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G.N. Chapter 38
🕑 Added 2023-12-11 09:23:19 +0000 UTCI do not own Bloodborne or RWBY.
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Chapter 38 Lights! Camera! …
He was alive.
The breadth of his awareness was no greater as he moved, his life balanced precariously atop the tip of his own ability.
The new cleric Beast was on him, its hungering maw so close the heat of its breath washed across his face as he dashed beneath its outstretched claw. Sparks and stones flew as he darted around its wild, lethal slashes.
He had lost count of his attempts.
He had died… too much.
He couldn’t remember returning to the chapel.
His awareness extended to the weapon in his grasp.
His lifeline.
An ear-splitting scream rocked against his head as he stopped and pivoted, his overcoat fluttering as the draft from its swipe set it aflutter. His arm came down, scoring a bloody mark along the back of its knuckles.
One of countless useless wounds.
He moved.
Duck.
Pivot.
Step.
Left.
His arm was bleeding.
Ignore it.
Attack!
His silver blade swung up, cleaving into the flesh of the inside elbow, blood following the arc of his swing. He moved with the swing, a half step as he adjusted his stance, right foot sliding forward to carry his weight as he brought his sword down. Fur fell in clumps as his sword dragged over its jutting ribs, nicking bone.
His arms bent, pulling the sword close, the point aimed and ready. He steps into it, sword driving forward into the meat of its hind leg, sinking almost a quarter of the way in. He twists the blade, and his feet continue moving, giving his attack momentum.
He doesn’t withdraw his weapon.
He levers it.
The cutting edge pulls around the width of the thigh, blood erupting out, staining its fur and splattering his attire even more. He rolls when the weapon pops loose, knowing better than to linger after performing such a brutal attack.
He raises his sword across his torso, prepared to defend as he hurries to steady his stance.
It is still screaming.
His ears have long since started ringing, the world dull in the wake of their attempts to adjust to the painful cacophony.
Its whole body flinches, proof that he was able to drive his blade deep enough for the Beast to pull away from his assault. Its hand is raised, claws extended, and he knows it sees him even with its eyes concealed.
He sheathes his blade.
It swings.
He spins.
He hears the sounds of fabric shredding as the tail of his coat is reduced to shreds.
He had long put thoughts of how often such had happened out of his mind.
His hand goes for his sheathed blade, clutching the hilt and twisting; he listens as the basic mechanisms slot into place and the weight of his weapon multiplies by magnitudes. He bends his legs and pulls his weapon onto his shoulder, his second hand finding its way to the handle.
His head turns.
His legs extend, granting him the needed lift as he swings.
His Kirkhammer careens into the blood-coated knee of the Beast, and the wet crack breaks through his mindless pursuit of survival to stoke something… savage.
It's screaming again.
He ignores it as he scrambles back from the mad flailing of the wounded monster.
He lunges, hammer raised, but the Beast is quick; it pulls its arm back, dragging itself away, its knee under it.
Then it was glowing.
He could still recall the gut-churning frustration from the first time he had witnessed that glow.
It did not dampen with repeat viewings.
He charged forward, hammer over his shoulder, his feet leaving behind blood as he barrelled forward enraged.
He was too slow.
Its knee was already repaired, and his swing lacked force, merely bashing its arms aside and breaking it out of its prayer.
Its rebuttal was swift and terrible.
It raised its arms high, and though he tried, he was still not fast enough to avoid its reprisal.
It brought its arms down with abominable force and sent him flying, the ground shaking as he was hurled back. When he hit the ground, his hammer landed beside him and skid, where he rolled, blood trailing behind him.
His head throbbed.
His arm had retained its hold of his hammer, but this was not a good thing. It was twisted about, broken beyond normal means and completely useless.
His left arm, slick with blood from some injury he didn’t recall receiving, pawed at his belt.
No Blood Vials…
No gun…
How… how many times had he died now? Did he forget to restock?
He threw up.
His head was still throbbing as he eyed the dirty brown puke, blood and bile mixing before him as he tried to stand.
*CRUNCH*
He was crushed.
Something stabbed through his back, his body squashed against his own filth and blood.
Then he was dragged back, his body pulled by the thing impaling him, the rough, broken stone of the Grand Cathedral biting at him as he was pulled.
The Beast was above him; its paw was crushing his lower half, its claw obliterating his innards.
He couldn’t see out his right eye anymore.
It was lifting him now.
He felt his sundered guts slip out; he couldn’t breathe, his lungs refusing to work as he was hauled into the air.
His body was lost to him… a bloody, broken doll bereft of strings.
Its arm was raised above its head, its body arched back around the claw speared through his back and out his front. He was dying, his heart thundering uselessly in his chest as he continued being unable to breathe… his lungs were likely beyond use.
Then it swiped down.
His last sight was a brief flash of the floor before he was finally released into the embrace of death.
It… the Beast… had swatted him like a bug.
“Looouuugh…”
He opened his eyes… death having already spat him back out, his body safely lain out adjacent to a lamp. Above him, the dusty ceiling of Oedon Chapel was still and bleary. Grey and shadowed, his eyes slowly adjusted as his body was drawn back to this… existence.
Numbness and pained echoes were forgotten momentarily as he struggled to sit up.
He rolled his right arm, a phantom pain lingering as he reorientated himself with the fact that it was not twisted up like the link in a chain of sausages. He grasped at his weapon dutifully laid next to him.
*Snap*
He beheld the silver sword… the hilt of the silver sword that served as the handle for his Kirkhammer now separated from the transformed Trick Weapon.
“Durgh…”
He turned slowly to the groans, his eyes settling on a Messenger… he knew this Messenger.
The single yellow eye, the lack of an upper lip…
“… Anima.”
“Hrng.”
He dropped the broken weapon; it clattered to the floor with a metallic ring as he sat on the floor, his whole being… drained.
His head fell forward, his arms limp by his sides as he eyed the faintly luminescent figure of one of his Messengers.
Then he let his head drop into his hands.
“… How many?”
The sound of something dragging across the bricks, a prod at his legs.
He looked up warily.
His Notebook.
He took it with cumbersome fingers, clumsy fingers tugging at the straps that bound it closed with difficulty. Then it opened wide.
He ignored his entries.
His mind already felt… tight.
More thoughts wouldn’t help.
Instead, he opened the book to the back.
He flicked through the pages.
Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and…
Pages upon pages of tallies, so many as to make the pages appear almost stained in the etches. But at last, he reached the most recent page… there was a shift in the tallies; it was not his writing.
*Poke*
Anima was prodding him with the pencil, the pencil that was always around the book, no matter where he left it.
He looked back to the tallies.
He glanced back through the etches until they again became his.
“… Anima… where… which of these was my first… against the one in the Grand Cathedral I mean…”
A singular bony finger flipped the page, dragging along the paper before ceasing.
What was that… thirty?
Thirty deaths before he lost himself.
“… Ah.”
He could not think of what to say, Anima watching him silently, their single yellow eye piercing as they observed him.
It was coming back now.
Not the deaths, nor the fights… at least not in any manner that was cohesive to his thoughts. But the onset of his spree was apparent.
The Blood, the Church… the Scourge.
The realisation of what was happening in this accursed city.
He looked around; he was sitting in a chapel of said church and partook of the same cursed Blood…
It didn’t bear thinking about.
Instead, he addressed the tallies.
“Did… Do I have any weapons left?” he asked Anima.
A shaking head was his response.
“Ah… that’s… that tracks.”
“Nnnghh.”
“… Anima?”
The Messenger blinked, their gaze still unwavering.
“… We need… I can’t brute force this, can I?”
A shake of refusal.
“… Dammit,” he grunted, forcing himself back to his feet; his whole body felt… drained.
“Argh!”
“I need Blood Echoes…”
“Waghhrr!”
Jaune smiled and took a knee.
Anima was always the most straightforward; compared to their compatriots, Anima was very vocal and effortlessly the most expressive. They were always direct with their aid, guiding Jaune around areas and pointing out things he should be aware of, such as levers and mechanisms.
They were also the one who tended to get frustrated the quickest.
“Hey… trust me,” Jaune uttered softly, “I give you my word. I will be right back; I just need enough to fix a weapon… we will go from there, ok?”
“Oannnn.”
“Thank you, Anima… I’ll see you shortly,” Jaune promised, holding out his hand for the Messenger to touch.
Anima gave a nod, their smaller hand resting on his palm.
Jaune pulled off his coat; it was also torn to pieces; he obviously hadn’t returned to the Dream in a while. Only in that instant did he notice his cape was missing… gods only know where that had gotten off to.
Foolish, now he was paying for his stubbornness.
Who knows what he would have done without Anima there to pull him up short?
He was also missing a glove and had shed his gun holster at some point… likely when he ran out of ammo and decided it was pointless to wear. His leather armour over his shirt was beaten to hell, and he could see that the seams were beginning to come loose; not the best, but it was preferable to being in just his undershirt.
He didn’t even pause to wonder why there wasn’t a giant blood hole in his attire from the impalement that had resulted in his most recent death.
He yanked off his cowl, the fabric pooling on the floor as Jaune took a long-drawn-out breath.
The air in the chapel was certainly… old.
He let his hat fall to the pile of discarded regalia, finally letting his other glove fall to rest on the top of the heap, deciding it was preferable to proceed bare-handed.
He was a little surprised to see how dirty the skin of his hands was considering how he tended to wear gloves, patches of darker skin over light white strips and even his nails were… darker, likely stained in viscera.
Jaune ignored the change to his flesh, instead rolling up his sleeves.
“Right… focus… just enough to fix a weapon… just enough… focus,” Jaune breathed, walking back out into Cathedral Ward, his eyes immediately aligning on a Church Guardian.
He charged.
The thing didn’t even have time to let out a groan before Jaune tackled it low, his arms wrapping about its leg as he drove his shoulder into its gut. He heaved, and it fell with a thud, impacting the ground harshly as Jaune immediately mounted it.
His legs pinned its larger arms, and he drew back his fists.
Without pause, he attacked.
He brutalised its skull, raining down blow after blow, destroying its flesh and misshaping its bone as he unleashed his not-inconsiderate strength on its face. His knuckles began to ache; a sting alerted him to the splitting of the skin, but he continued.
He hit that odd hollowed-eyed thing until its resistance ceased and its body stilled.
His face was caked in flecks of red as he got to his feet, his hand pulling the thing's thick metal cane free of its grasp. He spotted his next target when he stood up with the echoes of power flowing into a pool somewhere beneath his guts.
He dragged his blood-caked hand ineffectually across his lips, succeeding in only smearing blood across his lips.
But it was the action that mattered.
“Focus…” Jaune whispered.
The thing pointed and let out its hollow, alerting groan.
Jaune ignored it.
He marched forward, swinging the cane, getting a feel for its weight.
It would do.
“Just enough…”
It stepped and swung, its weight behind its opening attack. Jaune ducked it with practised ease, using its height against it.
He stabbed out the wet crack of cartilage resounding in his ears as he drove the heavy cane into its pallid throat, crushing it and leaving a quickly darkening indent.
When it stumbled back, Jaune followed.
He was beaten, his adornments lacking, his hands bare, his mind… But he was a Hunter; he did not break so easily. He couldn’t afford to.
He knew things now; he knew of the abominable nature of the Blood, he knew the lies of the Scourge, the falsehoods of the Church… but it didn’t matter.
Not yet.
What mattered was he needed to fix his weapons.
He needed to get back to Anima and the others.
He needed to return to the dream.
He needed to kill this gagging, broken thing.
He needed to Hunt.
He was a Hunter.
And that night, with bare, bloodied hands and a weapon looted from a still-warm corpse… the Hunter started again.
He would later march to the Lamp covered head to toe in blood, a Hunter returning from slaughtering his prey.
He would kneel as Jaune, pat Anima and smile at the others clutched around the lamp; the cane in his grip was bent and warped horribly, practically beyond use. He dropped it with nary a worry.
He returned to the dream, his attire in a state of disarray. His clothes were still stained and worn, but his mind was on the mend.
Jaune the Hunter would not yet break; he would yet endure.
All it would take…
Was a little bit of Insight from a helping hand.
YVYVYVYVY
“Will there be anything else, sir?”
“No, that will be all,” Negan dismissed the maid. He quickly sat in his chair and pulled out his scroll, connecting it to the television.
He then sat back and waited, his hands scratching at the sides of his pants. He looked back to the door to his suite, an odd thought of concern drifting through his head. He did his best to ignore it, but the feeling would persist despite his efforts.
Then his Scroll began to buzz.
The words ‘incoming call’ were splayed across the screen, and Negan took a long, calming breath before hitting accept.
The Screen was immediately filled with the image of his younger niece, and Negan had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his expression still. Hers was much the same, a perfect mask of sophistication, a vision of a young, respectable lady at the top of her peerage.
Negan bit down the urge to curse.
Only his familiarity with his niece and understanding of her position allowed him to grasp the situation quickly. Anyone else would see the Weiss Schnee that appeared in the interviews and tabloids. The fairest skin, hair as white as snow, ice blue eyes, and her new, pronounced scar decorating her left eye.
But Negan saw the rigidness, the mask of professionalism.
“Good day, uncle,” Weiss greeted, her head tilting by only the faintest of margins, her expression not shifting in the slightest.
“Greetings, Weiss, it is lovely to hear from you,” Negan responded, and while his tone was measured and his appearance was checked… his words were honest.
“The sentiment is shared, Uncle,” Weiss replied.
Negan immediately began turning over in his head who was observing her; it was unlikely to be Jacques; his brother had practically abandoned Weiss recently. Winter was unlikely but not impossible. The girl was nowhere near as insufferable as his brother but was… well, she had her own issues.
Willow was a possibility though he wasn’t sure how the woman’s drinking was at the moment.
A door behind his niece opened, and Negan bit down the urge to cheer.
It was Klein, the stout, balding butler with his bushy moustache, being one of the only people in the entire world that Negan would ever trust with his niece's wellbeing. Negan may not be able to be there for his niece physically, but so long as Klein was there, he knew she would be ok.
“… Now, this is a performance bordering on the excessive; what is this?” Klein spoke, his head turning about the room smoothly.
A voice off-screen replied, “We were told the young miss was to be having a meeting with her uncle.”
“… Yes, a video meeting. Would you care to explain why such a meeting may require the full reach of the catering staff?” Klein enquired, his eyes darkening from a light brown to a low red.
“We were unaware it was to be a video meeting-“
“But you are aware now, yes?” Klein cut the person off; his eyebrow raised imperiously.
“…Yes?”
“Than perhaps rather than you all loitering off behind the screen like a gantry of observers you might all see to your usual duties, Miss Schnee is more than capable of summoning help when she requires it,” Klein ordered, his moustache ruffled as he came to stand by Weiss’s side.
Negan continued to hold back his smile; Klein certainly was unlike any other staff in that damn manor.
For one, the man seemingly gave a shit about the kids.
The sound of footsteps and doors opening and closing clued Negan into the fact that the room was being vacated. He waited until he could observe the shift in his niece and Klein, the man’s change being far easier to spot.
“Negan, you old bugger, how are you!” Klein beamed his eyes a sparkling yellow.
“Klein, you beautiful bastard, I’d kiss you were you only in reach,” Negan cheered, overjoyed to see his niece able to relax. “I assume you managed to scare off whoever was making my poor Weiss so uncomfortable?”
Klein’s eyes darkened again, “Jacques did not take kindly to Weiss daring to be her own person; it would not do to give the old brute ammunition, and I am still navigating the new schisms in the staff.”
“Father… there were layoffs after I made my declaration,” Weiss admitted guiltily.
Negan bit back his curse, his brother and the media could give him all the shit they wanted; he knew who the real ass in their family was. “It’s not your fault Weiss, Jacques fired them.”
“Yes, because-“
Klein placed a hand on Weiss’s shoulder, “Miss, your father did it likely to elicit this exact response from you… do not give the man what he wants.”
“Klein is right,” Negan was quick to agree, “Jacques wouldn’t care a lick about paying a few severance packages, but the ability to make you second guess your decision? The chance to yank you back under his thumb… that would be worth every damn Lien.”
Weiss seemed to grow more sullen but nodded her head.
Negan sighed and leaned back in his seat, happy he didn’t have to hold his composure but annoyed that things were still shit back home.
“I am sorry I can’t be there for your Weiss…” Negan apologised, looking away from the screen momentarily to collect himself.
A laugh bubbled out of Klein. “Hah, if you were, you would just be sent away again or likely chased off for decking your ass of a brother!”
Negan laughed boisterously, “That is true… is he still collecting stuffed Grimm?”
Klein’s laughter became derisive, “Oh, you betcha.”
Negan sighed dramatically, tossing his arm over his face as part of the act, “Urgh, that’s just so tacky…”
Finally, he heard a soft giggle, half-suppressed, but it was there.
His niece had a beautiful laugh.
“I suppose I must accept my portion of the blame as is,” Negan sighed, casting his hands away and looking forlorn. “The gods gave me the looks, the style, the charisma… perhaps I should have left him something…”
Now holding back her laughter, Weiss said, “Uncle Negan, you are the younger brother…”
“My dear, they save the best for last, don’t you know?” Negan winked.
“Well, I’ll be damned, where is the third brother, he sounds great?” Klein quipped.
Negan was gone, laughter erupting out of his chest. Klein quickly joined him, but the laughter he was the happiest to hear was Weiss’s.
Free of restriction and with all the joy the young woman could dare to express.
Negan sniffed, looking to the old butler with genuine appreciation, “Don’t you go changing on me, Klein; you’re a gem.”
Klein's eyes adopted a pink hue as he looked away, a finger fiddling with his collar, “… Come now, sir.”
Weiss’s giggles continued momentarily as she observed Klein being bashful. It was perfect. Weiss was finally relaxed, and Negan was treated to the sight of the girl finally acting like a teenager, a rarity given her home life.
Heaven forbid Jacques treat anyone like a fucking person.
“So where have you run off to this time, uncle?” Weiss teased, accepting a cup handed to her by Klein.
“I am living in it up in some of the sunnier parts of Vale! I’ll tell you what, my darling niece, you certainly know how to pick em; Vale is gorgeous and the weather, Mm! The weather is perfect, none of the blistering heat of Vacuo or the god-awful humidity of Mistral.” Negan took a long sip of whatever bubbly, icy cold drink he had ordered from the staff earlier.
“Really!” Weiss exclaimed, pure excitement on her face.
Negan had never felt like a better uncle.
“Yeah… you know what? I might need to hang around for a while…”
“R-really?” Weiss’s face was pure vulnerability, and Negan couldn't help but think for a second what his brother would do in this situation.
Probably emotionally scar the girl.
“Really, really… might even have to buy myself a nice apartment over in the capital,” Negan shrugged.
“… That… that would be really nice,” Weiss whispered.
Negan leaned forward, “Something to look forward to then. I will get to see my lovely niece, and you will get to suffer me popping in on every single open day…”
Weiss’s face did a complete 180.
“… Upon further consideration perhaps-“
“Too late. I am looking at real estate now… damn, Vale certainly thinks highly of themselves, don’t they?” Negan muttered, looking at the prices on some half-decent abodes.
“Apologies, Negan, but have you ever purchased a property in a capital before?” Klein enquired somewhere off-screen.
“… Not technically, Mantle doesn’t count anymore,” Negan sighed.
“They are not cheap, sir…” Klein iterated cautiously.
“It's fine, Klein, it would be a fine purchase seeing as I would be there for a minimum of four years… plus it would give Weiss somewhere to escape to if school all gets too much for her,” Negan teased.
“I can handle school!” Weiss argued.
“You have been quite literally homeschooled for the entirety of your life,” Negan rebutted calmly.
“And my grades were beyond excellent,” Weiss harumphed.
“Your academic ability was the least of my concerns, dear niece,” Negan explained, trying to dance around the topic that Weiss had experienced very little social interaction in an open environment. Huntsman came in all shapes and from all walks of life. Weiss might think she was prepared for such, but then there was also the fact that she would be attending Beacon.
Beacon might pump out the best of the best… but it also accepted quite literally anyone.
Weiss would be surrounded by people her own age who could be from any nation, grown up in any myriad of situations and likely very many who cared not a lick for her upbringing. They would probably think less of her for it, just another rich girl trying to play Huntsman,
Negan knew she had it in her to be great, just as he knew Winter did…
He still worried, though. Proving oneself was never an exercise to be taken lightly and often required one to clear hurdles in unexpected manners.
Winter had her own rough patches, and that had been at Atlas Academy… Negan didn’t like being unaware of what Beacon was like internally. There were stories; you could always find a handful of anecdotes from past graduates.
But some of those seemed wild, to say the least.
Why would there be a rule prohibiting the existence of chimneys?
“Well, it doesn’t matter! I have made up my mind and already proven myself, so I am attending, and that’s that!” Weiss was quick to proclaim, Negan noting she was getting worked up.
Negan raised his hands in surrender, “I wasn’t trying to dissuade you, Weiss… merely letting you know that your annoying old uncle was going to worry about you.”
Weiss let out a harumph and sat back in her chair.
‘Still such a child… you are not helping me worry any less, you know,’ Negan thought tiredly.
“… Well, that’s enough about the future for now, I suppose; how about you give me an update about how things are over in Atlas,” Negan suggested, deciding that there was little he could do for her at this point.
Beacon would educate her quickly enough.
Negan listened to Weiss talk about the happenings in the family and her brief overview of the goings on in the SDC and Atlas itself. In a way, his niece showed a very comprehensive understanding of the business side of things a merit of her education and upbringing.
He did not, however, fail to notice that her discussion topics all stayed well within the confines of her comfort. For this reason, he was so worried about her and the massive change she was running headfirst into.
He blamed Winter.
Weiss had always idolised her older sibling, and in truth, this was mostly a positive. Winter was arguably one of the most well-respected women in the entire country, the right hand of General Ironwood and a huntress of great renown. She had broken free of her father and built a life for herself… but tied herself irrevocably to the Atlas Military and James Ironwood.
In this manner, she still retained a connection to Jacques. The SDC had innumerable dealings and connections to the Atlas Military, the two being interconnected in parts to appear as one entity. Despite all her efforts, Winter was still within the field of influence of her father, but only marginally.
A fact he loathed and made said displeasure apparent by cutting Winter off almost entirely.
But there were still cords connecting the two that neither was willing to cut entirely.
Perhaps Weiss could succeed in that matter, breaking free of Jacques and his bullshit.
‘Fuck I hope so,’ Negan thought, eyeing his niece as she discussed a big botched Dust shipment that had happened in his ‘neck of the woods’.
“Eh, not really, Weiss. That happened nearly on the other side of Vale from where I am,” Negan shrugged, knowing the shipment she was talking about but possessing no detail.
“Huh?” Weiss pulled up short, her brow furrowing as it was want to do when she became confused. “Then where are you? I thought you were in the capital?”
“Oh heavens no,” Negan snorted, “your uncle is loath to be left bereft of entertainment; I go where the excitement is!”
“… That’s not an answer,” Weiss sighed.
Negan chuckled, “Don’t go getting all serious on me now, Weiss… I am in Bastion.”
Weiss’s brow furrowed further, raising a finger to her lips as she thought aloud, “Bastion? What’s in Bastio-“
She stopped, looking up suddenly, a sea of emotion behind her eyes.
“… You were going to surprise me,” Weiss whispered.
Negan nodded bashfully; he was such a softy when he played the uncle role, “Yeah, but honestly, I think I much prefer your surprise! Do you know how hard it is to find even a single section of news that doesn’t have a link or ad with your lovely face on it at the moment… well, at least in Atlesian news.”
Weiss was quiet despite his teasing, though, and it was not hard to spot how she was beating herself up.
“Stop that, Snowflake, it's fine, so what if I can’t see you now? I will get to spend a whole lot longer with you in just a few months! It will be great!” Negan encouraged clapping his hands together and rubbing them in a plotting manner.
“We are going to spend so much time together you will be practically sick of me,” Negan snickered in an over-the-top evil tone.
Weiss smiled, “You are so weird.”
“Am not!”
“Yes, you are,” Weiss teased. “I am sorry I spoiled your surprise. It would have been lovely to run into you over there. Do you know who they got to replace me on Remnant’s Real Talent?”
Negan finished his drink, “Nah, truth be told when I found out that you wouldn’t be dropping by, I nearly bailed, but with all the people in town as well as the lovely weather, I decided to stick it out and see if I couldn’t run into any fun.”
“You could still go watch the show?” Weiss scolded lightly.
“I am going to watch it. I pulled out the sick card, and they were nice enough to hook me up with a live feed; I will get to see everything all from the comfort of this chair,” Negan boasted.
“It's not the same, and you know it,” Weiss pouted.
Negan sighed; really, he had little interest in seeing the whole show and being forced to schmooze with folks in charge… but it would give him something to do this evening. Not to mention, Remnant’s Real Talent lasted a whole year; it was an international talent show…. It could be a good idea to check out next year's newest superstar.
Dammit, was he becoming responsible?
‘It’s only a couple of decades late,’ Negan thought banefully as he stood up from his chair.
With a sigh, he pouted at his niece, “Fine, but only because I want to be able to rub in all the stuff you missed when I run into you at the capital.”
Weiss giggled, “I suppose that will be good enough.”
Negan smiled happily. It was annoying, but it was much the case as of late; he could only find enjoyment when he was with his family. Weiss was the only one who reached out to him, what with her current rebellious phase … but he loved it.
“I am proud of you, Snowflake,” Negan praised.
“W-what? Where did that come from?” Weiss stuttered.
“I just felt it needed saying; after all, the next time I see you will be when you are a big bad Huntress in training!” Negan teased excitedly.
“… Thank you,” Weiss mumbled with a blush painting her cheeks.
“You are welcome, Weiss… Now, I must say my goodbyes because I need to get ready for a show I was guilt-tripped into attending,” Negan complained dramatically.
“You will love it!” Weiss hollered.
“Eh… love you, Snowflake, take care of yourself and hurry on over here… your uncle misses you,” Negan said caringly.
“… I will, uncle; I promise I will call in as soon as I get to Vale!”
“Ha! Be sure you do; I will need a head start to clean things up,” Negan admitted.
“You could just hire a maid, you know?” Weiss reminded her uncle.
“… Weiss sweetie, I am well off, but I am not that well off,” Negan admitted.
“Oh… well that’s ok… I’m pretty sure my father will cut me off soon enough, so I guess I will need to get acclimated to a different lifestyle myself…” Weiss thought aloud. Her face suddenly became all business.
“Good thinking, sweety, take the old fucker for everything he’s worth… and see if you can’t get rid of those awful stuffed Grimm; they honestly make me even more embarrassed to be related to the ass,” Negan shuddered.
Weiss laughed boldly, her hands covering her mouth but failing to hide her amusement, “They really are awful… Bye Uncle Negan.”
“Goodbye Weiss… and goodbye to you too, Klein, take care of our girl, you hear me!” Negan called out, knowing the faithful butler would be nearby.
“I know how to do my job, you musical twit! Hang up already… and you take care of yourself, you hear,” the stout butler instructed, his head peaking around the corner of the screen, his eyes dancing between red and light brown.
“I will; bye all,” Negan said finally as he pressed the hang-up button on his Scroll.
Negan slumped back in his chair and sighed, his body suddenly feeling a lot older than it should. He looked at the clock and saw that he still had a while before the auditions began; he only had to make the call this early due to the difference in time zones.
“Right… suppose I best make an appearance; if anyone would find out that I ditched, it would be Weiss,” Negan spoke out loud, moving towards the shower.
In his mind, he couldn’t help but think about the future, being able to see his niece more regularly and being there for her. He couldn’t do much for Winter, and Jacques, the egotistical prick, had Whitley under extreme scrutiny.
But he could be there for Weiss.
“… You can do this, Negan… don’t be a fuck up,” Negan scolded his reflection.
He hopped in the shower, thinking about the type of apartment he would need to snag in the capital.
‘… Definitely one with decent water pressure… this is fucking pathetic,’ Negan groaned as the water rained over his head pathetically.
He quickly set to getting clean; his mind split between pondering the future and wondering if he would manage to find any excitement today.
YVYVYVYVY
“Right, and when you hear your name called, you simply move to the centre position and do your best,” the woman explained, her eyes locked onto her wristwatch.
“And when I’m done?”
“When the music is cut, the judges will give you their regards and their verdicts, no matter what they say when you are dismissed, just exit the way you came, make sense?”
“Yes… thank you.”
The woman smiled and patted Sky’s shoulder, “Look, you’ve made it past the producers and execs, which means that, if nothing else, you are entertaining… all you have to do is go out there and do your best.”
“R-right.”
“Good luck,” with her peace said the woman hurried off, likely to prep the next performer.
Sky took a breath, but her heart continued to race in her chest, and her stomach fluttered as she looked out onto the stage where another contestant was performing. The entire audience area was silent as they performed, and that honestly was doing nothing for her nerves.
“… You don’t need to be nervous; you are much better than them,” her brother's voice spoke up out of nowhere, nearly causing Sky to squeak.
“Jaune! What are you doing back here? It's performers only!” Sky scolded her ridiculously taller older brother, prodding him in the stomach as she did.
It wasn’t fair that it hurt her finger, and he barely reacted.
“No one stopped me,” Jaune shrugged.
“Did they even see you?” Sky whisper-shouted.
“… Probably not, but that says more about their observation skills… or lack of them for people employed in the security business.”
“Jaune, most of them are just there to direct lost people and keep things running smoothly, not stop obnoxiously tall ninjas!” Sky ranted.
“Not all of them, some are quite well-armed,” Jaune commented.
“Of course they are; this building is full of executives and celebrities!”
“… Hm.”
Sky sighed, her nerves forgotten as she resisted the urge to punch her brother; it wouldn’t even hurt him and would do nothing for her frustrations.
“So, are you ready? We waited around nearly the whole day for this…. It seems slightly absurd given how long you have to perform,” Jaune pondered.
“Jaune, thousands of people have performed today; like, I think there are over a hundred to go after us; they will be going well into the night,” Sky explained.
“… I see… but from what I have seen, you are much better than a lot of the others… Perhaps they need to better their screening process,” Jaune wondered as the music cut off on stage.
“Crap, I’m up next!” Sky panicked.
“That’s good. It will be nice to have someone on stage who knows what they are doing,” Jaune nodded.
“You are blatantly biased!”
“But not wrong,” Jaune smiled as he hugged Sky carefully, not wanting to mess up her hair and makeup. She and Jade had spent a rather long time on it, and by the end, Jade swore off ever doing it again, telling Sky she could drag Scarlett along next time.
“I don’t think I’m ready…”
“You are, you know what you’re doing, you taught me stuff, remember,” Jaune smiled.
“That and this are not the same.”
“No… but it shows you know what you are doing.”
“Jaune…”
Jaune knelt, “Sky, no one can force you out there, sister. If you don’t want to perform, we can sneak off, and I promise you no one will notice,” Jaune explained with a degree of confidence that spoke of his opinion on the building’s ‘security’.
“… But I want to…”
“Then all you need to do is go out there and do the same thing you have rehearsed repeatedly,” Jaune explained.
“But the judges!”
“It doesn’t matter; they are just people in chairs. Until your performance ends, they may as well be mannequins or some of your stuffed toys,” Jaune shrugged.
“Shh, that’s embarrassing,” Sky mumbled, pushing her fingers against Jaune’s lips.
Jaune’s smile grew, “of course… I know you can do this, and I do so enjoy watching you perform.”
“… Will you stay right here?”
“You have my word as an Arc,” Jaune promised.
“… Ok, I think-“
“Right, you’re up, Miss Arc, if you would please- Who are you?” The woman from before returned to direct Sky but paused upon seeing Jaune.
Jaune quickly got off his knees and rose back up to his full height, the woman’s head following his sudden steep increase in elevation. It was comical to watch as her face slackened as she realised that the man she was addressing towered over her.
“… No one of consequence,” Jaune replied, crossing his arms over his chest, his head tilting as he eyed the woman critically.
“I… ok, umm… Miss Arc, you’re up,” the woman hurried over to Sky, pointedly putting the girl between herself and Jaune’s bright blue eyes.
“You will do great, sister,” Jaune said in parting as Sky was moved to the taped X on the floor.
“Thanks, Jaune,” Sky giggled, always amused by how people reacted to her big brother.
It was absurd to her that people could be scared of him; she had seen him lecture Rammus for his lousy table manners; he was the opposite of scary.
Sky took a breath and waited, listening for her name.
When it was called, she walked across the stage to the centre, where a microphone awaited her.
She looked to the judges, but Jaune’s words danced in her head, and with the lights shining down, it was all too easy to see them as human-shaped figures.
She adjusted the stand, her hands gripping and releasing the microphone as she calmed herself down.
One breath.
Two breaths.
Three…
She breathed in.
The music began.
Then she began to sing.
YVYVYVYVY
Adam had long learned to wake in a particular order.
He never just opened his eyes. He stopped, gathered his thoughts, listened, smelt and sensed the world around him.
He had become highly skilled with the last one; of all the Aura abilities he had trained, few had been done to the same degree as his Aura Sense.
It was necessary to compensate for his blindside.
When he was sure of his situation, that he was secure at least for the moment, then did he open his eyes though only one was worth opening in truth. At the same time, his hand fell to Wilt and Blush, the weapon laid beside him at the ready.
His caution was found unnecessary, as he was alone and in his room. His place of rest was simple: a bunk room in the Bastion White Fang hideout.
Cement walls, cement floor, cement ceiling, and a cot carved into one of the walls with beat-up old sheets and a half-stuffed pillow. A single hanging lightbulb for light and that was it; it was practically a cell.
It suited Adam just fine; it was rare he didn’t have to sleep on the ground with how mobile he had been over the past few months.
He knew how many eyes were on him, and he was all too aware that Sienna and the many hangers-on that surrounded her were watching. It was… less than ideal. The scrutiny he was under was aggravating as it did not come with trust but with expectations.
To exacerbate the situation, his requests for people and resources were mostly turned down.
Sienna had sent him away at the advice of others; Adam knew it, and Sienna knew he knew. It didn’t matter, though, cause the truth was that Adam was not in a position to complain about a promotion.
If only it were a promotion.
It was an assassination, not of his person but his character.
When the White Fang called for a change in leadership following the ousting of Ghira, there were many candidates.
Adam had been one of them for much the same reason Sienna was; they were the students of Ghira.
He and Sienna had, for the most part, come up in the White Fang together both students under Ghira, both had learned the history of the brotherhood, both adhered to its ideal.
Adam respected Sienna like few others because she, like him, understood that the humans would never listen so long as they viewed the Faunus as beneath them. They had led the charge of change together, fighting side by side to show the White Fang and the Faunus as a whole that there was another way.
They needn’t be meek.
They could remind the humans who won the revolution.
The issues arose when the time came for a new High Leader.
When Ghira left, Adam had been… lost. The man had taken him in, shown him what it meant to be a Faunus, and treated him better than anyone else ever had before.
He could still recall their lessons… Ghira would educate him in reading, writing and maths as well as lessons on the history of the Faunus, telling him about their people; he had been an attentive student even before he began to discuss the White Fang.
He could recall the scent of the tea Kali would bring in, the brew steaming as she would call for them to have a break. She used to pat his head, her hands glossing over his horns… she called them cute.
Between his lessons with Ghira, he would train with Blake, both sparring, though sometimes it would devolve into little more than scuffling. Kali even taught him to swim, the woman proving very much that the stereotypes about cat Faunus were not true.
Blake would often help him with things he didn’t understand, helping with his reading, though the material with which she did so was… questionable. He had loved it, though; weird books aside, he adored the care, the attention. He had tried to learn to cook from Ghira to repay the favour but found he was ill-made for the kitchen.
…Those days… were without equal.
‘They probably hate you now.’
Adam began to dress.
When talks began of who the next leader would be, Adam was still reeling from Ghira’s abandonment; it hurt like few things ever had. The man had looked… so disappointed as he departed, declaring he would serve their people in Menagerie.
He had not been alone in his hurt… Blake had been just as devastated.
It was this, more than anything, that led to their being passed over. Sienna had the support of the old guard and those who agreed with their more radical approach. Adam hadn’t cared for the politics of it all. He had spent that period with Blake, the two of them working through Ghira’s leaving.
His dislike for politics only increased after Sienna’s appointment.
There were those in her ear who proclaimed that he envied her position.
He did not.
Some stated he sought to usurp her, that he and Blake believed it was their right to lead.
Neither of them had thought such.
The final straw was when Sienna was told that he and Blake were causing a rift in the ranks as they drew more and more under their banner.
This was not inaccurate.
Sienna taken on the position of High Leader and now, with their more radical movement, was forced to operate as an overseer. She was tasked with managing the overall efforts across the continents, and this was not without its trials.
It was one of the reasons Adam had never wanted the position.
Adam knew he was still liable to kick the shit out of Dragon should he ever encounter the aggravating leader of the Mistrali branch. Damn egotist dared to walk around with a moniker like Dragon, yet for the most part, was riding on the accomplishments of those who came before him.
Mainly Sienna, Blake and, of course, himself.
But that was just it; with Sienna now operating as the High Leader, she was mostly removed from the frontlines. The number of missions she undertook before Adam’s departure could be counted on one hand.
Meanwhile, with the White Fang’s shift in direction, he had thrown himself at mission after mission. He had fought in Mistral, he had fought in Atlas, and he had fought in Vale, securing several victories for the brotherhood.
And he built for himself a reputation he could take pride in.
As their actions escalated and Adam found missions becoming increasingly difficult, it became necessary for him to seek aid. He and Blake were capable and had Aura… but they were only two Faunus, and though this aided them in their stealth, they weren’t just running covert operations any more.
But they didn’t have to be.
Together, he and Blake carved themselves a place in the new White Fang as talented combatants and skilled operators. Though they were but a pair, their accomplishments outshone entire Cells and with this came acknowledgment.
When others approached asking to serve under him, Adam had been wary at first. He was aware of his reputation and did not want to be like Sienna, but Blake advised him not to turn them away so quickly.
He had heeded her, and so they came. Few at first, but with time, more and more would come requesting to join as they were lured by his successes or reputation for striking at the worst targets. With Blake to steady him, he learned to pick out those who would make fitting comrades and those who would be… better served elsewhere.
He always loved sending such requests to Sienna… it was a small victory, but he revelled in it all the same.
Gekko had been the first, and others followed until it could no longer be ignored.
That was when he received his ‘promotion’.
Sienna sent him to Vale, away from Mistral, where his accomplishments were known and Atlas, where he would never want for action. Instead, he was forced to operate where the White Fang was its most docile.
Even Vacuo would have been preferable; the near lawless country would have allowed him to operate in the open, and it would have been… enjoyable to go somewhere he would not lack allies. If there was one place where his hatred for the SDC would be welcome, it would be in Vacuo.
‘Would Blake have enjoyed it?’
Adam shook his head and finished doing up his boots.
Since his arrival, he had to move and operate in ways he had not done since he still served under Ghira. At first, it was… tolerable. Blake and her abilities aligned well with their need for covert missions, and Gekko and the rest of his soldiers were ready to provide backup should the need arise.
But it was also maddening.
Vale was a problematic country for him to operate in; it lacked the blatant corruption of Mistral, and the White Fang had far less presence the further you moved from major settlements. To this end, he lacked allies and enemies in equal measure.
This was their plan… he would die an ignoble death or be forgotten altogether.
The betrayal ate at him.
So he changed the game.
They wanted to forget him… he would make it impossible for them not to think about him. He dug deep into the war doctrines of the White Fang that had not been used since the Great War and began tearing across the country. He would whip up Cells as he went, never stalling and seeking to rouse the White Fang from its slumber.
Success and destruction followed where he travelled, and Faunus were donning the Grimm masks he championed.
The humans were being confronted by monsters of their own making, and even Sienna was forced to congratulate his efforts. He hoped her words were noxious to those who had set him on this path that they all choked on their suggestions as he flourished at their direction.
For every denied request for assets, he struck a blow against their oppressors; for every denial of more people to add to his ranks, he transformed small movements into active Cells. What made it better was he did so through the teachings of Ghira, speaking to their hearts as he had, encouraging them to be more than victims.
But… then Blake left.
He paused in his dressing to look at the jacket he clutched in his hands.
It had been a gift from the Belladonna, the last he had received. He wore it proudly, hoping to show that no matter what, he was grateful to them… that he was doing this for them.
But Blake left.
He still could recall the rage, the fury he felt when, despite their peaceful ways, the kindness they showed…, and the pacifism, the humans still met Ghira with only animosity. He recalled the time he had seen Blake and Kali surrounded by humans and how they had said things that made his blood boil.
They would never know it, but Ghira had saved every single one of their lives that day when he scared them off.
They had been buying the jacket for him.
Then Kali had made alterations to it… they had given it to him together.
He adored it.
Blake had thought it made him look handsome.
But Blake was gone.
‘Of course, they abandoned you.’
He threw on his jacket and quickly pulled on his gloves, annoyed that he was thinking about the past today of all days.
He needed to focus on the now.
If he succeeded today, it didn’t matter what those parasites around Sienna tried; his name would be known far and wide. He would be the Faunus that killed a Schnee, and with that kind of momentum, he would finally be able to right some wrongs.
Hopefully, he could pull Sienna’s head out of her striped ass and talk some sense into her.
It would be terrific to have her back; if he could get at least one of his old allies back, there might be hope for… others.
But that only mattered if he succeeded tonight.
If he killed the Schnee, the entire White Fang would know his name and works, so it didn’t matter what they said about him behind closed doors. They could plot, scheme, and attempt their pointless little games.
He would have the true believers.
Those who understood why it is that they fight, why the White Fang now bared its fangs. They would see his works and know that someone was out there fighting and winning. When he killed the Schnee and struck a blow that the entire SDC would never be able to hide, they would know.
When they succeeded, he and his men would finally have the respect they deserve, and perhaps some of the requisitions could start being approved. With some real support, Adam was sure he could bring Vale up to the same standard as Mistral and Atlas… and then perhaps they could finally evoke some change.
And it all started tonight.
Adam threw open his door, his mask firmly in place, his weapon in hand. Gekko was already there and waiting for him with two of his men at his side.
“Sir, did you sleep well?” Gekko greeted the man immediately, showing his concern.
“I did. The men?”
“All rested and fed, sir, ready for our operation,” Gekko informed dutifully.
“Good, give me an update, Lieutenant,” Adam ordered.
“Sir, our men are standing by at the ready and eager to move out. We resupplied what we could from the Cell, and our engineers have informed me that our vehicles are ready and waiting.”
“Good, we move tonight. No matter what Rajah reports, we cannot afford to let this opportunity pass,” Adam instructed.
“We are ready to move on your command, sir,” Gekko proclaimed.
Adam stopped; the Command Room was up ahead and was a hive of activity; this boded either really well or terribly for his plans. Adam turned to his men, his expression perfectly blank as he spoke softly, “No matter what news we receive, we stay calm, we accept the reports, and then move to the vehicles; further orders are to be over secure channel, understood?”
“Yes, sir,” all three replied.
Adam just nodded and moved into the Command Room. Gekko followed behind him, and both his soldiers stopped inside the door, taking positions in the doorway. Adam didn’t fail to notice that his men were better armed and dressed than many others in this Cell.
A lot of their equipment was lifted straight out of Atlesian barracks stationed at SDC bases and repainted in their colours. Much was the same for their weapons, though Adam mostly tried to equip his men with weapons that weren’t of Atlesian make.
Damn things tended to jam.
Adam instead sprung for Valean make or even some of the more refined Vacuo designs, as they all tended to boast a better lifespan in less-than-optimal conditions. Mistral firearms tended to focus on appearance more than anything, though from Adam’s experience, they still managed to fare better in harsher environments than Atlesian weapons.
His Trick Weapon, Wilt and Blush, was an excellent example of such.
Wilt was an eastern Mistrali straight sword, a chokutō, but it was unique in that it was the most expansive component of his trick weapon. The blade was made from Dust Infused Steel and was the weapon he had made for himself after his first-ever successful solo mission. The sword was infused with Fire Dust and, thanks to the complicated process, was now capable of producing flames and heat with the application of his Aura.
It came with a host of unique upkeep requirements, but the sword had never failed him.
Blush was, in truth, a child of Vale and Mistral. The mechanisms to allow for it to serve as a sheath were favoured by Mistrali Hunters, who preferred subtlety, a call back to the days of Mistral's legendary assassins. They flowed seamlessly and never snagged when he was sheathing Wilt. At times, they didn’t even appear to be metal.
The rifle component of Blush was based on the Valean-made Tier-1 RAR- Ikerkoponya Double Rifle. It was a weapon that had been around since early on in the Great War and was a beloved lever action rifle that still saw use to this day.
It was the perfect base for Blush.
Adam had gone on to modify it so heavily that in its final form, Blush would easily qualify as a Tier-2 weapon. It was the perfect partner for Wilt, allowing Adam a ranged option while still not being cumbersome in close quarters. Its modified size was more in line with a ‘Mare’s Leg’ configuration with a lengthened stock, but such idiosyncrasies were the norm with Huntsman trick weapons.
Adam spared a look to his lieutenant, well aware of the man's preferred weapon for close-quarters combat.
Was it effective? Quite so.
Did Adam secretly wish desperately that his second would refine the damn thing a little more? Very much.
Though Gekko did deserve credit, the massive, modified chainsaw certainly aided in clearing a path in crowded rooms.
‘Case in point.’
“Ah, Commander Adam,” Rajah looked up, his expression serious; he was flanked on both sides by Faunus, who were notably better dressed, and one had a pair of pistols holstered at their side.
“Rajah,” Adam replied briskly.
“Your timing is perfect,” Raja announced quickly, sliding a Scroll across the table.
“How so?” Adam questioned, picking up the offered device and eyeing it critically.
“We are ready, sir,” Rajah declared.
Adam paused in examining the screen; his cursory glance had already revealed that it was a condensed report. A positive one that boasted success that, if true, would likely see their mission fulfilled without a hitch.
“The tasks I issued?” Adam asked, his eyes going back to the Scroll.
This time, the armed Faunus to Rajah’s right spoke, “Success across the board, agents are in place, we have auxiliary squads on standby at the pre-appointed locations and eyes on all designated areas. The target is confirmed, and inside sources indicate that he is at the primary location and likely to remain there for the time being.”
Adam nodded, putting down the Scroll.
“Your people are ready to act?”
The masked Faunus nodded; they at least seemed to carry themselves professionally, seeing how they were armed and armoured. “We can close the noose as soon as you give the order, and we have people in place to cause distractions to disrupt the local authorities.”
“His escape routes?”
“Pad on the roof will be eliminated as soon as you engage; an agent has rigged the garage security system to activate cutting-off ground transport. Agents are located at his hotel and the port, but even beyond this, we managed to locate his private airship.”
Adam straightened at this, “Truly, you are sure? It is not strange for Schnee to have backup transports.”
“That’s just it, sir,” the masked Faunus began, pride emanating from their posture. “Your Lieutenant made us aware of such, which got us thinking. We are well aware of the location of Bastion’s airport, and we have a squad there ready to sabotage his flight if necessary… but he didn’t arrive through the airport.”
Papers were ruffled, and a map was unrolled; Rajah placed a finger on a space marked in grey and white with an Atlesian symbol printed above it. “An Atlas Military airbase, built to ‘encourage’ international cooperation… in truth a private landing strip for SDC transports.”
The Masked Faunus handed over a Scroll showing a picture of an Airship that stood out like a sore thumb in the busy airstrip.
“If that’s a freight flier, I am the long-lost child of the Warrior King,” the masked Faunus jested.
Adam was silent, his face a practised blank.
Then he smiled.
“We’re ready.”
Comments
Remington0
The chapter was very filler.
Laplase
Looks like Adam is about to catch a lethal case of Death by Hunter (Bloodborne Edition)
Ace
Cheers for pointing that out. Also Negan is indeed an OC inspired by the fact that Weiss claimed the W.F. have killed her family before... only issue is we never get more detail on that soooo... I guess I will do it myself.
SirTockelton
Ahhh, I love the wiess and uncle interactions (is he an OC or a character mentioned but never shown). Great job as always ace! BTW, misspelled bye when Weiss hangs-up.
BetaKing1
So it begins...
