A/N: And here it is... There's no going back now.
RhoMarck: ...
Winter only had one thing on her mind, to visit her younger sister. There were plans made by General Ironwood for her to arrive at Vale on a later date, but they were quickly dashed to the side as she received news of Weiss being assaulted mid-journey to Atlas.
She needed to see her sister. Scold her for returning to Atlas in such a short time, and to personally see if she was fine.
She didn't have any time to talk to her during the incident at Kyleneath's restaurant, as she was promptly sent away on another mission. Now was the ideal time to return to Vale.
She was already on her personal bullhead before the sun rose, and there she finished her preparations. Properly dealing with her hair, properly applying her make-up, and making sure there wasn't but a wrinkle on her uniform, are but the few factors she dealt with as if it were second nature.
Such as it is expected of a special operative.
The travel from her currently stationed location, to Beacon, lasted a few hours. She managed to set foot on Beacon's heliport right before noon.
Now, she didn't want to worry her sister by calling her or sending her a text warning Weiss she was visiting. That would send her sister into overdrive, directly out of her well-deserved resting time.
Considering it was already nearing noon, and that she felt particularly peckish, she wanted to have a modicum of lunch before meeting with Weiss.
This time of the year was marvelous for that, especially at Beacon. The Vytal Festival was arriving shortly, precisely a week from now, thus some of the many attractions of the festival were already set in place, many of which were food stands.
Reaching the location where these attractions took place was easy enough, the difficult part came to choosing where she'd stop to eat.
The diversity when it came to food stands was staggering, from sweets to chips, and full-blown courses. The Vytal Festival had it all. Yet, all of them both seemed and sounded generic at best.
That was until she saw a plaque being nailed atop the generic wooden frame of the food stands. It read 'Stalla Del Viggiattore' colored in yellow paint against the black outside of the plaque. The student nailing it looked familiar too, particularly that black wing of his. Bemaia was his name.
Beneath the stairs he stood atop, was another student; A girl with a broken arm and a black ribbon bow on her head. She was holding the stairs in place for him. She too, looked familiar in Winter's eyes, yet couldn't quite put a finger on where she's seen the girl.
Then, right in front of the stand, there was another sign. 'Cuisine on-par with Kyleneath's'. It's a very daring advertisement, it looked shady at best, and most importantly was that it was eye-catching.
She remembers the boy's food, and she knows that the advertising is true. So why shouldn't she stop by? Winter approached with measured steps, then quietly took a seat near the counter.
As she patiently waited for them to be finished with their modeling, her eyes traveled across the stand. She noticed the door that led to an enclosed space, likely the kitchen, and she also noticed a glass frame with fried goods inside. Some of these she has never seen before.
Her curiosity has been peaked. She's not one to eat fried food, much less from a food stand, but hell why not? It looks appetizing and she knows the chef is competent at worst.
"Shit!" She heard a boy's voice next to her, then the clanking of a metal ladder falling over, and soon after, the low thud of a human body falling on the grass.
Bemaia is lying face first on the grass, beside him lies the ladder, and Blake, who wore a surprised look, has her attention split between the fallen boy and someone in the distance as her hand covers her mouth.
"What the fuck? Blake!" Bemaia raises to his feet, wiping dirt off of his black suit, snapping at the Faunus girl. "You can't hold the ladder straight for \a minute? What was that?!" He asks.
Winter watched yet another familiar face approaching in the distance. Taller than the average man, wearing a black and red tailored suit, and with his unmistakable red eyes, Remnant's resident Bloodfiend alongside a shorter woman fitted on a maid costume, calmly strode towards Bemaia's food stand.
The maid on his side was struggling to hold an opened umbrella above his head due to their difference in size.
"He's here," Blake said in an almost inaudible tone.
Bemaia turned to where she was looking and sighed. "Great." It seemed as though his day was already going horribly. "Blake, go store the ladder. I'll handle this." She nodded quietly, took the ladder with her only good hand, and left.
Maybe it was because of her not making a sound when settling on the stool, they didn't seem to notice their customer waiting. She turned around to watch their encounter, and, should hostility rise, she would be ready to interfere.
"Good day today!" Kyleneath spoke with great enthusiasm as he approached Bemaia.
"Yes, good day." He replied, not so enthusiastically yet still respectfully. "What brings you here?"
"I wanted to pay you one last visit before I travel to Mistral." The Bloodfiend answered. He wouldn't be here for the Vytal festival then. "And I see you've already established yourself well enough." He spoke, amused with the condition of Bemaia's now dirty suit.
"It's fine really. With Jacques funding me, I can kick Viggiattore back up and running again." He said, looking back at the plaque he just barely managed to put on top of the stand.
"Still clinging onto the past I see..." Kyleneath said looking beyond Bemaia, his eyes locking on Winter. "You've got a customer... Unattended." Bemaia's eyes widened as he heard those words.
In the blink of an eye, Kyleneath stood behind the counter, leaning against it. His maid, surprised, looked frantically for him. Winter, surprised by the presence suddenly appearing next to her, jumped out of the stool. "Do not." She said.
Idly, Kyleneath observed her. "So..." He began, "How may I be of service to you, Ms. Schnee?" Despite his super-human speeds, he did not choose to do anything but get behind the counter to serve her. How curious.
"I..." She hesitated.
Kyleneath was quick to capitalize on it. "Oh! I know just the thing for you..." He spoke, producing a small black plastic plate behind the counter, placed two napkins on its side, acquired a fried water droplet-shaped thing with a toothpick attached to the top of it, and placed the food atop the plate. He served it with a soda can branded 'Antarctic' alongside a straw.
"It's Bemaia's specialty you see." He said, in a mocking tone. "A delicacy from the backstreets of district 23... A fried chicken ball, nicknamed 'Co-Sheen-ya'."
With complete disregard for the owner's input, Kyleneath quickly took another one of those from the glass frame, quickly biting onto it. Winter observed as the fired outside shell broke against his teeth, bran fell from the shell and into his perfectly clean three-piece suit.
"Go on, help yourself." He told her, taking another bite from the stolen food. "For a beauty like you, it's on the house."
Bemaia finally reached the counter, throwing a glare at Kyleneath. "Do not give away my food!" He commanded. "Plus, we're not opened yet." He said, shooting a pitiful gaze at Winter, who has yet to touch the plate given to her.
"Oh?" Kyleneath asked, hurt was shown in his voice. "Are you to deny food to a woman sitting on an empty stomach?"
Winter was about to interject, but a howl coming from her belly silenced any protest she could have given. She blushed slightly, eyeing the two. At this time, the maid finally got to the food stand, she waited outside of the stand's entrance for her master.
The librarian sighed. "You can have it. Take it as an apology for the scene me and Kyleneath caused that night."
"Hm." She didn't know how to react to that, but she knew what she wanted to do now that she received the thumbs up. "Apology accepted." She said, munching on the fried treat.
The outside crust crumbled as she bit on it. The inside was a mixture of dough and shredded kitchen. There was another ingredient in there, with the texture and consistency of cream cheese, but at the same time, it wasn't cream cheese. There were also some olives thrown into it as well.
Curiosity fueled her mind. "What is this... Taste?" She said, halfway through munching it.
Bemaia is quick on the uptake. "Catupiry." He said with pride. "It's the first time someone in Remnant tasted it. Is it good?" He asks with genuine want.
She takes a moment to process it and also swallows. "It's... Unique. Not my favorite thing, but it's not bad either." She showed honesty.
"Yeah, that's the usual response. It goes well with almost nothing, truth be told. That's one of the rare exceptions." He says, shoving Kyleneath outside. "And you shouldn't be behind the counter."
Kyleneath, letting himself be shoved by the former librarian, chuckled as he stepped on the grass outside. "Oh my. So forceful! You shouldn't treat people like that." He taunted, taking a seat beside Winter. His companion was quick to open the umbrella to cover him from the sun, despite this, half of his face was still under the sunlight.
"What's with her?" Bemaia asks, taking a plastic plate and a towel from beneath the counter, which he began to clean.
"Oh, Pearl?" The Bloodfiend asked, turning to face the young woman who followed him everywhere. "I hired her as a janitor. But one day she watched me drinking red wine and convinced herself it was blood, and now she thinks I'm a vampire and is adamant to protect me from the sun, wood splinters, and garlic despite how much I tell her otherwise."
The librarian and Ace operative both glared at Kyleneath, Bemaia being the first to break the silence. "She's wrong based on a technicality." Winter remained silent for she hadn't a thing to say to the Bloodfiend.
This Pearl did not say a thing, she just remained by his side with her eyes closed, puffing her chest outwards.
Kyleneath casually produced a pocket watch, checked the time, and sighed. "Twelve..." He sounded not so pleased as one would have expected from noticing it was noon. "I have to take a boat by two..." As he said that, he pulled a singular old-looking key and placed it atop the counter, staring into the librarian's eyes.
"It's good to see you're still willing to move forward, despite being still attached to your past, Operator of Viggiattore's Office." Kyleneath rose from the seat he had just taken and politely bowed to Bemaia. "This was the last stop for me in Vale, but I must go now, or else I will fail the good people of Kuo Kuana."
Bemaia did not wave him goodbye, nor did he say anything, he just watched the Bloodfiend walk away with his maid close behind. The key ominously waited atop the counter.
"Where did that intimacy come from?" Bemaia asked himself, as he picked up the key, pocketing it after a shrug. He knew not what door the key opened, but that was a question for another time.
Winter, as she noticed she was more-or-less alone with Bemaia, it was time to talk. "I wanted to ask you a few things, if that's ok with you, Bemaia."
With many other pressing things to oversee, like where would he get his supplies and the like, he nodded his head. "Shoot."
"Do you know where is Weiss' dorm?" Winter looked to the side, almost embarrassed of asking something like this to a stranger. "I'd like to pay her a visit."
Bemaia nodded his head but didn't give her a very approving face. "Sure, I can take you there, but she's on a mission right now." He says.
Her head falls lazily on her left hand, leaning against the counter. "Guess that's what I get for not calling earlier." She says with a sigh.
Then she blinks. She has noticed a discrepancy. "Wait, if she's on a mission, why is her teammate working for you? Why did you lie to me!?"
Bemaia hummed at her accusation. "No, that wasn't a lie. Blake is hurt and sick at the moment. In the head, I mean. So my partner went in her stead. I can call them if you want confirmation." He replied, moving to get his scroll in his pocket.
He noted that she was acting very confrontational. That can't be normal.
The special operative held out her palm to stop him. "Stop. Of course, you wouldn't have any reason to lie about that. My apologies." That palm soon came crashing on her forehead as she cursed herself.
The librarian did not mind it. "It's fine really. I kind of got accustomed to it when I went to visit your father." He said as her eyebrow twitched. Looks like he's struck a nerve. "I must say, you're way more... Civilized than your sister. I mean it, the offense towards her of course."
This... Cook. This man amused her. She fought back against a chuckle. "Why is that? Did my sister do anything?"
Bemaia groaned as the memory resurfaced. "By the wings, where do I begin to talk about that insufferable brat?" His eyes glued to the ceiling, as he carefully crafted his story.
Winter hummed. It was not every day someone antagonized her sister like this, much less talked about her sister with her. Her motives are to talk to Weiss, talking about her is close enough for her. Plus, gossip about her baby sister is always welcome.
"Her... Insistence on making me go see her father. Then her attitude towards me on the train there!" Bemaia shook his head.
"When were first attacked at the train, I prepared a little arena of sorts, where I would negotiate with the Fang and fight them should the worse come." He stared at Winter with indignation. "She hid for a bit while I talked with Adam. Then, suddenly, mid-talk, she began yelling at me cause I called her a 'bitch' in order to appeal to the White Fang commander."
His head sunk into his hands. "She's unsufferable!"
Winter couldn't help but chuckle at that. "That's probably a heirloom from father..." She said, her smile vanishing as soon as those words left her mouth. In the next minute, she'd finish her quick meal in silence. Bemaia would note some other things about her.
'She's an introvert... Or maybe she just doesn't want to talk.' He thought to himself. 'She's frustrated by the fact that her sister isn't here. She must have come from far away. She looks like that woman...' He mused. 'Now, to what she asked before... Why would someone be so on the edge about a simple reply from a food vendor?'
Conjuring his inner barkeeper, he produced a clean glass alongside a clean towel. "Something bothering you?" He asked, glaring at her from his side, while pretending to clean the cup.
Winter didn't bother to look at him. "Why does it matter to you?" And simply gripped the soda can, opened it, and placed the straw inside.
The librarian shrugged. "It's bad for business if my client leaves with a sour face like that."
She did not respond and simply ignored him.
He sighed. "Just a minute, I need to check on Blake." He then passed through the door behind the counter, leading to the kitchen. Winter did not mind, as her focus was entirely dedicated to the soda can.
Less than a minute later, Bemaia returned with a food plate, he placed it in front of Winter. She looked at it, puzzled, then back at Bemaia. "What's this?"
"It's noon. You've had nothing to eat I bet, and a singular chicken ball ain't gonna cut it for someone your weight." That's not the most delicate way to say it.
Her eyelid twitched at that. "... Did you just call me fat?"
He chuckled in turn. "I called you skinny. You need to eat more, ma'am."
Her eyes flickered to the plate in front of her. She sees a cluster of black beans, many parts of pork meat and skin, alongside rice and kale. There was also some sort of beige powder on top of the rice, which she didn't know what was.
"That was supposed to be my lunch, but I kind of engorged myself by simply taking small samples around the kitchen. You can have it." Bemaia said, scratching the back of his head.
"I'll decline your kindness, this much is enough already." She tells him but is promptly betrayed by her loud and rumbling stomach once again. "How much is it?" She says without skipping a beat.
The librarian returned to the glass and towel bit, chuckling. "For you? It's free. I'm using your father's money to pay for my stuff, you see." He said, producing a fork and a knife. "Just... Shut up and eat, or else I'll feel bad later."
She looked at the boy with mild curiosity, then back at the plate. It looked divine. With a shrug, she picked up both fork and knife and got to it. "What's this... Powder?" She asked, skeptical of it.
"It's manioc flour and some other condiments toasted in olive oil. Another one of the many ingredients I failed to find on Remnant. It goes great with anything related to rice or beans."
She ate with a blissful expression. Bemaia was correct, it has truly been a while since she last ate.
"Why don't you open a proper restaurant? It would be very successful if this is the quality of food you're offering." Winter told him.
He hummed, pondering the idea. "Maybe one day... But definitely not in Vale." He said. "I've done some research on the topic, and Vale will be the last place I'll go for. Taxes are too high on commerce here. The Vytal Festival allowed me this small place, though temporary, without taxation."
She hummed as each word he spoke entered through one ear and exited through the other.
As she finished her meal, she left her stool and glared at him. "We never had the chance to properly greet each other." She said, offering him a handshake.
Bemaia placed both the towel and the glass on top of the counter temporarily. He firmly grasped her hand. "Bemaia. Former Operator of Viggiattore's Office, and former grade 3 Fixer."
In turn, she shook his hand. "Special Operative Winter Schnee. It's a pleasure to finally greet you, Bemaia."
Flattered, but not amused, Bemaia slightly bowed his head to her, letting go of her hand. "It's not open yet, but please, feel free to return to the Stalla del Viggiattore once the festival officially begins."
She smiled warmly. "So long as you prepare a... What was it that Weiss liked... Hasenpfeffer, that's what that was. One for me, and one for my sister, once she returns from her mission."
Bemaia shuddered at the thought, but there was nothing he could do. "Your wish is my command."
With that, Winter left.
The librarian looked both ways, peeking his head out the counter. "Where the hell did Blake go?" A feeling of looming dread fills his soul, something isn't right. "I'll close the unopened shop, then I'll go look for her."
The afternoon came and went. Winter's sudden arrival was naught but a pleasant surprise for General Ironwood, with his right-hand woman present, he could divide the workload with her.
So there she is, the living legacy of the Schnee family, bounded to a chair and a table, her eyes glued to a computer screen. An anxious check of the clock told her it was 10 p.m.
Her personal quarters are completely dark, only illuminated by the white and blue light of the computer screen, the justification being that when she began working the sun was still out and once it was set she told herself she'd turn the lights on once she finished going through 'just one more' document.
On her eyes are lay the reflection of labels, dates, clauses... The entirety of the paper work assigned for Ironwood's eyes only. Or at least, it sure felt like it.
Her current job is to read, categorize, reply, and re-distribute, to their respective competent body, complaints and un-sorted documents.
By no means is this a job befitting of someone with her status, yet it is what the General assigned her to do.
Why?
As much as the title of Special Operative or Ace Operative leads one to believe such a boastful title must be earned through the mastering of all facets in the Atlesean Military's lines of work, it isn't, It simply means that a Spec Op is really good at a particularly important job, and in Winter's case, it's combat.
Not good at programming. Not good in the medical field. Not good in communication or assistance.
She's not qualified for any other job within the Atleasean army, aside from combat, training instructions, and maybe being the leader of a group of combatants.
Winter sighed.
With the Atlesean fleet overviewing the whole of Vale, there is no need for her skills here. If something happened and a major robbery took place, maybe she would have been deployed to deal with it... But...
Roman Torchwick is already in custody at the lower decks.
That meant that there wasn't any big-name treat left in Vale, thus she wouldn't be needed until the General requested her skills to be used somewhere else.
So there she is. Doing clerk work. Cursed to do so by her superior.
Words are barely registered as her eyes scan the pages from top to bottom. Ideally, she would discern keywords that would indicate where she needed to send the file.
With the safety of the Vytal festival entrusted to Atlas, there is a surplus of requests and complaints originating from Vale's government's many competent bodies.
Complaints of safety hazards and requests aimed at infrastructure are sorted and sent to their respective departments. Complaints about the risks of using Amity as the main arena for this Year's tournament are separated into a lengthy folder.
Yet, two names keep appearing in the midst of student complaints. Dr. Martz, and Francisco.
Winter had the pleasure of meeting the doctor before their arrival in Beacon, she knew of his accomplishments and how much he had helped pioneer the idea of Aura and Machine working as one. He is a genius and a prodigy.
Complaints are basically all surrounding the idea of how irresponsibly he used his newest and most advanced creation, using it as a glorified video game, where a student would fight against an opponent from their own past.
For these complaints in particular she was instructed to do the following; Reply that the Atlesean Military would look into it and act according to their investigations, then archive the complaint. That's all.
Dr. Martz's research is currently under the protection of Ironwood and the Council of Atlas. If he deemed it necessary to experiment on willing participants, then it is a complete necessity for the project.
No amount of complaints would change that.
Francisco is someone she has seen twice in her life. The second time she's seen him was during the event at Kyleneath's restaurant, and the first time was when Ironwood reviewed the security tapes of Mount Glemm before Ironwood had the notion of what had transpired that night.
He called her to see a recording of her sister's first official mission. He has said he regretted doing so.
The complaints about this boy were about a scandal orbiting his team. Allegedly, Francisco did not participate in the annual initiation and instead participated in a, allegedly, rigged fight against the untouchable champion. The actual complaints dictate that someone like him shouldn't participate in the Vytal Festival's tournament.
Such complaints have no reason to have reached her. This is a student of Beacon Academy, not Atlas Academy. Did the lack of response from Beacon prompt the ones sending these complaints to turn to Atlas? It doesn't matter.
Into Beacon's inbox, it goes.
Winter rubbed her eyes. How long has it been since she started it? How long has it been since the sun went down? The clock held undesirable truths. It's 3 a.m. and the sea of files did not yet end.
She sighed once again, blinking out of her torpor. "By the brothers... James owes me for this."
Rising from her chair, her joints popping as she did, she stretched her back and inhaled deeply. Her exhale turned into a yawn. "I should rest..." She spoke, staring at her neatly made bed, unfortunately, her stomach growled in protest. That's the second time this has happened today.
"When did I last eat..." Her mind told her her last meal was what Bemaia gave her at noon. "Ha..."
She rose to her feet and opened the door outside. She needs to grab something to eat.
Silence.
Eerie silence, broken only by her footsteps and breathing. The never-ending hallways of an Atlesean Ship could be enough to drive a man mad given sufficient time lost inside, everything looks the same, yet it's different enough so no sense of familiarity is formed.
Luckily, Winter already has the layout of the ship down to a science. One time she got lost, so she dedicated herself so it wouldn't happen again.
Still, she felt uneasy. She didn't know what the ship's personnel did during the early hours before sun break, so she couldn't accurately tell if something was wrong or not, but it sure felt like it was.
Corridors devoid of patrols.
Complete silence upon nearing the crew's quarters.
Indescribable isolation is her feeling.
A set of two vending machines were nearby. Surely, the feeling would vanish once she ate something.
Chips, protein bars, and other snacks made up the selection of the first machine. The second had bottled water, sodas, and canned tea. Not great options, truth be told, but what else was she expecting from vending machines?
Coins dingle as they fall inside the machine's socket. In no time her prize is within her grasp. A protein bar, no brand. A minute later, the thing has already been devoured by the Schnee.
Still, for a ship this important to be so quiet is concerning. Winter ultimately decides to wander around for a moment. Her legs moved before she had the opportunity to command them to.
Heel clicks echoed throughout the facility as her sword quietly dangled on her belt. Corridor after corridor, all were empty. Why? It was late at night, but that was no excuse to allow the place to be unsupervised.
Knocking on the many doors of the crew's quarters resulted in nothing but silence. A bead of cold sweat ran down her face, luckily, it did not ruin her make-up. Someone somewhere messed up in the turn order and allocation of personnel. Once she finds the culprit, she will personally see their punishment through.
But first, she must communicate with the ship's captain about this error, perhaps he would have something to say about this complete disregard of protocol.
"..." She quietly pulled out an earpiece, a speaker of sorts. She isn't required to wear it off the clock, but right now is a necessity. She quickly configures the correct wavelength. With her speaker turned on, she pressed a button to talk into it and broadcast her voice on the other side of the line.
"This is Special Operative Schnee. Bridge, come in." She speaks, almost shouting those words.
In no time, she gets a response. "3-10. This is the communications officer. 2-5?"
"By the twins, I forget this man does not know how to communicate in English." Winter comments as her finger hovers over the button. She presses it. "I'd like to report a complete lack of personnel in the general area of muster station 2, crew's quarters, and corridors 2A through 2G. Over."
It takes a moment for the communications officer to reply. "...This is very odd, Special Operative. The cameras suggest otherwise. 2-1?" He asks.
"In corridor 2G, by the cafeteria. I am staring directly at the camera. Over." And indeed she was.
"...No, you're not? 3-2." He replies, simply. This means 'wait a moment.'
This is all very odd indeed. Cameras not working properly? Personnel missing? The Atlesean Knights have yet to be implemented into the larger vessels, so there is not a single one of them here. Her worry was palpable.
So she decides to do something reckless. "Bridge, I will check on the prisoners. Something is amiss. Over." She spoke, turning her back to the camera with haste, and running at superhuman speeds towards the lower decks as if her life depended on it.
Running as she did, her footsteps only echoed within the empty corridors. While running, Winter reached for her scroll to maybe call someone outside of the ship, but unfortunately, there was no signal. This place usually has a signal, but now it doesn't.
Finally, she reaches the lower decks, still not being able to find anyone.
That changes the moment she enters the hallway where they keep the prisoners.
Her eyes glisten as the morning sun's light is reflected in her eyes. In front of her lay four individuals standing and one on the ground, bleeding profusely.
She knew three of those figures. The smaller one, a girl, was a known and hunted criminal. Neopolitan. And the one beside her is the General's prime captive, Roman Torchwick. But the one on the ground is also Torchwick. Someone's semblance is able to replicate someone else? Its usage here remains a mystery.
The other two individuals, those she did not know, but she didn't need to know them to understand they are actively conspiring against Vale and Atlas considering they are standing face to face with a freed Roman Torchwick.
She needs no further evidence. All of them must face the Atlesian might. "Halt!" She shouts, her voice echoing through the hallway. "What is the meaning of this?!"
Only Torchwick and Neo seem visibly distraught upon hearing her voice, the other two, not so much. "Executioner... I'm still discussing an agreement with our friend here." The woman in a black dress spoke calmly to her larger partner.
The Executioner placed himself between Winter and the other three. His left hand rested on behind his back, as his armored right arm relaxed on his side. Winter couldn't see his face behind his... Helmet? That's what she decided to with.
The executioner spoke as he did. "Feel free to continue our negotiations. Pay no heed me as I measure her strength." As he spoke, an orange vial strapped to his body quickly filled up to the brim.
Winter sneered at the comment. Measure her strength? In this place? In this situation?! The nerve of these people. Do they not know who she is? She would quickly inform them should that be the case. "I am Special Operative Schnee! I hereby declare you all to be enemies of Atlas. You four are all under arrest!" She spoke, pulling her sword off its scabbard.
Winter's eyes remained fixed on the imposing figure before her, he needed to fall first. The Executioner, with his rusted metallic frame and sinister syringes, seemed like a nightmare brought to life. The tension in the hallway was palpable, the air thick with an impending sense of violence.
In a blur of motion, Winter lunged forward, her saber aimed straight at the Executioner's heart. But her blade met only the empty air as he sidestepped her attack with surprising agility for someone of his size. In an instant, his claw-like hand shot forward, aiming to tear through Winter's defenses.
With a swift parry, Winter deflected his strike, her blade ringing against his metal arm. The force of the clash sent vibrations up her arm, but she held firm. She followed up with a series of rapid thrusts, each one aimed to exploit any gap in his defense. Yet, the Executioner blocked each attack with almost mechanical precision, his movements cold and calculated.
"Fast. But not fast enough." His voice was filtered by a vox of sorts.
The Executioner retaliated with a powerful swing of his claw. Winter ducked under the arc, feeling the rush of air as the claw passed over her head. She spun around, delivering a slicing blow to his midsection, only to have her blade glance off his armored torso. He countered with a backhand strike, catching Winter off guard and sending her sprawling to the floor.
"Perhaps I miscalculated. We'll see." He spoke once again as if he was taking notes mid-fight.
Winter rolled to her feet, her breathing steady despite the intensity of the exchange. She knew she was outmatched in raw strength, but she had speed and skill on her side. She darted in again, this time feinting left before striking right. Her blade found purchase, slicing through a bundle of tubes on his arm, releasing a hiss of escaping gas. The Executioner staggered momentarily, but the damage seemed superficial at best.
'No Aura?' She thought to herself. 'Maybe he's a machine, albeit a very strong one.'
Undeterred, Winter pressed her advantage, launching a flurry of strikes aimed at his joints and weak points. The Executioner matched her blow for blow, his claw and metallic fist moving with lethal efficiency. Their clash echoed through the hallway, a symphony of steel and fury.
In a desperate move, the Executioner slammed his claw into the ground, creating a shockwave that knocked Winter off balance. He lunged at her, his claw poised to impale. Winter twisted her body at the last second, narrowly avoiding the lethal strike. She retaliated with an upward slash, cutting deep into his leg. Sparks flew as her blade carved through metal, but the Executioner barely flinched.
'His coat... It blocked my attack.' Her eyes scanned the Executioner from top to bottom. 'Maybe not slashing... I must change my plan.'
The Executioner seemed to grow more relentless, his attacks coming faster and harder. Winter found herself on the defensive, each block and parry becoming more desperate. She could feel her strength waning, the sheer power of his onslaught wearing her down. 'Still, what's with this strength?! I can't keep up!' She thought.
With a final, powerful swing, the Executioner smashed through Winter's guard, his claw raking across her side. She cried out in pain, blood seeping through her uniform despite her Aura blocking most of the attack. Stumbling back, she tried to regain her footing, but the Executioner was relentless. He closed the distance in a heartbeat, his claw reaching for her throat.
"...!"
In a last-ditch effort, Winter summoned a glyph beneath her feet, propelling herself backward and out of his reach. She landed in a crouch, breathing heavily, her vision blurred with pain. The Executioner advanced slowly, his footsteps echoing ominously in the silent hallway. "My Aura blocked it, I know for sure it did! What happened?! What did you do!" She received no answer as her left hand clutched the wound on her side.
Winter's mind raced. She couldn't win this fight through sheer force. She needed to outsmart him, find a way to exploit his weaknesses. As the Executioner closed in, she focused on the damage she'd inflicted earlier. The tubes she had cut seemed to affect his movement, if only slightly.
Using her semblance, Winter created multiple glyphs around the Executioner, binding his movements for a brief moment. With a surge of determination, she charged forward, aiming for the exposed tubes and vulnerable joints. Her blade moved with precision and speed, striking at the weak points she'd identified.
The Executioner struggled against the glyphs, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. Winter's attacks grew more ferocious, each strike chipping away at his defenses. She could see the frustration building by his grunts, his calm demeanor cracking under the relentless assault.
Finally, with a powerful thrust, Winter drove her saber into the Executioner's torso, piercing through his armor and into the machinery beneath. The Executioner let out a guttural roar, his claw flailing wildly as he tried to dislodge the blade. With a final twist, Winter wrenched her sword free, pulling out a mess of wires, tubes, and organs with it.
"Be the example for all who oppose Atlas..." She spoke through ragged breaths. "Ha..." She exhaled loudly, holding onto her side, relieved.
Only... The damage she dealt, while deadly in nature, was suddenly undone. She could only watch in horror as the executioner pulled himself back onto his two feet, unperturbed. The green vial was depleted. He injected it into himself. Such was the nature of K-Corp's Singularity and specialty, HP bullets, or in this case, Serum K.
"If this is a special operative of Atlas, then we have nothing to worry about." The Executioner said, regaining his composure. "Arbiter?" He asked, looking behind his back, towards the woman in black and gold.
Winter's triumph was short-lived. The green serum coursed through the Executioner's veins, mending the gaping wound in his torso with unsettling speed. The Executioner's form straightened, the hissing of escaping gas and the twitching of exposed wires disappearing as the damage reversed itself. The hollow, mechanical, and organic sound of his body coming back online resonated ominously in the corridor.
"Dispose of the poor thing." The woman in black and gold spoke, smiling as she did. The Executioner simply nodded. A chill ran down Winter's spine.
Winter's relief was quickly overshadowed by the sight of the Executioner's reinvigorated strength. He seemed almost more menacing, his movements now more deliberate and forceful. A terrifying realization dawned on Winter; she was up against a relentless opponent who could heal from her most devastating blows. Her own strength waned as fatigue began to set in.
Her hand shot upwards to the speaker on her ear. "Communications, come in! I need backup-" Suddenly, the device on her ear exploded due to reasons unknown to her. A glance at the woman in black and gold revealed it to be her doing, as the tip of her index finger pointing at her glowed with a faint yellow hue. "Huh?!" She grunted, but there was no time to lament.
The Executioner's response was immediate. He swung his massive claw with newfound vigor, his strikes landing with an unrelenting force. Winter tried to parry and dodge, but the sheer power behind his blows forced her into a defensive posture. Her aura flared with each impact, desperately absorbing the brunt of his attacks.
Winter's attempts to counter were growing less effective. The Executioner had not only healed but also increased his aggression. His claw swept through the air in a deadly arc, forcing Winter to retreat. She attempted to use her semblance to create a barrier of glyphs, hoping to buy herself some time, but the Executioner responded by injecting himself with Serum R.
The instant replication caught Winter off guard. For a moment, two Executioners stood before her, moving in perfect synchronization. The real one advanced while the clone distracted her with erratic, unpredictable strikes. The clone's presence made it nearly impossible for Winter to discern the true threat, and her defenses were soon overwhelmed.
The real Executioner took advantage of the confusion. He lunged forward with a powerful, calculated strike, slamming his claw down onto Winter's shoulder. The impact sent her sprawling to the ground, her blade skidding out of reach. Pain surged through her, and she struggled to regain her footing as the Executioner loomed over her.
With a brutal efficiency, the Executioner smashed through her attempts to rise, his claw slashing across her chest and side. Each strike was a combination of precision and raw power, his mechanical limbs moving with terrifying purpose. Winter's aura flickered and waned under the onslaught, her breath coming in short, pained gasps.
It was then that Winter realized that the Executioner wasn't taunting her when he said he was to measure her strength. He already measured it, and it did not impress him. She needed to escape.
Desperation drove Winter to make one final effort. She summoned all the energy she had left, channeling her semblance into a series of rapid glyphs that she hoped would slow him down long enough for her to escape. But the Executioner was relentless.
"Shit!" It wasn't like her to speak in such a manner, but in the current situation, any and all sources of strength were welcomed, even the strength behind curses.
A blue vial was depleted and suddenly a blue gash in the air in front of the Executioner appeared as he slashed at the air, acting like a portal. As he plunged his claw inside the gash, Winter suddenly felt a metallic coldness gripping her neck and pulling her forward and into a similar gash that appeared right in front of her face. In the blink of an eye, she was pulled inside the portal and found herself hanging by the neck, in the clutches of the Claw, her Aura struggling to hold as the claw's grip tightened.
Winter's final moments were a harrowing testament to the Executioner's unyielding cruelty. The metallic grip of the Executioner's claw tightened around her throat, sending a searing chill through her skin as if the cold itself had become a weapon. Her breath came in ragged, desperate gasps, each inhale sharp with the icy bite of the Executioner's grip. Aura couldn't protect her from suffocating. The Executioner's face, now devoid of any trace of mercy if ever there was any, filled Winter's vision.
"W-Wait... I still... Haven't..." She couldn't form a full sentence.
Her hands clawed weakly at the Executioner's iron grip, her fingers digging into the cold metal of his claw in a futile attempt to free herself. Her skin, already pallid from the fatigue alone, grew more ashen under the increasing pressure. Her once-pristine uniform was stained with grime, blood, and the residue of the violent conflict. Her aura flickered desperately, a dying ember struggling against the encroaching darkness.
"James... Weiss..." No more words would leave her mouth, unfortunately.
As the Executioner tightened his grip, Winter's airway constricted painfully. Her face contorted in agony, the veins in her neck bulging grotesquely. The relentless pressure crushed her throat, each squeeze squeezing out her life force in a slow, deliberate manner. Her vision tunneled to a pinprick of light, surrounded by a halo of darkness. The throbbing in her head grew louder, a relentless drumbeat echoing her impending demise.
The Executioner's claw dripped with blood as her skin gave out to the sharpened ends of each finger. With a sickeningly methodical motion, he drew his normal arm back and then plunged it forward. The clenched fist flew cleanly through the air, and Winter felt a sudden, blinding pain as the fabric of his glove connected with her flesh, impaling her cleanly. Her Aura completely broken by the act.
The Claw's grip did not tighten any further, he wanted to see her bleed out, not pass out from the lack of oxygen in her lungs. Winter's eyes widened in shock and horror, her final breaths escaping as ragged, bloody, pained gasps. The sound of her struggling breaths grew fainter, her body growing limp and weak as the Executioner forcefully removed his arm from her insides.
Blood poured out of her mouth and gaping wound. Her eyes glazed over, the fierce determination that had driven her now fading into a lifeless void. The final vestiges of her strength ebbed away, her head lolling to the side as her body went still.
The Executioner released his hold, letting Winter's body drop to the cold, unforgiving ground. Her once-vibrant eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. The Executioner stood over her, his metallic frame a dark silhouette against the light of the rising sun.
"You've grown complacent. A rather sloppy job, no?" The Arbiter taunted her partner. "She might just live from this... Oh well."
With a practiced motion, the Executioner slashed his claw at the air as the blood, once embedded in his claw, flew away from it violently. He wiped the remaining blood off with a handkerchief he produced from his pocket. This was just another Thursday for him.
"If she survives this, she won't survive the ship's fall." He spoke, casually turning his back to the soon-to-be corpse on the ground. "Still, the indomitable human spirit is a thing of wonder. Who knows? If she clings onto her life, she'll be worthy of keeping it."
The Arbiter chuckled for a moment. "We'll see. Or not. Who knows? Haha..."