Cover Art by CHE3ZY
It's been just over a month but I managed to get this one out to you all. Sorry for the wait but work has been a grind lately. I hope you all enjoy this one. Please remember to leave a review. Thank you!
Somewhere in Mistral:
The hideout was dark and musty, tucked away in the wilderness of Mistral where even the local authorities dared not tread. Adam Taurus stood at the center of the room, his arms folded across his chest, the faint glow of his mask piercing through the gloom. His lieutenants—Feline, Samson, Ash, and Lupa—were scattered around the room, some seated, others leaning against walls, but all of them were tense and restless. Two weeks had passed since the prison break at Detention Center Delta with the help of Watts and Neo.
Lupa sighed. "How long do we have to wait here, Adam?"
Adam shot her a sharp glare, silencing her instantly. "We wait until I get more information." Salem's will was absolute, and he would not have anyone getting in the way of it.
Feline scoffed before she spoke. "It hasn't been all bad. At least we got some retribution." She jerked her head toward the faint bloodstains on the floor, remnants of what had transpired two weeks ago.
The memory of that night came rushing back to Adam. His hands clenched at his sides, the rage bubbling beneath the surface. The interrogation. The traitor. Sage Lacertilia.
The memory was seared into Adam's mind like a brand. Two weeks ago, the scene had been far different.
Flashback:
He stood in another hideout, this one deep in Mistral's underground. Watts and Neo had been present, standing off to the side like spectators at a show. Watts had his arms folded, his expression one of dispassionate amusement. Neo leaned casually against the wall, twirling her parasol with her usual unnerving silence.
In the center of the room, chained to a steel chair, was Sage Lacertilia. The lizard faunus was barely recognizable, his face swollen and bruised, his lip split and bleeding. His wrists were raw from where he had struggled against the bindings, and his entire body trembled with a mixture of fear and pain.
Adam circled him slowly, his red blade dragging along the concrete floor with an ominous screech. The sound echoed in the room, punctuating the otherwise suffocating silence.
"You survived when no one else did," Adam began, his voice cold and venomous. "My men—slaughtered. My base—burned to the ground. And yet you lived. Why?"
Sage coughed, spitting out blood onto the floor. "I… I didn't have a choice…"
Adam's blade shot up, the tip pressing against Sage's throat. "Wrong answer."
"I swear!" Sage gasped, his voice cracking. "They… they weren't after me. They wanted you! You weren't there, so they took me instead!"
Adam tilted his head, his mask reflecting the dim light. "And who are they? What are you not telling me about the Harvesters?"
Sage hesitated, his gaze darting toward Watts and Neo as if hoping one of them might intervene. Neither of them moved. Watts simply smirked, and Neo's eyes sparkled with morbid curiosity.
Adam's patience snapped. He grabbed Sage by the collar and slammed him back against the chair with enough force to make the metal creak. "Tell me who they are, or I'll carve the answer out of your flesh!"
"They're called Guardians!" Sage blurted out, his voice frantic. "They're not Grimm! They're Atlas soldiers!"
Adam froze for a moment, his grip on Sage tightening. "Atlas…" he hissed.
"They—They're not ordinary soldiers," Sage continued, the words tumbling out of him in a desperate rush. "They're not like normal humans. They're stronger, faster… they're like monsters. They wiped out everyone at the base. I only survived because they wanted information about you."
Adam's eyes narrowed. "And what did you tell them?"
Sage's face paled, and he began to shake his head. "I-I didn't mean to—"
Adam didn't wait for him to finish. The back of his hand slammed into Sage's face, sending blood splattering across the floor. "What. Did. You. Tell. Them?"
"I told them about the woman you were working with" Sage cried, his voice breaking. "I didn't know her name! I swear! But I told them everything I knew!"
Adam's blade slashed through the air, stopping just short of Sage's face. The lizard faunus flinched, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"You betrayed me, Sage. You betrayed the cause. Do you have any idea what you've done?"
"I didn't have a choice!" Sage sobbed. "You don't know what they're capable of!"
Adam's blade hovered over Sage's chest. "You're right. I don't know. But I do know what I'm capable of."
Before Sage could say another word, Adam plunged the blade into his chest. Sage gasped, his body jerking violently as blood spilled from the wound. Adam twisted the blade, his expression unreadable beneath the mask.
When Sage finally went limp, Adam withdrew the blade and turned to Watts. "What now?"
Watts stepped forward, inspecting Sage's lifeless body with disinterest. "Now, you stay hidden. Remain in Mistral until further notice. We will contact you when Her Grace has need of you."
Adam nodded slowly, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. "Fine. But when the time comes, I want Ironwood's head."
Neo's eyes narrowed at the mention of Ironwood.
Not unless I get to him first. She thought to herself.
Watts smirked. "Patience, Adam. All in good time."
End Flashback:
Adam found himself back in the present. The hideout in Mistral was quiet, save for the occasional murmur of his lieutenants. He stared at the faint bloodstains on the floor, his mind replaying the interrogation over and over.
The Guardians were human, but they were still a threat. A threat that needed to be eliminated.
Feline's voice broke through his thoughts. "So? What's the plan?"
Adam turned to face her, his crimson blade glinting in the low light. "We wait. And when the time comes, we strike. Atlas, and the world, will pay for what they've done."
Atlas Academy:
General Ironwood sat in his office, the weight of the Detention Center Delta report heavy in his hands. His face was grim, each line etched deeper as his eyes scanned the pages. Across from him, Dr. Cassandra Haze stood rigid, her sharp gaze unwavering as she waited for him to finish.
"Two guards dead," Ironwood said, his voice low, simmering with anger. "Their bodies were dumped miles from the facility. Four White Fang prisoners unaccounted for—Sage Lacertilia among them." He tossed the report onto his desk, frustration evident in the sharp movement. "And nothing in the footage. Looped security camera footage, guards boarding an unmarked shuttle, their identities unconfirmed. This isn't just a breach—it's a mockery."
Dr. Haze's tone was measured but heavy. "It's not a coincidence, James. This has Salem written all over it."
Ironwood leaned back in his chair, his metal hand gripping the desk's edge. "The same tactics she used at Beacon," he muttered. "Targeting our systems, exploiting our blind spots. Every time we think we're ahead, she reminds us we're not."
Haze took a step closer, clasping her hands behind her back. "She knows what she's doing. Sage wasn't just another prisoner—he was a valuable asset. I would be willing to wager Salem wanted him for his knowledge about the Guardians. His escape, or extraction, wasn't chance. It was deliberate."
Ironwood's eyes narrowed. "And now Salem knows what he knows."
In all fairness, Lacertilia didn't know much about the Guardians. The only thing he knew that would be valuable to Salem was that the Guardians were linked to Atlas. Other than that, he knew nothing.
The silence between them was oppressive, broken only by the faint hum of the holographic map on the desk. Ironwood studied it, his jaw clenched.
"The timing couldn't be worse," he said. "With the Kingdoms on edge and Atlas already stretched thin, Salem's pushing us into a corner. And we're letting her."
"We're not letting her," Haze countered firmly. "She's ahead because she's exploiting weaknesses we haven't fully accounted for. She understands the value of destabilizing us—of making us question our own security."
Ironwood's gaze shot up to meet hers. "Then we need to stop questioning. We need answers. The shuttle, the guards, the prisoners—every lead, no matter how small, gets followed. I want our analysts working around the clock. I don't care what it takes."
Dr. Haze frowned. "We can't just react, James. We need to adapt. Salem's targeting us because she sees the Guardians as a real threat. If we want to stay ahead, we need to double down on them. We need to expand the program."
Ironwood exhaled sharply, his resolve hardening. "Then do it. We can't afford to lose time."
"I agree," said Cassandra.
Ironwood's gaze returned to the map, the shimmering outlines of the Kingdoms now feeling like fragile glass under siege. "Salem's playing a dangerous game," he said softly. "But so are we. And we're going to win."
Outskirts of Mistral City:
The train's rhythmic hum was a constant, almost soothing sound as it cut its way through the rolling hills of Mistral, carrying its passengers from the bustling city of Argus to the capital. The first-class cabin they occupied was quiet, though not empty. The smooth and cushioned seats gave off an air of luxury, designed to comfort the wealthy and those in need of privacy. But for Winter Schnee and the man seated across from her, the comfort was secondary to the mission at hand.
Winter's appearance was meticulously altered. Her hair, usually a striking platinum white, had been dyed a soft chestnut brown, the braid she'd woven it into falling neatly over her shoulder. The bright blue of her eyes, a trademark of the Schnee family, had been concealed by dull brown contact lenses, rendering them nondescript. A simple, yet elegant traveling dress of dark blue, accompanied by a gray shawl, covered most of her body, the fabric tailored to blend in seamlessly with the modest travelers of Mistral. The boots on her feet, while practical, were of the highest quality—a subtle mark of wealth she hoped to avoid drawing attention to.
She sat upright, her hands folded neatly in her lap, the air around her coldly professional. Everything about her was controlled, even the way she exhaled. There was no room for mistakes in a mission like this, and she would not allow herself to slip up. Her gaze occasionally flickered to the window, but her thoughts remained focused on the task at hand.
Across from her sat Zero-One-One, his presence as immovable and unassuming as a mountain. His appearance had been altered far more thoroughly than hers, yet it was done with the same level of precision. His usually dirty blonde hair had been dyed black, and the sharp angles of his face were softened by a professionally crafted beard. He wore a simple, blue linen shirt and dark trousers, blending in with the common folk as best as possible. To an outsider, he appeared like any number of traveling merchants or artisans—someone who had no business causing concern. It was the perfect disguise for a man who, in his true form, could tear through an army with minimal effort.
Zero-One-One's demeanor was quiet, but his sharp eyes never left Winter for long, his awareness always present. The years of training and conditioning that had shaped him into one of Atlas's most dangerous soldiers were apparent even in his most subtle movements. He was alert, every muscle honed for action, though the tension in his body was hidden behind the calmness of his posture.
Winter broke the silence between them, her voice soft but firm. "We'll arrive in Mistral within the next few hours. Once we're there, we'll make contact with our primary asset. She's someone I've worked with before—trusted, efficient, and well-connected in the city."
Zero-One-One's gaze shifted toward her, and his voice followed in a low, measured tone. "I trust your judgment. But you know that if things go wrong, we'll need to have contingencies in place."
Winter nodded, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Of course. General Ironwood made it clear that if we don't make progress in the next few weeks, we will have to reconsider our approach. I'm not keen on failure."
Zero-One-One inclined his head slightly, acknowledging her words without speaking further. His role in this mission, beyond ensuring her safety, was more subtle. General Ironwood had given him a secondary objective—to determine how much of everything linked back to Salem. It was a delicate operation, requiring not just patience, but discretion.
"The asset in question," Zero-One-One said after a moment, his voice calm, "What do you know about her loyalties?"
Winter's lips pressed into a thin line. "She's a loyal member of Atlas Intelligence. She's been operating in Mistral for several years, and her network reaches deep into the capital. But loyalty can be a fragile thing, and even the most trusted can be compromised."
"And if she's been compromised?"
"Then we'll have to move quickly," Winter said, her voice colder now, more calculated. "But I don't think that's the case."
Zero-One-One considered this, his brow furrowing slightly. "I'll remain on alert. Our priority is to gather information. If she's compromised, we'll have to extract her immediately."
Winter nodded, grateful for his straightforwardness. She appreciated his clear-eyed focus and his calm, pragmatic approach to every challenge.
She turned her gaze to the window, watching the distant horizon. The landscape of Mistral was gradually unfolding before her eyes, the edges of the mountains growing clearer in the distance.
"Once we meet with our contact, we'll be setting up our network of eyes and ears within the city. Haven is a key part of this mission, and we have to tread carefully. If things go wrong the consequences could be dire."
"I'll make sure that doesn't happen," Zero-One-One replied. "If there's any sign of foul play, I'll handle it. No questions asked."
Winter gave him a brief, knowing glance, the edges of her lips turning up slightly. "You don't need to remind me, Doc. I'm well aware of what you're capable of."
A flicker of a small smile etched itself onto his face, but he didn't respond. He never needed to. He was a Guardian, and his actions spoke louder than words ever could.
The cabin fell into a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the distant sounds of the train's passage. Winter allowed herself to relax just for a moment, letting the tension ebb out of her shoulders. She wasn't a stranger to high-pressure situations, but the weight of this mission felt heavier than most. Not just because of the stakes involved, but because the threat they faced wasn't just one enemy—it was a web of treachery, deception, and uncertainty.
It was only when the train's whistle sounded in the distance that Winter returned her focus to the task at hand.
"When we reach the city, we'll need to blend in. We'll be watched. This isn't like operating in Atlas or even Argus. We don't have the same resources here. We'll have to rely on our discretion, our network, and our ability to adapt. Though for someone like you, this should be easy."
Doc nodded. "Understood."
Winter nodded. "Good. We'll contact our asset once we're settled, and from there, we'll start our investigation. If we're going to find anything, it'll be in Mistral."
Another few minutes of quiet passed as the distant silhouette of Mistral's capital came into view. It was the beginning of their journey into the heart of uncertainty, a journey that would require patience, subtlety, and a steady hand.
Winter Schnee's mission was far from over, and with Zero-One-One at her side, she felt more certain than ever that they would uncover the truth. One way or another.
Mantle Auxiliary Base Training Grounds:
The sun was setting over the training facility's mock village, casting long shadows across the sprawling, state-of-the-art urban combat simulation ground. The Ace Ops were lined up, each of them equipped with their weapons, full training armor, and simulated ammunition that registered hits without causing real damage. Their expressions were a mix of determination and exhaustion. They'd been under Guardian Zero-Three-Seven's relentless training for two weeks, and every day had been a grueling reminder that no matter how elite they were, there was always room for improvement.
Zero-Three-Seven stood before them, his imposing figure motionless as he delivered the scenario briefing. His voice was calm, devoid of any emotion as if he were reading off a grocery list rather than preparing them for a brutal exercise. He wasn't dressed in his WRAITH armor but instead, he wore a standard issue armor set for the Atlas infantry.
"The objective is simple," he began, his helmeted gaze sweeping across the team. "Eliminate the enemy. That enemy is me. Your time limit is one hour. The simulation area is the urban combat zone. You have full access to your weapons and semblances."
Marrow raised an eyebrow. "So it's all five of us against you?"
Zero-Three-Seven's head tilted slightly, his tone unchanged. "Correct."
Vine, ever the calm voice of reason, spoke next. "And what are your restrictions? Surely you're limiting yourself in some way to make this remotely fair."
"As you can see, I'm not wearing my normal armor. Also, I won't use my semblance," Zero-Three-Seven replied. "Nothing else changes."
Elm tightened her grip on her hammer, her jaw clenching. "We'll see about that."
Zero-Three-Seven gave a single nod, then turned and walked toward the simulation zone. The Ace Ops exchanged glances. They knew this wasn't going to be easy, but they were an elite unit. They'd been through countless missions together and faced Grimm hordes and high-level enemies. How bad could one man be?
The training facility's urban zone was a maze of buildings, alleys, and open streets designed to mimic the chaotic environment of a city under siege. The Ace Ops split into two fire teams, moving cautiously through the area. Marrow and Harriet took the left flank, while Elm, Vine, and Clover moved right. Each team kept in constant radio communication, scanning windows, rooftops, and corners for any sign of their target.
The first shot came less than five minutes in.
A sharp crack echoed through the simulated city, and Harriet yelped as her training armor locked up, signaling a hit to her shoulder. She tumbled behind cover, gritting her teeth.
"Sniper! Rooftop, three o'clock!" she barked into her comms.
Marrow ducked behind a derelict car, scanning the rooftop Harriet had indicated. There was no movement, no glint of a scope, nothing to suggest anyone had been there. It was as if Zero-Three-Seven had vanished.
"Can you confirm?" Clover's voice came through the comms.
"Negative! He's gone!" Harriet growled.
Meanwhile, Elm and Vine were advancing along their flank, moving in tight formation. Elm's hammer was at the ready, her eyes sweeping every shadow.
Suddenly, Vine froze. "Contact! Rear—"
He didn't finish the sentence. A blur of motion descended from above, and before Elm could react, Zero-Three-Seven was behind Vine, driving a simulated knife into his back. The training armor registered the "kill," locking up and forcing Vine to the ground. Elm swung her hammer in a wide arc, but Zero-Three-Seven was already gone, vanishing into the alleyway like a ghost.
"Vine's down!" Elm shouted into the comms.
"Regroup!" Clover ordered. "We need to tighten our formation!"
The Ace Ops fell back to a central position, regrouping in an open plaza surrounded by high-rise buildings. It was the most defensible location they could find, with clear sightlines in all directions. Clover took point, his aura radiating confidence.
"We stick together," he said firmly. "He can't take all of us at once. Harriet, use your speed to scout. Marrow, keep an eye on her six. Elm, you're our anchor."
A simulated round hit Clover in the chest, cutting him off mid-sentence. His armor locked up, and he collapsed to the ground. The shot had come from an angle none of them had been watching—through a second-story window overlooking the plaza.
"He's toying with us!" Marrow growled, his grip tightening on his weapon. "We need to move!"
"Agreed," Elm said, her voice tense. "This position is compromised."
Harriet blurred into motion, her semblance allowing her to sprint faster than the eye could follow. She darted toward the building where the shot had come from, zigzagging to avoid any follow-up attacks. She reached the entrance and burst inside, clearing the ground floor in seconds.
"No sign of him!" she reported. "He's not—"
A simulated knife strike to her neck ended her sentence. Zero-Three-Seven had been waiting on the ceiling, using the building's architecture to his advantage. Harriet's armor locked up, and she crumpled, cursing angrily as she did so. She hadn't seen him coming. The "kill" registered to her teammates' HUDs.
"Harriet's down!" Marrow barked. "This guy's a damn phantom!"
Marrow and Elm moved to cover the building's entrance, their weapons trained on the door. But Zero-Three-Seven didn't come out the way he'd gone in. Instead, a flashbang detonated at their feet, blinding and deafening them both. In the chaos, Zero-Three-Seven struck again, taking down Marrow with a precise shot to the chest. Elm swung her hammer wildly, trying to fight through the disorientation, but she was too slow. Zero-Three-Seven swept her legs out from under her and delivered the final simulated blow.
"Elm and Marrow are down," came Clover's voice over the comms, his tone grim. "It's just me now."
Clover had retreated to the edge of the simulation zone, using the terrain to his advantage. He'd found a defensible position in an abandoned apartment building, setting up traps and monitoring the entrances. He knew he was outmatched, but he wasn't going down without a fight.
The minutes ticked by in tense silence. Clover's ears strained to catch any sound, his eyes darting to every shadow. When the attack came, it was swift and overwhelming.
Zero-Three-Seven breached the building through a second-story window, bypassing all of Clover's traps. The Guardian caught the Ace Operative by complete surprise and in less than a minute, Clover was disarmed and "killed."
The simulation ended.
A half-hour passed and the Ace Ops gathered in the briefing room, their armor scuffed and their pride bruised. Zero-Three-Seven stood before them, his posture as rigid as ever.
"You failed," he said bluntly. "Your individual skills are impressive, but your teamwork is flawed. You lacked coordination, communication, and adaptability. You relied too heavily on your individual strengths and failed to cover each other's weaknesses."
Harriet crossed her arms, scowling. "You're saying we're not good enough?"
"No," Zero-Three-Seven replied. "I know what you all are capable of, but you are not living up to your true potential."
He turned to Clover. "Your leadership is strong, but you need to account for the unexpected. Assume the enemy knows your plan and has already countered it."
To Elm and Vine: "Your formations are predictable. Change them."
To Harriet: "Speed is an asset, but it's useless if you rush in without intel."
To Marrow: "Your reactions are too slow. Anticipate."
The room was silent as the Ace Ops absorbed his critique. Despite their frustration, they couldn't argue with him. He'd exposed their weaknesses and exploited them with surgical precision.
"This isn't about humiliation," Zero-Three-Seven said. "These past two weeks have been a test of your willpower, but the true goal is to get you to understand one thing."
"Which is?" Asked Marrow with genuine curiosity.
"It's not about you," replied Zero-Three-Seven. "It's about the people next to you. Your individual prowess will only get you so far, but it will be your teammates who carry you to victory in the end."
The Ace Ops registered his words. Everything he said made sense. The grueling physical punishments they endured were to break down their individuality and make them more reliant on each other. They had an opportunity to work together better today, but in their desire to win, they failed to work as a team.
"If you want to excel, you'll take what you've learned today and apply it. Get changed into PT gear. We're going on a run."
As he turned and walked out, the Ace Ops exchanged horrified glances. Their day was far from over.
Location Unknown:
The dimly lit throne room of Salem's castle exuded an oppressive atmosphere, the flickering violet torches casting long, distorted shadows across the blackened stone walls. At the heart of the chamber, Salem sat upon her throne, a twisted structure seemingly grown from the very bones of the earth, its spires reaching upward like clawed hands. Her pale, porcelain-like skin glowed faintly in the dim light, her red eyes reflecting the malice she held for the world.
Before her, the inner circle stood assembled: Cinder Fall, her smoldering amber eyes betraying her hunger for power; Mercury Black, leaning casually against a pillar with an air of irreverence; Emerald Sustrai, her face tense as she shifted uncomfortably; Tyrian Callows, barely containing his manic glee; Hazel Rainart, the towering figure whose stoic expression betrayed little of his thoughts; and Arthur Watts, dressed impeccably as always, holding a thin tablet in one hand.
Watts took a step forward, his polished shoes clicking against the stone floor. He adjusted his collar before speaking, his voice smooth and composed.
"My Queen," he began, his tone deferential but confident. "I bring news that may interest you greatly. Thanks to the efforts of Adam Taurus, we have uncovered the identities of those who dared to assault your sanctuary."
Salem's gaze fell upon him, and even Watts, who prided himself on his composure, felt the weight of her presence. It was as if her eyes could pierce through him, peeling back layers of flesh and soul to reveal his innermost fears.
"Speak," she commanded, her voice cold and deliberate.
Watts nodded. "The intruders are known as the Guardians, a clandestine unit operating under the command of General James Ironwood of Atlas. They are, as far as we can tell, his most elite soldiers, designed and trained to execute his will with ruthless efficiency."
Salem's expression did not change, but the room seemed to grow colder. Mercury stopped leaning against the pillar and stood upright. Tyrian's grin widened, his tail twitching with excitement. Hazel crossed his arms, his brow furrowing in thought. Cinder's gaze flicked to Salem, her confidence momentarily shaken by the implications of Watts' revelation.
Watts continued, "This information was extracted during Adam Taurus'... interrogation of his former lieutenant, Sage Lacertilia. While he lacked an understanding of their full capabilities, what he did share confirms that these Guardians are no ordinary soldiers. They are stronger, faster, and deadlier than anything we've encountered before."
Salem tilted her head slightly, her fingers tapping against the armrest of her throne. The sound echoed faintly in the silence that followed. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm, yet it carried a venomous undertone.
"So... Ironwood seeks to defeat me with his Guardians? He clings to his machines and soldiers as if they could ever be enough to stop me."
She rose from her throne with an eerie grace, her form casting an imposing shadow over her subordinates. The tension in the room was palpable as she paced slowly, her hands clasped behind her back.
"This development changes things," she mused aloud, her tone measured. "Ironwood has become more than a nuisance. His Guardians represent a new level of threat, one that cannot be ignored. If left unchecked, they could hinder my plans... or worse."
Salem stopped and turned to face her subordinates. Her gaze lingered on Tyrian and Hazel.
"Tyrian," she said, her voice sharp as a blade. The scorpion faunus immediately straightened, his grin widening.
"Yes, my goddess?"
"You and Hazel will travel to Mistral. Lionheart has proven himself useful, but his loyalty is born of fear, not conviction. I will send word to him and direct him to give us the location of all Huntsmen in the Kingdom of Mistral. You will oversee his efforts and ensure that the Huntsmen of Mistral are... eliminated."
Tyrian let out a delighted laugh, bowing low. "It will be my pleasure, my Queen. They will fall before us, one by one."
Hazel gave a curt nod, his deep voice rumbling. "It will be done."
Salem's attention shifted to Watts. "The Faunus Plan is hereby to be put into motion. Ensure that Adam is made aware and that he has what he needs to carry it out."
Watts inclined his head. "As you command, my Queen. I will ensure the message is delivered."
Finally, Salem's gaze fell upon Cinder, who met her eyes with a mixture of defiance and apprehension.
"And you, my dear Cinder," Salem said, her tone softening slightly. "You will remain here, by my side. Your power is great, but it is not yet enough. You are my most valuable piece, and I cannot afford to lose you. You will train until I deem you strong enough to face what lies ahead. Do you understand?"
Cinder's jaw tightened, but she nodded. "Yes, my Queen."
Salem regarded her for a moment longer before dismissing her underlings with a wave of her hand. "You may all go."
One by one, they left the throne room, each bowing as they departed. Watts was the last to leave, his tablet tucked under his arm. He cast a final glance at Salem, her form shrouded in shadow before the massive doors closed behind him.
Now alone, Salem turned her attention to the chamber's center, where a swirling pool of blackened Grimm ichor lay dormant. She approached it, her lips curling into a faint smile.
"The Guardians," she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible. "Ironwood, you think your creations can protect you? That they can stop me?"
She extended her hand, and the ichor began to bubble and writhe, taking on grotesque shapes and forms. Salem's crimson eyes glowed brighter as she poured her will into the pool, her thoughts focused on a single purpose: to create a new breed of Grimm, one designed specifically to hunt and destroy the Guardians.
"You underestimate me, General," she said softly. "And you will pay the price for your arrogance."
The ichor continued to mold itself into the likeness of a new Grimm, unlike anything ever seen before. Salem merely smiled as she examined her handiwork, but that smile quickly faded. There was far more work to be done before it was ready.
Island of Patch:
The forest was silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. The air smelled of pine and earth, with the sharp scent of wet soil hanging in the cool morning mist. Sunlight filtered through the canopy of trees above, casting dappled shadows that danced across the ground. It was a peaceful place, but one that Ruby Rose had come to know intimately in the past few weeks, a place she chose to escape to when she needed to clear her mind and focus on her training. A week ago she sent her letter to Jaune, hoping that he, Ren, and Nora would come to her aid. She needed them for what was to come.
Today, she was alone, and it was exactly how she wanted it. Her father, sister, and dog at home.
Ruby stood on a small rise in the forest, her crimson cloak trailing behind her like a banner in the wind. Her stance was confident, her body poised and ready. Her silver eyes gleamed with determination as she gripped Crescent Rose tightly, the blade's intricate shape shifted as she prepared to engage in a series of movements.
The lessons she'd learned from Terre had stuck with her—more than she ever realized. He had always been a quiet and focused individual, something that Ruby had admired. There was a strength in his stillness, in his ability to be present in the moment and to never let distractions break his focus. She had taken that lesson to heart.
She inhaled deeply, centering herself before launching into a series of rapid spins and slashes, Crescent Rose moving with a fluidity that seemed almost effortless. She flowed seamlessly through the steps, each movement calculated and precise. Her training had come a long way since Beacon, and the growth she had achieved was evident in her speed, accuracy, and grace.
Every swing of Crescent Rose was a perfect arc through the air, a reflection of Ruby's honed skill and an extension of her will. She practiced every movement over and over again, feeling the tension and release of her muscles as she moved. It was not just about speed—it was about control. She had learned that through pain and failure. And she had come to understand that only through that control could she be truly effective in battle.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she spun, leaped, and struck with devastating force. The wind whipped around her as she executed the practiced motions, Crescent Rose singing through the air as it cut at imaginary foes. She could almost hear the hum of the weapon as if it were alive—something that spoke to her, guiding her.
The young girl's movements were a blur of red and silver, but even as she excelled, her mind was on one thing. The memory of her friend. Or was he something more? She had wanted it to be more, but she never got the chance to find out. The loss still hurt her. He was still fresh in her mind.
Ruby's eyes flickered for a moment, a fleeting thought before she shook her head.
Focus.
She reminded herself, pushing the emotion aside. She couldn't afford to be distracted. Not now.
Just as she was about to launch into another flurry of attacks, a distant sound pierced the quiet of the forest. A low, guttural growl, followed by a roar that reverberated through the trees. An Ursa. She immediately tensed, her senses sharpening. Her heartbeat quickened, her focus now entirely on the task at hand.
An Ursa?
Without a second thought, Ruby sprang into action, her red cloak billowing behind her as she dashed through the trees. Her movements were fluid, every step purposeful and driven by the instinct to protect those she loved. She couldn't let a Grimm run wild in the woods. Not on her watch.
As she neared the source of the sound, Ruby slowed her pace, her footfalls becoming quieter as she entered the clearing. Her silver eyes scanned the area, searching for any sign of the beast.
But there was nothing. The clearing appeared empty, with no sign of the creature. No sign of anything, in fact. She frowned, glancing around cautiously. A nagging sense of confusion crept over her.
Where did it go?
Her grip tightened around Crescent Rose as she advanced further into the clearing, her eyes darting between the trees. She wasn't imagining it. The Ursa had been here—she had heard it, and she could see its tracks.
Suddenly, she caught a flicker of movement at the edge of her vision—a shadow, swift and deliberate. She whirled in that direction, but it was already gone. Her breath caught in her throat. Had someone already dealt with the Ursa?
"Hello?" Ruby called out, her voice slightly trembling from the uncertainty. She didn't know if she was speaking to the Grimm, or to someone else.
No answer.
Her brow furrowed. This wasn't right. Her instincts were telling her something was off. But the forest was silent again, no sounds of movement or struggle. Even the birds had stopped singing. Ruby shifted her weight, ready for anything, but nothing came.
"Is anyone there?" Ruby asked aloud again, her voice louder this time. Still, no response. No movement.
Ruby stood still for a moment, scanning the trees and surrounding area once more. Her sharp eyes caught something—a slight shimmer in the air, like a ripple, just beyond a cluster of trees. She froze, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. But when she tried to focus on it, the shimmer vanished, like a wisp of smoke fading into nothing.
"Hello?" she asked again, a sense of unease creeping into her voice now. She stepped forward, eyes narrowing, Crescent Rose still in her hands and ready.
Nothing.
Ruby exhaled, her shoulders relaxing as she let out a quiet sigh. It seemed like she was alone. Whoever—or whatever—had dealt with the Ursa had done so with incredible speed. She hadn't seen anyone, and there were no signs of battle. Just the lingering scent of the Grimm.
"Well...," Ruby muttered to herself, shaking off the strange feeling. "Back to training, I guess."
With one last glance around the clearing, she turned and began walking back toward the more secluded part of the forest. She had come here to train, and that was exactly what she was going to do. The day wasn't over yet, and there was still plenty to learn.
Unbeknownst to Ruby, just a few feet behind her, hidden in the trees, a figure stood perfectly still. The adaptive camouflage of the Guardian's armor rendered him nearly invisible. Zero-Six-Nine, a silent observer, watched Ruby with quiet admiration. He had been there the whole time, just out of her sight, ensuring her safety from a distance.
His mind was focused on the task—keeping her safe. But as he watched Ruby, a strange sense of fondness stirred within him. She had grown so much since their first meeting, becoming more capable with every passing day. But that was all he could allow himself to feel.
With a final, lingering glance, Zero-Six-Nine turned away and melted into the forest's shadows, the shimmer of his armor fading into nothingness.
Ruby never saw him.
Atlas:
The quiet hum of the Schnee manor was broken only by the rhythmic sound of Weiss's controlled breaths and the steady thud of her feet hitting the treadmill. The room was vast and immaculate, like every other corner of the Schnee estate. Gleaming steel equipment lined the walls, each piece polished to perfection and outfitted with the latest technology. A wide wall of mirrors reflected Weiss's determined figure, her pale face flushed from exertion and her white ponytail swaying with every movement.
The air in the gym was cool, and conditioned to perfection, but the burning in her lungs and muscles told a different story. Weiss pushed herself harder, her finger increasing the treadmill's speed. Her legs pumped furiously, her slender frame working against the resistance. The faint hum of the machine was drowned out by the pounding of her heart in her ears.
This is nothing.
Rahm's words echoed in her mind, his stern yet encouraging tone pushing her further. He had taught her the importance of resilience—not just in combat, but in her mind and body. Her weapon, Myrtenaster, had always been her greatest strength, a tool of precision and elegance that reflected her skill and discipline. But Rahm had shown her the cracks in her foundation. Strength wasn't just about technique; it was about endurance, about being able to push through when every fiber of her being screamed for her to stop.
Weiss gritted her teeth, her silver eyes narrowing as sweat dripped down her temple. Her arms pumped at her sides as she kept running, faster and faster. She wasn't going to stop—not yet. Not until she felt she had nothing left.
When the treadmill beeped to signal she had reached the fifteen-minute mark, she slammed the "stop" button and jumped off, breathing heavily. Her legs wobbled slightly as she grabbed a towel from the nearby bench and wiped the sweat from her face. Her reflection in the mirror stared back at her—flushed cheeks, sweat-dampened hair, and a fire in her eyes she hadn't seen before.
But she wasn't done.
She moved to the pull-up bar next, jumping up and gripping it tightly with both hands. Her arms trembled as she pulled herself up, the strain evident in her clenched jaw and shaking muscles. One pull-up, then another. By the fifteenth, her arms were screaming at her to stop, but she kept going. She remembered Rahm's words: The moment you think you can't push anymore is when you're truly tested. Don't stop. Not yet.
When she finally dropped to the floor, her arms hung limply at her sides. She took a moment to catch her breath before moving to the punching bag. Her knuckles were taped, the material slightly frayed from earlier training sessions. She squared her stance, brought her fists up, and began striking the bag with precision. Each punch echoed through the empty gym, her breaths sharp and controlled.
She wasn't just training for strength. She was fighting for herself, for the promise she made to be stronger. For Rahm.
Weiss wasn't going to stop until she became the best version of herself.
Argus:
The sunlight streamed through the large arched windows of the Nikos family estate, bathing the spacious living room in warm, golden light. Despite the ornate furnishings and meticulously maintained decor, the atmosphere inside the house was one of quiet determination. Pyrrha stood at one end of the room, gripping a set of parallel bars, her legs trembling beneath her. Her face was flushed, a mixture of exertion and frustration evident as she worked through the painstaking process of putting one foot in front of the other.
At her side, her physical trainer, a calm and encouraging woman named Selene, watched intently. "You're doing great, Pyrrha. Just one more step. Keep your balance steady."
Pyrrha's fingers gripped the bars tighter as her left leg moved forward, her foot meeting the floor with a careful tap. Her right leg followed, though it dragged slightly as she pushed herself forward. Each step was a battle—every muscle in her legs burned, her body protesting against the movement that once came so easily. She let out a shaky breath, her emerald eyes focused on the path ahead.
"Good," Selene said, her tone firm but supportive. "Remember, one step at a time. Don't rush it. You're stronger than you think."
From her spot on a nearby chair, Pyrrha's mother watched with a mixture of pride and concern. Dressed in a tailored burgundy gown, her posture was as poised as ever, but her hands were clasped tightly in her lap. She had seen her daughter conquer the fiercest of foes in the arena and watched her rise as a champion, but seeing Pyrrha struggle to walk again was a far different kind of challenge—and it broke her heart.
"You're almost there," Selene encouraged as Pyrrha neared the end of the bars.
Pyrrha's breaths came in short, ragged bursts. Her legs felt like lead, and for a moment, doubt began to creep into her mind. What if I can't do this? What if I never get back to the way I was? But then, she pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the quiet strength that had carried her through so much already.
She tightened her grip on the bars and took one last step, crossing the finish line. As she released the bars, Selene reached out to steady her, but Pyrrha shook her head. "I've got it," she said, her voice quiet but resolute.
Selene smiled. "I knew you would."
Her mother stood, applauding softly. "Well done, Pyrrha. You've made so much progress."
Pyrrha turned to face her mother, her lips curling into a small smile. She felt the warmth of her mother's pride, and for the first time in weeks, she allowed herself to feel proud as well.
"Thank you," she said, her voice soft but sincere.
Selene handed Pyrrha a towel. "That's enough for today. You've earned some rest. Tomorrow, we'll work on improving the mobility in your ankles."
Pyrrha nodded, dabbing the sweat from her forehead as she moved toward the nearby couch. Though her legs ached and her body was exhausted, there was a sense of accomplishment that outweighed the pain. She knew she still had further to go, but for the first time, it felt like she was moving forward.
"You've been working so hard. Let me make you something to eat. You must be starving," said Helena Nikos.
Pyrrha shook her head, leaning back against the couch. "I'm not hungry mother. I just... need a shower and some rest."
"Alright, dear. But if you change your mind, let me know."
"I will," Pyrrha said, offering her mother a reassuring smile before standing—carefully—and heading toward the stairs.
The hot water cascaded over Pyrrha's skin, washing away the sweat and exhaustion of the day. She leaned against the shower wall, letting the warmth soothe her aching muscles. As she stood there, her mind drifted to the past—to the days at Beacon when life had felt so full of promise. She thought of her teammates, her friends, and the battles they had fought together. She thought of Jai, Terre, Rahm, and Penny.
Her chest tightened as their faces flashed in her mind, each of them alive.
By the time she returned to her room, dressed in comfortable clothes, the ache in her heart had dulled but hadn't disappeared. She sat on the edge of her bed, looking around her room. It was just as she had left it before going to Beacon—trophies and medals adorned the shelves, framed photos of her victories and achievements lining the walls. But it was her scroll that caught her eye. She took it and opened up the stored photo album, her fingers gently swiping through.
Pictures of her and her team filled the album, each one a snapshot of happier times. There were photos of her with Nora, Ren, and Jaune, their faces bright with laughter as they posed for the camera. There were pictures of her with Team RWBY too. One photo made her smile more than all the others. It was the photo taken of teams RWBY, JNPR, PGRT, and with the addition of Sun at the beach when they went to Weiss' family home for a weekend.
Pyrrha lingered on that photo, her fingers tracing the edges of the image. Jai, Terre, and Rahm looked calm and collected as ever and Penny was their perfect antithesis, her innocence and kindness radiating from every photo.
Her throat tightened, and she felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She had loved them all in her own way, but with Jai... it had been something more. She had cared for him deeply, and now she would never have the chance to tell him.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I should have said something. I should have—" She stopped herself, closing the album and setting the scroll gently on her lap.
Her heart ached with the weight of all the words left unsaid, the moments she would never get back. But even as the grief threatened to overwhelm her, a spark of determination flickered within her.
She couldn't stay like this. She couldn't let herself be consumed by regret and sorrow. That wasn't who she was, and it wasn't what her friends would have wanted for her. Jai, Terre, Rahm, Penny—they had all fought so hard, and they had believed in her. She had to honor their memory, and the best way to do that was to keep moving forward.
Pyrrha wiped her eyes and stood slowly, her legs still shaky from the day's exercises, and walked to the window. The view of Argus stretched out before her—its streets bustling with life, the distant mountains standing tall against the evening sky. Somewhere beyond those mountains lay the road ahead, the challenges she would face, and the person she wanted to become.
As she stood there, her scroll buzzed. Pyrrha turned, picking it up and unlocking the screen. It was a message from Nora.
Nora: Hey, Pyrrha! Ren, Jaune, and I were talking, and we really want to come see you. We miss you so much. When would be a good time? Let us know!
A small smile tugged at Pyrrha's lips. She could almost hear Nora's energetic voice in the message. It was a reminder that she wasn't alone, that there were still people who cared about her and wanted to be there for her.
Pyrrha's fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before she began typing a response.
Pyrrha: I miss you all, too. I'd love to see you. Anytime works for me—just let me know when you can come!
The reply came almost instantly.
Nora: YAYYYYY! We'll be there yesterday! Love you, Pyrrha!
Pyrrha chuckled softly, her spirits lifting ever so slightly. She set the scroll down and returned to her bed, lying back against the pillows. She closed her eyes, letting her body relax as the day's exertion caught up to her.
Her mind drifted again to Beacon, to the days of training and camaraderie, of laughter and determination. She thought about Jaune's journey to become a better warrior, Nora's boundless energy, Ren's quiet strength, and her role as the calm, guiding presence of the group. She thought about the bonds they had formed, the trust they had built, and the love they had shared as a team.
And then she thought of Jai. His face came to her mind unbidden, and with it, a flood of memories. His strength, his resolve, the way he always seemed to know what to say to inspire her. She could almost hear his voice now, urging her to keep pushing, to never give up.
Pyrrha took a deep breath, her hand resting over her heart. "I'll do better," she whispered into the quiet of her room. "For you. For all of you."
The resolve in her voice was steady, unwavering. Pyrrha Nikos was not someone who backed down from a challenge. She had faced so many battles before, and though this one was different, it was no less important. She would regain her strength, rebuild herself piece by piece, and honor the memory of her friends by living up to the faith they had placed in her.
As sleep began to take her, Pyrrha's thoughts lingered on the message from Nora. Soon, she would see her teammates again. They would remind her of who she was and who she could be. And together, they would face whatever came next. For now, though, Pyrrha allowed herself to rest, the faintest smile on her lips as she drifted off, the shadows of her sorrow replaced by the light of hope.
Unnamed City in Mistral:
The sound of Nora's animated voice filled the living room of the Arc family home, where Jaune, Nora, and Ren were gathered. Jaune sat cross-legged on the couch, reading Ruby's letter for the fifth time while Ren leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed and an amused look on his usually stoic face. Nora had just finished her video call with Pyrrha, and the excited energy radiating from her was unmistakable.
"She said yes!" Nora announced, nearly bouncing in place. Her scroll was still clutched tightly in her hand, as if letting it go might shatter the moment. "Pyrrha wants us to come visit her! She misses us!"
Jaune immediately perked up, his expression a mix of excitement and relief. "Really? She said that?"
"Yes, she did!" Nora's enthusiasm was infectious, and even Ren's calm demeanor softened into a faint smile. "She said we can come anytime."
"Well, then, what are we waiting for?" Jaune stood abruptly, his usual awkwardness giving way to a rare moment of decisiveness. "Pyrrha's been through so much. We can't let her think she has to deal with this on her own."
"Exactly!" Nora exclaimed, pointing a finger in the air like she'd just declared war on loneliness itself. "She's our teammate, and teammates stick together! Right, Ren?"
Ren nodded. "Of course. Pyrrha's been there for us so many times. It's only right we're there for her now."
Nora clapped her hands together. "Alright, then! Let's figure out how to get to Argus ASAP. I mean, like, right now."
Jaune grabbed his scroll and quickly began searching for train schedules. "The next train to Argus leaves in two hours. If we hurry up and pack quickly, we can make it."
"That's plenty of time!" Nora grinned, practically vibrating with excitement. "We can pack on the way. Who needs to be organized when it's for Pyrrha?"
Jaune shot her a skeptical look. "Nora, you're not just going to throw random stuff into your bag again, are you? Last time, you packed five pairs of socks but no actual clothes."
"It's called being prepared, Jaune!" Nora quipped, her tone mock-serious. "What if we have a sock emergency?"
Ren sighed and stepped in. "I'll make sure she packs properly."
Jaune chuckled and nodded. "Thanks, Ren. I'll grab my stuff and let my mom know we're heading out."
As they dispersed to gather their belongings, the mood in the house was one of determination and warmth. Pyrrha had always been the rock of their team, the one who kept them grounded even in the most dangerous situations. Now, it was their turn to be there for her, to remind her that she didn't have to face her struggles alone.
But Pyrrha was only one of their friends they needed to support. Ruby's letter arrived a week ago and the three of them gathered around to read it together. It was clear that she wasn't doing well. She needed them. Not only that, but they needed to bring those who left Beacon in ruins to justice. Jaune, Ren, and Nora didn't want to rush to Ruby just yet without Pyrrha with them, though. She deserved the full support of team JNPR, and she would get it as long as they had a say in it.
Within twenty minutes, the trio had packed their bags and were standing at the front door. Jaune's mother waved them off with a smile, her voice filled with maternal warmth as she called,
"Tell Pyrrha we're all rooting for her!"
"We will!" Jaune replied, hoisting his bag over his shoulder.
The three of them headed toward the train station, their pace brisk and purposeful. As the train pulled into the station and they boarded, Nora leaned back in her seat, her excitement never waning. "She's going to be so surprised when we show up."
Jaune smiled, glancing out the window as the train began to move. "Yeah, she will. And I think it'll mean a lot to her."
Ren nodded in agreement; his voice quiet but steady. "It's not just about visiting. Ruby needs us too."
Island of Patch:
The moonlight filtered weakly through the thick canopy of trees on the island of Patch, casting long shadows across the forest floor. Deep within the woods, hidden in the recess of a cave, Guardian Zero-Six-Nine was alone. The firelight danced off the rough stone walls, illuminating his towering figure as he crouched over a freshly slain hog.
The carcass was splayed on a large flat stone, its flesh expertly carved into neat sections. Zero-Six-Nine worked methodically, his hands moving with precision honed from years of training and survival. His combat knife—a simple but efficient blade, blackened to avoid reflection—gleamed faintly in the firelight as he trimmed the fat and removed bones with practiced ease. Every movement was deliberate, every cut clean. He wasted nothing. The usable meat was set aside, while the scraps were buried outside the cave earlier to avoid attracting unwanted scavengers.
The fire crackled, its warmth pushing back the chill of the night air. A sturdy spit crafted from a thick branch was already set up over the flames, and Zero-Six-Nine impaled the larger cuts of meat on it, ensuring they were balanced for even cooking. The smell of roasting pork began to fill the cave, mingling with the earthy scent of moss and damp stone. It was a meal born of necessity, not indulgence, yet the Guardian's meticulous preparation gave it an almost ritualistic quality.
Outside, the forest was still. The silence wasn't natural—this part of the island should have been alive with the sounds of nocturnal creatures. But Zero-Six-Nine had ensured that no Grimm or other threats remained within a five-mile radius. Every hostile presence had been neutralized earlier that day, his relentless efficiency leaving nothing to chance. Ruby Rose and her family slept safely in their home, completely unaware of the unseen guardian who ensured their peace.
As the meat cooked, Zero-Six-Nine sat back, his piercing gaze fixed on the flames. The flickering light played across his armor, its green surface scarred from countless battles. He felt neither pride nor sorrow for the marks—they were simply reminders of his purpose.
Yet, even as he maintained his stoic exterior, his thoughts strayed. His brothers—Doc and Chap—drifted into his mind like distant phantoms. Were they succeeding in their missions? Their bond, forged through shared trials and burdens, was unspoken but unbreakable. He hoped they found some measure of peace, though he knew they likely wouldn't. Men like them were not built for peace.
And then there was Dr. Polendina. A faint flicker of hope stirred within him at the thought of Penny. She had been different—an anomaly in their world of cold logic and war. He and his brothers had come to care for her like a little sister, a bright spark in an otherwise bleak existence. The thought of her destruction at Beacon still weighed on him, though he would never show it. If anyone could bring her back, it was Dr. Polendina. He had to believe that.
As the meat sizzled and dripped fat into the fire, his thoughts shifted to Ruby. What had begun as a mission—an order to protect her—had transformed into something he could not fully comprehend. She was... different. Strong, determined, but still so young. She reminded him of something he couldn't quite name, something buried deep within the fragments of himself that still felt human. If his mission were to end tomorrow, he knew he would stay. He would protect her—not because he had to, but because he chose to. Why? He couldn't say. He didn't have the words for it, nor the understanding. All he knew was that it was the truth.
The meat was ready. Zero-Six-Nine removed the spit from the fire and set it on a flat stone. He reached up, his fingers brushing the edges of his helmet before removing it with a faint hiss of decompression. His face was illuminated by the firelight—sharp, angular, and etched with scars both old and new. His brown eyes carried a weight that seemed too heavy for even his enhanced physique to bear. They were the eyes of a man who had seen and endured far more than most would ever see or endure in their lifetimes. Yet, there was no anger in them, no bitterness. Just a distant, weary resolve.
He took a bite of the roasted pork, chewing slowly as he stared into the fire. The silence of the cave was absolute, save for the crackling flames and the occasional whisper of the wind outside. There was no joy in the meal, no satisfaction—just fuel for the body to continue its mission. And yet, as he ate, there was a strange serenity in the moment. Alone in the woods, far from prying eyes, he allowed himself this brief respite.
The fire burned low as he finished his meal. Zero-Six-Nine wiped his blade clean and returned it to its sheath before rising to his feet. He placed the helmet back over his head, the faint hum of its systems activating once more. The Guardian's face vanished, replaced by the cold, emotionless facade of his armor.
He extinguished the fire, ensuring no trace of his presence remained. Outside the cave, the forest stretched endlessly, bathed in moonlight. He scanned the perimeter one final time before retreating into the shadows. His watch would continue, silent and unseen. He was a ghost, a protector, and though he would never admit it—even to himself—a man who cared more than he was willing to acknowledge.
Not going to lie. This was a slow chapter. There is a lot to try and cram in and I didn't want to do too much at once at the risk of speeding things along too fast. Please let me know what you all think. Until next time.
-Dude64