The tabloids had a field day.
Dennis' face was plastered across every major Atlas news outlet, his name uttered in excited whispers and bombastic headlines. His sudden marriage to Winter Schnee had transformed him into an overnight spectacle. He had known, of course, that this would come with the territory. Taking ownership of the SDC had already put him in the global spotlight, but he hadn't expected this—constant media scrutiny, camera drones hovering too close for comfort, and the relentless chattering of analysts dissecting his every move.
For once, though, he wasn't particularly bothered by it. He had braced himself for the storm, and besides… it wasn't like he regretted his decision.
The revelation to his friends, however, was an entirely different matter.
"Holy shit, you're married?!"
Yang's voice cut through the chatter like a thunderclap, her violet eyes wide with disbelief.
Dennis, who had barely taken a sip of his drink, nearly choked. He turned to see the brawler staring at him as if he'd just announced he was secretly a Faunus or that he'd decided to retire to a life of farming.
"Uh… yeah?" he said, as if only just now realizing it himself.
Yang blinked at him. Then blinked again. "Are you kidding me?" she asked, shaking her head as she threw her hands in the air. "You? Married? How the hell did I miss this?"
Dennis rubbed the back of his neck, offering a sheepish smile. "Yeah, uh… that was supposed to be a secret for a while. So, you know, that's why you didn't know."
"Secret, my ass!" Yang folded her arms. "You think something like this wouldn't get out eventually? Have you met the news cycle in Atlas?"
Dennis let out a dry chuckle. "Oh, I'm very aware."
Jaune, who had been listening with an amused smirk, stepped forward and gave Dennis a hearty slap on the back. "Well, well, well. How's it feel being a married man?"
Dennis paused, rolling the thought over in his mind.
"It's… weird," he admitted. "Not in a bad way. I mean, obviously, I love Winter, but—" He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I guess it feels freeing."
Jaune quirked a brow. "Freeing? That's a new one."
Dennis shrugged. "I don't know how else to describe it. Like, for the first time in a long time, I know where I stand. I know what I want. No more second-guessing, no more uncertainty."
The group exchanged glances, taking in his words.
Then, Dennis caught movement out of the corner of his eye—Weiss, trying to suppress a smirk.
That's right. She had known about the marriage before most of them, and judging by the look on her face, she had expected this exact reaction from their friends.
Feeling mischievous, Dennis smirked. "By the way," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Weiss knew before most of you."
There was a beat of silence.
Then, as if following a rehearsed script, every head in the group slowly turned toward Weiss.
Her smirk vanished instantly.
"Oh, come on," Weiss groaned, holding up her hands in surrender as the questions started flying. "Don't look at me like that! It's not my fault you were all out of the loop!"
"How long have you known?" Yang demanded.
"Did you keep it from us on purpose?"
"Did you go to the wedding? Was there a wedding?"
Weiss took a step back as the interrogation intensified, sighing in exasperation. "For the record, I wasn't the one keeping it a secret! He was!" She pointed an accusing finger at Dennis, who simply leaned back with a satisfied grin, enjoying the chaos he had just unleashed.
As Weiss fended off the onslaught of questions, Dennis felt a soft, familiar touch against his back.
A warm hand, moving in slow, soothing circles.
"Are you okay?"
Winter's voice was quiet, meant only for him.
Dennis turned his head slightly to meet her gaze. Her ice-blue eyes studied him carefully, scanning his expression for any sign of discomfort.
He reached up, covering her hand with his own, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Yeah," he murmured, his lips curling into a small smile.
For once, everything felt right.
For once, things were looking up.
Dennis didn't know how everything had gone to hell so fast.
One moment, riots. The next, full-on Grimm incursion.
Mantle had always been on edge, but tonight, it had finally cracked. Fear and fury had boiled over, and the Grimm had come running like starving wolves. They thrived on chaos, drawn to negativity like vultures circling a dying beast.
And Mantle was bleeding out.
Buildings burned, sending thick plumes of smoke curling into the night sky. Fires painted the streets in flickering hues of orange and red, casting wild shadows that danced over the crumbling structures. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burning metal, charred wood, and something worse—the undeniable stench of death.
Dennis moved swiftly, boots crunching over shattered glass and broken stone.
A man lay crumpled nearby, barely more than a silhouette against the wreckage. His clothes were torn, his body limp, one arm outstretched as if he had been reaching for help that never came.
Dennis didn't stop to check. He already knew the answer.
There were too many dead already.
A snarl ripped through the night.
Dennis turned just in time to see a Beowolf lunge, fangs bared, claws outstretched to rip him apart—
He shifted his weight, sidestepping the attack in a single, fluid motion. The Grimm's claws whistled past his face, close enough that he could feel the wind from the swipe. Without hesitation, he drove Vindicator forward, the naginata's gleaming blade piercing through the Beowolf's skull with a sickening crunch.
The Grimm shuddered violently before collapsing into a misty black haze.
Dennis ripped his weapon free, spinning on his heel as another monster—a Sabyr this time—charged straight for him.
His grip tightened.
He ducked under its pounce, twisting mid-motion and bringing Vindicator up in a clean, lethal arc. The weapon's blade sliced straight through the creature's midsection, cutting it into two neat halves before it had even realized what had happened.
The Sabyr crumpled, dissolving into black mist as Dennis landed smoothly, barely breaking stride.
The streets were infested.
Grimm skittered along the ruined buildings, their glowing red eyes peering through shattered windows and collapsed doorways.
And there were so many.
Dennis pulled Tempest from his holster and fired.
The hand cannon roared, each shot sending high-caliber rounds tearing through the approaching horde. A Centinel screeched as a bullet obliterated one of its legs, sending it crashing to the pavement. Another round slammed into its body, shattering its exoskeleton and spilling black ichor before it, too, dissolved.
Another Grimm lunged.
Dennis twisted, flipped backward, and emptied the last bullet in Tempest straight into its snarling maw.
Click.
Out.
Dennis exhaled sharply, ejecting the spent magazine and slamming in a fresh one in a single, practiced motion.
His earpiece crackled to life.
"I need backup," he said, voice clipped, sharp. He could still control his breath. That meant he wasn't exhausted yet. "I can't save all these people. Right now, I'm just culling Grimm."
He heard something behind him—
A rush of air.
Dennis flipped forward just as a Beringel's massive fist came slamming down where he had just stood.
The impact shattered the pavement, sending jagged stone and debris flying in all directions. A civilian, trapped under rubble nearby, screamed.
Dennis didn't stop moving.
Mid-air, he twisted, rotating his body and leveling Tempest right at the Beringel's snarling face.
He squeezed the trigger.
Boom!
The first shot slammed through the Grimm's left eye, making it stagger backward, clutching at its ruined face as it let out a guttural roar.
Dennis landed smoothly, then surged forward.
He vaulted onto the creature's broad shoulders, using its own size against it. The second his boots touched its thick fur, he pivoted, driving Vindicator down into the back of its skull.
The Beringel seized up, body trembling before it crumpled into dust.
Dennis hit the ground running.
Mantle was burning around him
Days prior to the attack, Robyn Hill had been hosting an election night rally in Mantle. The streets were alive with noise—cheers, claps, and the occasional crash of a bottle against the pavement. Flags bearing the Happy Huntresses' emblem waved above the crowds, their supporters gathered en masse, eager for change. Their voices blended into an unrelenting wave of energy, charged with frustration, hope, and desperation.
Dennis stood near the stage, arms crossed, posture rigid. His sharp gaze cut through the dimly lit venue, scanning the sea of faces for anything out of place. His new Specialist coat, pristine and white, draped over his shoulders, keeping the bitter Mantle chill at bay. He adjusted the cuffs, shifting his weight slightly.
He wasn't thrilled to be here.
The only reason he stood watch was to ensure things didn't spiral out of control. He had no personal stake in Robyn Hill's fiery speeches or her growing movement. Sure, she cared about Mantle—he could admit that—but her rhetoric was dangerously divisive. It stirred something in the people, something raw, something desperate.
The crowd hushed as Robyn stepped onto the stage. The microphone let out a small screech before her voice rang out, strong and unwavering.
"People of Mantle! Look around you. Look at the streets we walk every day, the factories that keep Atlas running, the homes we've built with our own hands!" She paused, letting the weight of her words settle over them. "This city—our city—has been left behind for too long. Forgotten by those who sit high above us in Atlas, living in comfort while we struggle just to get by!"
Dennis exhaled through his nose, shifting slightly.
That's not entirely true.
Atlas had provided aid—more than Robyn ever admitted. The military presence, the security measures, the heating systems that had been implemented despite endless bureaucratic obstacles. He had personally seen to it that Mantle wasn't abandoned. But to these people, none of that mattered.
Robyn's voice grew sharper. "They tell us to be patient, that help is coming. But when has Atlas ever helped Mantle? When has Jacques Schnee ever done anything for the workers who break their backs in his mines?"
Dennis felt his fingers twitch.
There it was.
The easy villain.
Jacques Schnee. The man was no saint—Dennis knew that better than most. He was ruthless, calculating, and had his fair share of questionable business dealings. But what no one wanted to acknowledge was that he did care, in his own cold, pragmatic way. He invested in Mantle, even if it wasn't out of charity. He had provided heating, sent supplies when necessary, and ensured operations continued despite political upheaval. And most importantly—he cared about his daughters.
Dennis had seen it firsthand. Behind the mask of an unfeeling businessman, there was a father who, in his own twisted way, did want the best for them. Maybe not in the warm, affectionate way most people expected, but in his own methodical, calculated manner.
Did that make him a good man? No.
But it made him more than the villain they painted him as.
"The people in power don't care about us—they never have!"
The crowd erupted into cheers, fists raised, anger surging.
Dennis clenched his jaw, his arms remaining crossed as he tuned back into his earpiece.
"Pretty nice speech, huh?" he muttered.
Blake's voice crackled through the comm. "It reminds me of the White Fang before they changed."
Dennis hummed. "Yeah… well, we both know how that turned out."
"I mean, what she's saying is true," Ruby chimed in, her voice laced with frustration.
Yang sighed. "Yeah, but think about it from Ironwood's perspective."
"He's not helping these people!" Ruby argued, her passion clear.
"He is," Dennis countered. "It's just not enough for them. He's responsible for two nations. Mantle wants everything, but he has to split resources between them and Atlas. It's a balancing act, and no matter what he does, one side is always gonna feel slighted."
Ruby remained quiet, but Dennis could tell she wasn't convinced.
"Rubes, Dennis has a point," Yang added. "It's not that simple. Ironwood's juggling too much."
The moment she finished speaking, the lights cut out.
The venue was plunged into absolute darkness. For a single breath, silence reigned—then the panic began.
Screams. Shouting. The sound of bodies pushing and shoving, chairs scraping against the floor as people rushed toward the exits in a blind frenzy.
Dennis swore under his breath.
"EVERYBODY CALM DOWN!" he bellowed, but his voice was drowned in the chaos.
A golden glow flared to life beside him—Yang. Her burning aura illuminated the stage, casting jagged shadows across the walls.
"Please, listen to Specialist Schnee!" Robyn's voice rang out, cutting through the panic. "He will guide you out in an orderly fashion!"
Dennis exhaled sharply, adjusting his stance. He stepped forward, his presence solid and commanding. "No pushing! Move in a single file toward the exits!"
Slowly, with their combined efforts, the crowd began to move more cohesively.
Blake's ears twitched. She glanced around, tension visible in her stance. "Something's not right."
Dennis nodded, his fingers inching toward Tempest, his pistol. "Yeah, I feel it too. But first, let's get them clear."
It took time—long, grueling minutes—but eventually, the last civilians were escorted out, leaving only Dennis, Robyn, and the remaining Huntresses.
Robyn turned to Dennis, arms crossed, expression sharp. "Look at that. Ironwood's dog actually stuck around."
Dennis arched a brow, unimpressed. "I'll ignore that one—for now."
Robyn scoffed. "Oh, how generous."
Dennis let out a slow breath. "Look, whoever cut the lights wasn't just trying to cause a blackout. Someone wanted this event to turn into a disaster. That means you have a target on your back. Watch yourself."
Robyn smirked. "I'm a Huntress. I can handle myself."
Dennis met her gaze for a moment, then shrugged. "If you say so."
He glanced at the others. "Well, I'm done here."
Pressing a button on his scroll, he called for his ride. Within minutes, a sleek black car pulled up outside. He gave a lazy wave as he stepped in, a smirk playing at his lips.
Watching him leave, Blake crossed her arms. "He's enjoying this way too much."
Ruby sighed. "Yeah, he definitely is."
Yang chuckled before glancing at her bike. "So, uh… how are you guys getting back? 'Cause Bumblebee only fits two—including me."
Blake and Ruby exchanged a look.
"…That's a good question."
The streets of Mantle were silent, save for the low rumble of engines rolling through the snow-covered roads. A convoy of heavily armored transport vans moved steadily through the dimly lit city, carrying precious resources bound for Amity Communications Tower.
The cold air was bitter, thick with tension.
Every supply run had become a gamble, a high-risk mission where failure meant losing more than just cargo—it meant emboldening the raiders who sought to seize it, proving that Atlas couldn't protect its own assets.
Inside one of the leading vans, Dennis sat beside Winter, her presence a steady and calming force amid the uncertainty. Across from them sat Clover Ebi, his arms crossed with his usual relaxed confidence, while Marrow Amin leaned against the wall, eyes flicking to the reinforced windows as if expecting trouble.
The van's interior was dimly lit, the only real light source coming from the occasional street lamp that passed overhead, casting long shadows over the metal-plated walls. The atmosphere inside was calm but heavy—every person inside knew how quickly things could go horribly wrong.
Dennis sighed, running his fingers over the hilt of Starscourge, the familiar weight of his bastard sword resting beside him. He was used to this feeling—the quiet before the storm.
Still, he decided to break the silence.
"This seems to be going well."
Winter, who had been resting her head back against the seat, turned slightly, offering him a small nod. "Yes… hopefully this one isn't raided, though."
Her tone was calm, but Dennis could tell she was on edge. It wasn't just the supply run—it was everything. The stress of dealing with Mantle's unrest, the growing divide between Atlas and the people below, the increasing sabotage attempts against Amity.
Her fingers tightened slightly around his hand, and Dennis glanced at the ring on her finger, the polished metal catching the faint glow of the van's interior lights. It was a small thing, but it reminded him that no matter how chaotic things became, she was here.
His gaze shifted to Clover, who had been watching them with a knowing smirk.
Dennis ignored it. Instead, he asked, "How have the other ones been going?"
Clover exhaled, rubbing his gloved hands together for warmth. "The raids haven't made things easy, but we've been managing. We adjust, re-route, keep the pressure off Amity. But the people hitting us? They're getting bolder. Smarter."
Dennis nodded, already running through possibilities in his mind.
Something felt… off.
He tapped his fingers against his knee, his instincts screaming at him. The convoy had been moving for too long without incident. Too smooth. Too easy.
Then—
A violent jolt rocked the van.
The vehicle lurched, metal groaning under the sudden impact. Tires screeched, the smooth ride turning into a chaotic mess of bumps and violent shaking.
Dennis braced himself against the van wall, his free hand immediately reaching for Starscourge.
"Shit," he hissed, eyes narrowing. "Everybody be on guard. We're being raided."
Clover raised an eyebrow, his expression still composed. "How do you know? We didn't even tell you what they usually do."
Dennis rolled his shoulders, scanning through the small reinforced window. "Because this is standard protocol for a convoy raid. First, you take out mobility—cut off movement, isolate the defenders. Then, you move in, overwhelming the opposition while they're scattered."
He tapped the driver's seat. "Pull over."
The van screeched to a halt.
Dennis swung the door open and stepped out, the night air biting against his skin. Snow crunched under his boots as he scanned the area, his breath forming in short clouds.
His eyes trailed downward.
The tires were shredded.
Dennis crouched down, running his fingers along the rubber. Embedded in the punctures were small metallic darts. He plucked one out, rolling it between his fingers before clicking his tongue.
Sabotage.
Before he could examine further, a glint of steel entered his periphery.
Dennis reacted instantly.
His body twisted to the side, narrowly avoiding the incoming blade aimed at his head. The sharp edge cut through the air where he had been just seconds ago.
His assailant didn't linger. They spun on their heel and bolted, disappearing into the darkened alleyways.
Dennis exhaled sharply, his grip tightening around Starscourge. "Oh no, you don't."
He took off after them.
Winter's voice crackled through his earpiece. "Get the trucks moving! Dennis will handle this."
Across the convoy, RWBY hesitated. "Wait, shouldn't we—" Ruby began.
But before Winter could stop them, Yang and Blake shot forward, giving chase as well.
Winter turned to Weiss and Ruby, her voice firm. "Did you not hear me? Get the trucks moving. Now."
Dennis' strides were powerful, his speed eating the distance between him and the fleeing figure. Their attempt to shake him was futile—he was faster, more conditioned, more experienced in pursuit.
"I'm much quicker than you. Just stop now," Dennis called out.
His target abruptly skidded to a halt, spinning on their heel to face him. The dim streetlights above flickered, casting long shadows over their form.
Dennis groaned as soon as he recognized them. "Oh, for fuck's sake…"
It was Robyn Hill.
She stood there, breathing heavily, her stance defensive but unwavering. Her eyes burned with determination.
Dennis ran a hand down his face. "Did you not get my warning at your event? When I said keep your head down?"
Robyn smirked bitterly. "And when you started taking precious resources from Mantle without so much as an explanation, I decided to take matters into my own hands."
Dennis shook his head. "You do know I can arrest you for this, right?"
She didn't answer. Instead, with a flick of her wrist, three darts shot toward him.
Dennis reacted in an instant. Starscourge sang through the air, the heavy bastard sword effortlessly deflecting each dart before they could reach him.
Robyn lunged.
Her wrist-mounted weapon lashed out in a blur of silver, aiming for his chest. Dennis deflected it with a sharp parry, stepping back to gauge her movements.
She followed up with a stab—then two rapid slashes.
Parried.
Another quick slash toward his neck—Dennis sidestepped smoothly, his muscles coiled like a spring.
His patience thinned.
He could end this fight right now.
He waited for her next thrust, his grip on Starscourge shifting. The moment she lunged—
Dennis slammed the pommel of his sword into her stomach.
The impact staggered her, forcing a sharp gasp from her lungs as she stumbled back.
Before he could capitalize on it—
Two figures dropped from above.
Yang and Blake landed in front of him, their weapons at the ready.
Dennis clicked his tongue, his vision momentarily obstructed by them.
By the time he regained sight—Robyn was gone.
He sighed, rubbing his temples. "Unbelievable."
Yang and Blake turned to him, expecting answers.
Dennis ignored them, pressing a hand to his earpiece.
Winter's voice came through, sharp and irritated. "The Happy Huntresses have hijacked a truck."
Dennis' eye twitched.
"You have GOT to be fucking with me."
The air was thick with tension as the cargo truck screeched to a halt in the dimly lit streets of Mantle. The tires groaned against the pavement, smoke rising as the vehicle settled into silence. The only sounds now were the distant wails of sirens and the soft hum of Atlas security drones circling above.
Robyn Hill stepped out first, hands raised in mock surrender, her sharp green eyes locked onto the two huntresses before her. Behind her, Fiona Thyme and Joanna Greenleaf hesitated, hands hovering near their weapons.
Blake Belladonna and Yang Xiao Long stood ready, but they weren't here to fight.
"Well," Robyn said, adjusting her jacket. "That was one hell of a way to get my attention."
Yang crossed her arms, scowling. "Yeah? Maybe if you stopped stealing shipments, we wouldn't have to chase you through the city."
Robyn scoffed. "You mean the shipments of supplies meant for Mantle? You think I'm just gonna let Atlas hoard them while people freeze to death down here?"
Blake took a step forward, hands open in a gesture of peace. "We understand, Robyn. We really do. But this isn't just about supplies. There's more going on than you realize."
Robyn's brow furrowed, skepticism flashing across her face. "Enlighten me."
Yang sighed, running a hand through her windswept hair. "Alright, you want the truth? Fine. That secret project Ironwood's been working on? It's a communications tower. He's trying to rebuild global communication so the kingdoms can start talking again."
Robyn's expression shifted—her eyes flickering with something unreadable. "A comms tower?"
Blake nodded. "It's called Amity. And it's not just for Atlas. It's for all of Remnant. The plan is to launch it into orbit so we can send a message to everyone, warn them about what's coming."
The weight of those words lingered in the air.
Robyn studied them carefully. "And what exactly is coming?"
Blake and Yang exchanged a glance. They had sworn not to tell anyone about Salem, not yet—but if they were going to get Robyn on their side, she needed to know something.
Yang exhaled sharply. "A threat bigger than Atlas, Mantle, or the SDC. Something we all need to be ready for."
Robyn narrowed her eyes. She was a fighter, a leader, but also a woman who had spent her whole life fighting for the people of Mantle. Now, she was staring at two huntresses who weren't just spewing Atlas propaganda—they were desperate for her to listen.
She folded her arms. "And you're telling me Ironwood actually plans on sharing this with the world?"
Blake hesitated. "Yes… but only if we can pull it off first."
That pause didn't go unnoticed. Robyn's fingers drummed against her sleeve, her mind racing.
"Alright," she said, voice laced with suspicion. "Let's say I believe you. Why keep it a secret? Why let Mantle suffer instead of telling us the truth?"
Yang's fists clenched. "Because Ironwood doesn't trust anyone. And honestly? He's not wrong to be cautious. There are people actively working against this plan—people who want Atlas and Mantle to tear each other apart before the real fight even begins."
Robyn let that sink in. She took a step forward, looking both huntresses in the eye. "And why should I trust you two?"
Blake held her gaze. "Because we trust you."
For the first time, Robyn looked… conflicted. She was used to fighting the system, calling out corruption, doing whatever it took to protect Mantle. But this? This was something bigger.
She turned to Fiona and Joanna, exchanging a silent conversation with her team before sighing heavily.
"…Alright," she said at last. "But if I find out you're lying to me?" She smirked, though there was steel behind it. "You won't be able to outrun me next time."
Yang smirked back. "Wouldn't dream of it."
Blake nodded, relief evident in her posture. "Then we should talk."
The three of them stood there, the city lights casting long shadows as Mantle's future hung in the balance.
"So let me get this straight. The secret plan we spent so long working on, you told to the person who was preventing us from completing the plan" Dennis asks rubbing his forehead as he circles around Yang and Blake.
"I mean she just wants what is best for Mantle" Blake says.
"And we don't" Dennis responds as he crosses his arms
"Yeah but we're up in Atlas who are taking resources from Mantle"
"To help protect Mantle in the long-run. There are hunters down there should the Grimm attack" Dennis says.
Ironwood walks in and glares at both Yang and Ruby. "You guys have ruined this entire project" he says to them slightly annoyed. "Months of research and diverted funds may go to waste." Suddenly a soldier rushes in through the door.
"Sir, the project has been leaked to the public. On the news too" the soldier says with his scroll out
"WHAT!" Ironwood shouts as the soldier brings the scroll to Ironwood as the Happy Huntresses were broadcasted on Atlas News.
"We have a message to tell you. General Ironwood has been diverting funds away from Mantle leaving it open to Grimm attacks so they can build new communications centre." Robyn says
Blake and Yang look at Ironwood sheepishly. Dennis rubs his forehead in stress as Ironwood looks less than pleased. Mantle was already a powder keg and Yang and Blake had given a fuse to be lit.
Chaos had erupted in the streets of Mantle.
The air was thick with smoke and freezing mist, the city's failing heating systems causing ice to spread over the broken pavement. The neon glow of advertisements flickered erratically, some shattered outright, while others buzzed and dimmed under the weight of the destruction.
Protests had turned into riots. Riots had turned into war.
Shattered glass crunched beneath Dennis' boots as he moved through the backstreets. The main roads were flooded with people—civilians wrapped in thick coats to fight the cold, their breath curling in the frigid air. Their voices rose in fury, raw from hours of shouting, their cries echoing against the steel walls of the city.
"The council lied to us!"
"Our homes are freezing while Atlas sits in its palace!"
"Ironwood betrayed us!"
Shops had been ransacked, looted of whatever supplies could be carried away. Windows had been smashed, and ATMs had been gutted. The remnants of the destruction lay scattered across the streets—upturned vehicles, debris, and even bodies. The Atlesian Military had yet to fully intervene, but their presence loomed. Aerial security drones hovered over the chaos, their red sensors sweeping for threats.
But they weren't stopping anything.
Dennis knew this was bad.
Worse than anything he had expected.
This wasn't just a protest. This was a full-scale collapse.
I need to get back to Ironwood.
He pulled his coat closer around him, keeping to the shadows, his steps silent as he moved between alleyways. He couldn't be seen—at least, not by the wrong people. Being considered a Schnee and wearing Atlas' colors, made him a target.
And then someone saw him.
"You—"
Dennis turned sharply, his dark brown eyes locking onto a man in ragged clothes. The rioter's face twisted in fury, his breath visible in the cold air. He pointed a shaking hand.
"He's with Atlas—!"
Dennis moved.
In one smooth motion, Tempest was in his grip.
The pistol's heavy recoil kicked against his palm as he fired. The gunshot echoed, drowning in the chaos.
The rioter collapsed with a scream, clutching his leg as crimson stained the snow-covered pavement. The bullet had torn through his thigh, a painful wound but not fatal. Dennis could've aimed higher. He didn't.
Still, people turned toward the sound. Heads snapped in his direction.
Shit—
Dennis bolted.
He weaved between alleyways, ducking behind abandoned transports, his boots skidding against ice as he pushed forward. The city around him blurred as he focused on escaping, on disappearing into the depths of Mantle before more people saw him.
Finally, he broke into an abandoned factory, its steel doors rusted and broken, hanging loose from their hinges. The air inside was stale, filled with the scent of oil and dust. The machinery had long since fallen silent, leaving only the distant echoes of the riots outside.
Leaning against a support beam, Dennis yanked out his Scroll, fingers flying across the screen.
Atlas Command—requesting immediate riot control in Mantle. Situation escalating.
He hesitated before sending another message.
Winter, things are worse than we thought. Call me when you can.
His grip tightened on the Scroll.
He had shot a civilian.
Even if it wasn't fatal, even if the man would survive, it didn't change the fact that he had pulled the trigger. It had been quick. Cold. Efficient.
It reminded him too much of the man he didn't want to become.
I was sloppy. No more.
Then he heard it.
A growl.
Low and unnatural.
Then another.
Dennis froze. His body tensed as his eyes scanned the darkened factory. His grip tightened around Tempest, the weight of the gun familiar in his hand.
Then he saw them.
Red eyes flickered into existence, glowing like embers in the dark.
More than one.
A dozen.
A hundred.
From the factory's shadowed corners, Grimm slithered forth. A Sabyr prowled toward him, its black-furred body sleek and deadly. Behind it, Centinels skittered along the walls, their needle-like legs clicking against metal. And beyond them, more figures loomed, their monstrous shapes barely visible in the dim light.
Screams echoed from outside. Mantle was already under siege.
"You gotta be shitting me," Dennis muttered.
Vindicator unfolded in his grip, shifting into its naginata form. The polished blade gleamed, cutting through the dim light as he twirled it once, settling into a defensive stance.
The Sabyr lunged first.
Dennis stepped forward, meeting the beast mid-air. The naginata sliced through flesh and bone, splitting the creature's skull with a sickening crack.
He didn't stop moving.
Spinning his weapon, he severed the legs of a Centinel before it could reach him, watching as its body collapsed to the ground, twitching before disintegrating into ash. More Grimm surged forward.
Dennis exhaled sharply.
His semblance flared.
A crimson energy field erupted around him, sealing the Grimm within its boundaries.
He snapped his fingers.
Red lightning crackled.
The Grimm convulsed as the energy coursed through them, their bodies disintegrating under the sheer force of it.
Silence followed.
Dennis exhaled, gripping Vindicator tightly. He quickly sent another message.
Ironwood, Mantle is compromised. Someone needs to send support.
He pushed forward, moving through the ruined districts, cutting down Grimm wherever they appeared. But then he saw something worse.
Bodies.
Not civilians.
Hunters.
Their armor was shattered, their weapons lying useless at their sides. The snow was painted red with their blood. And it wasn't Grimm that had killed them.
Their throats had been cut. Clean. Precise.
And they weren't alone.
Several council members lay among them, their bodies mutilated the same way.
Dennis narrowed his eyes.
Someone wanted Mantle to fall.
Then his instincts screamed.
Dennis spun—
A blade came for his throat.
Starscourge was in his hand in an instant, steel clashing against steel. Sparks flew.
Dennis' eyes locked onto his attacker.
A man stood before him, golden eyes gleaming with amusement. A wicked grin split his face, and his tail—a scorpion's tail—twitched behind him.
"You're a quick one," the man mused, tilting his head. "I hope I can bring you to my Goddess."
Dennis kept his stance firm. "Who the fuck are you?"
The man flourished his blades theatrically. "Tyrian. Tyrian Callows. And you?"
"…Dennis. Dennis Schnee."
Then he fired.
Tempest roared.
Tyrian laughed.
And the battle began.
Dennis didn't hesitate.
The moment Tyrian Callows spoke his name, he squeezed the trigger.
Tempest thundered three times, each high-caliber round tearing through the frozen air.
Tyrian twisted his body unnaturally, evading the first two shots with a fluidity that shouldn't have been possible. The third bullet grazed his aura, crackling against the golden barrier before he cackled, delighted rather than alarmed.
"Oh, you are going to be fun~!" Tyrian sang.
Then he moved.
Dennis barely had time to raise Starscourge before Tyrian was on him. The madman's wrist-mounted blades flashed in the dim light, curving inward in an arcing slash meant to split Dennis' throat.
Clang!
Steel met steel as Dennis deflected the strike, angling Starscourge to redirect the force. Tyrian didn't slow—his tail lashed out next, the poisonous tip blurring toward Dennis' ribs.
Dennis backflipped, narrowly avoiding the venomous stinger. He landed smoothly, boots skidding against the icy pavement.
He's fast. Too fast.
Tyrian grinned as he prowled forward, his stance low and predatory. His amber eyes glowed with manic energy, and his laughter was a sharp, unnatural sound.
"Come now, Schnee! You're making this too easy~!"
Dennis narrowed his eyes.
"I'm not a Schnee by blood," he said coldly, tightening his grip on Starscourge.
"Oh?" Tyrian's grin widened. "Then why take the name of those pompous, self-righteous—"
Dennis fired again.
Tyrian had to duck this time. His tail lashed out defensively as he rolled to the side, but Dennis was already closing in. Starscourge swung in a brutal downward arc, forcing Tyrian to parry with both wrist blades. The force of the impact made the pavement crack beneath them.
Dennis pressed forward, launching into a relentless series of attacks.
A diagonal slash—parried. A feint—sidestepped. A low sweep—dodged.
Tyrian was laughing, even as Dennis nearly took his arm off.
Dennis lunged, blade flashing—
Tyrian ducked under it and surged forward, twisting his body mid-spin. Dennis barely had time to block as Tyrian's scorpion tail slammed against his guard, sending him skidding backward.
The moment his boots touched the ground, Tyrian was already in front of him.
A flurry of slashes rained down—left, right, overhead, stab.
Dennis parried, countered, but Tyrian's movements were wild, erratic. His attacks came from unpredictable angles, his footwork dancing between unhinged chaos and perfect precision.
Dennis swung low—Tyrian jumped.
Dennis fired point-blank—Tyrian twisted mid-air, landing behind him.
The madman's laughter rang in his ears as he barely avoided a strike aimed at his kidney.
Tyrian was toying with him.
Dennis hated that.
His semblance flared.
Red lightning sparked around him as he twisted Starscourge, activating the dust-laced runes along the blade. The silver steel began to glow molten red, steam rising from its surface.
Tyrian cocked his head. "Oh~? What's this? Something fun?"
Dennis didn't answer. He launched forward, blade swinging in a wide, fiery arc.
Tyrian dodged—
But Dennis was ready.
His free hand lashed out, Tempest cracking off two more rounds.
Tyrian barely managed to block one bullet with his blades—the second hit his aura directly, staggering him.
Dennis capitalized.
He surged forward, bringing Starscourge down like a hammer. Tyrian barely raised his blades in time, but the moment they made contact—
The heat burned through.
Tyrian howled in pain as the molten metal of Starscourge seared against his weapons, the superheated energy eating through his defenses. He leapt back, shaking his blades, his wrist guards glowing red-hot from the brief contact.
Dennis didn't let up.
He dashed in, feinting with a slash before delivering a brutal knee strike to Tyrian's gut. The force lifted the assassin off the ground before Dennis pivoted and slammed the pommel of Starscourge into his face, sending him sprawling.
For the first time—Tyrian staggered.
His breathing came heavier. His tail twitched erratically. His amber eyes widened in something Dennis refused to call respect.
Dennis exhaled sharply. "Done playing games?"
Tyrian wiped his mouth, smearing blood across his cheek.
Then he grinned.
"Oh, you are just delightful!" he purred. "Your wife certainly chose a fine warrior, didn't she?"
Dennis froze.
His breath caught for half a second. His grip on Starscourge tightened.
Tyrian saw the reaction. And he loved it.
"Ooooh, I see!" He took a step forward, eyes glinting with unrestrained amusement. "You're not just some soldier, are you? No, no, no… you're Winter's little knight, aren't you?"
Dennis' heartbeat thundered in his ears.
Tyrian leaned in, voice a mocking whisper.
"Tell me, does she scream your name when she—"
Dennis moved.
His aura flared white-hot as he SLAMMED into Tyrian, Starscourge swinging in a vicious, brutal arc. Tyrian barely blocked, but the impact shattered the ice beneath them.
Dennis didn't let him breathe.
His strikes became relentless.
A diagonal slash nearly took Tyrian's arm.
A horizontal cut forced him to bend backward, the blade singing as it passed just above his throat.
Dennis kicked his knee out, forcing him to stumble—
And then Starscourge came down.
Tyrian barely raised his tail to block—
SSHHHRK!
The molten-hot blade sheared clean through the chitinous limb.
Tyrian screamed.
His severed tail clattered to the ground, its venom pooling across the frozen pavement.
Dennis didn't hesitate. He swung again—
But Tyrian had already flipped back, blood dripping from his severed limb, his body coiled in pure, twisted agony.
Dennis steadied himself, gripping Starscourge tightly. "Not so cocky now, are you?"
Tyrian's face twisted with pain—then with something else.
Madness.
He cackled.
"Oh, that was delicious!" he rasped, clutching his ruined tail. His body shook, either from agony or laughter—or both. "I haven't bled like this in years!"
Dennis moved in for the final strike—
But Tyrian suddenly fired, unloading his sidearm in a desperate, wild spray.
Bullets ripped into Dennis' aura, staggering him just enough for Tyrian to vanish into the shadows, leaving only his twisted laughter behind.
Dennis steadied his breathing, eyes scanning the streets.
Silence.
The Grimm were still lurking.
And now, Dennis had a city to save.
He exhaled, gripping Starscourge tightly.
"Winter's gonna be pissed about this one."
Then, without another word, he turned back toward the chaos.
Mantle was still burning. And Dennis had a job to do.
Dennis' scroll rang suddenly, its sharp chime cutting through the distant chaos outside. Mantle was burning.
Even from the rooftop he stood on, he could see the deep, angry glow of the fires spreading across the lower districts. The city, already worn down and battered by Atlas' neglect, was being torn apart. Rioters smashed storefronts and overturned vehicles, their shouts merging into an overwhelming roar of rage. Some people ran in a desperate panic, trying to protect their homes or escape the violence. Others fought back against the Atlesian Knights that struggled to contain the unrest, their mechanical voices drowned out by screaming. Gunfire cracked in the distance.
Dennis let out a slow exhale, smoke curling from his mouth as he flicked the butt of his cigarette away. Then, he pulled out his scroll and answered the call.
"Dennis, where are you?"
Winter's voice was sharp, clipped—already filled with suspicion.
Dennis hesitated for a fraction of a second, knowing full well that no answer he gave would satisfy her.
"…I'm down in Mant—"
"YOU ARE WHERE?!"
Dennis sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm in Mantle."
"In this chaos?!" Winter's voice carried the sharpness of a blade. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? The entire city is collapsing! Riots, looters, Huntsmen abandoning their posts—" she sucked in a breath before finishing coldly, "—You need to extract now. I will not hear any arguments."
Dennis cast one last glance at the burning city below. Even now, the fires spread further, consuming everything in their path. The air smelled of smoke, gunpowder, and blood. He had seen cities fall before, but something about this felt different. Personal.
"Yeah, I was planning on it," he muttered. "I just fought Tyrian Callows."
Silence.
Winter didn't answer immediately, and Dennis could feel the shift in her demeanor through the phone. Her rigid composure cracked, her breathing slow but sharp.
"…Come to the infirmary as soon as you're back," she finally said, her voice quieter now, almost fragile. "…Please."
Dennis exhaled, rubbing his temple. "Yeah, I will."
A pause. Then:
"I love you," he said.
Winter hesitated for only a moment. "I love you too."
The call ended, and Dennis slipped the scroll back into his pocket. His fingers tightened into fists before he turned on his heel, heading toward the extraction point.
The sooner he left, the better.
Atlas Academy's infirmary was unusually quiet, though the tension in the air was suffocating. The war had left its mark here—beds were filled with injured soldiers, field medics moved between them, and the overhead lights flickered slightly from the strain on the city's energy grid.
Dennis stepped inside, his boots echoing against the cold floor.
Winter was already there. The moment she saw him, her usual stern expression melted into something unreadable. Then, without hesitation, she closed the distance between them and pulled him into a tight embrace.
Dennis blinked in mild surprise before smirking. "Not that I mind the attention, but—"
Winter pulled back, eyes narrowing. "What were you thinking?"
Dennis groaned. "Here we go…"
"You walked into Mantle while it was rioting, you didn't tell anyone, and you fought Tyrian Callows." She crossed her arms. "Do you even hear yourself?"
Dennis sighed. "I know it was reckless, but—"
"But nothing." Winter shook her head, exhaling sharply. "I know you're strong. I know you can handle yourself. But you cannot do things like this alone."
Dennis looked down, guilt flickering across his face. "Didn't want to worry you."
Winter's expression softened. She stepped forward, reaching up to tilt his chin so their eyes met. Then, without a word, she kissed him—slow, firm, a silent reminder of what she could have lost.
When she pulled back, her hands moved to the buttons of his coat.
"Take this off," she instructed.
Dennis raised an eyebrow. "Winter, if you wanted me shirtless, you could've just asked—"
Winter rolled her eyes. "Don't be difficult."
Smirking, Dennis shrugged off his specialist coat and unbuttoned his black shirt. His torso, covered in tattoos and old scars, was revealed to her once again. Winter's fingers ghosted over his skin, searching for any sign of injury.
Satisfied, she sighed in relief. "Thank God."
Dennis quirked an eyebrow. "Why?"
"You said you fought Tyrian Callows."
"Yes."
"He's a scorpion Faunus. His stinger is laced with venom, and his Semblance can disable Aura. He's arguably the perfect assassin."
Dennis smirked. "I'd argue against that."
Winter narrowed her eyes. "You are not an assassin anymore, Dennis. You're a Specialist."
"…Right."
She sighed, shaking her head. "Just—come on. We need to see Ironwood."
Ironwood's office was heavy with tension. The General stood behind his desk, his expression unreadable, while RWBY and JNR stood in front of him. The air was thick with unspoken words.
Dennis and Winter stepped inside.
"Sorry we're late," Dennis said casually. "Had some issues to sort out."
Ironwood nodded but barely acknowledged him. His sharp eyes were locked onto Ruby. "Now, what was it you wanted to tell me?"
Ruby hesitated, glancing between her team before finally speaking.
"We… may not have been completely honest about Salem."
Ironwood's brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"She's immortal," Ruby revealed. "As in, she cannot die. By any means."
The room went silent.
Dennis felt those words slam into him like a freight train.
Ironwood's face paled.
"Like—no matter what?" Dennis asked, his voice unusually quiet.
"She will live forever," Ruby confirmed. "The gods cursed her."
Dennis let out a sharp, bitter laugh, running a hand down his face. "You have got to be fucking kidding me."
Winter's fingers gripped the edge of her coat tightly, her knuckles pale.
Dennis turned to Ruby, his frustration boiling over. "And you thought now was a good time to tell us this?! After everything? After the people we've lost, the fights we've had—and you're just now saying that she CANNOT BE KILLED?" His voice rose, raw with emotion.
Winter placed a hand on his shoulder, grounding him.
"All of you, leave," Ironwood ordered coldly. "Except for Dennis and Winter."
The others hesitated before slowly filing out, their heads bowed.
Ironwood turned away, staring out at the city below.
"I have no choice," he said quietly. "Mantle will have to be abandoned. I will do everything in my power to preserve Atlas."
Dennis exhaled heavily, feeling the weight of those words settle over him.
"You two are dismissed."
The walk back to their apartment was quiet.
Dennis and Winter moved through the pristine hallways of Atlas Academy, but the usual sense of order felt hollow now. Even here, in the heart of the floating city, people whispered about the riots below. Atlas soldiers moved in squads, reinforcing key points in case the unrest spread.
Winter remained composed, but Dennis could feel the tension rolling off her. Her grip on his arm was firm, her steps purposeful, but her mind was elsewhere.
They reached their apartment. The moment the door closed behind them, Winter let out a breath she had been holding.
Dennis removed his coat, hanging it up before undoing the first few buttons of his shirt. Winter did the same, undoing the tight bun in her hair, letting the silver strands cascade over her shoulders.
Dennis watched her with a small smirk. "I don't think I'll ever get tired of seeing you like this."
Winter turned, raising an eyebrow. "Like what?"
"Like you. Not the Specialist, not the soldier—the real Winter."
Winter exhaled, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Well, I am your wife."
Dennis grinned. "That you are."
Winter guided him toward the couch, and he followed without resistance. They sat together, Dennis leaning back while Winter curled into his side, her head resting on his shoulder. He pulled out a cigar, cutting it before lighting it, the scent filling the room.
Winter glanced at it, amused. "You know, I'm surprised my father gave you those."
Dennis took a slow drag before exhaling. "Jacques might be a bastard, but he cares about his daughters. He respects that I take care of you."
Winter hummed. "I suppose that's true."
Dennis stared at the flickering flame of the fireplace, lost in thought. The silence stretched between them, heavy with the weight of what they had just learned.
After a while, he finally spoke.
"So… what are we going to do?"
Winter shifted slightly, looking up at him. "What do you mean?"
"About Salem," Dennis said. "She's immortal. So what the hell have we been fighting for this whole time?"
Winter was quiet for a moment. Then, she reached for his hand, intertwining her fingers with his.
"For the people," she said softly. "To protect them, to give them a future. That's our responsibility."
Dennis sighed, bringing the cigar to his lips. "I dunno, Winter… I just found happiness—real happiness, with you. And now? Now I'm being asked to throw it all away to fight some immortal goddess of Grimm." He looked at her, his dark brown eyes searching her icy blue ones. "I'm not sure I'm willing to lose what I have for a war we can't even win."
Winter's gaze softened.
She shifted in his lap, straddling him, her hands cupping his face. She could see it in his eyes—the exhaustion, the conflict, the frustration. She had seen him face impossible odds before, but this was different. This was doubt.
She brushed her thumb over his cheek. "Dennis…"
She hesitated, then glanced down at her ring.
"…Before we met, you weren't given much. You were forced to cause so much destruction just to survive. And now? Now you're being asked to fight a battle that may never end." She exhaled. "I understand why you feel this way."
Dennis watched her intently, his hands resting on her waist.
"But you've changed," Winter continued. "Whether it was for personal gain or not, you became strong. And now, you can help people. You have the power to protect those who can't protect themselves. That's the beauty of humanity."
Dennis let her words sink in.
Winter leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. She could taste the smoky flavour of the cigar, but she didn't mind. When she pulled away, she smiled at him.
Dennis let out a chuckle, shaking his head. "You really know how to make me soft."
Winter smirked. "It's my job as your wife."
Dennis took one last drag of his cigar before stubbing it out. Winter's fingers trailed down his chest, her touch feather-light but deliberate. He looked at her, seeing the warmth in her eyes, the silent promise.
"You're really something else, you know that?" he murmured.
Winter tilted her head slightly. "Is that a complaint?"
Dennis grinned. "Not at all."
She leaned in again, capturing his lips in a slow, lingering kiss. Her hands traced over his body, fingers pressing against old scars and fresh bruises. She rocked her hips slightly, pressing herself against him, deepening the kiss until they both had to break away for air.
"I think that's a signal," Dennis murmured against her lips.
Winter smirked. "It is."
Dennis didn't need any more encouragement. He stood up, lifting her effortlessly into his arms. Her legs wrapped around his torso as she resumed their kiss, and he carried her toward the bedroom.
For tonight, they could forget about the war.
For tonight, all that mattered was them.