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G.N. Chapter 51
🕑 Added 2024-05-15 07:23:29 +0000 UTCChapter 51 Here and no Further.
The power of the Old Blood was truly miraculous.
Jaune sat in contemplation of this fact, his back to the statue keeping him from being riddled with bullets as he stared down at the thin cylinder holding the substance in question. His gaze then travelled to the small brown pouch holding the little white pills he now knew to be antidotes.
He chose to ignore the judging looks he was getting from both Anima and Twitch, who had witnessed his tantrum at discovering that particular tidbit of information.
He personally thought that he was well within his rights to vent his frustrations; the poison wielded by the Beasts of Old Yharnam had caused no small amount of anxiety. Something that could linger in his system even after the application of a Blood Vial was a threat he had not encountered before.
And it was a threat that was not uncommon in this section of Yharnam.
But as he was beaten halfway to hell, missing two fingers, had some rather worrying-looking burns on the same maimed hand, was pinned down by a very lethal gunman and still very much feeling the pain of his situation… it all somewhat got the better of him.
Hence his… Outburst.
Now, though, he was trapped in something of a dilemma.
He was so close.
The Gunman was above him; all he had to do was scale this building, and the wretch would be in his grasp. Then, all Jaune had to do was find a way to ensure that either they or the damnable gun would be rendered inoperable.
But Jaune was far from his best. If he reached the top only to find more foes or that the operator himself was a worthy combatant, he would likely be felled in short order. Then, he would need to make his way back again with all the previous obstacles restored.
The alternative… was utilising a Bold Hunter Mark and returning to the lantern anyway.
The only difference was the value.
If he returned with the mark, he could do so with the Blood Echoes acquired and regather himself… but still be faced with the same trek back here.
If he continued and fell… the difference would be the loss of his Blood Echoes.
But the gain… knowledge.
Forewarned is forearmed… and Jaune was quite fond of arming himself.
His decision made, he plunged the Blood Vial in between his two missing fingers, the syringe piercing the soft flesh and injecting the powerful substance into his body. Jaune watched on, morbidly curious and ever concerned, as the Old Blood demonstrated its power.
The burns on his hands mended so swiftly he could see the blisters recede with his own eyes, the red, angry, exposed meat around his amputated fingers scabbed and sealed. Though flesh did not cover them, Jaune could move the shortened nubs without it shooting a hellish hurt down his arm, so he counted it as a win.
It seemed the Blood also struggled to restore missing parts.
Jaune narrowed his gaze at the missing fingers and realised that he was now essentially down an arm as he could not wield a weapon properly with his lacking fingers. “Tsk, I don’t want to… but I think this is a piece of information I will need to retain for later,” Jaune uttered in surrender. He didn’t wish it, but he knew that his subsequent amputation was a matter of when… not if.
“I guess this also explains Gehrman’s leg,” Jaune sniffed, looking to Anima and Twitch, who looked at him but didn’t respond. Jaune clenched his severely hampered right hand, face tightening at the flair of hurt that spawned, but it was far improved comparatively.
“Right… now for you,” Jaune grumbled, turning his head to see the base of the building the gunman was situated atop.
He needed to get around its side.
He looked the other way and found a rickety, poorly constructed bridge that appeared to have been built after the fire had ravaged Old Yharnam. It led to the right and downward, which, while not ideal, would get Jaune out of the line of fire.
‘… Assuming he is not in possession of another mounted gun from which to rain hell down upon me,’ Jaune thought grimly.
Jaune had only one last thing to do before deciding on a route forward: retrieve his Threaded Cane. It was lying on the floor, surrounded by a splatter of red obliterated flesh, just outside the statue's protection.
If Jaune had been of a mind, he could have dwelled on the sight of his fingers reduced to a red pulp across the scorched stones. He could have been taken aback by the sight of a part of him so utterly mutilated that it should rouse feelings of illness.
But no. Instead, Jaune used his Saw Cleaver to reach across and drag the weapon back into the safety of his cover, leaving a red streak as it slid through what was once his fingers. No thought was spared for just another horror, just another gruesome reality.
Jaune looked the weapon over and found that while damaged, it was still, for the most part, in one piece. A swift attempt to see if the weapon could return to its base form proved ineffectual.
“Dammit,” Jaune cursed, glaring at the damaged device. The many sharp, jutting teeth would make storing it on his person a troublesome endeavour. Jaune was about to hand it to the Messengers so they might return it to the Dream when he found his attention drawn to the sight of the weapon clasped in his mangled hand.
Then he got an idea.
It was shoddy, and were it not for his glove, his hand likely would have been cut to ribbons… but it worked. His hand was made lesser by the loss of his fingers, and grasping things would be all but an arduous task…
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t swing the limb around.
With care, he looped his elongated Threaded Cane about his limb, granting his injured right arm some use as a lethal spiked bludgeon. It was by far the better option than having his arm function as just a useless limb.
“What do you think?” Jaune asked of the two Messengers present.
The two responding groans were positive enough in tone for Jaune to take as approval, and as such, his mind was set.
Jaune did not rise quickly; there was no need; speed would be needed, yes, but so would patience and stamina. He pressed himself as close to the back of the statue as possible, hoping to conceal his following action entirely. He ignored the dead around him and the pool of blood that had grown from the corpses and spread to his own attire.
By this point, he was used to being coated in a layer of gore.
“You both better be getting back now,” Jaune told his Messengers with a smile beneath his cowl. “You best be telling the Doll and the others that I will be along soon… knowing my luck, sooner than intended.”
Neither Messenger responded to Jaune’s grim jest, but Anima gave him a nod before both she and Stitch submerged into the pooling mist. With them gone, Jaune allowed himself a moment, his head drifting up to see the sky.
He took a breath.
Inhale…
He exploded around the side of the statue, feet pounding on the stones from the very start as he tried to clear as much distance as possible. Ears perked, he heard it, the shift of gears and metal grinding on metal above as the gunman aimed.
But he was faster.
Jaune reached the base of the building and knew he was safe as no bullets ripped through him. He turned his gaze up and, through the grey film of concealing smoke, could see the large barrel of the mechanical death machine.
He hoped there would be a ladder to ease his passage… or he was in for quite a climb.
Jaune turned his attention again to the rickety bridge leading around the side of the building, the ramshackle wooden structure odd in these ruins of scorched stone. Given its very state, if Jaune did not know better, he would think such a thing to have been built by the Beasts themselves, but that seemed farfetched.
Of course, he had seen the Beasts and those afflicted by the scourge wield weapons and tools, but that was always done in the pursuit of killing.
Jaune perceived something beyond the bridge, stealing the opportunity to think more about the matter. A flurry of smoke shifted as something moved through it, casting the thick smog about like aerial ripples that confused and obfuscated.
Jaune clenched his right hand, feeling the lethal teeth of his Threaded Cane between his fingers and taking comfort that at least his primary arm was still useable. He brought his left arm about and raised his Saw Cleaver to cover his chest, the weapon's weight still unfamiliar to his left side.
He would need to adapt quickly.
Jaune watched the smoke, peering through the grey as it swirled and moved, waiting for whatever lurked within to give itself away.
His only warning was a flash.
A tiny spark, no larger than a star in the sky.
Jaune tried to react. He lifted his left arm, bringing his Saw Cleaver up, but it only got as high as his nose. His right arm crossed over the top of his left, but the awkwardness of having his weapons switched threw him off. Even as he turned away, it was too late.
He heard the impact and the sound of wood splintering; the left side of his face exploded with pain as his vision flashed red.
He screamed as the stabbing agony sheered through his eye, and his whole face felt as if it had been lashed. He wanted to bury his face in his arms and claw at the pain until it left.
But that would mean his death.
Fighting through instinct and his pain, he turned to face the direction of the flash with his right side.
It was a Hunter.
Jaune’s blood ran cold, and fear raced down his spine at the thought of needing to fight another like Gascoigne.
He didn’t have a chance to think on it further as the Hunter raced up the rickety bridge, their stealth forsaken as they rushed forward, a shadowed killer armed and hunting.
Jaune met his charge.
Jaune threw himself forward, taking advantage of the difference in elevation as he launched upward. The Hunter had nowhere to escape and was forced to block as Jaune brought his Saw Cleaver down in a diagonal slash.
Jaune could still distinctly remember Gascoigne.
How the man fought, pursued, and harried Jaune with a combination of arcing slashes and bursts of gunfire.
Jaune would not give this Hunter the same opportunity.
Serrated teeth met a similar edge as their weapons clashed, and Jaune got his first proper look at his opponent's weapon.
A Saw Spear.
This was all he had time to gleam about his opponent as the other Hunter raised their left hand toward his guts.
Jaune reacted by pure instinct and swung with his right fist, the teeth of his Threaded Cane gleaming dangerously. Metal rang against metal as Jaune parried something and followed up with a kick that shoved the other Hunter back a couple of steps.
The space gave Jaune enough time to inspect the Hunter more closely.
In addition to the Hunter’s Saw Spear, they also had a Pistol, which had robbed Jaune of his sight on his left side. Though his vision was now impaired twice over, Jaune could also make out that the Hunter was bereft of a cowl, and their face was somewhat visible.
Jaune could make out a few things, like the shape of his foe's facial features, including the fact that they possessed a long face and a pronounced nose. Additionally, he could tell that his foe appeared male if his one good eye wasn't betraying him and that there was, in fact, a beard beneath his chin.
Either that or his foe was already succumbing to the Beastly Scourge, in which case Jaune needed to kill them with all due haste.
He did not need to fight another Gascoigne.
Jaune kicked forward, his Saw Cleaver transforming as he swung, but the Hunter was ready and was quick to dash away.
Jaune didn’t relent, though, and went to swing again when he heard the sound of gears shifting above.
His swipe turned into a charge as he threw caution to the wind and decided that between an armed Hunter and a hail of bullets, the Hunter was less dangerous. The Hunter swiped in retaliation to his charge, but Jaune shifted and used his in-motion Saw Cleaver to parry.
Their blades crashed against one another, the teeth of their weapons catching as they became locked. Jaune’s arm shook as he struggled against the strength of another Hunter whose own limb matched Jaune’s as it wobbled.
Despite the match being fought with their arms, Jaune never halted his charge, and thus, with momentum on his side, it was he who emerged victorious.
Jaune heaved, egged on by the sound of bullets ripping through old scrap planks to his rear, shunting the Hunter into a continuous bout of backpedalling. The Hunter brought their pistol up in retaliation, but this time, Jaune was far too slow to react.
The piercing sear of the bullet ripped through his gut, and Jaune’s exertion of pain was a baleful hiss as the pain only increased the haze of red afflicting his vision. But that wasn’t the end of it; Jaune drove his fist into the Hunter’s chest and felt resistance as the teeth of his Cane met the leather of the Hunter’s attire.
Their grunt was lost to the roar of gunfire to his rear, but Jaune felt it on his bloodied face.
At last, wood gave way to cobble, and then the Hunter fell, footing lost, and Jaune did not relent as he drove the Hunter back and down.
The Hunter fell with their back, landing on a set of stairs, the old wood creaking from the sudden impact. Jaune landed atop, pinning the other Hunter’s weapon back with his Saw Cleaver while his right arm remained jabbed into their chest.
Jaune broke the grapple, though, as he had no desire to feel the storm of oncoming bullets.
But there was no stream of lethal Quicksilver.
The corner of the building was obscuring them.
Jaune swung as soon as he realised this, his Saw Cleaver splitting a wooden stair, but the bearded Hunter had already moved.
The familiar sound of mechanisms in motion was Jaune's warning as the bearded Hunter transformed his Saw Spear. The jagged teeth bit only air as Jaune dropped, catching himself on his mangled right hand, the teeth of his Cane grinding against the stone.
Jaune kicked off with his legs and rammed the Hunter in the hips with his shoulder.
Once more, Jaune managed to break their footing as they tumbled back, hitting a wooden railing and catching themselves.
Jaune swung, desperate to land a blow when his opponent was so exposed, but only managed to score a shallow cut across his abdomen, barely carving through his attire. The bearded Hunter didn’t so much recover as they threw themselves away, scrambling up the bend in the stairs.
Jaune knew he was the worst off in this fight, so he knew he couldn’t give his opponent the chance to breathe.
He hurried up the stairs but stumbled with a groan as the bullet still in his stomach made his whole body wrack with a hurt that refused to be ignored.
His faltering pursuit cost him, and Jaune was forced to parry a stab with his wrapped arm. The bearded Hunter’s Saw Spear ripped through cloth and marred flesh despite the limb's protection.
Jaune’s left hand darted for his belt, where he tore a Blood Vial free clumsily and stabbed it near the bullet wound.
The Old Blood made his world throb.
Renewed Jaune bellowed as he collapsed his Saw Cleaver and used it to strike the elongated Saw Spear. The strength of his strike shook the bearded Hunter’s arm and forced him to fall back from the top of the stairs.
Now they were on level ground.
Jaune, his hearing focused on the threat from above, tried to keep his eye locked on the prey before him. A task made all the more challenging as the Blood pushed free whatever had been impaled in his left eye.
All the same, Jaune fought.
The bearded Hunter did not fight like Gascoigne; they were flighty and swift. The Saw Spear slashed as the Hunter tried to ward Jaune away with long, hooked strokes. His pistol shots were sparring and used to disengage or attempt to punish.
Jaune met him step for step.
Their weapons clashed, serrated teeth letting free sparks as Jaune refused to allow his opponent the space they desired. His right arm became a makeshift shield, and Jaune didn’t let up his attacks from the left as he dared not expose his blindside.
His opponent finally caught on to Jaunes savage tactics and blocked his Saw Cleaver, pushing it down.
Jaune had been waiting for just such an action.
The crack of his blade-wrapped fist crashing against his opponent's jaw was a jolt of victory that he managed to enjoy even through the haze of pain, fury and fear.
The bearded Hunter stumbled, but all the same, they managed to bring their pistol up and fire a shot near point blank. Jaune wove around the barrel, the explosion destroying his hearing in his right ear as he freed his Saw Cleaver and made to end the fight.
His plan died as bullets lanced through his back and flung him forward and past the bearded Hunter.
Jaune landed on his knees, skidding as he struggled with all his strength to remain upright. He could not cry out despite the pain causing flashes of white to dance in his vision as the bullets had torn the very breath from his lungs.
He let his Saw Cleaver drop from his hand as he pawed for a Blood Vial.
His body listed, and he let it.
Another stream of bullets approached, but Jaune was saved as he fell, and a cropping of statues suffered the storm of Quicksilver in his stead. He did not do so unscathed, though.
Though his life had been spared, Jaune felt his right leg get hit as the bullets ravaged yet another of his limbs. The Blood Vial cracked in his grip, and Jaune plunged it in so hard he likely wound up giving the Blood yet another injury to repair, but he was too far gone to care.
The power of the mysterious substance brought with it a rush of clarity, and Jaune was left scrambling.
He rushed for his Saw Cleaver, recalling that he had dropped it. While his hand was wrapped around the hilt, it was too late.
A bullet ripped through his throat.
Blood streamed from the destroyed section of his neck, and Jaune collapsed.
His eyes rushed to the bearded Hunter who had shot him.
Though only one could see… Jaune knew both were alight with burning hate.
The Hunter was approaching; Saw Spear now clasped in two hands.
The bearded Hunter was going to perform a coup de grace…
He never saw Jaune inject the Blood Vial as he brought his spear above his head.
Jaune jerked to the side, the Spear slamming into the old, cracked stones, the tip easily piercing the ruined stonework. Using his wrapped arm, Jaune clasped onto the Spear, ignoring the bite of its serrated teeth as he held the weapon hostage.
The bearded Hunter tried to pull back but only assisted Jaune in getting back on his feet.
Then, it was Jaune’s turn.
With the Hunter positioned as he was, the Gunman couldn’t fire without tearing the Hunter apart first. Free of the threat of the devastating bullets, Jaune threw away all pretence… and went berserk.
“Ragh!” Jaune roared as he slammed his forehead into the protruding nose of the bearded Hunter. Blood spurt as the man’s nose was devastated by the sudden strike, breaking and tearing the flesh as it yielded.
Jaune, with the Saw Spear clutched in his right, swung with his left and tore into Hunter’s face, devastating his cheek and nearly taking off his ear. He swung again, going for the throat, but the Hunter released his hold of the spear with one arm, and instead, Jaune tore into his shoulder, ripping apart muscle and flesh.
As he pulled back for a third swing, the Hunter struck back, pulling his pistol free and activating the mechanism in the spear, jerking Jaune about.
In three blows, Jaune was done.
The first came from behind; something landed on Jaune's back, and he felt the air leave his lungs as something went for his throat, shunting his arm down with its weight and ruining his attack. The second was the butt of the pistol cracking into his left side, causing his vision to swim as the whole world seemed to rock in his perspective.
The third was the Hunter’s Saw Spear worming up under his arm into the pocket of his armpit where there was no protection.
Jaune had thought his arm rendered maimed by the loss of two fingers, but when the Saw Spear was torn back, ripping apart the soft indent of sensitive, exposed flesh, he knew how wrong he was. The pain was nothing compared to feeling how his arm was now pulled down like a weight rendered entirely useless.
A kick to the chest sent him sprawling back. Fighting to stay on his feet, he managed to throw off the thing that had attacked him from behind.
It was a crow.
Jaune would lose his fight with this Hunter… because of an obese, gluttonous crow.
Indignity carried a sting all its own, it turned out.
The Hunter proved his mettle as he pursued, and Jaune tried to defend himself, but the pain was blinding him, drowning his thoughts and reactions. His Saw Cleaver was batted away, and a bullet ripped through the right side of his chest.
The feeling of a lung collapsing was accompanied by Jaune hacking out a glob of fresh blood that splattered across the Hunter’s beard.
They swiped up, opening Jaune's stomach.
A swipe from the right bit into his lip and tore free a splatter of teeth and bloodied gums.
Jaune’s back impacted a wall as the Hunter drove the lever point of the spear into his nose, repaying him in kind for the headbutt.
Jaune slumped down… but he didn’t drop his Cleaver.
He swiped. He knew it would amount to nothing but did it wildly and unthinkingly.
He hit nothing but air, and in return, he felt the Spear plunge into his guts.
The noise he made was a choked wet thing. He stumbled to the side, dragging his back along the wall… until there wasn’t a wall.
He fell back, the Spear pulling free of his stomach as he did, gravity taking hold and dragging him down as there was no wall to his back and no floor beneath his feet.
He fell.
He hit a ledge and bounced off, his right arm cracking against it. The bone fractured as the limb gained a new joint.
He fell once more.
When he landed, it was with the sound of shattering roof tiles and yielding bones, back bending over him as his chest and face hit first.
There, he rested.
There he lay.
Broken and beaten and bloodied…
But not dead.
He didn’t bother opening his eyes, didn’t bother trying to breathe, knowing it would be futile with the impact having left his last good lung winded. Instead, he took his left hand and wormed it beneath his body.
He slid his hand through his own blood and guts that were trying to slide free of his lower abdominal cavity. He fought through as the pain dulled, and his mind became little more than a haze of faltering feelings as higher thought died.
He slid his hand through his spilt innards until he reached his right hip…
His Blood Vials.
He didn’t have the strength to pull it free from the belt; he couldn’t manage it with what he had left.
Instead, he tugged on it, pulling it toward the mess of open visceral wounds that littered his front.
It wasn’t enough; he couldn’t make it reach.
So he changed tactics and shoved something that had slid out of him at the syringe instead.
…
The Old Blood had never had to work so hard.
YVYVYVYVY
Jericho arrived at the top of the inner wall with the roar of twin engines and the malicious buzz of a heavy autocannon ripping apart Grimm with mechanical ease. Stepping off the Bullhead before it had even had time to depower its engines, he immediately dispatched a Beowolf that was unlucky enough to clamber over the edge of the wall at the same time he arrived.
His harpoon sunk deep into the monstrous wolf's meat, lodging deep in its anatomy and allowing Jericho to reel it in with a single massive tug. Catching the monster, he wasted no time shoving the still-living Grimm under the engines of the Bullhead, cooking its bone-white mask until its head disintegrated in his grasp.
His arrival did not go unnoticed, but Jericho took pride in the fact that his people only seemed emboldened by his arrival. In fact, his Huntsman were all doing equally as well, Jericho arriving in time to see two Huntresses tag team a Beowolf, leaving the thing drawn and quartered.
Jericho was pulled away from his analysis as he flung his Harpoon upward, spearing a Nevermore that was foolish enough to slow down. He quickly jerked down on the chord tied to the rear of his weapon, plunging the avian Grimm downward to splatter atop the wall.
“Someone clean that up; keep the walkways clear!” Jericho ordered, and a Home Guard ran over with a shovel and scraped most of the Grimm’s corpse off the side of the wall.
Jericho moved along the wall, heading to the Command Post, while critically watching his people work.
“Stick to the bunkers unless you wish to be a pincushion!” Jericho roared over the gunshots, shoving a Home Guard member back into the concrete structure along the top of the walls. As if to prove his point, a feather bounced off his back from where it would have impaled the same Home Guard a moment before.
“Huntsman! I can hardly breathe with all this filth; clear my damn airspace!” Jericho bellowed, and soon, several Nevermore began to plummet out of the skies above. Jericho borrowed a Home Guards gun to take his revenge on the Nevermore that had dared to attack him.
A three-round burst swiftly separated its wing, knocking it from the air to the top of the wall. Not even a second later, the same Home Guard from before ran over and brained the Grimm with their shovel.
‘I like that one,’ Jericho nodded at the enthusiasm, returning the rifle to its owner before continuing on his way.
Reaching the Command Post, the central node structure on each wall segment, Jericho was forced to hop to the side as a group of four young Huntsman rushed out, heading for their next objective. Jericho smiled as he recalled his days from Beacon, the feeling of being thrown into the deep end repeatedly…
“What are you forcing on the rookies?” Jericho asked, entering the Command Post where the Captain of the Home Guard was sitting.
“I got a Griffon to the west that knocked over an entire ammo cart. I got the kids playing bodyguard while they get it back up on top,” the woman answered. “Got another group of students running a medical escort in the city, and the last batch is delivering a message for me somewhere inside.”
“Good; hopefully, they keep up the hustle,” Jericho nodded, not sitting but turning to glance at the monitors. “Our guns are certainly getting a workout, but I haven’t heard the cannons?”
“They had their chance… We managed to take out one of the Alpha Nevermore, but the others got wise and are keeping their distance… we’ve lost three Bullheads, and I’ve restricted our airspace to within the confines of secured districts.”
“Any spread?” Jericho asked, his eyes darting to the monitors displaying the guns to the east and west.
“Very little. All the Grimm are following the usual wave patterns and hitting here, trying to get to the deeper sections of the city; dispersal has been to a minimum, and the guns have been able to handle the outliers.”
“Anything exciting, Misty?” Jericho asked, unable to hide his enthusiasm at the prospect of fighting something worth his time.
“You’re a bit late. When the wave first hit, I had two mature Goliaths, but your Huntsman and some shape charges had them butchered before they even made contact with the wall… and don’t call me Misty; We’re supposed to be all serious and professional now!”
“… Misty, you are one of the most capable women I know. You run a tight ship and are a respectable marksman. Hell, you would have made a crack, Huntsman… but I refuse to refer to you by your last name,” Jericho declared, shutting down the matter entirely.
“That’s so immature!” Misty complained, even pouting at Jericho, the young woman who knew well of her sway over him.
Jericho sighed, looked at the woman tasked with leadership over the wall's defences, and put on his most serious face. “I will do my best… Ms Seamen…”
Misty stared right back.
“Are you happy,” Jericho asked, completely deadpan.
Misty snorted, “Yeah, no, let’s not.”
Misty lost herself to cackling, and Jericho was forced just to stand there and take it, doing his best to remind himself that laughter was one of the best weapons to wield against the Grimm.
Whether or not it was so effective as to outweigh the effect of his embarrassment (if it had any impact) was a matter for more scientific minds than his.
Jericho found that the young captain's amusement was as contagious as ever, and soon, his own leathery features were marred by a small smile. Jericho took a moment to consider the present situation, doing his best to centre himself again and turn his thoughts back to the matter of the Breach.
Jericho Pyke had suffered Breaches before.
They were a rarity later in his career, but he had helped provide aid to a few during his student years and aided in a couple of others early in his solo career.
That had, of course, been before he had taken up working for the Valean Headhunters.
Jericho had served with the Headhunters for over a decade before retiring, with qualifications few could match and talents that set him in a league of his own. For this reason, he received orders from on high to report to Bastion, where he would assume command of Vale’s westernmost city.
There had been growing pains in the beginning.
His career has seen him mostly take charge of smaller groups focused on achieving less wide-scale goals. Primarily, strike teams or even combat groups composed of a mismatch of Huntsman groups to pursue more concise objectives.
However, being tasked with leading Bastion’s Huntsman and the Home Guard was a staggering change of pace in scale and detail.
Bastion’s Guild Master was his saving grace during his adjustment period. He took on additional work while providing Jericho with helpful advice and instruction. Even to this day, Jericho turns to the Guild Master when he needs help, the younger male proving to be an invaluable ally and a good friend.
Eventually, though, Jericho found his stride.
Oddly, it happened around the same time he became acquainted with Misty, who, at that point, made it her goal to help him acclimate to his new locale. It helped that she was intimately familiar with many of his new obligations and duties, many of which coincided with hers.
“So you here to take charge and be all manly and stuff?” Misty asked when she finished laughing at him.
“Do you need me to take charge?” Jericho asked, concerned that Misty might need a break.
The younger woman sighed, “No, old man. I am perfectly fine. I just wanted to see if you would pull that whole chivalrous thing you do.”
“Chivalrous… me?” Jericho asked befuddled.
“Oh, come on, you know, like how you open doors for me, ask me if I want coffee when you go to get some and say hello when you bump into me,” Misty said.
Jericho widened his eyes, “That’s called ‘having manners’… or maybe just common decency…”
“Huh… most of the men I interact with tend to avoid me, so I wouldn’t know,” Misty shrugged. “Guess they are just intimidated by how badass I am.”
Jericho nodded, “I’m sure…” Jericho chose not to comment on the usual manic energy that Misty tended to exude or that when she wasn’t busy commanding the wall's defences, she was something of a hellion.
“So hey, how did the call with the capital go? Were they worried about us? Are they sending the cavalry?”
Jericho shrugged, “Old Rust seemed alright with how I was handling things, though for some reason, the bloody headmaster of Beacon was in the room with some woman-“
“Was she really tall and blonde… kinda pretty? Misty interjected.
“She was tall and blonde,” Jericho nodded, choosing not to answer that last part.
Misty smiled even wider as she responded, “That was Glynda Goodwitch. She is a professor at Beacon and works as Ozpin’s second in command.”
“Huh… still seems weird even if they are in charge of the Huntsman Academy,” Jericho mumbled, having been somewhat caught off guard by the two being present for his report.
Misty shook her head. “Who are we to tell them capital folk how to do things? Besides, I doubt they got away with saying much with the Chief Huntsman in the room.”
“That’s true enough-“
“So what about the cavalry?” Misty cut in, stopping Jericho from dwelling on it any longer.
“Huh?”
“Are they sending help, or did they take one look at you and figure you got this?” Misty asked, leaning over her desk.
“Oh, no, they’re sending help, a whole bunch of it, actually,” Jericho answered, finally sitting down with Misty.’
“Oh?”
Now sitting, Jericho also decided to light up and quickly pulled a cigarette from the pack, placing the smoke between his lips. Misty had a lighter in hand and was there waiting for him to lean in.
“Cheers.”
“You’re welcome,” Mist nodded, putting her lighter away, “now tell me what I have to prepare for in the coming hours so I know how serious I have to be.”
Jericho smirked, “Sad to say, Misty, but we will both have to be on our best behaviour. We got teams from all over on their way and a bunch of solos to boot. There will also be a handful of teams from Beacon, but only the upper years, so I’ll be leaving them to you.”
“Eh, upper years ain't so bad… still waiting for that message from that younger group,” Misty joked.
Jericho cringed, “Be sure to ride that group; there is no time for slacking tonight.”
“I know now what else, old man,” Misty encouraged.
“We got a few agents straight from the capital, and I think Telamon is sending over some VSIC, but they’ll be staying out of the way until we begin reclamation… that’s where the easy ends, though.”
“Well, that’s… foreboding,” Misty complained.
“Atlas is sending aid; they will arrive with our first wave of assistance,” Jericho announced, choosing to rip off the bandage in one go.
Misty’s reaction was pretty much in line with what he expected of her.
“Fuuuuuuuck,” Mistry groaned, emphasising the ‘k’ in her lengthy, drawn-out curse. “Is my night not difficult enough with all the shit going on? Can we politely decline? Or, you know, not politely?”
“They’re already on the way,” Jericho said, shaking his head.
“… Well, that’s fucking great; I get to have some high and mighty Atlesian breathing over my shoulder telling me the ‘right’ way to do things.” Misty leaned back in her chair, hiding her face in her hands.
“… They might not be that bad,” Jericho tried, but it was apparent he was just saying the words and didn’t really mean them.
“I’m not like you, JP; if you get annoyed at some Atlesian cunt you can just tell them to run off and punch a Grimm… or punch them! Me? The most I can do is hang up, but the fuckers will just call back,” Misty complained.
“I mean… you can always direct them to talk to me if they give you too much grief, lass,” Jericho offered, taking a drag from his cigarette; he glanced away towards the monitors.
Misty reacted by practically mounting the table, “Really?”
Startled by her sudden shift in mood, Jericho could only nod, “Yeah… worst-case scenario, I get to put some of my old talents to use.”
Misty snorted, “Going to put them on your list?”
Jericho sniffed, “Takes a bit more than just being annoying to wind up there… but we’ll see.”
“So we got local talent, killer interns, Atlas’s ‘help’… anything else?” Misty asked, being extra dramatic and looking ready to hide from his response.
“Yes.”
“Boo.”
Jericho just smiled, “But it’s the good kind; we got a mercenary group coming in from Vacuo to help with the reclamation efforts when they begin, already paid for and everything.”
“Oh well, that’s fine. Reclamation is almost strictly Guild and City. Me and mine will sit back and wave you lot through as you go off to clean up,” Misty teased.
“Eh, I won’t mind. I had a run-in with this lot before. They’re solid and will be a big help when it comes time to start hunting down the stragglers. They even have some Aura users in their numbers, so we might even be getting some additional Huntsman… not that we need them,” Jericho finished.
“Whoa there, old man,” Misty suddenly exclaimed, pointing back to the monitors, which showed a scene directly outside. It was a sight, to be sure, Beowolves, Ursa, Boarbatusk, and countless other Grimm clambering up the wall using each other as steps as they rammed against the structure and attempted to scale it.
Not even half a moment later, a concentrated stream of bullets rained down on that particular section, reducing the gathered Grimm into a scattering of shredded bodies. But despite the lethal torrent of gunfire, more Grimm just swarmed to take their place.
“See, that might not be much to the invincible likes of the Jericho Pyke, but I personally would feel a lot more comfortable if I had more Huntsman out there and less squishy normies like myself,” Misty scolded.
“Whoa there, that wasn’t what I meant,” Jericho quickly protested, shying away from Misty’s fury. “I just meant we won't need more Huntsman, what with the ones we already got on the way.”
“Are they that good?” Misty asked once more, watching the screen, just in time to watch an Alpha Ursa get taken out by some explosive ordnance, turning its spiked carcass to shrapnel that impaled several nearby Grimm.
Jericho smiled genuinely, the older man putting out his cigarette as he responded, “Oh yeah, in fact, we even have another Hunter Commander on the way.”
Whatever reaction Jericho was expecting, it wasn’t outrage as Misty slammed her hands on the table and shot up. “What the fuck! I thought you said Rust was all right with your report! Why are they sending a different Hunter Commander? Do they think it’s that fucking easy to replace you-“
“Misty! Misty! Calm down; he’s not coming to replace me,” Jericho shouted, standing and resting his hands on the shorter woman’s shoulders, guiding her back to her seat. “It's all good, lass; there isn’t anyone coming to replace me; the lad on his way is a friend.”
“Huh?” Misty uttered, looking up startled as Jericho kept his hands atop her shoulders.
“His wife is an old teammate of mine. They’re on the way over of their own free will, no orders or anything,” Jericho explained in a soothing tone.
“… Oh… so like they aren’t coming to steal your position…”
“Them? Unlikely. Honestly, I just figured Hella was dragging her man over this way to say hello and figured this was a good enough excuse to do so,” Jericho explained, taking his hands away from Misty’s shoulders, which were only now relaxing.
“… Our city is under siege, and she thinks now is the best time to drop in and say hi?” Misty questioned.
Jericho gave a begrudging nod, “Well, Hella ain’t the most sociable creature, but hey, she means well, and if she’s bringing her husband along, then we really don’t have anything to worry about.”
“He’s that good?”
“Ranks in the top ten in the Kingdom and is one of the few certified Horde Breakers in the world. They could probably send Cloud with a couple of teams, and we could call this evening a wrap,” Jericho admitted.
“… Cloud… where have I heard that name before… Cloud,” Misty muttered, pulling out her Scroll. Jericho sat back, pulling out another cigarette but simply resting it in his mouth. He didn’t want to light up another until he went back outside.
It wouldn’t do to blitz through his pack before he had to get stuck in.
“Oh shit!” Misty suddenly exclaimed. “Cloud Arc! Cloud ‘The Silver Lining’ Arc, that’s whose fucking coming!”
“Uh huh,” Jericho nodded. “To be specific, it's him, his wife Hella, a Huntress named Orr Flamberge, and get this, Bastion’s very own ‘Booming Salvation’!” Jericho finished with a guffaw.
“What? But like… he’s old, don’t you Huntsman ever just fucking retire or is like half your numbers made up of old ass men?” Misty asked, looking confused.
“Hey, I’m not that fucking old, dammit,” Jericho protested, being much closer to Hella in age than the ‘Booming Salvation’.
Misty looked chastised. “Oh no, not you, JP. You’re like, umm, mature. I was talking more about people like old man Rust and Kaiser.”
Jericho looked for any deceit but found none, as Misty seemed genuinely trying to reassure him. “For the record, most of us don’t live long enough for retirement to be a thing of concern… but I give you my word if I live that long, I will for sure retire. Don’t think I have the chops to do what old man Rust does without just snapping and killing all the stupid people.”
“You’d look outstanding in a floral shirt, you know,” Misty said with a bit too much enthusiasm.
“… I will take your word for it,” Jericho replied, looking away from the younger woman’s earnest seafoam-green gaze.
“Good now, how do you know this Hella lady?”
“Hella and I used to be members of the Valean Headhunters together; me and her used to compete for the top spot on the weekly; the woman is a fucking monster. She used to hunt down bounties while pregnant, for fucks sake.” Jericho recalled, taking the cigarette from his mouth and rolling it in his fingers.
“Wait, what?” Misty gaped.
“Haha, that’s just Hella, though; she only left the Headhunters after her… I wanna say third kid… maybe fourth…”
“How many kids does she have?” Misty asked.
“Oh, like… seven… I think.”
“Seven!”
“Maybe eight; honestly, it's hard to keep track of them all. They all look like their father,” Jericho admitted, scratching at the stubble along his jaw.
“Fuck that’s a tough bitch,” Misty admired, nodding her head, “What’s she like as a person though?”
Jericho leaned back in his chair, listening to the muffled sounds of thundering gunfire outside as he thought about how best to describe Hellebore Arc.
“Well… Hellebore is quite possibly one of the most terrifying women ever to walk the face of Remnant. I’ve watched her tear other Huntsman apart as if it were a light workout with little to no hesitation. She is utterly ruthless and has the kind of stubborn determination that makes her both an asset and an utter pain in the ass.”
“She sounds… fun,” Misty commented.
“Hella can be a bit awkward and confronting sometimes, but she’s loyal, dependable, and steadfast… She is one of the most maternal women I’ve ever met, and her love for her family is something else,” Jericho continued.
“Aww,” Misty cooed.
“She has a competitive streak, too. She had the audacity to take one last bounty before retiring so that she would finish her career as a Headhunter with a higher count than me,” Jericho chuckled. “To make it even worse, she helped bag an Elder Spriggan a few years back, and you bet I had to hear about that.”
“An Elder Spriggan? What’s a… Elder… Oh shit, she killed an Elder Grimm!” Misty gasped. “The hell is a Spriggan, though?”
“It’s a tree Grimm thing,” Jericho answered as if it was a question he had responded to one too many times.
“Huh, weird… Sooo…” Misty trailed off, a conspiratorial grin growing on her face.
Jericho sighed, “Yes?”
“Who’d win in a fight?” Misty asked eagerly.
“What?”
“Between you and Hella, who would win in a fight?” Misty pressed.
“Oh… Hella,” Jericho answered after only a moment to think about it.
Misty was stunned, “What? Really!”
“Yep,” Jericho nodded, “She’d rip me in half.”
Misty was about to spring into a whole volley of questions when a group of Beacon students rushed out of the hatch on the floor. Jericho looked over to find the four of them all looking completely confused, and it was then that Jericho realised why Misty was keeping them in the wall.
They were first years.
“Ah… first long-distance mission?” Jericho asked Misty, pointing to the four first years.
Misty nodded, “They were supposed to be here for a Grimm survey… numbers are gonna be a little screwed up now, I guess.”
“Ah… message delivered, captain,” one of the students reported.
“Great… I need you to run down to the gatehouse and get me a hard copy of the current evacuation numbers,” Misty instructed, not looking over at the kids. Jericho realised why when he saw her face and her barely suppressed smile.
“Oh, ah, right away, captain!” The first student nodded, “Let's go, guys.”
“Can we ask for directions?” one of the students whispered to their teammate.
“Dude, shh, we just need to follow the signs,” Another hissed.
“Guys, focus up!” the leader snapped as the hatch closed.
Misty exploded into manic laughter not even a full second later, her fist pounding on the table, and even Jericho could not keep his humour from slipping out.
“So… gopher duty?” Jericho teased. “You know they’re trained to hunt Grimm, right?”
Misty was still gasping for breath. “Yeah, sure, but they can’t even navigate the inside of the wall; you think I am going to let them run rampant outside?”
Jericho snorted, “To be fair, it’s a bit of a labyrinth in there.”
Jericho had to side with the students since he used to find the inside of the wall to be a confusing maze of stairs and runways, too. The wall was structured to allow the engineers and Home Guard to move securely to different key locations. However, as a consequence of the wall's design, the inside was constrictive and claustrophobic, with the passageways being so narrow in parts that a person would be forced to walk sideways just to fit.
“So I’m expected to let them fight on my wall even though they can’t even navigate it?” Misty enquired.
Jericho was going to answer when one of the Home Guards ran into the room, “Captain, we have a situation!”
Misty switched on “Report.”
“Captain, I don’t know how else to say this, but… there seems to be some kind of convey moving through the district,” the Home Guard reported, his confusion evident in his tone.
Misty looked at the member of her force as her eyes scrunched, the confusion becoming equally clear on her visage.
Jericho spoke up first, “I’m going to need you to repeat that.”
Instead of verbally responding, the Home Guard hurried over to one of the benches and quickly accessed the video feeds. Jericho watched as one of the monitors switched to show a distant view of the infested district.
“Well, shit… that’s a convoy. Are those armoured transports?” Jericho wondered out loud, seeing the train of several large vehicles speeding along a distant highway.
“What are… Where are they going?” Misty spoke up, moving closer to the screen. Jericho was right on her heel.
“… Doesn’t that turn-off take them south,” Jericho commented, squinting at the screen.
“Huh… yeah it does,” Misty observed.
“So we got an armoured convoy travelling through a locked-down district in the middle of an incursion… towards the Breach…” Jericho summarised, utterly baffled.
This was Misty’s breaking point, however.
“What the fuck is going on in Bastion?”
Comments
Professor McCoy's Pop culture reviews
U doing ok?
Jordan
Happy Birthday
clagann
On a side note cloud’s hunter nickname being ‘the silver lining’ is such a dad joke and I’m here for it
Laplase
The Momentum and buildup was cut by the second chapter without Jaune and the wait between chapters.
Xi
Oh my god! I didn’t connect the dots until you phrased it like that. That’s hilarious! XD
PoisonPen37
I agree that it slowed down momentum a bit.
Melikereading
I’m happy for the update and appreciate your work. I will say though, this chapter sort of cut the momentum of where the story was. What was this chapter for? But that’s my own opinion. It’s still a great chapter by itself.
Misiercorde
Makes me inordinately happy to see the list of Jericho
clagann
Eyo a chapter on my birthday? This is great
Erik Johanson
Well, this chapter was mostly hyping up the arrival of The Arc Contingent. Twas interesting to read, but could have been a bit longer.
The Anti-Simp
I've never clicked so fast lmao
