Yo! Back from my accidental break. Forgot that I needed to update this story. That's on me!

Start Chapter 23

All in all, Weiss thought that their escape from the nearly endless hordes of people after her father's reward money had gone fairly well.

No one had been killed – despite Cinder's best efforts – and they hadn't had to use any magic in front of civilians to do it.

The place they'd retreated to was a rundown hotel that, apparently, served as something of a base of operations for the Happy Huntresses. It wasn't a super-secret place, given that it was just an old building off of a back street, but it would likely suit their needs fairly well, and keep at least a majority of the bounty hunters from finding them.

Well, Weiss could hope so, anyways.

As for their crew, they'd split off a bit. Cinder was speaking more with the Happy Huntresses downstairs, ostensibly to try and assist them, but actually to try and figure out their strengths and weaknesses to be able to deal with them if it came down to that. Such did not shock Weiss. Cinder was just kind of like that.

Cheshire, on the other hand, had gone missing sometime during their retreat from the main roads. Wherever they were, Weiss was sure they were getting up to nothing of import. Probably chasing leaves, or watching the snow fall.

She was currently sat in her room – a dingy thing with space for a bed and table alone – with Jaune's mirror leaned against the wall opposite her. He seemed to be lost in thought.

"What are you thinking of?" She questioned him out of sheer boredom.

"The circumstances that we find ourselves in." Jaune answered, meeting her gaze. "In all honesty, I have seen such witch hunts before. Obvious not for actual witches, given that all people in my time were capable of using magic, but… well, I confess that this is familiar scenery."

Weiss nodded. "And to think that this is all my father's doing."

"Yes, tis another thing that has me puzzled. Why would thy father put thee in such a position of risk?"

"Hm?"

"Well, obviously, the people around here have been instructed to take thee in without harming thee, but thou art a Huntress, and they would likely know of such. Not to mention thou art traveling alongside several capable fighters as well. No one has any hope of capturing thee without a struggle. He's essentially started a manhunt in Mantle; one which could turn violent at the drop of a hat."

Weiss grimaced. "According to Robin, there have already been scuffles breaking out between different groups trying to hunt me down. Some people have been injured, and there have even been deaths."

Jaune spat in disgust in response to her words.

"But if you're asking me why he did this?" Weiss shook her head. "I'd imagine it's because I've become enough of a problem to be an annoyance to him. I've been drumming up buzz around the Schnee name that isn't being directly controlled by our PR department, and to him, that's the greatest sin I could've possibly committed. Make no mistake; he cares little, if at all, for my wellbeing. He simply doesn't want me to roaming about and making a 'mockery' of his good name."

"It seems he's doing enough of that on his own."

Weiss appreciated the sentiment. "Yes, well… were that he was capable of self-reflection, I believe the world would be a much better place. Alas, he is not. He is an arrogant worm of a man, who worries for his own fortune and legacy over anything else. Even his own family."

"That…"

Weiss looked over to see Jaune, yet again, reflecting on something. She gave him a few moments, wondering if he would start speaking again, and lo and behold, he did.

"My father was a good man." He began, his voice wistful; distant. "He was a just and fair king as well, but more than that, I knew him for the man he was beyond his crown. He was the kind of ruler who would walk the streets of his kingdom, and chat with the passersby. He was the kind of ruler who would drink at the local tavern with the guards after a successful treatise with a neighboring state. The king of ruler who would choose peace over war every single time, if given the option."

"I was quite young when I discovered that I was to be raised, as my brother was, to be the king. This was after my mother passed away, you see. My father, I suppose, realized that life was far less certain than he'd have wished for it to be. Because of that, he wished for me to be, I thought at the time, a backup in case my brother was to be otherwise indisposed. After all, even with magic, as I've said before, the ability to cure maladies of sickness, or heal the injured, was something thought to be of the gods themselves. None, even in our entire kingdom, wielded such powers."

"I wished to be a scientist, as you would call them in this day and age. In my time, they were astronomers, or alchemists, or herbalists. Those who asked questions about the world, and sought to answer them."

"You've told me before."

"Mm. I have. 'Twas not my destiny, unfortunately. So, I learned to be a ruler, as my brother had already been doing for a decade before me. Despite that fact, that he had such a start on me, I oft compared myself to him. Such was foolhardy, of course, but I was but a boy, and boys are rather egotistical."

"So, I was unsatisfied with my progress, despite the fact that my tutors told me, time and time again, that I was not slow. In fact, I was faster than average. It was just that Caeser, my brother, was a prodigy in most aspects. He was an adept rider, a fiercely powerful mage, and a swordsman of the highest renown. His oration brought men and women alike to tears, and his ability to deftly weave conversations towards his goals, above all others, was such that he was once named the 'Silver-Tongued Prince'. Most saw him as a worthy successor to my father's throne. I was much the same, of course. I adored my older brother for my entire childhood. Looking back, however…"

Jaune sighed, and ran a hand down his face.

"There were signs quite early that Caeser was presenting a false front. Word from some of the maids and servants about the castle said that Caeser was often far curter with them when he was alone. That, and he was oft alone, rarely spotted with others. Such things were not damning on their own, but this was also combined with a general distaste for the common folk. He never went with my father into the city for his patrols, and never met with any of the people keeping the city running, such as the guard captain, or the major officers."

"Obviously, none of that meant that Caeser was not fit to be king. I myself probably assumed he was simply shy. But my father… he always had a better eye for these things than I did. I wonder, now, if the true reason my father decided to have me brought up as a Prince was because he knew from the start of the darkness lurking within his eldest son. If he already knew what would befall the lands of D'Arc should he take power."

"Of course, then Caeser married. And I think that was what melted away my father's initial fears. Caeser was a different person with his wife. Kind, conscientious, and loving. He was warm, and happy. If, at all other times, he presented only a front of who he was, with her he was himself. Unfortunately, his wife passed just a few moons after his daughter was born. In that daughter, however, he found that same companionship. He loved Salem. Salem loved him. He took the throne… a half decade or so after that. My father seemed satisfied. It was odd. Once he had vacated the throne, it was like the life just… drained from him. Without the responsibility of being king, his soul simply wanted to rest."

"He passed the following summer. I remember the day. It was bright and sunny out. It felt… antithetical that my father of all people, so very bright and wonderful, could perish on a day where there was not a single cloud painted in the heavens. His funeral was grand and ostentatious. Something he'd have never allowed if he were alive." Jaune laughed at that. "I… I remember very little of it. I spent the majority of that time crying. I was no more than thirteen or fourteen, perhaps younger than that. My father's death took a toll on me, but… I think it took a toll on my brother as well."

"He had already lost so many. Mother, and his wife, and now father as well. Where he had been recovering, becoming a better person, he once again slipped. Years passed with nothing much occurring. Which sounds odd, but then, the initial years of a king's reign are mostly spent being tested by those in and around them. People wondering what they can and cannot get away with when it comes to a different king than the last. My brother spent his time keeping idiots in line, and reestablishing deals with our closest neighbors."

"It was not until I was… eighteen or nineteen, perhaps, that my brother sought to remove me from the capital altogether. I do not even truly remember what it was that prompted such. I know that, around that time, I had begun to grow frustrated with my own lack of ability. I wished to make up for my lack of strength, and so, when the court magicians presented me with a new power, that of dark magics, I leapt at the opportunity."

"That power… well, I shalt discuss such with thee another time. For now, know only that when my brother saw what I had done, what I was now capable of, he looked for any excuse to remove me as an obstacle to whatever plans he had made. He had me banished from the kingdom. I raged and screamed at him, but… well, there was some part of me that felt guilty for what I'd done; for embracing darkness as I had. I did not entirely blame him for throwing me out."

"And then I ended up in Oakenshire. From there, thou knowest the story."

Weiss did. She had been entirely lost in Jaune's telling for the last ten to fifteen minutes, and had subsequently lost track of time.

"Thank you, for telling me that." She said, a bit wistful herself. "It is good to know that one of us had a half-decent relationship with their family, at least."

"Hah, I would not describe my relationship with Caeser as half-decent, but with my father and mother? Yes, I suppose it was."

That brought something up that Weiss had, admittedly, been a tad bit curious about.

"You've talked about your father and your brother quite a bit. …What of your mother? I don't think I've heard you speak at length about her. "

"Ah." Jaune sighed out, sounding a bit sad. "That would be because I barely remember her. She was… motherly. Although that is a rather poor descriptor, I suppose." Weiss chuckled, but otherwise tried to stay silent. "She had light blonde hair. Emerald green eyes. She was pale, far too much so. Sickly, I suppose. The kind of person for whom running a mile could well be fatal."

"But she had such a wonderful spirit. She was curious, and playful. It was said that my father had once been a more uptight man. The kind of person one would expect in a noble. Curt and short and single-minded. That all changed when he met and fell in love with my mother." Jaune's countenance lit up. Weiss saw, in that moment, that he remembered more than he perhaps cared to. "Ugh, they'd embarrass both myself and my brother at their galas and balls. They'd dance and sing so ridiculously, and have the entire room abounding with gaiety. Other times my mother would commission ludicrous paintings from the artisans in the castle town, of my father with a pot belly and a pig's tail, or with the head of a small breed of dog. Hah… That…"

Jaune's expression fell, then, until he was staring off at the wall behind Weiss, not even really there.

"…That was perhaps the happiest time of my life. It… lasted so short a time. My mother died when I was… young. Very young. Too young to see that my father and brother, both, were hurting terribly. That the kingdom of D'Arc was mourning their queen as well, who had been nothing but wondrous to them. I think my father… tried to become more like her, after her death. It is a part of the reason why he became so outspoken, so playful. Perhaps it was all an act. Or perhaps… perhaps it was his means of honoring her."

"…What was her name?"

He smiled. "Joanna. Joanna de Leville Lamon. Or, well, that was her name before she married into the D'Arc's. After that, she was Joanna de Leville D'Arc."

Weiss leaned forward on her bed. "She sounds wonderful."

"She was." He remarked, and his voice carried a sorrowful reminiscence with it.

"…She really was."

Silence reigned. For a while, nothing at all was said. Finally, Weiss found herself yawning, and she realized that she probably did need rest. She hadn't had much chance that day, what with the constant run-ins with bounty hunters trying to get rich quick.

"I'm… going to sleep a while." She told Jaune.

"Understandable. I will remain here, then."

"Do you not need to sleep?"

"Hm?"

"I figured that you might need to… turn off every once in a while."

"Ah. Well…" Jaune sighed. "Such are the effects of the magic that has taken ahold of me. Once again, I will speak to thee more on them another time. For now… well, dark magics are called such for a reason. There is always a price to pay for power…"

"And I hath paid it in full."

/

"You do understand what you're here to do, yes?"

"Oh, remind me again, Wattsy-poo."

Tyrian Callows giggled out under his breath in purest glee as Watts growled in annoyance. It was always such fun to mess with the serious members of their group, none more so than Watts and Cinder. It was such a shame the latter had left their ranks. He'd always liked having her around to trick and tease.

Ah, well. He'd just have to settle for killing her instead.

Yes, that was a fine substitute.

"You are to retrieve the mirror containing the Dread King," Watts seethed as he repeated himself. "It is currently located, alongside its bearer, within the building you see before you."

Tyrian lowered the scroll in his hands, showing that below, sure enough, there was an old building of some kind that had been converted into a base. The group that resided within it were apparently called the Happy Huntresses, which was a name so dripping with ironic potential that Tyrian almost wanted to kill a good half its members just to see what would happen.

Would they be the Sorrowful Huntresses? The Angry Huntresses? Oh, how curious he was!

He had a mission, unfortunately. Not even one provided to him by his goddess. Of course, The others all worked in her service, but none of them cared in the same way that Tyrian did. If he had it his way, it would be but him and blessed Salem together against the world.

"Oh, and do kill Cinder if you're given the opportunity." Watts continued on. Tyrian had missed a good half of his objectives, but that was fine. It wasn't like he was going to follow them to the letter, anyways. "Frankly, we'd all be better off to be rid of her."

Tyrian almost wanted to bring Cinder back alive just to see the look on Watts' face. Unfortunately, they were in agreement that Cinder had to be dealt with.

None would betray his goddess and survive. He would not allow it.

He felt something, then, on the very edges of his periphery. Tyrian had often been told that his intuition bordered on freakish, but frankly, he'd had little choice with the life he'd lived but to develop instincts that could hone in on even the most basic of stimuli. He looked down at his scroll, blew Watts a kiss, and chuckled as the man hung up on him.

He pocketed the device, zipped the pocket up, and turned around.

"And who's our mysterious visitor, hm?"

There was no one there; at least not visually. Tyrian knew for a fact, however, that someone was nearby, and he was rewarded by an impressed-sounding grunt.

"You actually managed to notice me. How curious."

A being melted from out of the shadows at the other edge of the rooftop. They wore a black cloak over their entire body, disguising any more notable features, and their face was covered with a horrendously rusted mask, which reminded Tyrian of one of his favorite stories.

"And who might you be, oh rusted one?" He chimed out, extending a hand in greeting.

"My name is Cheshire."

"And for what reason are you here, Cheshire?"

"Before I tell you that, might I ask you a question?"

Tyrian tilted his head to one side. How odd. He was not used to meeting many people like him.

It was oddly refreshing. He decided then and there to hear the being out.

"Why, certainly. I've nothing better to do."

"Excellent." The thing nodded its head. "For what reason do you serve that woman?"

For a moment, Tyrian couldn't even parse the question. It took him another to understand the meaning hidden within, and when he did, a profound rage overtook him.

"Do not refer to her with a title so mundane!" Tyrian hissed. "She is a goddess amongst mortals! Her word is as law, and I shall have it respected!"

"My apologies. I meant no offense at all."

Tyrian's breathing evened out, but only just so.

"Hmph. Do not make such a mistake again."

"I shan't, of that you have my word. But I would ask you answer the question, nonetheless. To what end do you serve your goddess?"

Tyrian thought on the nature of the question for a while. It was deceptive in its simplicity, for he had so many different answers he could provide.

"She saved me." He decided on saying. "Granted me a purpose beyond the hell I had known for all my life. I was but a humble slave, and she lifted me up, freed me from my bonds, helped me to bring holy retribution to those who had wronged me… how else could I repay her but to become her most hallowed messenger? An angel of the goddess!? I aim only to share her bountiful kindness with the world!"

Cheshire tilted their head to one side. "Hm. How intriguing. My own gods abandoned me. They left me behind, and created new beings. They cherished them, stayed with them… and those creations did not appreciate them a bit. For that…"

Cheshire turned to him, and though Tyrian could not see their eyes, he knew they were peering into Tyrian's own.

"I will make those creations suffer."

So, they wished to extract revenge? Such a paltry goal, but Tyrian had once been so simply-minded as well, before his eyes had been opened. Such could be given to this being as well.

"Tell me, would you be interested in serving my goddess? I promise you; she is a being of purest kindness."

"I'm afraid I have to decline." Cheshire shook their head. "I have things I must do, and your goddesses' goals do not align with them."

He felt a twinge go up the back of his spine, then, and his fingers twitched, his feet already taking a stance.

"Ah, a shame. If your own goals go against my goddesses'…"

Tyrian drew the Queen's Servants, and bent low, poised to strike at a moment's notice.

"Then you will have to be removed."

"I'm afraid it is the same for me." Cheshire's voice did not sound apologetic. "You would but get in my way. I still require the girl and her mirror to stay within Atlas unaccosted for the time being. And it seems your goal is very much in the way of that."

"Oh? After the mirror as well?"

"In some manner, yes." From underneath Cheshire's cloak, an arm emerged, clad in a rusted bracer and an old, leather glove. From out of it sprang a luminescent claw, which almost glowed with neon pinks and blues. "But I've little need to explain myself to you. After all…"

And then, without warning, Cheshire simply disappeared.

Tyrian had but a moment to react, but react he did. His tail flicked, catching the spectral claws that threatened to come down on him from behind.

He turned, and saw his assailant bearing down on him.

"You'll be dead in just a moment's time."

The follow up attack was just as ferocious, and Tyrian pivoted back, using his ability to bend in unnatural ways to duck beneath the claws that raked across where his face had been just a second prior. He flipped back, and, in midair, tried to lash out with his stinger, to strike against Cheshire's flesh.

It struck metal. Armor below the cloak.

He was buffeted back by a strike from the other arm. Cheshire wielded two pairs of claws, now. Each grew from out of their hands like phantom gloves.

Tyrian giggled to himself as he stood. He could already tell this would be fun.

"Hah! You're good."

Cheshire said nothing. They tilted their head to one side, and then the other. Tyrian couldn't see anything beneath the mask, but from this angle, with the moonlight at his back, he could just barely see the reflection of eyes staring back at him.

They glowed with that same pink and blue as the claws.

"So, just what are you?" He asked, far too curious himself. "You're no human being, and you're no faunus, either."

"Oh? You can tell that?"

"Someone less astute wouldn't be able to, I'm sure, but I have a knack for these sorts of things. Since I'll be dead anyways, why don't you tell me? I'm practically dying of curiosity over here."

"Fine," Cheshire hissed out, leaping at Tyrian and attempting to strike him. He attacked back, not missing a beat. "Perhaps this would be an adequate way of getting out some of the annoyance," Cheshire annunciated that particular word as their claw batted away Tyrian's tail, and scored a nasty hit on his chest, knocking him to the cold roof below. "that's been building within me!"

"Oh!?" Tyrian questioned despite having his back to cold, hard stone. "Do tell!"

Claws impacted the roof where he'd been laid, but he was quicker than that, sliding through Cheshire's legs and striking their groin with his stinger. It was a normally unarmored area, after all, but aura – not armor – caught the blow, preventing it from doing any real damage.

He'd need to strip the aura from that spot, then, if he wanted to strike beneath.

His opponent spun in place, trying to strike out at him as he made distance. It was a good hit, but not quite enough to make contact with Tyrian, who snaked around it.

"For the longest time," Cheshire began, their voice taking on a hint of feverish anger. "I was left behind, made to think I was worser, lesser, than those my creators chose over me. After long enough, I simply assumed they must've been right. That these new creations would be the apex of all; above any of the creations that I myself knew quite well."

"But then, one day, without warning, stars began to fall in my land, and from them came those very creations; those that my creators had chosen over me! And what did I find!?"

Cheshire swung, and this time, the claws dug through Tyrian's own aura, scraping away at his skin, and the muscle beneath. He was so surprised by that newfound ability that he was blindsided by another blow, and sent hurtling off of the roof.

He landed hard on another a way's away, lower by two or so stories. He had no choice but to force himself up, flipping off of the ground as Cheshire slammed down on where he'd just been.

"I found a people worse than those my creators had left behind!" Cheshire shouted, quivering with rage. "Selfish, arrogant, greedy creatures! They were far from the perfect specimens that I had come to expect! And what was worse was that those I had met were supposed to be the better ones! They told tales of awful, terrible people, who'd done even worser things than they! Far worser! In my land, the actions that these beings had taken were unthinkable, and yet, my creators had chosen them!? Over me!?"

Tyrian dodged inwards, trying to take the offensive. Yet he was matched blow for blow. Whoever this Cheshire person was, they were more skilled than he'd initially assumed. They batted some of Tyrian's trickiest attacks away like they were nothing, and answered in kind with ones that Tyrian had difficulty fending off at all.

As odd as it was to admit it; he was losing.

"And so, I knew what I must do!" Cheshire yelled out, catching Tyrian's stinger before it could close in on his head, and breaking the joint at the tip. Tyrian seethed with pain, but he couldn't yet fix that problem. He had to win, first. "I had to confirm the veracity of what I had been told! So, I made the journey here, with help from an old friend," Tyrian found himself kicked in the stomach, and the air knocked out of him. "I arrived here, and I sought my quarry. The journey was long, and arduous, and during it, I saw much of humanity with my own eyes."

"Yet, I could not trust my eyes and ears, my thoughts, for my creators had not trusted them! And so, instead, I focused on another. I journeyed to a source of supreme and absolute truth, and I asked of it if what I had been told was true."

Tyrian was flagging. His aura was barely there, and already, it had been breached during this battle. Some… some ability to manipulate aura? How?

"And it was." Cheshire's voice was disgusted; utterly repulsed. "These people had cast away my creators; shunned and abandoned by them. And in return, my creators had seen just how wicked and spiteful these newest creations were. And because of it, they left even this land behind entirely."

Cheshire turned down, and looked Tyrian in the eye. The bright, broken moon silhouetted them against the sky.

"In that moment… I knew my mission!"

Tyrian was thrown back by a combined attack from both claws, and then, when he least expected it, Cheshire grew a tail of their own, which snaked out like a barbed whip and smacked against Tyrian's aura. He smiled and grimaced all at once, thrilled to be this entertained.

But Salem would be disappointed in him if he failed here. So, he could not; would not. His aura was failing him, but it had to last; he'd make it last! He charged forth, drew his singular remaining blade up in front of him–

"I will cleanse these mongrels, and create a world that they, my creators, will return to!"

And then Cheshire was on him.

There was no interim moment. No dash or leap. Tyrian had blinked, and that was that.

He had a moment, a single, solitary instance of time to recognize that the game was over, that he'd been defeated, before three glowing, spectral claws sunk into his chest, and emerged out of his back.

He hacked up painfully, stumbling back as Cheshire drew their claws from out of him. He hit the ground hard, his vision blurring from the impact.

It… was this really…

"Ah. But I must thank you. I really do feel much better."

Tyrian wheezed, the wound on his chest bleeding profusely onto the rooftop beneath him.

"I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me. Had I not had this chance to vent, I imagine I'd have unleashed these emotions on someone else, and that could've been quite bad. If I had done so upon some civilian, why, my own allies would be at my throat. And that just wouldn't do."

Tyrian could but stare at the sky, flush with the ground as he was. He heard the sound of footsteps. They grew closer.

"My apologies, again. I really would've liked to speak with you more. Alas, it seems that was not to be."

Cheshire's spectral claws had grown to a frightening size as their bearer stepped over Tyrian. Their shadow in the moonlight completely obscured Tyrian from view.

He saw no light. Nothing.

Only the darkness that lurked within Cheshire.

"Goodbye, servant of a false goddess."

And then the claws swung down.

End Chapter 23

Well, well. Cheshire finally goes mask off (figuratively), and we learn more about their motives and ultimate goal. For the time being, this story will be staying on a more... loosey goosey schedule. It will update around every two weeks. If my classes end up being easier than expected, that can change. Will have to see.

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