The sky above Eastern Mistral was painted in shades of orange and pink as the sun began to dip below the horizon. General James Ironwood stood at the observation deck of his flagship, the Vanguard, hands clasped behind his back. The hum of the engines reverberated beneath his feet, a steady reminder of the immense power Atlas carried in its fleet. Below them, the rugged coastline stretched out, jagged cliffs meeting the crashing waves of the ocean.
The fleet was in full view, airships spread out in a V formation, their metallic hulls gleaming in the fading sunlight. They were armed to the teeth, carrying the destructive payloads that Ironwood himself had authorized. Bombs designed to eradicate entire hordes of Grimm and, if necessary, any enemy forces standing in their way.
"General," a voice called from behind.
Ironwood turned to see Clover Ebi, the leader of the Ace Operatives, approaching. Clover's demeanor was calm and professional, though his expression held a hint of unease. His eyes flicked briefly to the horizon before settling on Ironwood.
"Clover," Ironwood acknowledged with a nod. "What is it?"
Clover came to stand beside him, his gaze following Ironwood's toward the endless expanse of water. "Sir, I wanted to discuss… this operation." He gestured vaguely toward the fleet. "I understand the necessity of what we're doing, but I can't help but feel that striking Menagerie is… excessive."
Ironwood's jaw tightened, but he didn't turn away from the view. "Excessive?" he echoed. "I've heard that word before, Clover. From the Council. From my own officers. But no one seems to grasp the bigger picture."
Clover hesitated. "It's not that I don't understand, General. Menagerie has been overtaken by the White Fang, and Qrow Branwen's reports… if they're true, then the island is already lost. But attacking now, this close to the brink, won't it hurt Atlas as well? Politically, I mean."
Ironwood exhaled sharply through his nose. "Of course it will. People will think we're doing this with glee, that we're taking pleasure in striking down an island of Faunus. But this isn't about politics or optics. It's war."
Clover crossed his arms, his expression thoughtful. "But won't this feed into the White Fang's narrative? That Atlas sees the Faunus as disposable?"
Ironwood finally turned to face Clover, his gaze piercing. "Do you think I don't know that? Do you think I haven't considered the implications of this strike? Clover, every move I make is weighed down by the consequences, not just for Atlas, but for Remnant as a whole. This isn't a decision I've made lightly."
Clover held his gaze, but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes. "Then why now? Why strike Menagerie when we're already stretched so thin?"
Ironwood stepped closer, his voice low but firm. "Because restraint has gotten us nowhere. For too long, we've shown mercy to those who would exploit it. The White Fang has turned Menagerie into a breeding ground for Grimm. They've corrupted the very people they claim to fight for, and now they're a threat not just to Atlas, but to the entirety of Remnant. If we let this continue, if we don't take a stand here and now, then we risk losing everything."
Clover's shoulders tensed, but he didn't look away. "And you think this strike will make our stance clear?"
Ironwood nodded. "It has to. We've shown enough restraint, Clover. If we don't act decisively, then we're sending a message that Atlas is weak, that we're unwilling to do what's necessary to protect our people. This isn't about vengeance. It's about mercy."
"Mercy?" Clover repeated, his brow furrowing.
"Yes," Ironwood said firmly. "What we're doing… it may seem harsh, but it's the kindest option we have left. Menagerie is already overrun. If Qrow's reports are accurate, then the Faunus there has been turned into something… inhuman. Striking now is an act of mercy, Clover. It's about preventing further suffering."
Clover looked down at the deck, his expression conflicted. "And what about the survivors? The innocents who haven't been turned?"
Ironwood's voice softened, though it retained its edge of steel. "We'll do everything we can to evacuate those who are still alive. But we have to face reality. The longer we hesitate, the more lives we risk losing, not just in Menagerie, but across all of Remnant."
The two men stood in silence for a moment, the weight of Ironwood's words settling over them. Outside, the fleet continued its steady march toward its target, the hum of engines and the occasional crackle of the comms filling the air.
Clover finally spoke, his voice quiet. "I trust you, General. I just hope… I hope the people will understand."
Ironwood placed a hand on Clover's shoulder, his grip firm. "They don't have to understand, Clover. They just have to survive."
Later, Ironwood stood in the war room of the Vanguard, surrounded by holographic displays and monitors showing real-time data. The senior officers of the fleet were gathered around the central console, their faces grim as they reviewed the mission parameters.
"We're approaching the eastern coastline of Menagerie," one of the officers reported. "Initial scans show significant Grimm activity along the shorelines and further inland. The White Fang appears to have established several fortified positions."
Ironwood nodded, his expression unreadable. "Deploy reconnaissance drones. I want eyes on every major settlement and stronghold. Identify potential evacuation zones for civilians."
"Yes, sir," the officer replied, immediately relaying the orders.
Another officer spoke up, her tone cautious. "General, if I may… are we certain this is the best course of action? The White Fang and the Grimm has shown a level of coordination we haven't seen before. It's possible this is a trap."
"I'm aware of the risks, Lieutenant," Ironwood said. "But we don't have the luxury of waiting. The longer we delay, the stronger the White Fang and the Grimm's grip on Menagerie becomes. We strike now, while we still have the upper hand."
There was a murmur of agreement among the officers, though a few still looked uneasy. Ironwood's gaze swept over them, his eyes sharp.
"I understand your concerns," he said. "But this is a war. We can't afford to second-guess ourselves. We have the strength, the technology, and the resolve to see this through. And we will. Dismissed."
The officers saluted and began dispersing, leaving Ironwood alone with Clover once more. The Ace Operative leaned against the console, his arms crossed.
"You've got them convinced," Clover said, a hint of admiration in his tone. "Now let's just hope the mission goes as planned."
Ironwood glanced at him, his expression unreadable. "Hope is a luxury I can't afford, Clover. All we have is preparation and execution. And that will have to be enough."
As the fleet drew closer to Menagerie, the atmosphere aboard the Vanguard grew tense. The coastline came into view, a jagged silhouette against the darkening sky. Smoke rose in the distance, thin black tendrils that marred the horizon like scars. The signs of battle were unmistakable.
Ironwood stood at the observation deck once more, his hands gripping the railing. Clover joined him, his expression grim.
"Looks worse than I expected," Clover said quietly.
"It always does," Ironwood replied.
Through the thickening clouds, they could make out the movement of Grimm along the shoreline. Beowolves, Ursai, and larger, more grotesque creatures roamed in packs, their glowing eyes like embers in the fading light. Fortifications dotted the coast, makeshift defenses that bore the unmistakable mark of the White Fang.
"It's not just Grimm," Clover said, pointing to a cluster of figures moving among the ruins of a settlement. "Those are White Fang operatives."
Ironwood's gaze hardened. "Then we know where to strike."
He turned to the officers stationed nearby. "Prepare the fleet for bombardment. I want precision strikes on those fortifications. Keep an eye out for civilian movement, any sign of survivors, and we adjust our approach."
"Yes, sir," the officers replied in unison.
As the fleet moved into position, Ironwood felt the familiar weight of command settle over him. He had made his decision, and there was no turning back.
The sky above Menagerie roared with the arrival of Atlas's fleet. The massive flagship, Vanguard, pierced through the dense clouds, its metal gleaming in the dim sunlight. The rest of the fleet followed in a tight formation, Manta airships flanking the flagship on either side. Below them, the coastline was a chaotic scene of ruined settlements and swarms of Grimm moving like a black tide.
General James Ironwood stood in the command center of the Vanguard, his hands gripping the edge of the central console. His face was calm, his eyes sharp as they tracked the incoming data feeds displayed on the holographic monitors.
"Begin the broadcast," Ironwood commanded.
A communications officer nodded and flicked a switch, patching the broadcast through every available frequency across Menagerie. Ironwood's voice echoed with authority, cutting through the static.
"This is General James Ironwood of the Atlas Military. We have come to cleanse this island of Grimm. All remaining civilians are advised to seek shelter immediately. To the White Fang operatives responsible for this invasion: your reign of terror ends today. Surrender now, and you will be treated fairly. If you resist, you will face the full might of Atlas."
The broadcast ended, but the only response was silence. No movement on the ground, no signal from survivors. The Grimm below continued their relentless march, unbothered by the announcement.
Ironwood's expression remained steady, but there was a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. He turned to his tactical officer. "Any response?"
The officer shook her head. "None, sir. No contacts, no signs of civilian movement."
Ironwood clenched his jaw, then exhaled slowly. "Keep scanning. If there are survivors, we'll find them. For now, focus on the Grimm."
The flagship's laser batteries whirred to life, massive turrets mounted along its hull swiveling to lock onto the incoming Grimm. The dark sky was blotted with flying monsters. Nevermores, Griffons, and other winged abominations flocking toward the fleet. Their glowing eyes and jagged forms were like a moving storm of nightmares.
"Fire at will," Ironwood commanded.
The first volley of laser fire ripped through the air, beams of searing light lancing into the swarm of Grimm. The creatures screeched as they were obliterated mid-flight, their bodies disintegrating into black ash that fell like rain over the coastline. The escort fleet joined in, their own batteries lighting up the sky in a dazzling show of destruction.
Manta airships darted through the chaos, their sleek forms weaving between the Grimm as they unleashed bursts of concentrated firepower. The dogfights were intense, the pilots skillfully evading the Grimm's claws and fangs while delivering devastating blows.
Ironwood observed the battlefield with an unwavering focus. "Status report," he demanded.
"Grimm numbers are thinning, but they're still coming," a tactical officer replied. "We're holding the line, but there's no sign of White Fang activity nor survivors."
Ironwood frowned. The absence of any response from the White Fang or any sign of survivors was troubling. "Send another broadcast," he ordered. "And widen the search grid. I want every inch of this island scanned. Ozpin's students might be still alive."
The second broadcast went out, Ironwood's voice cutting through the chaos once more.
"This is your final warning. Surrender now, or face the consequences."
Still, there was no response.
Ironwood's grip on the console tightened. He turned to the officer manning the communications station. "Nothing?"
"Nothing, sir," she confirmed, her voice tense.
Ironwood's gaze hardened. "Very well. Begin the saturation run."
The flagship's engines roared as it adjusted its position, the rest of the fleet forming a protective perimeter around it. The escort airships focused their firepower on the Grimm, keeping the skies clear as the Vanguard prepared to deploy its payload.
"Activate the bomb bays," Ironwood commanded.
Deep within the flagship, massive hatches opened, revealing racks of sleek, cylindrical bombs lined with Dust-infused warheads. These were the pinnacle of Atlas's military technology, designed to unleash devastating destruction across wide areas.
"Target the densest concentrations of Grimm," Ironwood said. "We'll clear the way for a ground assault if it becomes necessary. Keep an ear out of for any survivors."
The targeting systems locked onto their marks, red indicators lighting up on the display. The Grimm swarms below moved in chaotic patterns, but the advanced AI of the Vanguard calculated their trajectories with precision.
Ironwood's voice was steady as he gave the final order. "Deploy the bombs."
One by one, the bombs were released, plummeting toward the ground with eerie silence. For a moment, it was as if the entire fleet held its breath.
Then, the first bomb hit.
A blinding flash of white light erupted from the impact site, followed by a shockwave that rippled across the landscape. The ground beneath the Grimm shattered, and a massive plume of smoke and debris rose into the air. The explosion was quickly followed by another, and another, as the bombs rained down in a calculated pattern.
The Grimm below were annihilated in waves, their monstrous forms disintegrating before they could react. The sheer scale of the destruction was staggering, the coastline transformed into a hellscape of craters and scorched earth.
As the bombardment continued, Ironwood stood at the center of the command room, his expression unreadable. Around him, his officers worked tirelessly, monitoring the operation and relaying orders to the fleet.
Clover approached him again, his voice low. "General, the Grimm on the coastline are being wiped out, but we've detected larger concentrations inland. It's possible they are regrouping there."
Ironwood nodded, his gaze fixed on the holographic map. "Keep the fleet in position. We'll hold the skies while we assess the situation on the ground."
Clover hesitated. "Do you think the Grimm will retaliate?"
"They'll try," Ironwood said. "But they won't succeed."
Clover studied the General for a moment, then nodded. "Understood, sir."
Ironwood turned his attention back to the display. "Maintain course. Wipe every single Grimm off this island!"
It was then that the mood aboard the Vanguard shifted instantly as the blaring alarms announced an incoming threat. General Ironwood's eyes snapped to the holographic map, where a massive blip was moving toward the fleet at an alarming speed. The room fell silent for a moment as the officers processed what they were seeing.
"Sir," one of the tactical officers began, his voice shaky, "we've got a visual on the unidentified contact."
On the main screen, a horrifying sight unfolded. From the roiling clouds above Menagerie emerged a Grimm Wyvern, its monstrous wings cutting through the air like scythes. The creature's body was enormous, its scales black and glistening with a sickly, pulsing sheen. Crystals jutted from its spine, glowing faintly with Dust energy, and its glowing red eyes burned with malevolence. Lightning crackled across its body, its presence radiating an oppressive, almost suffocating aura.
Flanking the Wyvern were several Mistralian airships, their hulls painted with the distinct White Fang insignia. The enemy fleet flew in a tight formation, clearly acting as both escort and support for the massive Grimm.
Ironwood's jaw tightened as he analyzed the situation. "Open a channel," he ordered, his voice cold.
The screen flickered, and the image of Adam Taurus appeared. The White Fang leader stood at the helm of one of the airships, his red hair and bull horns stark against the dim lighting. His white mask obscured most of his face, but his smug expression was clear in his armored posture and tone.
"General Ironwood," Adam greeted mockingly, his voice smooth and calm. "I must say, I'm impressed. You actually came. I suppose you've decided to meet your end with dignity."
Ironwood's gaze didn't waver. "Adam Taurus," he replied evenly, his hands clasped behind his back. "I'll give you one chance. Surrender now, and I promise you and your men will be treated fairly."
Adam laughed, a cold, hollow sound that echoed over the comms. "Surrender? To you? After everything Atlas has done to my people?" He gestured broadly behind him, toward the Wyvern. "No, General. I think you'll find that it's you who should be surrendering. This Grimm is a gift, a testament to the power we've harnessed. And with it, I will tear your fleet from the sky."
Before Ironwood could respond, the Wyvern let out an earsplitting roar, lightning arcing across its body. The creature reared back and unleashed a massive lightning breath, the crackling energy streaking toward the Vanguard with terrifying speed.
"Evade!" Ironwood barked.
The flagship's engines roared as it veered to the side, its hard-light shield flickering as the lightning grazed its edge. The air sizzled with electricity, the residual energy causing minor disruptions across the ship's systems. Despite the near miss, Ironwood remained composed, his gaze fixed on the enemy.
The comms crackled as Adam's laughter rang out again. "Is that all you've got, General? Your fleet's fancy shields won't save you. Once I'm done with you, I'll ride this beast all the way to Atlas and rip it out of the sky!"
Ironwood's eyes narrowed. He calmly reached out and turned off the communication channel, silencing Adam's taunts.
"Prepare for anti-air combat," Ironwood ordered, his voice firm. "The Wyvern is the priority target. Escort fleet, focus your firepower on keeping it in place. Keep it contained so we can drop the bomb on it. The rest of the fleet will continue the saturation run. We cannot allow the Grimm below to regroup."
The fleet sprang into action. The Vanguard's laser batteries swiveled to lock onto the Wyvern, their targeting systems calibrating to track the creature's erratic movements. The escort ships closed ranks around the flagship, their own weapons turning skyward to create a deadly web of firepower.
"Fire at will!" Ironwood commanded.
The sky erupted in a dazzling display of light and destruction as the fleet unleashed its full arsenal. Beams of searing energy lanced toward the Wyvern, some striking its wings and torso, while others were deflected by the crystalline growths along its body. The creature roared in defiance, its massive wings generating powerful gusts of wind that buffeted the surrounding airships.
The Mistralian airships supporting the Wyvern returned fire, their cannons launching Dust-infused shells at the Atlas fleet. The Vanguard's shields absorbed most of the incoming fire, but a few of the escort ships sustained minor damage.
"Status report," Ironwood demanded.
"Shields holding at 78%," one of the officers replied. "The Wyvern's crystalline armor is absorbing a significant amount of our firepower. It's also generating interference, making it difficult to get a clean lock."
Ironwood frowned. "Redirect power to the main batteries. Focus all fire on the crystals. If we can destabilize them, we might be able to ground that thing."
The flagship's primary cannons powered up, their hum growing louder as they charged for a concentrated strike. The beams fired in unison, striking the largest crystal on the Wyvern's back. The impact caused a visible crack to form, and the creature howled in pain, its movements becoming more erratic.
"Good. Keep up the pressure," Ironwood said.
The Wyvern then retaliated with another lightning breath, this time aiming for one of the escort ships. The targeted airship tried to evade, but the attack struck its aft engines, causing a fiery explosion. The damaged ship began to lose altitude, its crew scrambling to stabilize it.
"Deploy rescue teams," Ironwood ordered. "Get those people out of there."
The Wyvern, sensing an opening, lunged toward the crippled airship. But before it could finish the job, a squadron of Manta fighters intercepted it, peppering the creature with missiles and gunfire. The Wyvern roared and swatted at the fighters, its claws narrowly missing the agile aircraft.
"General, the Wyvern is closing in on the fleet," Clover reported. "It's trying to force us into a defensive position."
Ironwood's jaw tightened. "We can't let it dictate the terms of engagement. All ships maintain formation. Do not allow it to separate us. Focus your fire on its wings. Ground it if you can!"
As the battle raged on, Ironwood considered his next move. The Wyvern was proving to be a formidable opponent, its combination of raw power and strategic support from the White Fang making it a significant threat. But Ironwood knew that hesitation could cost them everything.
"We have to end this now," he muttered to himself.
Turning to his officers, he issued his final orders. "Prepare the bomb. If we can lure the Wyvern into position, we'll drop it directly on top of it. Inform the escort fleet to focus on containment, force it toward the designated drop zone."
The officers nodded and relayed the orders. The fleet adjusted its formation, subtly herding the Wyvern toward a pre-selected area over the coastline. The Grimm resisted, thrashing and clawing at anything within reach, but the relentless assault from the Atlas fleet began to take its toll.
As the Vanguard's bomb bay doors opened, Ironwood stood tall in the command center, his gaze fixed on the battlefield. This was their chance, a calculated gamble that could turn the tide of this fight.
"Drop the bomb," he commanded.
The massive payload was released, plummeting toward the Wyvern with devastating precision. The fleet held its breath as the bomb neared its target.
Not knowing that beneath where the Wyvern moved was Azure Island.
