A/N: This has been a weird month. I've had my first commission! Was it a cool and wholesome commission? No! It was smut, RWBY smut. Then, after a few hours of brainstorming, the commission was pulled off and I won't do that smut anymore. Funny, ain't it? It's been fun writing this chapter, I've had it ready for a while now so I could have more time for the next one, which will be big.
RhoMarck: Carmen didn't bring shit, it was them, these people made of light!
The Dark Hour: Don't worry about it.
Have fun with this one.
"Where are we going?" Yang asked, lazily resting the back of her head on her hands as she walked down the empty street. Weiss too, shared the sentiment of desiring to know where this huntsman was taking them, but she refrained from speaking anything.
Qrow, leading them to this place where he promised they'd get information from, was asking himself if he should actually say something or just let them be in the dark. There were benefits to both.
"How do I say this..." He struggled to find the words, but the two girls waited patiently. "Ozpin told me of your run-in with Torchwick. He was with the White Fang, right?"
"Yes?" Weiss responded, confused by the question that came from seemingly nowhere.
"Right. Do you think he always worked with the White Fang?" He asked another question, the implications of which rang in the ears of both teenagers.
Yang was the first one to have a crack at it. "You're saying that he used to work with the people we're going to meet?"
Qrow shook his head. "On the contrary actually." He stated, taking a sip from his ever-full flask. "These people were the ones to cripple his old gang."
With a puzzled look, Weiss asked another question. "Then, why did you warn us to keep close and let you talk? They're on our side, no?"
The older huntsman did not answer and simply stopped his march right in front of an inconspicuous location.
By all means, this place was as unremarkable as the rest of this town. Empty streets, colorless buildings, and the ungodly stench of fish and the ocean. Qrow turned towards one of those buildings. A restaurant apparently. He opens the door and beckons the two to stay close.
The door swings open, and a gentle chime announces their arrival. The air inside is warm and fragrant, carrying the unmistakable scent of freshly baked dough and melted cheese. The walls are adorned with rustic wooden panels, painted in faded shades of red and gold. Vintage posters of famous huntsmen and huntresses, their weapons gleaming, add a touch of heroism to the ambiance.
The lighting is soft, casting warm pools on the checkered tile floor. Overhead, pendant lamps with stained glass shades dangle like colorful orbs, their glow reminiscent of sunset hues over the nearby coastal waters. The complete lack of patrons accentuated the soft jazz playing from an old gramophone in the corner.
"..." The heiress stands there, speechless. Was this what Qrow was looking for? Lunch?
Qrow finds a cozy booth near the window, its cushioned seats look inviting. "Here, let's take a seat." He commands with an out-of-place somber tone. Yang and Weiss, despite being suspicious of his actions, move to take a seat only to be interrupted. "On the same side of the table as me." He tells them. They comply, wordlessly.
The tabletop is adorned with a vase of wildflowers—daisies, perhaps—adding a touch of whimsy. The menu, handwritten on parchment-like paper, lists an array of mouthwatering options: "Dust-fired Margherita," "Grimm Pepperoni," and "Menagerie's Feast."
The chef, a stout man with flour-dusted hands, works behind the open kitchen counter. His apron is embroidered with a pizza slice wielding a tiny sword. He tosses dough with practiced grace. The wood-fired oven crackles, flames dancing within, turning each pizza into a masterpiece. The two huntresses in training catch glimpses of toppings—fresh basil leaves, ruby-red tomatoes, and gooey mozzarella—arranged like edible mosaics.
"You won't find me complaining here..." Yang muttered, eyeing the menu in her hands. "But, shouldn't we be doing something else, uncle?" Indeed, she could not understand why Qrow took them to such a nice place.
Weiss shared the sentiment. "I think it's very unprofessional for us to take a break before even starting." She said, eyes closed. "I believed we were going to find information, yet you didn't tell us anything about 'how' or 'who'!"
The waitress, clad in a retro-style uniform, approaches them with a smile. Her cat ears twitch as she bends slightly over to take their order, her tail swaying in rhythm. "May I take your order?"
Qrow beckons the waitress over, to get closer to him. She instinctively physically recoils from the stench coming from his breath but still musters enough courage to get close to him. He whispers; "Tell 'im it's Qrow." and returns to his seat.
The waitress, without any further reaction, turns to both Weiss and Yang. "Is there anything else you two would like?" She asks, much more as a form of courtesy, instead of anything else. The waitress doesn't think they'll ask for anything.
Yang's here to prove her wrong. "Yeah, uh..." She stops for a moment, tilting her head to the side to read the menu, squinting her eyes in the process. "I'll get a uh..." Oh, the options. So many.
Weiss sinks into her hands, getting secondhand embarrassment from her partner. Qrow watched with mild amusement, as his niece failed to read the room, something that even Winter's sister managed to do.
"That Dust-fired Margherita sounds good." Yang declares, turning to Weiss and Qrow. "What about you guys?"
The heiress sighed. "I hate to be the bringer of bad news Yang, but we're not here to eat."
The blonde's hungry look soon turned to one of betrayal. She glared, not at Weiss, but at her uncle. "What does she mean by that." It wasn't a question.
The older huntsman chuckled to himself at the comment. "Sheesh. You really are your father's daughter." He patted Yang on the back. "Tai couldn't get signals even when they were half naked on his bed."
With a snarl, Weiss turned her attention to anything else. "Spare me of that conversation please."
Yang remained indignant. "What's that supposed to mean? I'm hungry!" She pouted. Qrow glanced at the clock on the wall. 9:30. At this point, the waitress was long gone. What mattered was that the message was sent.
Qrow was the only one who understood the weight of the moment. "Yang, this is serious. Shutap and let me do the talkin' here. I'll get you something to eat later, 'kay?"
Yang crossed her arms, pouting. "You better." That was a threat.
The old huntsman sighed. At least that was dealt with.
However, the time for respite has already flown, as a man takes the seat in front of Qrow.
At first glance, this man has short sleek black hair, high temples, and a strong widow's peak. He wears a one-fitted black suit atop a simple white turtleneck. A beige cat follows closely, jumping on his lap as he sits on this cushioned booth.
Weiss and Yang share a glance, wondering who is this man who takes that seat with unparalleled confidence. His expression is blank, his black eyes are focused, staring at Qrow's red ones. The only thing Yang could read from him was a tinge of anger, showed by his slightly furrowed eyebrows.
"Good morning," Qrow speaks, being the first one to break the silence, showing politeness to this stranger.
"So, a dusty old crow pecks at my window. A bit rude, no?" The man replies with a condescending tone, clearly taunting Qrow. "I don't recall being indebted to any favors to you, or the Brawnwen tribe. What do you want?"
The blonde eyes the man as those words leave his mouth. "...Tribe?" She asks.
Both her uncle and the mysterious man act as though she didn't say anything, their gazes locked into each other. "Sheesh." Qrow chuckles. "Can't even visit an old acquaintance? No wonder why there's no one here if that's how ya treat yer clients." He threw a jab back at the older man.
"What tribe?" Yang asked again. "What Brawnwen Tribe?" She would continue to be ignored for the time being.
"Qrow," The man says. "If you are truly hurt with my manners;" He rests both of his hands on the table. They are rugged and scarred, filled with calluses on the knuckles. This is a man who is not above the use of violence. "Then why are you here if not to seek my services?"
Qrow sighed. "You know why I'm here." He says, sighing. "A huntsman was killed in your turf, that won't fly man." Ah, so this is his 'turf'. "You know what an enraged team of retired huntsman could do to ya."
The man nodded slightly but remained unperturbed. A smile even crept on his face. "I know... But what you don't know is that It has nothing to do with me." He says, pulling out his scroll from the pocket of his suit, and passing it over to Qrow after messing with it for a moment.
"In there, you will find the names of all good men I lost to whatever it is that is prowling the shoreline." Qrow glances at the scroll for a moment. Names attached to mugshots of young and old men alike. Thirty in total. "Whatever it is, I too, need it gone."
Qrow sighed. This is the worst-case scenario. "Anything you can tell us about what we're lookin' for? We are assuming it was a person who did it, a Grimm wouldn't cite poetry."
The man nodded. "A picture is all I can offer, low quality as it is, It could prove valuable for your cause." Qrow swiped through the list of victims, the last file attached to this list is a simple photo taken in a hurry, it is blurry beyond usability in a jury of law, probably taken by one of his men moments before being killed.
The photo depicted what looked like a tall man in an old metal diving suit, the only two distinguishing features were the singular circular visor on the helmet, and blurry algae-like protrusions growing off of this person's body. That's the guy.
An impatient fist hit the table, and the wood strains against Yang's arm in protest of her gorilla-like strength. "Talk to me! What do you know about that Brawnwen Tribe?!" She shouted at the man her lilac eyes turning red as she did, then turned to her uncle. "Why did you never tell of a tribe?!"
The two older men continued to ignore the girl. "In exchange, I'd like to ask you a question... Qrow." The man asked, and when he received nothing but silence, he asked the question anyway. "What became of Team STRQ?"
His words cut deep into Qrow's steadily declining poker face. Still, why would he ask that? "...Tai..." He began, but his throat failed him. "Tai has two kids. Raven left." He couldn't muster enough strength to continue with the reply.
The man nodded, smiling in understanding. "It's fine, I didn't mean to pry." He raised his palm in apology. Qrow's silence told him everything he needed to know. "My condolences."
Qrow turned to leave, rising from the seat and commanding the girls to come with him. "We're done here." He spoke, leaving the restaurant without another word to the man he seemed to have a history with.
Yang stormed off with him, well, more like she stormed off at him as the two left the restaurant. Weiss was the only one to do a slight respectful bow to the man. "Thank you for your time, sir...?" She was unsure how to call him.
The man picked up on this and smiled softly at the heiress. "Morello." He stated. "And the pleasure was all mine, heiress."
Weiss waved Morello goodbye and left the pizzeria.
In her distressed state, Ruby couldn't do much aside from acting as Francisco advised. "Fine..." She muttered, barely mustering enough strength to talk. What remained was the question of how she would get her shit together.
Francisco patiently walks her to the police jeeps and cars, maybe they would have some time to figure things out there.
From behind the vehicles, the librarian heard a voice calling out for them, followed by a raised hand and a woman in a dark blue uniform with many pieces of police equipment Francisco had never seen before. "Over here!" She shouted.
As the two arrived at the makeshift center of operations for the police, Francisco seated Ruby inside the opened door of a car, after being instructed to do so. "The smell got her." He said, cleaning off leftover puke from the girl's cheek with his sleeve. "Got something she can drink?"
In no time, Ruby was quietly and slowly chugging on a plastic bottle of water.
Looking at his surroundings, Francisco noted that there were about ten policemen around this improvised camp. Eight were discussing something outside of his effective hearing range, one was speaking on the phone with someone, and the last and likely their commander, was currently facing him; The woman that called out to them, and she did not look very pleased.
"...Are you all that they sent...?" She was unsure as to how she should respond to their presence there.
Francisco solemnly nods his head. "Yep." He sighs. "What's the situation so far?"
The officer glances in the direction of the beach. "Exactly as you saw." She deadpans. "No way to get those bodies down when those things lash back against us." She sighed. "Without aura, we're vulnerable to them."
The librarian wordlessly reaches for Downpour on his back, shifting his gaze towards the seashore.
As the woman is about to raise her voice, Ruby interrupts her. "Do we know what those tentacles are?" Her voice is still somewhat groggy and hoarse from just throwing up.
"We don't... But we have some theories." She says, trying to recall what was it that she remembered hearing. "My men have a very vivid imagination. First, they thought it was a monster, non-Grimm, that did it to 'em... Then, they said those tentacles could be part of a bigger monster hiding beneath the sand, and those are just their fingers." She said, frowning. "I told 'em to shove it. Those just aren't it."
While Ruby and the officer discussed, Francisco approached the bodies, his goal was to further examine the bodies. Steeling himself through the stench blown by the wind at him, he pulled out his blade, inspecting the corpses.
He began with the impaling tentacles. They look coarse and rugged, dried apparently. First, he wanted to know if they grew out from the ground up because if they did, their testimony was incorrect. Yet, he didn't want to get any closer to it and risk an attack.
"Insight work it is." He muttered, dissatisfied. "I'm not exactly the best at it, but It'll have to do."
He looked at the body that looked to be most recent. The tentacle that held him up and off the ground, originated on the sand and then seemed to go upwards, through the victim's uniform and entering their anus, going through the victim's body and exiting through the mouth, whilst thickening the neck to accommodate the tentacle.
Two things did not add up. One; There is a hole in the belly where the victim's innards are dangling free through their ripped uniform, alongside a small circular hole in the neck area. Two; The victim's pants' hole, where the tentacle appears to have entered from, doesn't look like they're caved into their body, instead, it looks like it was ripped by something coming from inside of it, as the fabric stretches around the area where the tentacle thickens and then takes root on the ground.
This means that the tentacle did not impale the victims from below, they first entered through the neck and grew outwards and both ways from there. What doesn't add up is their bellies being ripped open.
In Francisco's eyes, there is no way to remove the tentacles without damaging the bodies even further. The best way is to shoot them from afar until they stop squirming.
"Still, I don't know how they attack..." he muttered, taking measured steps forward. "Nine meters... Eight meters..." He counted, he needed to know their effective range. "Seven meters... Six meters..."
Just as he entered the five-meter range, a lonesome green appendage slithers outward from the victim's gaping belly. "There it-" With surprising speed, the new appendage becomes a blur as it's shot outwards, aiming at Francisco's neck.
His theories were true, and he managed to react on time, cutting the thing in half while it still traveled at him. This new tentacle was completely disconnected from the body, meaning it was an entirely different entity.
"Could not have been worse..." He mutters. "On par with a TETH... Meaning that the one responsible for this is a HE at best..."
He looked at the cut snake-like thing on the sand. It wasn't melting away or turning into an egg like the abnormalities he knew. "So, this isn't an abnormality... Or It's not dead… A Distortion?" He stabs the thing with his sword. "Either way, I don't know how many more of these things are inside of each of them... I'll have to wait for Ruby to get better."
He sighed, returning to the police camp.
- On yet another unrelated note -
The dimly lit steel corridors of the ship prison he is in are completely devoid of life, aside from himself and a few others unfortunate enough to fall upon Atlas' clutches.
"It's not the time yet." He spoke, his voice muffled by the reinforced door of his holding cell, his head peeking out of the door's window.
"For what?" Another prisoner asked, amusing the thief for yet another conversation.
"You'll see..." The thief spoke, unsure if he should be happy or not. "Notice how there's no one in the corridors? Freedom is nigh I guess." This means that his partner took them out without being noticed. But why?
The other man chuckles, not buying it. "You drive a hard bargain Torchwick. But I don't believe ya. Imma go to sleep now." He says, despite Torchwick ignoring him.
Roman Torchwick remains silent. He knows why there are no guards in front of his cell at this time, and he also knows why the mood began to shift like it did.
"Y'know... Did I ever tell you why I became a thief, despite having huntsmen training?" Torchwick asked, still bored out of his mind. Being inside a cell that's just big enough to fit you sitting down, kind of does that to people.
"..." The man doesn't respond. It's very early in the morning, the sun has yet to rise, it's no wonder he'd be drifting to sleep.
Still, Roman didn't care.
"I was born and raised in Mount Glemm. Passed Beacon's initiation at eighteen... Became a full-fledged huntsman at twenty-two." He chuckled momentarily. "Needed to repeat the first year... Combat's never been my strong suit."
The man Torchwick was supposedly talking to did not respond with words, but instead, he replied with a loud, continuous, dragged-out snore. Roman did not care, because he knew he'd be out of that cell before long.
"Eventually, my team and I would be stationed back on the caves beneath Mount Glemm, right on the heart of that chaos... Oh?" Roman's line of thought was promptly shut down by a hard thud against the door of his cell.
'There she is.' He thought. "Welp, I can't say it's been a pleasant time here..." He spoke, as the door to his holding cell promptly opened smoothly. "But! I must agree that you were the best audience I could have wanted, man whom I know not the name."
In front of the cell, occupying his entire vision, stood a short man in Atlassian military attire, he looked up at Torchwick's eyes, meeting his gaze with his blue eyes. He had short, laid-back, black hair with a metal piece stuck to his forehead.
A chibi-esque version of General Ironwood.
On the head of this miniature solder, laid his black and red bowler hat, whilst his cane rested on his hands, behind his back. His smaller frame couldn't hide the whole of the cane. He looks like he's waiting for something from Torchwick.
"Officer," Torchwich began, smiling wistfully. "I believe I've learned from my past mistakes and I am ready to re-join society." He says, picking up the hat from the small officer and putting it on his own head. "Thanks."
His hand promptly falls atop the head of this small soldier, patting it.
As soon as the palm of his hand touches their hair, the soldier's appearance, as if it were magic, begins to shift to the caricature of a petite girl. Short black hair turns pink, brown, and white. The uniform transforms into a garb of matching colors. She leans into his hand.
"Yeah, yeah, I missed you too," Roman says softly, walking out of his cell.
Looking to the left he sees a window leading to a cloud that obstructs his vision, looking to the right he sees a corridor filled with those cells he was in, most are empty.
"How did you get here?" He asked his partner in crime, receiving a simple shrug as an answer. "Nice." He groaned.
He didn't give much thought to the prospect of escaping before, he doubted that Neo could get him out before Cinder caught Ironwood's attention. Yet, there she was, unharmed and inside the General's ship, with him.
"Seriously, how did you get in? I can't have you pulling stunts like this, what would I do if you got hurt?" He asked, holding the girl by her shoulders. "Besides, you knew that the plan was for me to remain in captivity. Why are you-"
Torchwick's eyes widened as Neo's semblance acted once again. Like glass, the wall behind her broke into pieces, revealing two individuals, a woman, and a very tall... Robot? Torchwick could guess that they were the reason why Neo risked herself by coming here so soon.
The woman wore a black button-up shirt dress with the same colored fur and golden details at the bottom, over it she had a hoodless black cape with a golden honeycomb pattern on the right side and the same dark fur and golden decals both at the top and at the bottom of it. Her gloveless hands are adorned with numerous golden rings.
The robot (Or at least Roman assumes to be a robot) standing tall behind her, wears a black belted trench coat, and a necktie by the collar of his white shirt beneath the coat. Two of his most 'unique' details are his head, which Roman can only assume to be made of metal with a rustic, and a rusted metallic left arm with colorful syringes glued to it. A green one, an orange one, and a blue one. The green one is located behind his head, while the other two are on his arm.
Torchwick stared at the two silently, squinting his eyes as he did. They look like an odd pair, as expected from a couple that invaded an Atlesean ship just to meet him, apparently.
Then, just as he noticed the woman's rings, did he remember a thing he was told some time ago. "A chick wearing a black and yellow dress with a bunch of expensive shit on her..." He spoke, recalling the words the snoring man told him weeks ago.
"I don't suppose you two are here for sightseeing..." He spoke, gazing at the woman and picking up his cane. It brought him a slight comfort having its familiar weight on his hands again. "Roman Torchwick, master thief and the most wanted man on Vale! At your service." He spoke like a true charlatan, bowing his head as he did.
The woman raised her hand, uncaring for his mannerisms. "We stumbled across this lost child." She spoke softly, without an ounce of anxiety in her voice. "And she assured us you can help us find... Some of our friends." She spoke.
If there was such a thing as the textbook definition of shady, it would have to be this lady. Roman thought Cinder held that crown high and mighty, but no, this chick definitely had her beat.
"I could help, of course..." He spoke, unsure of how he should play against her. "But, we're inside a high-security Atlesian ship, I'd be more concerned about how you're leaving this place alive, haha..."
The woman looked at the 'robot' behind her, raising an eyebrow, as if to ask his input. The 'robot' replies in a deep and stern voice. "That won't be an issue." He answers simply, opening and closing his mechanical hand a few times.
Roman does not like the vibes he's receiving here. "I think you misunderstood me. I don't plan on leaving. If I do, I'm as good as dead. The Atlas military would declare a full-scale search on little old me, and my employer wouldn't let me step foot outside of Vale's borders alive. I'm sorry, but my hands are tied! " He says, in an attempt to temper these people's expectations. "Buuuut! If it's information you want, I have plenty to sell."
The woman's gaze danced around, observing the ship's interior. "Hm. No, we're not exactly pressed for time. We can afford to help you if it means you help us." She says, completely ignoring Torchwick's offer.
Torchwick is a people kind of guy, he can understand the average human's psyche rather well, and by this woman's attitude, she not only means what she's saying, but she also seems more interested in the Atlassian ship than she's interested in helping her so-called 'friends.'
"Oh? Enlighten me on how you plan to do that?" Roman mocks, despite knowing she believes on what she's saying, he still needs some more convincing if he's to follow them.
"In ten minutes, this vessel will be reduced to nothing but a flaming wreck in the forest below. I shall give you the liberty to choose if you'd like to be inside or outside of that wreck." The woman says, smiling smugly.
Roman wasn't dumb, if his dead body wasn't found inside the shipwreck, he'd become a fugitive and a culprit of an Atlesean ship going down. "I'd be dead anyway if they don't find my dead body here."
As though that was the easiest problem to solve, the woman looked at the taller man once more. "Can you...?" She asks half a question, and the man is already nodding his head. "Of course." He replied.
Roman watched as this man raised his left arm to the side, an orange substance inside a glass was injected into his rusted gauntlet. "Stay still." He commands, and Torchwick feels no need to disobey, so he doesn't. An orange cloud follows his steps towards Roman, and suddenly he swipes his claw-like hand against Tortchwick's arm.
It goes through his Aura like a hot knife goes through butter, and a large bleeding gash on Torchwick's arm is opened, bleeding. The two don't mind Roman's sudden pained scream as he jumps backward, clutching his upper arm. "What the fuck!" He curses, not being prepared for what he is about to witness.
The orange smoke unnaturally moves towards the droplets of blood on the man's claw. Within the blink of his eyes, a splitting image of Roman Torchwick is formed from the orange smoke, wearing the same clothing as him, with the same cut on the arm, and holding the very same cane.
The two Torchwicks share a glance, incredulous. "Wh-"
Before the Torchwicks have the time to react, the man's claw impales the clone almost instantaneously. In no time, this recently born Torchwick clone now lays lifeless on the ground, as the man swings his claw-like hand to clean the warm blood on it.
Torchwick's eyes widen with confusion and horror. He just watched himself get cloned and then murdered.
Unperturbed, the woman spared a momentary glance at the corpse on the floor, and then she looked back at the master thief. "I believe this solves the issue of your body, does it not? Now," She was interrupted by a third party.
"Halt!" A womanly voice echoed throughout the empty corridor. The sun had just shown its radiance beyond the window. "What is the meaning of this?!"
The four of them moved their head to see who had the gall to so rudely interrupt their meeting. It was a tall woman wearing the garb of Atlas Special Operatives, holding a silver saber in her hand. Her snow-white hair was neatly tied, and her icy-blue eyes glared at them with unfiltered anger.
"Shit, Neo!" This was not the time to wonder about what the fuck just happened with his clone, this woman, Winter, was dangerous and Torchwick knows it. "Can you deal with her?!" He called for his partner, to which she only replied with an uncertain swallow and a bead of sweat rolling down her face. Her body stiffens, unsure if it would be worth even adopting a fighting stance.
The other two looked unperturbed by this external interloper, if a bit annoyed. The woman quickly threw out another other to her partner, as she judged that this white-haired woman was not needed in order to complete her goals. "Executioner... I'm still discussing an agreement with our friend here." That wasn't an order. That was a complaint, and this 'Executioner' was about to act to solve that complaint.