell me I couldn't succeed with Byzantium. 50 attempts later, I have the Basileus achievement, the Purple Phoenix Rose, Constantinople never fell and ended up having over 400 development by the end of the game, I made the Ottomans my bitch , did Justinian proud, dabbed on Austria by taking Vienna from them, t-posed on England by seizing London and York while creating an Irish vassal state loyal to me just to rub salt in the wound, restored the Pentarchy and mended the Great Schism by asserting Greek Orthodoxy as the one true Christiantiy (in game obviously, that's not my opinion IRL), dismantled the pretenders in the so-called Holy Roman Empire, built the Suez canal 150 years early just because I could, sent 12000 gold to Denmark so they could build the Kiel Canal because I had 60k ducats burning a hole in the royal treasury, asserted that the Palaiologos dynasty was the best on Earth, engaged in a cold war with Ming China, triumphed over Italy, the Balkans, Anatolia, the Levant, Egypt, Mesopotamia, North Africa, and the Black Sea coastline, won a succession war with Portugal and made the French throne my own, and stomped that timeline's version of Napoleon by dismantling the Revolution in Portugal and their Spanish subject, before annexing two thirds of Iberia in a war that involved 5 million soldiers, 2 million casualties, and was fought across 5 continents and the oceans and seas between them, including an epic alternate version of the Battle of Trafalgar that took place in the Straits of Gibraltar, involving some 700 warships on both sides of the conflict. My only regret is that I came up roughly two decades too short to restore the Roman Empire, on account of not being able to finish integrating France or conquering Iberia by the time 1821 rolled around. Though I like to imagine I invented cameras early to take a great family photo with my bros in Russia, Denmark, my loyalist pals in France, and my sometimes friends in Portuguese-descended Columbia, Mexico, and California. Also, the Iroquois AI conquered the entire eastern half of the US, effectively locking Europe out of everything east of the Mississippi between the Great Lakes and Florida.
Personal stuff aside, here's the next chapter.
A LOTR reference wasn't my best idea for a chapter title, but trouble is brewing in Mantle, which is under Atlas, so it sorta fits.
Disclaimer: I don't own Dark Souls or RWBY. Dark Souls belongs to From Software and RWBY belonged to RoosterTeeth. I only own my OCs.
(Robyn)
Robyn Hill flicked her gaze down to her scroll one last time, triple checking the address Miltia had sent her. This was the place, all right. With Fiona in tow, she gently opened the door to the clinic, revealing a small lobby, and past that, a room with medical and mechanical equipment strewn about. As the door opened, a small bell attached to the frame rang, and a genial voice called out from deeper within, "I'll be there in just a moment!"
"Just a moment," turned out to be another three minutes, but unlike one Roman Torchwick, who was absent because, in his words, "Me visiting a scientist in regular contact with the military we're stealing stuff from in broad daylight is the worst idea anyone's had since they gave a fifteen-year-old a gardening tool that's also a sniper rifle," Robyn didn't mind the delay. The rhythmic tapping accompanying footsteps spoke of a walking aid long before the man using a cane to support his perambulation came into view. He had darker skin, a receding hairline accompanying his white hair, though said hair made its way down his face until it connected to a mustache and beard. Brown eyes beneath a green cap peered at her through a small pair of spectacles, and he idly placed a pen back with a handful of other writing implements that sat in an outside pocket of the red vest that rested over his cream-colored buttoned shirt, which also bore a pink bowtie. His pants were a dark mustard color, and both his belt and boots were a brown-shaded leather.
"Well I'll be," he said with some surprise in his voice. "I didn't expect to be seeing a council candidate in my clinic today. Sorry about the delay, I'd just come up with an idea for mechanical shoes that make you dance, and I wanted to finish my train of thought for the blueprints I was working on."
"Shoes… that make you dance?" Fionna asked.
"I'll admit, not my best idea, but inventing things keeps my mind sharp at my age," he joked with a smile on my face. His eyes widened, "Oh, but where are my manners? Come in, come in, make yourselves at home. I'm Dr. Pietro Polendina, and this clinic in Mantle is a little hobby of mine that I get to in my spare time."
"Polendia?" Robyn questioned, memories running back to news that had returned from Vale, and in particular, recordings of a speech given by a now-deceased Cinder Fall.
"I take it you heard about Penny," Pietro said as they followed him to a back room, where a small kitchen had a table and a handful of chairs they sat down at. "I designed her myself. She's my daughter in every sense of the word," he continued with pride in his tone, "and I love her with all my heart." He glanced over, eyes slightly narrowing with suspicion. "You're not one of those people who have a problem with her being made the way she was, are you?"
"No, no!" Robyn placated. "I was just curious if there was a relation, that was all."
"Ah. In that case, I'm sorry. It's just been, since the attack on Beacon, I've gotten a few people who seem to take issue with the fact that I made my girl myself instead of with the help of a woman. I gave up a lot to bring Penny into this world, and it just rubs me the wrong way when people go out of their way to tell me that she's unnatural." As he finished speaking, he suddenly began to cough for a few seconds, bending over the table as he took a moment to recover.
"Are you okay?" Fionna asked with concern.
Pietro raised a hand. "I'm fine, I'm fine. And don't worry, I don't have a cold that you might catch, either. Like I said, I gave up a good deal for Penny. Though… I wouldn't mind if one of you would be so nice as to get a glass of water from the fridge for me."
Robyn got up without a word, moving to the refrigerator to get a beverage for the elderly man, even while Fionna queried, "How does that translate to a cough, though?"
"Ah… my semblance is a bit… different from most," he said after a few seconds of thought. He closed his eyes, and his aura flickered to life around him, but the green energy looked weak, and there were a few holes in the shell it made around him, a notably large one on the lower half of one of his legs. Robyn nearly dropped the glass of water she was holding in surprise. "Penny's aura, her soul, didn't come from nowhere. I wanted a real girl, not an imitation of one… so I used a bit of my own. And not a day goes by where I wouldn't make that choice again in a heartbeat."
"That's a very noble thing you did," Robyn responded as she set the glass down, and he offered his thanks before taking a long draught from the water. "I don't know many people who would be willing to do that."
"Thank you," Pietro said. "But enough about me. What brings the woman in charge of the Happy Huntresses that have been procuring so much dust in the wake of Roman Torchwick's robberies to my humble clinic?" When Robyn's eyes widened, he continued with a jovial tone, "Don't worry, I haven't told anyone. It's just that a lot of my patients speak very highly about you, and the dust you've been getting to them despite the shortages that should be occurring in the wake of millions getting swiped from SDC warehouses in Mantle. I don't need multiple doctorates to put two and two together. Jacques Schnee refuses to see that his business practices are hurting the people down here, and if you've somehow worked out an agreement with Roman Torchwick to steal his dust and give it out to the people who live here, well, I can look the other way as long as innocent people aren't getting hurt."
"I… thank you," Robyn eventually replied. "And now that we're on topic, I was actually hoping to ask you about something related to… that. Torchwick recently raided a military warehouse in Mantle that was full of construction supplies. They obviously weren't meant for the hole in the city wall, so I was hoping that since you have contact with the military, especially General Ironwood, that you might know something about that."
Pietro clasped his hands together on the table, taking his time in mustering his response. After a minute or so, he finished off his glass of water, and then began. "I want you to understand that I'm only telling you about this because I know you want to help people, and that what James is doing is going to help a lot more people than just those in Mantle. Those supplies are meant for something top-secret, that I've been helping out with. I won't give out the details, but I will say that they're going into a project meant to restore global communications. So even though those supplies could help Mantle in the short term, I'd ask you to please stop stealing them, and not just because you're going to bring the general down here looking for you."
Robyn's eyes widened, and she shared a surprised glance with Fionna. "You're being completely honest?"
"You could put me up to a lie detector," Pietro joked.
Robyn offered her hand, already glowing purple. "I got something better."
Peitro looked at it for a second, before shrugging, taking her hand and repeating his statement, watching with one eyebrow raised as the purple aura shifted to green.
"All right," Robyn said. "Thank you very much for your time. I'll be sure to relay this information back to… relevant parties."
"Thank you for your time," Pietro responded. "It gets lonely down here sometimes. And you're welcome to come back anytime."
(Miltia)
Being the more reserved twin came with its advantages, because less people paid attention to you. However, a clear mixed blessing to Miltiades Malachite's situation was that her sister wasn't as good at remaining stealthy as she was. The result of that in this particular scenario: She was currently alone in this alleyway in Mantle. Melanie was off checking to see which SDC warehouse would be the easiest to break into next, so Miltia was on her own for watching the Atlesian armory in this particular corner of Mantle. Roman was lying low, Robyn and Fionna were pursuing the lead she'd found, and she didn't particularly get along with any of the other Happy Huntresses. The twins were tolerated during their routine training sessions, but outside of that, the two parties tended to avoid each other. She sighed in boredom. While the chance that personnel leaving the armories the military had scattered through Mantle in case of Grimm attacks would in turn lead her to another military supply cache was low, it was still extant, and she was well suited to a stakeout. That, and her darker red outfit stood out much less than the white outfit of her sister, which was ironic considering their locale.
She was brought out of her musings as a military truck rolled up to the place. She crept behind a dumpster to obscure herself from view, and peeked her head around. On the opposite side of the vehicle, she heard the passenger door open, and a male voice thanked the driver, even as the rear doors opened and another four people piled out. She keyed her scroll to the miniature microphone she'd placed on the sewer grate right in front of the building last night, and placed the speaker to her ear on a low volume even as she took in the arrivals.
The first person she took in was the one who had been in the passenger seat, who had fair skin, short, brown hair, slightly spiked up at the front, and teal-green eyes. She recognized his top as a sleeveless variant of an Atlesian specialist's uniform; a white sleeveless double breasted coat with red and blue accents, a broad tail with red lining and a four-leaf clover pin on the lapel, though unlike his companions, his bore ornate detailing shaped to the form of wishbones. Upon his coat was a rabbit's foot keychain, and his hands bore brown fingerless gloves. His uniform pants were white, and his footwear consisted of blue calf-high boots with four dark blue straps and silver steel toe plating. On his back was some manner of collapsible metal weapon, and what looked to be string attached to it. In fact, it almost looked like a collapsible fishing rod, but Miltia told herself that had to be wrong, because while there were certainly outlandish huntsman weapons (she'd once seen a tuba that was simultaneously a fully functional instrument and a gun), a fishing rod seemed just on the wrong side of absurdity, especially considering it didn't appear to have a built-in firearm at first glance. However, her mind was going off track, so she drew her gaze to the other side of the vehicle.
The first person who had stepped out of the back of the truck had done so silently and gracefully. He was a tall man with short shaved gray hair, deathly pale skin (though not quite as outright white as Vyliria's skin, from the one time she'd seen her without her face covered), and light blue eyes. His face had several tattoos, including a third eye tattoo along the center of his forehead and chin. His Atlesian specialist uniform consisted of a white double-breasted, partially unbuttoned coat with a broad tail, navy blue accents and collar and shoulder flaps of the same hue, a red sash running diagonally over his left shoulder which met a second red sash around his waist, which was under a large blue belt, and navy blue fingerless gloves that went slightly past the halfway point between his elbows and shoulders. His navy blue pants were tucked into a pair of navy blue thigh-high boots with steel toe and heel plating, with a small pouch on the sides and knee pad detailing. There were two gray beaded necklaces around his neck, and three more on his right arm, as well as two gray bands, one being smaller than the other, on his left arm. Some manner of bladed shuriken rested on his back.
The next person left the truck in a fast paced, excited manner; nearly the opposite of the previous one. She was on the shorter side of the height spectrum; with dark skin, platinum and dark-brown hair that was shaved on the sides, and dark pink eyes, though Miltia swore she saw them glowing gold when she zipped out of the truck with electricity trailing behind her. Some kind of speed semblance then. Her short-sleeved Atlesian specialist uniform consisted of a sleeveless white double-breasted vest with silver buttons, dark blue accents, and a white and dark blue-collar, a dark blue short-sleeved t-shirt, a red tie and white shorts. She also had dark blue chaps that likely connected to said shorts, though they exposed the inner part of the thighs and the backs of her calves. On her legs were white calf pads and dark blue knee pads, and dark blue straps were fastened around the top of her vest. Though much more noteworthy than the uniform was the mechanical exoskeleton the woman was wearing.
Third to step out from the back of the military vehicle was another young woman, though this one was tall and muscular where the last one had been short and wiry. Her medium length brown hair had a ponytail in the back, her skin was a lighter shade of brown/tan, and her eyes were a darker shade of brown, though still lighter than her hair. Her Atlesian specialist uniform consisted of an open white, one-sleeved crop jacket with dark blue accents, shoulder flaps and collar and a dark gray shirt. Her forearms bore silver vambraces and a red belt was tied around her white pants. The woman lacked any footwear besides some martial arts footwraps, and dark blue calf plates that cover the tops of her feet. The plates themselves had three red straps tied around them, and Miltia cringed at the thought of how dirty the woman's feet would be after walking through the dingy streets of Mantle. The younger Malachite twin nearly missed the silver hoop earring on the woman's right ear, but a glint of reflecting sunlight rectified that. What she didn't miss was the hammer that appeared to have two rocket launcher barrels built into it.
The last person to exit the vehicle was another man, also on the young side, and with brown skin. His greenish-black hair was tied in a bun at the back, and framed his blue eyes fairly well. Nervously swishing behind him as he eyed his surroundings was a canine tail covered in dark-gray fur. His Atlesian specialist uniform was made up of a white double-breasted coat with silver buttons that had a dark blue collar, accents, shoulder-flaps, and cuffs that each bore two silver buttons. The coat's tail split to allow space for his tail, and wrapped about his waist was a dark blue belt with a silver buckle, that held a dark blue pouch on the right side. A red ascot was tied around his neck, and a red shirt was just visible beneath his coat, and rounding out his attire was a pair of dark blue trousers tucked into black, knee-high boots. Some manner of bladed boomerang rested upon his back, and a quick glance revealed a gun barrel built into it.
The faunus was the first one to speak once the soldiers had exited the truck. "I still don't understand how one man has been able to cause this much chaos in Mantle."
"Marrow," the man with the fishing rod replied, "the next time you know we're getting an assignment, don't have questionable chili the night before. While you were in the bathroom during the briefing, the general told us that intelligence suggested that two younger girls were also working as his henchmen. The grainy photos the surveillance system managed to capture suggests they're twins, with black hair and matching, though differently colored, winter outfits."
Miltia's blood ran cold, and she suddenly realized the amount of danger she was in, because these people were apparently sent here by General Ironwood himself, looking for them, and she was less than twenty feet away. That terror multiplied when the pale skinned man glanced around, and remarked, "I feel like someone's watching us."
She shut the app and her scroll instantly, darting behind the dumpster, and squeezing herself into as small a space as possible. Someone zipped past the alley fast enough for it to be audible, and she started praying to whatever was willing to listen that they wouldn't check the alleyway. More measured footsteps tapped against the sidewalk towards the alley.
"You see anything Clover?" the voice of Marrow asked aloud. Before a reply could be made, a wheel on the dumpster she was hiding behind suddenly broke off, and the corner slammed into the ground with a thundering thunk that nearly gave Miltia a heart-attack.
"Marrow, we're checking the alley," another male voice replied. Two pairs of footsteps started creeping closer to where she was.
Don't look at me don't look at me don't look at me don't notice me please please please, Miltia desperately thought as the footsteps came closer. She held her breath, and repressed a shudder as she felt a sudden shift from her aura, and watched in terror as the faunus with the bladed boomerang stalked around the dumpster, checking his corners… and his eyes roved right past her. She didn't dare move. He looked in confusion, checking over the area behind the dumpster again, even as the other, taller man (who she guessed was probably Clover) on the team checked further down the alley, fishing rod extended.
"Nothing here," Marrow said. "Guess it was just a defective dumpster wheel."
"Really? I was feeling lucky," Clover remarked.
It was only after she began feeling faint that Miltia realized that she was still holding her breath, but even so, she only shifted enough air into and out of her lungs to avoid passing out, terror and then distance making her fail to pick up the words the specialists were saying. When they finally left, some minutes later, she slowly slumped to the ground, leaning her head back and letting her hands shake. Even so, only one thought dominated her mind.
How did they not see me?
(Whitley)
A sigh escaped the Schnee heir's lips, as he schooled his expression while the supervisor opened the main doors to the company warehouse. The interior was just like every other facility of its type; neatly sorted and organized by dust type, and sub-organized by purity. Better quality dust produced more powerful effects or created energy more efficiently, so it only made economic sense to be able to easily identify where the more expensive merchandise was when it came time to transport them to a retailer.
Still, he kept a faux smile upon his face as he spoke with nervous employees, projecting calm and control just like Father had taught him to. He shook hands, even offered a day of paid leave for a few of the harder-working employees who had families they were supporting (Father didn't need to know, and at the moment he wasn't spending his own allowance on anything else, and it would score better PR and placate the nerves of the employees), and generally followed the instructions he'd been given for the first of these tours in the company facilities in Mantle.
Still, despite knowing it was something he had to do, the tedium built as the day wore on. He eventually found himself wishing something, anything, interesting would happen to break the monotony. And his itinerary for the warehouses he'd be visiting for the next two weeks disappearing during lunch certainly didn't count.
In his annoyance, he didn't notice the faunus employee cleaning the windows discreetly finish pushing a trio of papers into his pocket.
(?)
The light flicked on in the room. It was empty, save the table, the chairs, and its occupants. They'd long since learned that any White Fang imagery in the open was a terrible idea, even in a supposedly-secret meeting-place such as this. Atlas had eyes and ears everywhere, and while the coverage was far worse in Mantle, if no symbol of the cause was present, any investigation, even with a warrant, would only find a gathering of faunus, instead of a group of terrorists plotting.
He breathed, and his purple neck-fins twitched, paranoia bringing a chill down his spine. "Do we have a reason why Alvard couldn't make it?" he asked his compatriots.
"His sister had a kid last night, and he's staying with her and his brother-in-law for the next few days," a woman down the table replied. At his raised eyebrow, she added, "I verified it with my own eyes and ears, Kamohtik."
Kamohtik Nostitz, head of the Atlesian branch of the White Fang, gave a nod. Eyes the same color as his fins softened, and a tan-skinned hand rose to scratch the back of his head through short hair a few shades darker. He wore a normal black shirt and blue jeans, though armored pads were hidden beneath. A strict no-uniform policy (save for missions where they deliberately wanted the Fang to be seen) made it infinitely harder for the Oppressors to identify those loyal to the cause, and he led by example. And though he wouldn't admit it to Lady Kahn, casual wear was infinitely more comfortable than the uniforms the other cells wore. "Okay, I just wanted to be absolutely sure no one was compromised. Tell him I sent my congratulations to both him and the parents the next time you see him." She nodded. "Anything to report?" he asked the rest of the table.
A few minutes passed, as various lieutenants told him of the progress on enlargement of their various weapons caches, and a slight spike of recruitments, though many faunus who had previously been accommodating or at least neutral to the cause were now distancing themselves from them ever since news of Taurus' roll in the attack on Beacon had filtered out to Atlas. Aggravating, but there was nothing that could be done about it now.
"So," one of his lieutenants asked, "I take it there's a reason you all called us here off-schedule?"
"That there is," Kamohtik replied. He tossed a trio of sheets of paper held together by a clipboard onto the table. "This," he began, gesturing towards the paper, " was obtained by one of my field agents. It is the itinerary containing the order of SDC warehouses in Mantle that one Whitley Schnee," he spat the name out, "is going to be touring on as a propaganda campaign for the Oppressors. I have gathered you all here, because we are going to use this to plan a kidnapping. Even obtaining, nevermind ransoming a direct member of that dust-damned family is a deed that even Lady Kahn can't boast to have accomplished. Of course, once we get the money, we'll just kill the heir anyways. The chaos it will throw the Oppressors into will do wonders for the cause, and unlike that psychopath Taurus, this will only harm those that deserve it, rather than attacking those who protect us all from the Grimm." He looked about the room, seeing a couple uneasy faces. "If anyone has moral qualms about this golden opportunity, you may leave now, and we won't involve you further. There's no shame in a lack of zeal, because we've seen where that path leads, and I'd rather you keep your hands clean so you may be the voices of reason to the rest of us if we begin to sink into the snow. There are plenty of non-militant ways to support the cause, and even militant ones that aren't so high-profile. The only shame to be had is if you abandon your brothers and sisters who rely upon you after we embark on this task, so either leave now, or you'll be in this with the rest of us until the end."
Four faces gave apologies, and left the room, and a glare to all that remained ensured they knew not to take anger with their decision. "Anyone else? This is your final chance." The seconds ticked by, and one more faunus quietly rose and left the room. "Very well, brothers and sisters." Kamohtik leaned forwards, and a smile broadened on his face. "Let us begin."
(?)
The man didn't even see him coming. He'd picked the lock without issue, the skill being one of a number he'd picked up during his existence. He'd stalked silently up the stairs, and the only warning the man had been given was the slight creak of his bedroom door. He was across the room in the blink of an eye, and his hand was across the man's mouth to muffle any screams. His grip was more than strong enough to ensure he couldn't escape while he was drained dry. In under half a minute, the desiccated corpse lacked even a scrap of humanity, and he idly tossed it to the floor. He rolled his shoulders, and in the light of the dim red glow emanating from his form, he grasped a black crystal, kneeling while clutching it so as to return to his body. The night was still young, but it wouldn't do to cause another death in this area of the city. He had to travel far before his next use of the red eye orb. Ensuring there would be no pattern to his strikes diminished the amount of targets he could drain each night, but in the long run, would make it nigh-impossible for the city's authorities to pin down where he was operating from.
But he wasn't about to fail at this juncture. He had a duty to fulfill, and failure wasn't an option, not after he'd managed to escape servitude under the man who had returned him in this age. He'd failed her once, then again, then a third time when he'd gone to serve under a new mistress, in the hope that Rosaria's gifts could aid her. It had been an unfounded hope, even before the unkindled had managed to best him. And the loss to the Irithyllian woman had opened his eyes to how far he'd fallen. He'd spent the last days of the Age of Fire returning to his home, scouring it until he found her remains, and then searching abroad until he'd found the source of their ruination, dim and nearly extinguished as it was. He'd kept both safe unto his final breath, and even into the beyond. His duty coupled with his unwillingness to bend the knee had allowed his mind to break the shackles that had been placed upon him when he'd been revived, and his escape had nearly failed at a dozen junctures, nevermind the damages it had wrought unto his very soul. Every breath, every movement was pain , and still was, but he pushed past regardless, and fled from the one who had tried to bind his will, despite their best efforts to run him down. Yet escape he had, and now only one task remained.
A few dozen more, a few hundred more, a few thousand more, it didn't matter. All that mattered was acquiring more humanity, all for her sake. He wouldn't fail her a fourth time. There wouldn't be a fifth chance. The world began to fade as he gazed into a red pupil once more.
()
A/N: Since Pietro didn't have to give more of his aura to Penny in this timeline, he's using a cane instead of a mechanical autonomous chair. In canon, they salvage her mechanical parts. Hence, they have all the physical bits and data/memories of Penny, but not her soul. So Pietro uses his semblance to tear off another piece of his soul for her. I looked at it like this: Pietro has the chair in canon because ripping his soul up twice damaged his body as well. Since he's only done it once in this timeline, he's in significantly better shape, and thus gets by with only a cane to assist his walking.
So, Miltia's doing some spying and has the misfortune of being present to see the Ace Ops arrive in Mantle. And yes, it's my personal opinion that Kingfisher is ridiculous even for a huntsman weapon. I won't deny that Clover made it work, but it's still absurd. Props to anyone who gets the reference with the tuba-gun, because I love that video. And geez, I wonder what happened with Miltia there. Oh wait, I already know. Lol. For now, let's just say that I came up with a new semblance. As to what exactly Miltia's semblance is, NO , it is not invisibility, because May already has that covered. I'm not going to disclose it immediately, but for now I will say it is a semblance that alters the perception of observers, and that it functions differently from invisibility, though both semblances ultimately allow one (or more individuals) to avoid notice. Suffice to say, I put some thought into her, Kamohtik's, and [REDACTED]'s semblances, how they work, what their limitations are, and what creative ways they can be used. I'm excited to bring them into the story.
Whitley, Whitley, Whitley. Be careful what you wish for.
So, I was originally in the middle of typing a PM to ScreamingStuka to ask for suggestions on a name for the guy in charge of the Atlas WF branch. Then I had a eureka moment, and since Axolotls come from Central America (AFAIK), I thought to translate a color to Nahuatl to fit the theme as well as fit into RWBY. The result you get is Kamohtik Nostitz. Kamohtik is the translation the internet gave me for purple, and Nostitz is a last name I pulled from a german name generator, because if the names Schnee, Joanna, Weiss, and Klein are any indication (nevermind the parallels between Atlesian militarism and that of Prussia and later on, Imperial Germany), some analog to german culture/naming conventions exists in Atlas. And oh boy , there's some plans brewing on that front. All I'll say for now is that Kamohtik's semblance is something that I was very excited about when I came up with it.
Hehe… that last POV definitely isn't ominous at all. I have an end goal for this particular subplot, but no idea how to reach it. I wonder how many of you will successfully guess who that is. I left a couple hints for those with a keen eye to detail and knowledge of Dark Souls lore.
As a quick aside, seeing that three of the five Ace Ops have fingerless gloves reminded me of the fact that so many characters in RWBY wear them. Like, I know I had Nora (who also wears them) joke about it in the prequel, but seriously, does someone on the RT animation and/or art teams have a fingerless gloves fetish or something? Like, if you were to randomly pick a character from the show, you're more likely by far to pick someone who wears or at one point wore fingerless gloves than someone who never had them. Whoever runs the fingerless glove industry has to be like the second richest person on Remnant going by how many people wear them. Why are fingerless gloves SO popular in RWBY? I'm genuinely curious and want a canon explanation for the popularity of that particular article of clothing among the huntsmen and huntresses of Remnant.
Next chapter, we get to see Ruby not think the consequences of her actions through, and the resultant fallout from her impulsive desire to save people. Also, a darkwraith.