Atlas
Ch 22 - Atlesian Fangs
A/N: I WON'T FALL DOWN YOU NEED ME, WE DON'T FOLLOW CROWDS WE MOLD THEM NEW! I'M NOT DONE, BELIEVE ME! WE WON'T SETTLE DOWN, WE'LL MAKE THEM MOVE! MAKE THEM MINE! (I WON'T LET THEM I REPENT THEM I WON'T LET THEM! SWALLOW YOU!)- ahem… sorry. Like, I think I have a problem, because I'm listening to Bite Me (among other songs from the Murder Drones OST) all the time for weeks now. Like, I said it before, and I'll say it again, AJ Dispirito did NOT have to go that fucking hard with the OST. Also, fucking kudos to Zephyrianna for the vocals on Bite Me specifically.
So you know, in the very first draft of this chapter, the A/N contained a giant rant aimed at Anti-Vaxxers because I got covid while in the process of writing said chapter, but then not two days after I published the last chapter I got covid a second time, so I took that as an Act from the Powers that Be to tone things down a bunch, so that got axed as I grumbled (and coughed… and generally laid around being miserable because covid) about the irony of it. At least I'm doing better than my dad, who's gotten covid FIVE TIMES now. Does he owe it money or something? Like come on, what the fuck does covid have against my dad?!
Also, I've heard (as of the 1/9/2025) rumors about another virus originating in China, to which I will reply thus: Chill the FUCK OUT covid 20, you can wait your goddamn turn, because your older sibling is being that one fucking in-law who refuses to FUCKING LEAVE… Huh… I drop a lot of f-bombs when I'm not deliberately filtering myself. Maybe I should work on that. Anyways, enough vomiting my stream-of-conscious onto digital paper, I should get back to the actual chapter now.
Well, well, wellity, well. It's about time we make the return to Atlas, everyone. And it's time to get back to the little cliffhanger I left that particular plot thread on.
As it would turn out, Roman using a dry-erase board and marker to plan out his heists is actually canon.
As a quick aside, this was brought up in another fanfic I'm reading: At the end of Roman Holiday, Neo gives Roman a kiss on the cheek as they make their getaway from the mansion they blew up. Suffice to say, since they're canonically like a decade apart in age (and probably even a bit further apart in this series), I'm going to choose to not interpret that as Roman being a pedophile, but rather that being a familial kiss with Neo seeing Roman as enough of a father-figure to show that level of affection, and Roman blushing because he's embarrassed by that. Especially since several years back, it was previously stated at one point that their relationship was a surrogate father-daughter thing instead of a romantic one. Suffice to say, much like I deny any of the new Star-Wars films (excepting Rogue-One) as being canon, I will deny any statements or evidence of Roman being a pedo as being canon, as while Roman Holiday is technically canon, it was written WAY after Volumes 1 and 2, which established Roman's character. The rules of Word of God means that regardless of who legally owns the franchise, the original creator(s) have the final legal authority on what is and isn't canon. As such, since Monty Oum's work on V1 and V2 established Roman's character as NOT being a pedo, anything changing that later on, unless Monty comes back from the dead to confirm it, is NOT canon. I categorically refuse to let Miles or Kerry retcon one of my favorite characters into being that level of scumbag.
Anyways, this is gonna be my first attempt at writing in the "Give flashbacks as the thing is happening" format, so wish me luck.
Trigger warnings: Kidnapping of a minor and terrorism. Basically, a continuation from Ch 18. Also some gore/dismemberment, but that's a given in this fic, so I won't be warning about it specifically again in the future.
Disclaimer: I don't own Dark Souls or RWBY. Dark Souls belongs to From Software and RWBY belonged to RoosterTeeth. I only own my OCs.
(Robyn)
While not immediately obvious to the average foreigner, Mantle had a rather extensive network of underground tunnels and pathways. Before the heating grid that now kept Mantle from literally freezing to death, many streets had had underground pathways dug beneath them to facilitate movement when as much as twenty feet of snow could make crossing the street literally impossible. There were also the sewers, maintenance tunnels for the heating grid, as well as tunnels carved by smugglers and Expressionist Revolutionaries during the Colorless Era, the latter group keeping much of the kingdom's art and culture alive when its leadership was attempting to exterminate it right up until they lost the Great War. Then there were the Grimm shelters, and last but not least were tunnels dug to mine veins of dust in the early days of the city's existence, before larger and more profitable mines were found in the surrounding tundras.
All of this meant that if one wanted to evade the notice of Atlas, there was a plethora of underground passageways and chambers one could use to do so. It was this sprawling network that the White Fang had brought their hostage, and if it hadn't been for Miltia using her semblance to tail them to the exact location they chose, they would have never found where they needed to go before the deadline set by the terrorists. As it was, nearly the entirety of Robyn Hill's merry band of misfits (as she'd heard Fionna refer to themselves once or twice when the faunus girl didn't think her leader could hear her) had descended upon the slums in the literal crater left by Atlas' ascent into the heavens, quietly surrounding the building that was the entrance to the particular stretch of the underground of Mantle that they intended to breach.
()
Miltia had come back to the hideout relatively quickly after hitching her ride and covertly following them beneath the earth to their hideout. She'd retraced her steps to the surface, and then made full speed for their headquarters, getting somewhat chewed out by Roman for her stunt, but otherwise, they'd gotten right into the meat of the planning. Robyn's own team, as well as a few of the senior members of the Happy Hunters, had crammed themselves into the lounge room, as Roman had taken over one wall with a few photos of the area surrounding the entrance to their target, a large paper detailing blueprints of the original (and confirmed to be very modified since its construction) Grimm shelter within, and an even larger dry-erase board practically covered in notes and doodles from Roman.
"Right," the hatted hoodlum had begun, "Glad to see all the kids gathered for class. Today's lesson is how to engage in counter-terrorism, and before any of you ask, I am aware of the irony of that statement coming from me." Roman took a breath, and then continued, "The key points to a sting-operation to rescue a hostage are this: Go in fast, go in hard, and get the hostage out alive. To that end, that means we have to either guarantee that they won't kill the Schnee brat until after we can grab him ourselves, or slip one or more people in to guard him themselves, until the rest of us can get them all out. Any questions on the conceptual stage?"
"Can you stop being a condescending asshole for five minutes?" Joanna asked.
Roman leveled a deadpan stare at her. "No. Anyways, there's gonna be three groups involved in this little assault." He swept Melodic Cudgel upwards, using the weapon to gesticulate at his erase board as he continued. "Groups one and two will be infiltrating what we're going to henceforth refer to as 'the bunker,' and as soon as they radio in that they're in position, group three will go in as the distraction. 'How?' you might ask? By blowing stuff up! Soon as they get the signal, they start a full frontal assault on the Fang at the front door, to try and draw as many of them as possible away from the hostage. Give them exactly two minutes, and as long as group one can confirm that they aren't immediately moving to ice the Schnee, then group two would get started."
()
Two Happy Hunters lined up behind the corner of one of the many buildings that sat within the slums. Robyn had shown up personally roughly five minutes ago and she and her huntresses (and huntsmen) had worked to rapidly clear out any civilians in the area (the number was low to begin with considering the time of night they had chosen), though a rather concerning number of faunus wearing baggy clothes that could easily conceal weapons had remained and were eyeing them very deliberately. There was nothing to be done about any element of surprise being lost, however, and as the final few members got in position, she raised her hand and made a chopping motion forwards, and the pair behind the wall leaned around, firing bolts at the feet of the largest congregation of faunus, before everyone went to shield their eyes. Twin bangs blasted out, as the flashbang bolts went off, more effective against faunus than humans due to their enhanced hearing and night vision, and the huntresses went in, aiming for non-lethal takedowns where possible, but not going out of their ways to do so if it put their own lives in danger. Non-lethal takedowns were the aim of the game, as a matter of preference if nothing else, but Robyn had told everyone taking part in the assault that if it came down to them or the other person, Atlas would have almost certainly given a captured terrorist the death-penalty anyways. Speed was also paramount to the operation, both to reach the infiltration teams who had been inside for over fifteen minutes by this point, as well as to be able to have everything wrapped up before Atlas' military caught on to the conflict erupting in the slums and descended en masse. Even now, the small-arms fire that the White Fang were exchanging with the bolts of her own followers was likely being reported to police, and that information would reach military ears within minutes at worst.
Robyn herself raised her wrist as she saw a faunus with koala ears round a corner with what appeared to be a hand-crafted RPG, sending an ice dust bolt straight at the weapon, encasing it and half of its wielder's arm in the frigid material and preventing its firing. Joanna rushed down the terrorist, tackling her and working on restraining her before her weapon could be freed from its prison. Crossbow bolts and gunfire flew back and forth all around her as she grit her teeth and loaded a high-grade fire dust bolt and shot it at the otherwise unassuming door to the shack in front of her. The bolt sunk into the door, beeped twice, and then detonated, blasting the metal portal off its hinges even as she loaded another specialized crossbow bolt. A faunus couple inside were already aiming at her and began to fire the second she was visible in the doorframe. Robyn rolled through the door, wincing as bullets plinked off her aura, and used a small table as a stepping stone to leap up into the air faster than they could track with their assault rifles. She landed behind them, sending a leg out into the stomach of her closer foe and sending him flying into the double bed on the other side of the single-room home. She sprung forwards, free hand grabbing just below the muzzle of the other faunus' weapon, jerking it up towards the ceiling while her own weapon's blade sliced into the barrel and broke the firearm. Undeterred, the woman lashed out, the lizard claws taking the place of her hands swinging at Robyn's face. The would-be councilwoman jerked to the side to avoid the strike, leveling her wrist and firing another bolt directly into her opponent's chest. Taking a page from Roman's book, the electricity from the lightning dust in the bolt had the woman screaming as she went down in a twitching mess, leaving Robyn with just enough time to turn around and position the blades on her weapon and block a swing from the man she'd thrown into the bed. He snarled at her, mouth snapping open to reveal a maw full of shark teeth, and he leaned forwards in an effort to bite a piece off her face. She stumbled back, kicking him in the stomach to make even more space, just in time for a few more of her followers to enter the room and rush him down, one electrocuting him with a well placed bolt, and the other tackling him just after to tie him down.
Robyn took a moment to catch her breath, and then walked over to where the smashed bed was. She pushed aside the wreckage, and then reached for a crack in the floor, lifting the hidden trapdoor and exposing (one of) the entrance(s) to the network of tunnels they were going to assault. She flicked the chest-mounted flashlight she'd grabbed before they'd started on, and without further preamble, led the way into the depths.
(May)
"Group Two is gonna be using May to slip into the bunker unnoticed, and once the fireworks start upstairs, they're gonna go loud in the bunker, fighting their way to where the kid is… once group one finds him," Roman trailed off. "Any questions relating to this operation," he stressed while giving a pointed look at Joanna, "so far?"
The huntress in question glared at the hatted hoodlum. "Yeah. What are you going to be doing while this is going on?"
"Glad you asked, Butch. Since being seen in connection to the operation is a bad idea, I'll be joining group two, since they're the least likely to be seen by the military or the kid." His expression flattened, and he looked over to Robyn. "Just wanna state again, for the record, this is a terrible idea."
"Noted," May's leader replied dryly. "So what exactly is group two going to be doing down there?"
"Causing merry chaos, and fighting in the general direction of where group one reports the Schnee to be at, to make it look like we're the infiltration part of the assault, even though the real infiltration is gonna be left to group one. And let me tell you," Roman said, twirling Melodic Cudgel and catching it just short of the curved handle, before spreading his arms wide. "I can be one hell of a distraction."
()
"Just gotta say," Roman drawled, half-drowned out by the ringing of an alarm, and eyeing a trio of armed faunus running down a tunnel as they hugged the wall so they wouldn't be noticed, "that is a really useful semblance. Definitely could have made my life easier on a lot of different locations."
May grunted, sweat dripping down her head despite the chill in the tunnel. "For once in your life," she asked through grit teeth, "can you shut the hell up for two seconds? In case you can't tell, keeping my semblance on a group of six people in this tight a bubble in a small tunnel is really hard."
The man opened his mouth as they stepped into what looked to be a small kitchenette/cafeteria for the terrorists, seemingly ready to give a retort regardless, but then shut it and shrugged. "Fair enough." His scroll suddenly pinged, and he pulled it out and checked it. "Good news, though. We're clear to go loud."
"Finally," May said, dropping her bubble and watching the five White Fang soldiers in the room jolt in surprise as Roman, herself, and four other Happy Hunters ( two Huntresses and two Huntsmen) seemed to suddenly materialize.
The hatted hoodlum wasted no time, using his thumb to slide the dust chamber in his cane to lightning, letting loose a yellow flare from the barrel that detonated in a cloud of electricity, taking four of the grunts out of the fight immediately. The remaining one went down just as fast when their other four allies took them down with ruthless efficiency. May leveled her staff down one of the hallways that intersected the room they were in, firing the ice-dust bolt at the same time that a pair of terrorists rounded the corner and sent bullets their way. The rounds pinged off the group's auras harmlessly, while the bolt detonated and encased one of the faunus in a chunk of ice. The other took a few steps back while reloading, and one of the Happy Huntsmen, Derrick, was bolting down the hall, darting around the frozen White Fang grunt and twirling his crossbow staff to knock the gun out of the remaining opponent's hands just before she could level it and fire, and then slamming it into her stomach, causing her to double over as her aura shimmered. He raised the staff to crack against her forehead, and then leg-swept her, jabbing the butt of his weapon into her forehead, breaking her aura, before a second jab knocked her out.
"Let's move it, people," Roman shouted, advancing down a tunnel and deflecting rifle-fire with expert twirls of his cane. May sent a bolt down the passageway, where it audibly cracked against the aura of a terrorist, before two more from the huntresses behind her did the same. An ice-dust bolt from Derrick broke his aura entirely, and the resultant burst of frozen water completely immobilized the man. May pushed the high likelihood that he was dead out of her mind, just in time for her eyes to widen as a homemade grenade packed with what looked like way too much fire-dust was slung towards them. "None of that!" the man at the head of the group called out, and May begrudgingly admitted to herself that the thief had some skills when Roman used Melodic Cudgel to hook the grenade out of the air and sling it back at the White Fang without losing any momentum.
The explosion occurred a second later, rattling the tunnel and causing some dust to fall from the ceiling, but while the ceiling and walls next to the detonation cracked, the structure held, which was more than the faunus could say. Several bodies were burnt and mangled at the turn the terrorists had been holding, and a severed arm, riddled with shrapnel, had been blasted right towards them.
"Well, that's nasty," Roman dryly remarked, unperturbed, and Anna, one of the girls behind May, turned around and threw up. The hatted hoodlum looked back, sighed, and turned towards the disowned Marigold. "Take a second to take care of her, but hurry up. We're on the clock, here." He leaned over a bit and looked past her. "The rest of you: If you can hold down your last meal, get a move-on. They'll catch up." He strolled past the bodies to the corner, taking off his bowler hat and putting it on the head of his cane before poking it around the corner. When no gunfire met the hat, Roman placed it back on and quickly stepped out of view, the other three members of team two following behind him, noticeably disturbed by the bodies.
May walked over to Anna and helped her up. "Come on, we got a job to do." Anna groaned, scrunching her eyes shut. "They were literally trying to do the same thing to us." She nodded, cracking her eyes open but refusing to look at the corpses, and let May lead her further into the terrorist stronghold.
(Fionna)
"And last but not least, is the lynchpin of this whole operation," Roman continued, throwing a glance to Fionna and gesturing his cane in the general direction of the Malachite twins. "Given that a bit of testing determined that Miltia's semblance extends to people she's touching, Lil' Bo Peep and the twins will be using Wallflower to evade notice and get to the Schnee. They'll secure the kid, Fionna will use her semblance to provide barricades, and they'll lock themselves away from the Fang until one of the other two groups can get to them and get them all out. Any questions pertaining to the operation and not my wonderful personality?"
Fionna actually had one, and stood up from her seat. "Are you sure that just the three of us are going to be enough until help arrives?"
"Well, the whole point of your inclusion is to use your semblance to throw enough junk in the way that you don't have to fight anyone once you have the brat, because it will be impossible to get to you, so yeah, even for how high-stakes this is, I'm pretty confident it'll go fine." He gave a quick glance around the room to see if anyone else had anything to ask. "Right then, everyone get your gear in order, and make sure you go to the bathroom before we leave. Tonight, is showtime!" He planted Melodic Cudgel on the floor and leaned forwards. "Class dismissed."
(Whitley)
Whitley Schnee felt like shit. His head was still throbbing from where he'd been smacked with a rifle, he felt exhausted in general from the constant adrenaline highs and crashes the situation was causing, his wrists and ankles were sore from being tied to a chair for most of the past few days, he was hungry and thirsty because the terrorists holding him hostage gave him the bare minimum of sustenance to keep him alive, and the only reason he wasn't sitting in his own excrement was because the White Fang untied him and held him at gunpoint when he went into the corner of the room whenever he had to relieve himself. The room itself was fairly large, and possibly could have been a small illicit warehouse to hide smuggled goods at some point in the past. He was kept in the back, where the only cover to be had, some stacked crates, sat, so that a huntsman who managed to get this far wouldn't be able to get across the room before the Fang could put a bullet through the back of his head.
He wasn't sure how long ago the gunfire and alarms had started. It sounded like it was getting closer, but he couldn't really tell from his position, and of much more immediate concern was the four White Fang grunts in the room who were getting increasingly antsy, and one of which had his fingers constantly drift over the trigger of a submachine gun as he eyed the Schnee heir. Whitley scrunched his eyes shut, and silently prayed to whatever might be listening that whoever was behind this assault could get him out of here in one piece.
"What the fuck?" The voice of one of the terrorists made him snap his eyes back open, and he looked to where they were, to see that the door to the room was literally gone. Not opened, not blown off its hinges, just gone. The one with the itchy trigger finger made some hand gestures, and two of the other White Fang grunts moved towards the door, while the third moved halfway across the room and hugged a wall to get a covering angle. The two who went ahead sprinted up to either side of the door, one of them counting down from three with their hands before they both swept out the door and scanned the antechamber outside. A few seconds passed in silence, before one of the two outside called out a hesitant and confused, "Clear?"
A heartbeat later, a figure clad in white with long, black hair, dropped from the ceiling above the door, evidently having been hiding above their field of view, extending blades from her heels before charging the terrorist on the left. Gunfire erupted, and for the half second Whitley could see her in the doorframe, bullets pinged off an aura. The terrorist still behind him urgently keyed his comms. "Huntress! Huntress on the hostage!" Whitley blinked, and suddenly there was a faunus girl with sheep ears and white hair using a staff with a built-in crossbow to legsweep the Fang member across the room, knocking her out with a few well-placed blows. The gunfire outside the room had stopped, and the white clad girl strode into the room, the blades on her heels wet with blood.
"Stay the fuck back!" The faunus behind him shouted. "One fucking step closer and I blow his brains out! You hear me!? Wha-" There was the wet crunch of a nose breaking, and the body of the terrorist sailed into his view, flipping end over end, before flopping to the floor, unconscious. Something sharp sliced through Whitley's wrist bindings, and he immediately shot his hands forwards to try and massage the pain out of his wrists.
A female voice tsked behind him. "Idiot didn't even get his aura up that whole time. Fionna, can you block the door?" The sheep faunus gave an assenting nod, and Whitley turned around as the final girl began to cut his ankle bindings with what he could now see and wrist-mounted claws. From a glance, she looked to be the twin of the girl in white, though her hair was much shorter and better highlighted her pale-green eyes, complimenting her red outfit. Whitley swallowed dryly, and dumbly realized that the girl who had rescued him and was cutting his bonds was beautiful.
"Hello? Remnant to Whitley Schnee? Are you okay?" He blinked, suddenly embarrassed that not only had he been staring, but the girl had been talking to him and he hadn't even noticed.
Whitley coughed, fighting down a tide of red threatening to creep onto his face. "Y-yes. I could be better, but I'm okay. Did my Father send you?"
The girl rolled her mesmerizing eyes, and finished cutting the ropes around his other leg. "No, he hasn't even responded to the White Fang's demands. We're with Robyn Hill, since she decided to rescue you after getting a tip on where you were."
"Oh." There was definitely hurt in there somewhere upon finding out Father hadn't yet started efforts to free him. Though, perhaps he was merely making a plan in secret, and that was why this girl was under that impression? "Well, uh, thank you."
"Yeah, yeah," she muttered, helping him stand as he felt his heart pound faster. He internally groaned at the general unfairness of the situation.
"Done!" the girl named Fionna called out, and Whitley shifted his attention just in time to see some kind of semblance whisk away a riveter as she stood up in front of the doorway, which was now sealed by sheets of steel bolted across the doorframe.
"Right," the girl in white said, "Now we just sit tight and wait for the others. Yay," she sarcastically finished.
"Wait, we're not leaving?" Whitley asked.
"This entire place is a maze crawling with terrorists who want to turn you into a practice target," the white-clad girl answered. "We're all safer just sitting here until we can get a larger group to escort you out, so just stay quiet and wait with the rest of us."
Whitley swallowed, and then sighed. "Okay." A beat, and then. "But, can I ask for your names?"
The girl in white deadpanned at him, but the girl in red spoke up. "That's Fionna," she said, gesturing towards the faunus who offered a quick "Hello!" She gestured over to the other girl. "That's my sister Melanie, and I'm Miltia. Happy?"
Whitley looked over to her again, and finally offered a hesitant smile of his own. "Yeah. Thank you all for saving me."
"Don't mention it," Fionna replied.
"Seriously, don't," Melanie said in an annoyed tone, though Whitley felt his heart speed up once more as he watched Miltia roll her eyes at her sister's callous response.
(Kamohtik)
He was barrelling down the hallways, gunfire echoing all around him, two of his loyal lieutenants behind him. Kamohtik snarled as reports of his men and women losing ground to Robyn Hill and her underlings continued to echo into his earpiece. And of course, the most damning report of all, that of Roman fucking Torchwick making a steady pace towards the Schnee, almost nonchallant as he advanced. He'd also heard the cry for aid from the men he had guarding the child, and was making all due haste towards them.
Enough was enough. If the so-called champion of Mantle was willing to side with the oppressors over the downtrodden citizens she supposedly represented, then he was going to make her bid for fame and political leverage in her bid for the council utterly useless. The Father had yet to even respond to his demands anyways. It was time to kill the boy. He fought down a vicious grin. This wasn't the first time Retribution had tasted the blood of a member of the extended Schnee family, and as long as he could help it, the last would be the same time that bloodline was finally erased from the face of Remnant.
The door to their destination was gone, but plates of steel were now placed to block his progress. He narrowed his eyes. If the fools thought that would be an obstacle to one such as him, he would quickly disabuse them of the notion. "Viola," he called out, and the woman stepped up in front of him. He put a hand on her shoulder, and reached into his soul. As always, his semblance was waiting, eager for use. Proof of the inherent superiority of the faunus over mankind, Call of the Wild let Kamohtik boost the animal attribute of any faunus he so chose to astounding levels, so long as he could physically touch them.
In this case, Viola's light-green aura shimmered over her bear claws, and purple eyes snapped open as she gave an almost ursine roar as she charged into the doors… and then kept going straight through the steel. There were shouts of surprise from inside, and Kamohtik followed inside, Yeltrin on his heels. He took in his opposition, two human girls and a faunus-
"TRAITOR!" Viola bellowed, still boosted with his semblance as she charged straight at the scum with the sheep ears. Assuming Robyn's sycophant survived this encounter, he'd deal with her then. Yeltin went after the girl in white, and the Schnee was cowering at the back of the room, leaving his only obstacle as a girl dressed in red with claws mounted to her wrists.
The girl sprinted at him, and he let his aura tank the twin blows of her claws as he swiped at her with Retribution. She backflipped out of the way of his strike, but doing so left her open to the secondary function of the weapon, as he aimed his spear at her and revealed it to actually be a harpoon, a chain connecting the head to the shaft as he fired it out at her face, sending her sprawling to the floor even as he whipped the weapon overhead to swing the extended head of Retribution at her as if he was wielding a flail. She ducked out of the way, only for Kamohtik to lunge forwards and swing again, even as he thumbed the trigger to retract the harpoon head back to its shaft. She barely blocked that swing, and was unprepared as he gave a final spin before slamming the reattached weapon blade first down upon her. She staggered back, and he refused to let her off the backfoot, stepping up once more and thrusting his weapon at her. She parried the blow, leveling her other claw to dump a gunshot into him at point blank range. His aura tanked the blow, and he kneed her between the legs, well aware of the knowledge that while I wouldn't hurt as much on a woman, it would still hurt quite a lot. She staggered back, and Kamohtik fired Retribution at her, sending the human bitch flying. She landed against the wall, and the White Fang leader closed the gap, pumping aura into his leg to amplify his blows before stomping on her head as she tried to get up. He raised his foot and brought it down a second time, eliciting a cry of pain, and then a third, and a fourth, shattering her aura. He adjusted his stance before a fifth rendered her unconscious, and then raised his foot one more time to –
A chair broke against his back, and he turned around slowly to see the fucking Schnee holding the legs of the broken piece of furniture he had been tied to. The young man managed the impossible and became paler than he naturally was as he began to back up, and Kamohtik felt his bloodlust boiling as his grip on Retribution tightened. Viola had beat down Robyn's pet, zip-tying her legs and arms behind her back as she watched with fearful eyes, and both Yeltin and the girl in white were bleeding, though Yeltin was still conscious whilst the girl was not.
"Guard the door," he seethed, the two silently leaving the room to obey his commands while he cut the flow of his semblance. He turned around, pacing after the Schnee, backing the bastard into a wall, grabbing him by his throat and hoisting him off his feet, choking him and relishing the naked fear in his eyes. Kamohtik grinned ear to ear, pulling Retribution back and thrusting it into the Schnee's abdomen, the choked cry of pain akin to heavenly music in his ears. As much as a fiasco today had been, nothing could take away from this moment as he twisted the blade and took in the screams as he pulled the harpoon out, repositioning it to stab right through the heart –
Until a metal cane slammed into the back of his head, causing him to drop his target and stagger to the side.
(Roman)
Fucking hell, Roman mentally complained. Not only was there no sign of Robyn, who should have been here before him, but he had also gotten to the brats nearly too late, the whole reason he was even here bleeding on the floor and wheezing in pain while the axolotl bastard who had looked like he was getting off to his stabbing session whipped around and gave a glare that gave Fire Bitch (may she rest in burnt pieces) a run for her money. The twins were out for the count, Lil' Bo Peep was literally bound on the floor, and he had no backup because Parental Issues and the Merry Minions with her were dealing with the two Fangers outside the door.
"Roman. Fucking. Torchwick," the asshole who was almost certainly Kamohtik Nostitz seethed.
"In the devilishly handsome flesh," Roman responded, face plastered with his trademark smirk despite his internal nerves at the prospect of fighting this guy solo.
Evidently, Kamohtik wasn't the type to partake in combat banter, because the man ran straight at Roman, harpoon clanging as it deflected off Melodic Cudgel at the last possible second. The two combatants began to exchange a flurry of blows, weapons clanging off each other in twin blurs of speed. An overhead blow from Roman batted to the side, the hatted hoodlum hastily jerking out of the way of a counter-stab, and then using the hook of his cane to twist aside another swipe. His hand darted forwards, a burst of electricity firing from the glove of his free hand, Kamohtik staggering back as the shocks visibly crackled over his aura. The terrorist retaliated by throwing a left hook into Roman's face, but he rolled with the punch, thumb twisting the dial on his cane to purple just in time to strike his foe as he pulled the trigger, a burst of gravity dust launching the axolotl faunus into the opposing wall. He managed to land on his feet, firing the harpoon head of Retribution at the thief, which painfully bounced off his aura as the unexpected counter struck center mass. Roman's opponent was already closing the gap once more, the ginger-haired man shifting his stance as one hand dove into a coat pocket. Just as Kamohtik began to thrust his weapon towards Roman, he whipped the hand out, tossing a cloud of pocket-sand right into his foe's eyes.
He screamed, stumbling back, one hand clawing at his face whilst the other wildly swung the harpoon in front of him. Kamohtik's aura suddenly rippled across his body as his blind glare intensified, while Roman flicked his chosen ammunition to fire dust, and let a round fly. The arm holding Retribution blocked the flare, horribly burning the limb, and Roman was briefly confused as to why the damage bypassed his opponent's aura when it still wasn't broken, but the terrorist merely removed his other hand from his face, recovering from the pocket-sand far faster than he should have, aura shimmering on his axolotl fins as the burns rapidly healed before Roman's very eyes. As his opponent closed back into melee range, the hatted hoodlum thought, Of course he has a bullshit semblance.
Aloud he said, "Well, that's just great."
And then they were back to exchanging blows, Kamohtik displaying a downright reckless disregard for his own safety, taking grievous injuries from Roman if it meant landing blows, and regenerating the damage within seconds. Roman landed a strike that audibly snapped at least three ribs, and received a fist to the face and a jab to the gut in exchange, and Roman could hear the bones crackling as they knit back together. The thief grabbed the terrorist's left wrist, and discharged all the remaining lighting dust in that glove, inducing horrendous electrical burns and filling the air with the disgusting scent of cooked human (or technically faunus) flesh, and Kamohtik's response was a shoulder check that sent Roman to the floor. His foe dove on top of him, one hand driving his harpoon straight for Roman's throat, and the hatted hoodlum let go of his cane to grab it with both hands, stopping the tip of the blade inches from his skin. A manic glint graced the White Fang leader's eyes, pushing with all his might against Roman's desperate block. His eyes flicked to the side, and the blackened flesh on Kamohtik's arm was recovering by the second, and would shortly be ready to aid its sister limb in attempting to give Roman a new breathing hole without his consent.
And then a crossbow bolt embedded itself into the terrorist's shoulder, beeping twice before it blew the limb clean off, blasting the two combatants apart. Roman grit his teeth and hissed in pain as he stumbled to his feet, turning to see May and the other four goons Robyn had sent with them entering the room, while Kamohtik screamed and clutched his bleeding stump of a shoulder on the opposing wall.
"Well, it took you long enough," Roman tiredly snarked, only to realize the screaming had died down. He turned back just in time to see Kamohtik snarling as he doubled over, before blood sprayed out of his shoulder as another arm shot out of the limb's socket, growing to the size of its predecessor in seconds. The terrorists panted in pain for a few seconds, flexing the limb a few times, before he picked his weapon back up and turned his glare on them.
"Eurgh, that was disgusting," one of the guys behind Roman got out after he gagged.
"Took the words right out of my mouth," the thief agreed.
"TORCHWIIIIICK!" Kamohtik screamed. Any conversation got cut off as the party squared off against the White Fang Leader, Torchwick readying his remaining glove as he internally cursed at not having stopped to grab his cane when he had the chance.
And then May moved one hand to her ear. "We're busy here. What? Shit, okay." He looked over to Roman as her finger left her earpiece. "Robyn just said Atlas is on the way down. They noticed the fighting and they'll be here in less than ten minutes."
Roman, who had been keeping one eye on the enemy this whole time, didn't miss the axolotl faunus' eyes widen at that statement, before they narrowed back to a glare. He gave a wordless bellow, and rushed straight towards the thief, who dove out of the way, right glove snapping up as he readied to counter the next swing… which didn't come, as the terrorist ignored several crossbow bolts piecing his flesh as he barreled out the door.
A few seconds ticked by in silence. "You know," Roman stated in a matter-of-fact tone, "I kinda expected him to be the 'fight to the death' kind of guy." Miltia groaned on the floor as her eyes started to flutter open, and Melanie stirred as she began to recover consciousness as well. "Right then," he continued, "let's get some first aid going, and then I gotta grab the brats and book it before Atlas starts swarming the place." He took a quick look around the room, and — ah, shit, the Schnee kid was unconscious and curled up in a ball in a sizeable pool of blood, looking even more pale than he was supposed to. It took Roman two seconds to realize they didn't have the kind of medical care on hand to keep the kid breathing long enough to get him to an actual doctor, so he sighed, and flared his orange aura around himself, rolling his shoulders as he got ready to go for the only other idea he had to ensure that this entire day wasn't wasted.
He strolled over to Whitley, and knelt down, putting a hand on the young man's shoulder. "Right kid. Doubt you can hear me right now, but you owe me one for this." He took another breath, and then flared his aura once more, starting to push it towards the Schnee as he began to speak.
For it is through our deeds that we become immortalized,
Our words and actions carve our place above all in the pages of history,
With endless ambition yet devoid of worldly wants,
I unbind the flame of your soul,
And by my hand, release your chains.
A white aura began to glow around the body of the Schnee heir, and within seconds he began to breathe easier and bleed less. He looked up, just in time to see every other occupant of the room gazing at him with a perplexed expression. "What?" Roman defended, "If he died, then today would be a waste. I'm just ensuring a return on my investment."
For a reason Roman couldn't quite guess at, May wasn't glaring at him as intensely as she'd been for most of the time they'd been working together. "Okay," she said, as she went back to checking over Fionna.
The hatted hoodlum ultimately decided that the sudden change in disposition towards him wasn't worth further investigation, and changed topics to something much more urgent. "Right," he began, taking a few steps across the room to scoop Melodic Cudgel back up. "Twins, I do believe the playdate is over, and we need to be getting home before Atlas' toy soldiers show up."
"I'll stay." Roman raised an eyebrow at Miltia's semblance, but the younger twin continued with, "I can hide with my semblance, and it'll pay to have a set of unseen hands present in case Kamohtik is still lurking around."
Roman mulled it over for a pair of seconds, and then shrugged. "All right, no skin off my back. Come on, Brat number 1," he said to Melanie, grinning as she glared at him and told him to go fuck himself.
Gods, why was annoying people so fun?
(Miltia)
It took another three minutes for Whitley to wake back up, and Miltia spent that time productively. The first thing she did was enlist some help to carefully drag him over to the nearest wall and sit him against it, and the next was fish out a piece of scrap paper and a pen she kept in her pocket. Her mother had taught both her and Mel that not only was knowledge power, but that having someone else owe you a favor was often the next best thing. She idly rubbed a finger over the slip of paper she had in her left hand as the young man's eyes fluttered back open.
And then they shot open fully as he shifted further upright, looking around in shock. "What—"
"Hey," she cut him off. "Relax. The guy who stabbed you got away, but you're fine, and Atlas will be down here in minutes. We unlocked your aura to stop you from bleeding out, so that's why you're only feeling a lingering ache in your stomach. Now," and as she started that sentence, she lowered her voice to a whisper, so that the Happy Huntresses watching the door couldn't hear, "can you keep a secret?"
He blinked owlishly, and Miltia resisted the urge to roll her eyes when his cheeks flushed. If the Schnee was infatuated with her for whatever reason, so be it. It was something she could use to her advantage. "Well, you saved my life, so that's the least I could do."
"Okay. I'm the one who found out you were being held here. And while the official story is that Roman Torchwick sent Robyn a tip on where to find you as a way to make fun of your dad, the truth is that he was down here in the thick of it, stopped the guy who stabbed you from finishing the job, and unlocked your aura. So you quite literally owe him your life," she finished her matter-of-fact tirade, wanting to be quick and to-the-point, since being chatty was more her sister's thing.
Whitley paled, swallowing. "O-okay. But, why tell me? And why would Torchwick get involved with this at all?"
This time, she did roll her eyes, as she leaned in and put her hands on his shoulders, pushing her own arms together lightly to emphasize her bust through her coat, not missing the way he stiffened and flushed. "We're the reason you're still breathing. While Roman might not care either way, that means you owe us, and I intend to cash in on that favor at some point. Like it or not, you're a man in a high place, and that means you could make my life a lot easier later down the line." And with him distracted, it was the perfect opportunity to plant that slip of scrap paper into his pocket without his notice.
"You still didn't tell me what Roman gets from helping me," he said, trying to keep some manner of control of the conversation. Which was admittedly amusing to Miltia.
"Roman's an egotistical asshole," she said, stepping back from Whitley and not missing how she heard some snickers from behind her, "he doesn't care about the dust or the money he's stealing beyond the material benefits they can offer him. He's doing this for two things: Infamy, and pissing off your dad. And by getting involved with rescuing you at all, he accomplishes both of those in spades." She narrowed her eyes as she continued. "He's been stealing from Jackass for months," and she had to fight down a smirk trying to creep up on her at the look on his face when she used that particular nickname for his father, "and in response, daddy dearest sent a hitman after him. That failed spectacularly, and what was the best way to show that Roman had all the power over him and not the other way around? Prove that his own family's lives could be entirely dictated by his own whims. When it gets out that Roman merely provided a tip that led to your rescue when neither he nor Atlas could get that done, he's going to be the laughingstock of Atlas' upper class. And then he's going to go right back to stealing dust from your company the next day, and Jackass won't be able to do anything to stop him."
Whitley looked down at the floor. "So that's it, then. No one actually cared about me. Father didn't send anyone to save me, Robyn Hill is only doing this for the political benefits it provides her, and you're only doing this to upstage Father. And Mother is probably so drunk she hasn't even noticed I've been gone." He let out a forlorn sigh. "Glad to know that my net worth is only as a pawn to those around me."
Miltia had a sudden urge to wince, but fought it off. Saying that what she just heard was rough was an understatement. Even her own mother still cared about her as her child rather than as a legacy or an asset. "Hey," she cut down to a whisper again, "you didn't deserve to die to those Fang fucks. That's why I followed them here. Because you have value as a person, not as leverage. So even if it's really not that much, I still care about you."
He looked up, suspicious and gazing into her own eyes for a few seconds. Evidently, whatever judgment he passed in his mind didn't find her wanting, and he cracked a small grin. "Thanks," he muttered.
Miltia heard Fionna welcoming Robyn at the door, and turned around. "Alright, that's my cue to leave." She turned her head back, meeting Whitley's gaze one more time. "Try to stay safe," she added, and then she sauntered out the doorframe, turning on Wallflower with a thought and working her way towards the surface.
(Whitley)
Most of the rest of the day had passed in a blur. Robyn Hill had made a show of checking over him to make sure he was okay, and she wrapped him in a blanket and led him out of the tunnel. The first thing Atlesian soldier body-cams saw was the huntress-cum-politician gently leading him into the frigid night air. There were a lot of words being spoken, both by Robyn, by those around her, and by the soldiers, and he remembered Roman's name and the word "tip" being uttered in a sentence in front of a news camera. He was passed off to the military, who gave him a thorough medical examination, bandaging him up and telling him that his aura would take care of any other issues in the next day or so. He rode a bullhead back up to Atlas, and his father made a massive show of running over to him and crushing him in an embrace, though no tears fell from his eyes and personal experience told him his smile was that of being pleased after a successful financial report, rather than genuine joy. His father gave a long winded speech to the news cameras, talking about how he wouldn't let the White Fang's actions stand, and that soon he would be "taking action" against them in Mantle. After what felt like hours, he was finally left alone in his own room, Klein having been the last one to check over him and offer the Schnee heir a sincere hug.
However, mere seconds later, the door banged open again, and Whitley flinched as he remembered gunshots, only to see Mother staggering in, clearly drunk but with tears streaking down her face as she stumbled over to him and crushed him into a hug. Even minutes later, he couldn't remember exactly what she said, but the surprise he felt that she had actually noticed what had happened and was genuinely overjoyed to see him safe would stick with him for the rest of his life.
Finally, long after the sun came up, he was truly left on his own, sitting on the edge of his bed, and pondering that even if they were both terrible at showing it, there were two people on Remnant who actually gave a damn about Whitley instead of Whitley Schnee. He suddenly swallowed, remembering that there was blood all over his clothes, and got up, making sure he hadn't stained the bed. He shuffled over to the bathroom, starting to strip and toss the ruined clothing into the garbage. When he pulled off his pants, a slip of paper flittered out of his pocket, and he paused, bending down to pick it up. Unfolding it, he scanned over the elegant cursive writing that was on it. At the top was a scroll number, underneath which was written:
Don't bother trying to trace this number, it's linked to a burner scroll. But since you owe me, I figured I would take the opportunity to leave a means to keep in touch once you get another scroll. Also, it can get boring as hell between the heists, so if you just want to text about random shit, I guess I'm down as long as it's not the middle of the night.
- Miltia
The haze around Whitley's mind crept back a little, and he surprised himself when he felt a smile gracing his face.
(Ironwood)
James sighed, moving the read report over to the pile of other things he'd gone through, and looked over to the last sheets of paper he'd yet to read on his office desk. Today had been hell, between dealing with Jacques, Robyn's stunt against the Fang, and the Fang themselves, coupled with the fact that he'd been woken at midnight to deal with the latter two, and hadn't gotten a wink of sleep since. The sun was already sinking to mark the end of the next day, and Mettle was a constant, overbearing presence at the back of his mind. He'd caught several occasions going through proposals where he'd spaced out, only to find a stamp of approval or rejection on that that he didn't remember placing, and his heart jumped when he realized that due to his extreme exhaustion, his semblance had taken the reins and done it for him. Even now, he swallowed dryly, and worried about the implications that had, resolving to delegate to Winter to handle his morning duties while he ensured he caught himself up on sleep.
Ironwood sighed, rubbing his temples, and before he took a look at that last report he did one mental do-over of the major non White Fang related issues he'd dealt with today. Dr. Polendina had found literally hundreds of backdoors in the various software systems present in Mantle, including ones in the heating grid that literally kept the city from freezing to death. Without a doubt, those weaknesses in their systems were left by Arthur Watts, and he gave Dr. Polendina a blank check to patch them and overhaul the entire thing. He'd have ripped out the entire system down to the actual hardware and replaced it from scratch, but without revealing the existence of Salem and Arthur working for her there was no way he'd be able to justify the disruptions and expenditure that would cause.
And speaking of the Grimm Queen, the Amity project was roughly a week behind its revised schedule, though this time the extra delay was intentional. A short delay caused by allocating some of the resources originally meant for Amity to fixing the damaged section of Mantle's walls meant that there would be less cause to target supplies in the long run, and the increased morale in Mantle would mean less Grimm, and slight easing of the tensions between them and Atlas.
As for Roman Torchwick himself, besides a raid on an SDC warehouse, he'd been relatively quiet the past forty-eight hours, and if him tipping off Robyn on where Whitley had been held was true, then maybe he could afford to shift some of the personnel that were tracking him down to other projects. But thoughts of that could wait until tomorrow. This whole sequence of events felt like it had been dragging on for months, even though it was less than a week. Ironwood sighed, rubbing his temples and taking a look at the last report on his desk.
And then his eyes widened. He kept reading. His tired system jolted as a shot of adrenaline went through it, and his eyes widened further.
"A string of murders in Mantle," he muttered, instantly worried about a serial killer on the loose on top of everything else. He shifted a page, and leaned back in shock at the photographs he saw. The corpses were universally desiccated, shriveled up and looking uncannily like Avalon had appeared when she had briefly shifted to appear "hollow" upon revealing her undead nature.
This… was beyond concerning. If something hostile from Avalon's time period was lurking in Mantle and killing people, it was likely a greater threat than Roman or the White Fang could ever pose. He needed to… he needed… needed to… to… he blinked, struggling to open his eyes, before snapping back awake as he felt Mettle creeping up on his conscious mind once again.
Ironwood would direct the Ace-Ops into looking into the situation, but only after he finally slept.
()
A/N: Okay! First off, holy shit, I'm glad to have this chapter done. I did about three quarters of this chapter while cooped up in the oven known as Europe in the middle of a heatwave. Coeur was complaining about 40 degree Celsius temperatures in the UK (that's ~100-102 Fahrenheit for us American idiots who insist on being the only country to not use the metric system), while I got to experience it in Italy in the mountains outside Parma, sitting in front of a fan because the house my grandmother grew up in doesn't have an AC. PAIN. Don't even get me started on my trip to Firenze. God, that fucking sucked. The temperature was agony, completely overshadowing the rest of the trip, and I can honestly say that the vacation as a whole was pretty mediocre. Global warming fucking sucks, and I hate the oil corporations who care more about money than our continued survival as a species.
(VACATION STUFF: SKIP TO NEXT BOLD IN PARENTHESIS IF YOU DON'T WANNA READ IT)
That being said, two days before I left, I did take a trip to the Museo della Resistenza in Valmozzola. For those of you who can't be bothered to use google translate, it's the Resistance Museum. In case it isn't obvious, not everyone in Germany and Italy approved of the fascist regimes that governed their countries during the 1930s to the end of WWII (and in Italy's case, most of the 1920s as well). During WWII, especially as the war dragged on and the Nazis established a puppet regime in the north as the Allies invaded Sicily and Naples and pushed towards Rome, there were a number of partisan resistance cells who fought against the fascists, both the Germans, and Italians who supported the oppressive regimes. Just Joe farmers (or, if I want to be more ethnically accurate, Giuseppe farmers) with guns shooting Nazis in the countryside and trying to help the oncoming Allied armies. There were apparently a couple cases where Allied pilots were shot down, and partisans helped them back to friendly lines or sheltered them until friendly troops arrived. Both my grandparents have childhood stories relating to Nazi occupiers. My great grandfather on my dad's mom's side was shot at by an MG42 because a German had mistaken his farming at the edge of a treeline for being a partisan trying to sneak around. Luckily, he wasn't hit, but I imagine not everyone in that scenario was so fortunate. My grandmother still remembers to this day the exact spot the German soldier had been shooting from, and standing there was certainly surreal. But I digress, because I was talking about the Museo. The place was quiet and out of the way, and the fans had cobwebs before they were turned on, so I imagine they don't get that many visitors, which is a shame. The place was full of various wartime artifacts and documents that the locals had collected and either they or their descendants donated. The discarded fuel tanks of an Allied Bomber, along with the original parachute that was used to drop containers (and the containers themselves) that had weapons and American-manufactured uniforms for the resistance fighters were just there on display (along with the uniforms that the Americans had made for the resistance fighters), there was an old 1940s Italian flag with the coat of Arms of the House of Savoy in the middle, and an old American (still 48 stars back then) and British flag that had been recovered. There were pieces of a Spitfire plane that had been shot down, old munitions crates that were recovered including a box that had at one point held 25 American grenades. There were Jerry cans, tons of helmets from various armies (Allied and Axis), bullets from all kinds of guns, radios, an American sausage maker (hey, there's wild boar up there. We nearly ran one over one night. It was fucking massive. If the Americans killed a few, they were sure as hell eating the meat, and how many people can say that they made fresh boar sausage while shooting Nazis in the Italian countryside?), and tons of other stuff. To keep from spending a page just listing things, I'll give a couple highlights before getting to my personal favorites. There were two different primers issued to American troops on how to hold a conversation in Italian (because how else are you going to communicate with the partisans and locals who want to help you), a certificate of appreciation from the organization that preceded the CIA to a specific resistance fighter, thanking him for his help in liberating Italy, a German typewriter, and a flier from the Germans, printed in Italian, offering a 300 Lire (Italian currency before the Euro) reward for any information on planes that were shot down, friendly or otherwise, as well as a warning that people caught helping the enemy or partisans would be killed.
My personal highlight was a rack of weapons actually used in the war. Quick disclaimer, any explosives and/or weapons in the Museo were obviously decommissioned and unable to harm anyone (unless you use them to bludgeon someone to death, I guess). There was an M1 Garand (carbine variant), which was the standard issue rifle America used in WWII, although you might better know it for that iconic PIIING! it makes when you empty the magazine. Seriously, look up "M1 Garand Ping" on YouTube, and I doubt you won't recognize that sound from at least 1 videogame. Next to it was a Grease Gun (an SMG), which I couldn't tell if it was American or British manufacture, but they were paradropped for the use of partisans against the fascists. A lot of the photos of partisans in the Museo feature at least one person holding that type of gun. Above that was a German Panzerfaust, which was an anti-tank RPG, and the warhead on it still had the instruction sheet printed on it, with a funny cartoon telling you which end you put the explodey part on, and which end the fire comes out of when you shoot it. Above that was a British Lee Enfield bolt-action rifle, and above that was an MP40, which was a German sub-machine gun. Lastly, above that one was a Beretta MAB 38, an Italian SMG.
And my personal, absolute best highlight, was that the guy in the Museo let me hold a different MP40 and pose with it for a photo. I mean, personally, I would have rather held the Garand or the Beretta over the German weapon, but I'll take what I can get when it comes to literally getting my hands on a genuine WW2 weapon. As a bit of a casual history nerd in my off-time, that was a REALLY FUCKING COOL experience. How many museums that aren't in the middle of nowhere would actually let you even touch, never mind hold and pose with, some of that stuff?
(END OF VACATION STUFF)
Anyways, enough about the three weeks that (minus the trip to the Museo) I'm not getting back. You're all here for the story.
Like I said, I wanted to experiment with a flashback-then-present format for at least part of the chapter, and I think it went well. This let me explain the plan without a lengthy exposition part while still getting right into the action. Not much to say on that front, because I literally explained the plan as it was enacted. I thought that it was a pretty smart plan with what Roman and Robyn had on hand, at least until Kamohtik showed up.
Before I get to that fight, I just wanna touch on the first Whitley POV here. Poor kid, kept locked in by his dad his whole life, and the only women his age he meets are people that are looking to marry him just for the name and the money. And then a strong, independent woman rescues him from terrorists and certain death. So of course the beta male will think with his dick instead of his head, and hopelessly fall for Miltia.
And then I gave a semblance reveal. Call of the Wild, which boosts a faunus' animal attribute to a frankly ludicrous level. Pretty cool and original, right? Anyways, of course I couldn't have the plan go off without a hitch, because that would be boring, so I had the mean terrorist man show up, beat the crap out of a young woman, and then stab Whitley. Speaking of the stabbing part…
You know what's really funny? I've basically mapped out all the broad strokes of Kamohtik in this story. Like, his personality, and all the major things he plays a part in. Then I got to this chapter, and I got right up to his POV, and then I realized:
I haven't given the man a weapon.
Real Bruh Moment right there. Anyways, rather than stress out about it, I just asked my brother to give a suggestion (after giving some details about the character), and he came back to me two hours later and said a harpoon/spear thing. So that's how Kamohtik got Retribution, lol. And now between Adam, Sienna, and Kamohtik, I've realized that I've made a theme of White Fang leaders who are able to use their weapon itself as a projectile in some fashion. Also, as a quick aside, Adam has a couple similarities to Jetstream Sam. Both of them have a red katana, and both of their sheaths are a gun that can shoot said katana. Both of them also cut off a protagonist's arm, and then both of them were murdered by a stab in the torso by the protagonist who they mutilated. Weird, right? And as a minor spoiler, I do have a fight involving Adam planned later in this book where I intend to play The Only Thing I Know For Real on loop as I write it.
Roman gets to fight Kamohtik, which was a fun battle to write. The faunus didn't get to finish off Whitley because he had too much of a murder-boner for Schnees to notice Roman until he smacked him in the back of the head with Melodic Cudgel. Then, I got to show off something that I'd been dying to actually write down, which was Kamohtik using his semblance on himself. I picked an Axolotl faunus for more than just it being cool. Basically, Kamohtik gets absolutely stupid levels of regeneration from his semblance, allowing him to tank non-lethal hits without using his aura, because he'll heal them in literal seconds. Which leads to a very unique and kinda scary fighting style where you focus almost purely on offense and dealing damage, because he can simply just tank most hits, so why wouldn't he focus on killing an opponent above all else, because in a battle of attrition, he'd always win. Of course, Roman doesn't fight fair, and pocket sand is awesome, which gave him enough time for backup to arrive. Even then, Kamohtik would have been willing to fight it out (and the time that took would have probably been enough for Whitley to bleed out), but Atlas being on the way meant that he had to get out or risk capture or death.
Then we have Roman unlock Whitley's aura to save his life, during which I came up with a cool new aura chant for Roman, which includes a quick nod to Patches due to their friendship.
After that, Miltia remembers what her mom taught her. She certainly notices the Schnee's infatuation with her, and employs her feminine wiles to get some leverage on the young man. After all, a favor with a Schnee is something quite powerful if you can cash it in. Of course, she's also a young adult, so she gets bored easily, so in addition to leaving a means to cash in that favor, she's willing to shoot the shit during her downtime.
Anyone else surprised by Willow getting out of the bottle long enough to care about her kidnapped son? I certainly was, because the idea to write it didn't pop into my head until I literally got to the paragraph where I wrote it.
Lastly, we have Ironwood. He's not doing so hot, and Mettle is a bad semblance to have when you're low on sleep. Also, he's noticed that something Dark Souls-y is happening literally beneath his feet, and decides that Roman isn't as great as a priority as stopping whoever's causing mass murder down there. Rest assured, I am seriously enjoying the buildup I'm doing for this character, and I eagerly anticipate the reveal I have planned. If you think darkwraiths as per their lore are scary, this guy will make them look like playground bullies. I'm sure by this point that most people coming in from Dark Souls have figured out who it is, but I'll kindly ask you to avoid putting spoilers in your reviews, and if you need to bring it up with me, just shoot me a PM.
That little joke about Ironwood feeling like it had been months is a jab at myself, because I procrastinated this chapter for literal months until the day before my vacation ended, and I just forced myself to finish the damn chapter already. This isn't of any concern to you, since the story will be done by the time you see this, but I'm taking 3 days to a week after I get back to get my bearings and figure out where exactly I want to continue the Atlas plot in the next chapter, because Italy has burnt me out, and I've kinda lost my narrative train of thought. See you all next week!
