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So it is done
🕑 Added 2023-02-18 00:25:45 +0000 UTCThe soldiers of Atlas were fortunate, as far as that concept could be applied to the current situation, at least. They’re fortunate that many of them were already on alert, prepared for battle or on combat duty at their posts, already awaiting the action from the revolutionaries of Mantle.
They’re lucky because if not for that, if the soldiers had been quietly continuing to stand watch at their military bases, which no one had even bothered to visit for years, either for inspection or for some propaganda reason. The only people who bothered to visit the base were those who were supposed to be visiting them, no doubt spitting from boredom at the ceiling. If their weapons had been sealed in the armory, while most of the soldiers were amusing themselves by telling each other well-repeated jokes. Or if they were busy flipping cards among themselves, carried in defiance of all prohibitions by their superior officers. If it were not for the constant paranoia and readiness for the start of the battle…
If not for that, if Atlas's soldiers had behaved as usual, Remnant's most powerful war machine would have fallen apart without a fight. They would have lost, surrendering to the onslaught of attackers in a matter of moments. It probably wouldn't have even taken an hour.
But, for that one day, Atlas' soldiers were ready – as ready as one could be for what had happened. In the end, it didn't help them win, but it did make the capture of Atlas nothing but easy.
When suddenly, Atlas’ headquarters, once the Atlas Academy of Hunters in calmer times, received dozens of completely senseless reports that the streets of the city had hastily begun to fill with an unknown army. They were ready for some kind of uprising, the tension between Atlas and Mantle was all but palpable, but they were still not prepared for the scale of it. When it was known that the army was neither Atlas' nor Mantle's, there was bewilderment in the ranks of the soldiers, and panic in the ranks of their commanders.
It was the nature of a commander to prepare an army, to prepare a plan for the most diverse outcomes of action. A commander was not to rely on emotion or his own desires, not to hover in the clouds, and to plan even against the real, albeit the most unlikely, outcomes. At least if he wished to be called a ‘good’ commander. The commander had to plan his battle strategy on the basis of a variety of conditions.
If the clash in the street would end in favor of one side, or the other, or would it be a draw, not concluded with a meaningful result or result in mutual annihilation of the two warring sides. The commander does not rely on a rickety ladder of ideal outcomes. Thoughts like ‘now we will win here, as we cannot fail to win, after which here, for the same reason, and this will lead us to an absolute victory over the enemy’ cannot enter into their heads. The commander must consider the maximum number of outcomes of any encounter with the enemy, from more likely to less likely.
An unexpected attack by a Grimm super-horde, forcing the opponents to conclude a brief truce for the duration of the battle, such as after the events of Glenn and Vacuo, was another possibility. A distant possibility, but one that commanders had to consider when crafting their tactics and strategy in this world overrun by the tides of Darkness.
However, everything has a limit.
A commander can prepare a coherent plan for victory, even ones in case of a draw or even defeat, ones that would lead to mutual annihilation or a temporary truce. But how do you prepare a decent plan in the event that the sky falls down?
The prominent corps of Atlas officers had the capacity to prepare a multitude of different plans, taking into account every detail, down to the quality of their potential enemies' uniforms and the maximum turn speed of captured Atlas tanks. But they had no plan for a surprise Glenn Army invasion of Atlas territory, from multiple fronts, and without any previous indication of them even mobilizing the army. An ambush, by thousands of men supported by heavy equipment, done perfectly in stealth.
The most frightening event for any army occurred at the heart of Remnant's mightiest military, Atlas. How were you supposed to plan for the literally impossible? Atlas, being located on a floating island and possessing almost absolute air superiority, were supposed to be safe from any ground invasion. At least without it being so obvious that they could bomb any possible army that could threaten it to oblivion.
And now there’s one in the middle of their city, appearing truly out of thin air.
Headquarters was paralyzed by surprise, all their plans and strategies were disrupted, and Atlas' trained officers found themselves in a panic. A panicking soldier is a threat to the entire unit, a panicked officer is a threat to the entire operation – a panicked headquarters is a threat to the entire war front.
Urgent, decisive and tough action was needed, even the wrong action, based on false assumptions and leading to a bad outcome, was preferable to mindless panic. What the headquarters required right now was not a plan, but any direction whatsoever.
There was only one person in Atlas who could achieve this at the moment. But when an army officer, with his breath hitched with fear and mad panic in his eyes, came back from General Ironwood's high office, without General Ironwood himself following him, every officer realized that the worst had happened.
General James Ironwood gas committed suicide by shooting himself in his sheltered and soundproofed office hours, maybe even minutes, before the Glenn offensive began. Was it a coincidence? Was it a consequence of a report delivered in the last moments before Glenn's invasion? Or had Glenn gotten her hands on the general by strangling him, counting on just such an outcome, to finally destroy any semblance of order at Atlas Headquarters?
The cause was not as important as the consequences. And as the collapsing order in the headquarters finally completely crumbled before their eyes within seconds of this information being communicated to the assembled officers, how to handle Glenn’s army became the last thing the officers had in mind.
If they don’t handle this situation well, Glenn’s army didn’t even have to do anything before they win the war, Atlas’ army would kill themselves in the chaos. Every officer realized that the war, which had not even taken a day, had already been lost.
Orders and directives were missing, plans had not been formulated, communications with units had been disrupted, there’s great chance that Atlas’ army would be firing on each other. At this time, Glenn’s army, well-drilled and put to task by prepared officers, ran roughshod through any established roadblocks, demolishing Atlas’ army not by superior strength, but by speed, surprise, and brazenness.
Discipline crumbled in a matter of seconds as most officers, who had been scarcely given instruction by their superiors, scurried away, hoping to escape in what little time they had left in the last bullheads. Others rushed to give orders, making no attempt to work together with the other officers, as panic crushed any such notions. Others plunged into the abyss of despair for good, their minds crumbling as they tried their best to ignore what’s happening before their eyes, making any semblance of opposition to Glenn all the more hopeless.
Atlas had soldiers, ample cutting-edge weapons and equipment, but no command, making it all worthless in the end. Instead of a united resistance that had a chance to halt the rapid advance of Glenn's army, the front of soldiers turned, in minutes, into isolated cliques and independent fire teams, put down easily by the opposition. Whereas the Glenn army acted in unison, Atlas, losing its head literally and figuratively, turned into a chaotic mass.
While some Atlas soldiers began fighting at the advancing Glenn groups, others, in confusion, chose to lower their weapons before the upcoming wave of equipment and men.
Atlas could have fought back, as disorderly as they could, that couldn't even be called the best of the worst options, but the army had collapsed not only under attack from the outside, but also from within.
The Atlas’ soldiers responded with indiscriminate firing and uncoordinated attempts to defeat the advancing army, leading to several dozen Glenn casualties, and a hundred wounded.
Twenty dead and a hundred wounded – these numbers, mathematically, are infinitely higher than the numbers zero of zero dead and zero wounded.
Twenty dead and a hundred wounded in conquering the capital of Remnant's most powerful army in a few hours? That wasn't even a zero cost, it was a negative cost. An overwhelming victory for Glenn.
Atlas is a colossus, and Glenn, comparatively, is only a growing teenager. But if the teenager put a blade at the colossus' throat first – it didn't matter which of them would have been stronger in a fair fight. No matter how much the loser would moan about it, there was no such thing as a fair fight, the winner was determined by the contestant's survival.
However, not all of Remnant's men wished for such a quick and clear victory. One influential bored spectator, eager to see a show, wanted to add a small spectacle to the outcome of Glenn's invasion.
***
Tanks were not the best, and yet necessary, weapon in an urban setting.
A tank is a mobile firing point that can, with a single well-aimed shot, deal with a fortification set up in the window of a high-rise building. It could also break through a stone barrier of walls and provide cover for the infantry in action.
A tank is also a field coffin, vulnerable, in urban warfare from all sides, never mind from above it, something there were many of in a city. It was slow, clumsy, and only capable of moving in reasonably spacious streets, showing its vulnerability to any attack from the hundreds of windows around it.
So, although Atlas had brought tanks onto the streets of Atlas before the moment of need had arrived, those were not massed at every roadblock or prepared to rush forward at any moment. They were not the piercing lance of an attack on the Mantle Liberation Front – they could, but they’re mostly there as a symbol, or in places where the command deemed it possible to use them.
So when the Glenn Army rushed at full speed through the streets of Atlas, attacking from a completely different direction from the logical direction of attack, defying logic, coming out of nowhere? Atlas’ tanks only managed to fire a few shots before many of them were forced to surrender, captured or simply destroyed.
But some of them managed to fire one or sometimes even a couple of shots.
This included a small tank on the elevation, as rare as there were in Atlas, whose crew had long ago received their reward money for carrying out their mission, in case their employer did give them orders.
They could not be accused of lack of patriotism or mercantilism, at least on their own they thought they were just saving their lives. They had friends, families, and their own dreams, so they were waiting for the moment when they could get away from this crumbling hole to the peaceful home in Vale waiting for them. Their contract was extremely simple, and dangerous. No doubt, if they were caught by people interested in their actions, they would definitely be tried as war criminals.
Shooting deliberately at a civilian hotel structure offered little explanation to outsiders for the situation of soldiers determined to commit their last ‘lucrative’ deed before their indefinite leave. Their actions could have been considered heartless or foolish, but money blinds anyone's eyes. Especially when it was blinded by millions of lien, the patronage of an influential politician all for a simple job.
To shoot where he wants you to, and run away.
And so the moment the message came, the tank commander only nodded and a few moments later a shell was loaded into the tank's muzzle.
The gunner checked at the last moment the calculations, and gave the order.
A shot, a rumble, and the commander turned away, preparing himself to exit the tank.
He did not need to know exactly where the shot would’ve landed – he had the coordinates, the directions, and the payment.
He gave one last look at his men, nodded silently, and hastily climbed out of the tank.
Now, he would have to get rid of evidence… And get rid of it completely.
***
It wasn't the flash or the rumble that alerted Amber first, it was the vibration. A shuddering sensation, going not through her body but under her feet, through the metal and concrete around her, trying to knock her to the ground. The sound and light came a little later, first there was the sensation of pressure as a sharp breath of air was pushed out of her lungs.
Amber was a trained Hunter, as under Cinder Fall's command it could not have been any other way. The minute you stumbled, answered incorrectly, or didn't finish first, be prepared for a week where you couldn't even eat a biscuit without the supervision of Cinder. Her constant scrutinizing you for how you were wasting your time, devoting that to biscuits instead of training and striving for perfection.
Not that Amber didn't understand Cinder’s drive, the point of the Academy was to learn first and foremost, but even Amber could maintain some sort of balance between study and rest, albeit skewed towards the former. Cinder definitely couldn’t.
Only Neo was excluded from such supervision, but Neo, in some fairness, was the record holder for all physical training classes, so there was an excuse for her. For Vernal and Amber, no.
So Amber was focused, ready for any action and attentive to her surroundings all the time in Atlas even when she should have been relaxed by everyone else's general opinion.
Amber didn't relax, if not because of her own predilection then at the very least knowing that Cinder, should she only become aware of Amber's actions, would blow a big horn over her head. And she might even be happy, if not in the most literal and physical sense of the word.
However, the moment the sirens suddenly howled throughout Atlas in the middle of the night, waking all possible observers, civilians, soldiers, and Amber herself, she didn't even think about relaxing. Which was expected, though, not just from Amber or Cinder Fall's co-combatants, but from anyone with even a minimum amount of intelligence to not forget to breathe.
Amber readied her Aura, cleared her mind of unnecessary thoughts distracting her from her mission, and picked up her weapon, a staff, expecting any possible attack at any moment.
When the attack didn't come for a second, a minute and then ten minutes later, Amber had managed to gather herself together with Cinder and was guarded by the Rats.
She may technically have been a part of His Majesty's escort, but no one in their right mind would entrust the protection of a head of state to a team of Hunters who had not even completed their training. Moreover, as His Majesty's escort and teammate of his two daughters, Amber also fell into the category of VIP, persons whose security was the first priority after ensuring His Majesty's safety.
However, the moment Amber felt a shiver pass over the concrete and steel around her – it meant nothing to Amber. Nothing at all, the feeling did not trigger anything from her past history, not her training, not her knowledge or grades. It simply triggered her lizard brain, that she was in great danger.
For a brief moment, Amber's mind stopped perceiving any information, inside and out, except the feeling of trembling and a momentary awareness of the danger that was less than a fraction of a second away from Amber.
And Amber didn't want to die.
Like every intelligent and even some that are not, Amber did not want to die. The fear of death was sewn deep into the mind of every living thing, and so in a brief moment of precognitive clarity, of fear, Amber did what all people who fear death do.
She tried to defend herself.
For a brief moment, all Amber could think of was to survive, forgetting everything else that she had learned. The rules hammered into her head of hiding her nature, her powers, her abilities, learned painfully under the guidance of her teacher, the patron of her childhood home, and one of the rare people privy to the mysteries of magic? Forgotten.
All that remained was Amber’s will to live, her brief awareness of danger, and her instinctive desire to survive.
And so, when the tank shot exploded, piercing through the walls of the hotel – Amber used her powers to save herself, revealing abilities that she had hidden for years.
***
Jonathan was prepared for the attack. Not completely, of course, there was no such thing as an absolute defense, even in the world of magic. For an ‘absolute’ defense there would be an even more ‘absolute’ attack, such is the arms race of any practitioner of violence.
But Jonathan was indeed prepared for a potential enemy attack. He could survive a hit from even a tank shell, if need be at point-blank range, or even a dozen at once. Cinder and Neo as well, they could survive something like that.
Jonathan would have considered himself an insane idiot if he allowed himself or his family to go into a potential war zone without such protection.
It didn't make the situation of a potential attack on Jonathan's family much better, but it did help calm Jonathan's heart calm down a little.
Especially important was the fact that none of the people around Jonathan, apart from himself and Neo, along with Cinder, knew about this secret. Jonathan had taken huge risks in order to prevent this information from spreading beyond the small circle of three people.
However, all of these factors only slightly mitigated the blow to Jonathan's mind that followed the explosion that shook the hotel chosen as his accommodation.
Had the shockwave from the blast gone further and hit Jonathan's own body, the enchantments he had placed beforehand would have activated, and taken him instantly to the hospital. At the same time, flooding his ruthlessly wounded body with incredible doses of healing magic, trying to remove any possible wounds that he could have suffered.
The blast, however, went no further than the invisible barrier that stood in its way. However, it could not be said that the barrier was really invisible, especially to someone who could see.
Jonathan had spent long years in Remnant, and he had not been idle. He had seen Grimm, Hunters, Faunus, Dust, and everything else that could be called ‘magical’ in this umbral world. His theoretical calculations to connect all these factors were not ready, and to be frank, Jonathan had no intention of devoting his time to working on those.
Although Jonathan's love of research had not disappeared, lately he had found fewer and fewer opportunities to engage in it, at least in the things that do not directly relate to completing his goals.
Politics, governing, planning, the complex science of the occult did not grow well in the shadow of such necessities.
Still, if not out of scientific interest, then out of sheer practical necessity, Jonathan did learn some basic concepts about the beings of this world. Including exactly what the Hunters' abilities looked and felt like, especially their semblances, and the traits of the Faunus.
And what Jonathan was seeing at the moment was different from anything he had seen before, only once had Jonathan encountered anything like this before. There was only one person in any way related to what he’s seeing – Ozpin.
And certainly less so by looking at the works of his own hands.
And he was not talking about the exploding tank shell.
A gust of wind of maddening force struck forward, the pressure holding the projectile's blast back before dropping, revealing a completely uninjured Amber. Her eyes were glowing dimly with an alien light from within, emerging from the shackles of her eye sockets to rise in barely visible flames, coloring the air with a mirage.
After a moment the effect faded and the wind died down a moment later.
Jonathan, on the other hand, shifted his gaze to Cinder, then to Amber and squinted slightly, shifting his gaze to the wall that had been breached by the blast.
Surprisingly fortunate to have a trained Maiden in our hands, don't you think, Jonathan?
More than fortunate. Someone clearly wants to help me against Ozpin.
Salem?
I'm not sure, but I don't think so.
The only question is whether to accept the outstretched hand of friendship.
That was another thought for another time, there was something more important in front of him. Jonathan gritted his teeth, looking at the hole punched in the wall, judging by the fact that the blast hadn’t been followed by another, it seems that it was an accident, all because of a terrible set of circumstances.
Or because it was supposed to end with a single shot.
Ozpin wouldn't try to kill me.
Why not? He could simply be trying his luck, he obviously wouldn't lose anything from this attempt, it’s not like we could prove it’s him.
He'd be afraid to attack now, I don't doubt he would have had the ability to do such a thing – but it's too stupid to do it now. Setting me up to fight against him, trying to finish off Cinder by relying on the small chance that I haven't prepared security measures…
In other words…
It's probably Ozpin.
To make you look at Ozpin in anger, yet at the same time leave so many possibilities of escape routes, so many reasons why it's definitely not Ozpin, but someone wanting to tarnish his good name. Moreover, when it seems that Ozpin has barely had time to make this move, just when this move would be so unfortunate for himself. But at the same time, it could easily push you into a confrontation with an old politician…
In other words, Ozpin tried with all his might to show me that it was him, along with counting on my knowing him as a person to make me doubt that judgement, looking for a double bottom. To show someone who would benefit so much from framing Ozpin at this point, tying us together again in one chain, this time relying on the fact that my anger at the attempted attack on Cinder would outweigh our discord. At least for the time being, the time that works best for himself.
It was most likely Ozpin. It's not certain, but extremely likely.
Jonathan gritted his teeth once more before shifting his gaze to the frozen agents before nodding at them, relaying his order.
“First floor. Now.”
***
Aifal had many advantages over ordinary humans. His semblance, his connections, his patronage, his intelligence, his money, his subordinates, and many, many more such things.
But compared to someone like Ozpin, his advantages were quite insignificant.
Many of them amounted to little more than empty reassurance and false confidence, sometimes they even provided none of that either!
And yet, relative to Ozpin, Aifal had one great advantage that could not be surpassed by Ozpin.
His motivation.
After all, what was the point of Aifal giving the order to shoot at Jonathan's hotel?
Demonstrating Amber's abilities might have been a favor done to Jonathan – it could be construed as a help from Aifal. But to do it that way, putting Jonathan and Cinder in potentially deadly danger? It was pointless, stupid and just plain insane, it couldn't lead Aifal to any benefit.
That was Aifal’s main advantage, he wasn't looking for any gain.
Whether Jonathan died from that attack, or whether he went crazy over Cinder's death, or whether Ozpin was actually blamed by another party, Aifal didn't care. Either of these options promised a fascinating development, a curious outcome in the end – and he would be satisfied by that.
By breaking up Ozpin and Jonathan’s relationship further, Aifal would demonstrate his usefulness to Salem for the first time in a long time. And if he were to possibly blunder here, he would cover it by introducing Lionheart into Jonathan's circle.
In other words, Aifal was prepared for every scenario.
And if not, and worse comes to worst? At least he had no fear of death, the cyanide capsule in his teeth was only one bite away from sparing Aifal from possible horrific torture should he be captured.
In other words, Aifal considered himself reasonably well-prepared for any outcome of this venture.
To quarrel with friends or to reconcile enemies? Kill one or save another? To disrupt a plan or to push it through? Aifal didn't care about the outcome, even if it ended in his execution, Aifal didn't care.
More than that, Aifal would have fun watching the world burn, even if to do it he has to burn himself.
He wasn't a maniac, and he didn't want to hurt anyone, not this world, not the individuals living in it. Aifal was just…
Bored.
Perhaps the right thing to say was that Aifal was bored. All the time.
Until he gave himself over to the Big Game, Aifal had always been bored. And ever since he had been able to devote himself to watching the world change according to the results of his scheming – Aifal felt for the first time… Alive.
A bit of chaos in Ozpin and Jonathan's relationship. Reaching out from Lionheart to Glenn. Letting a horde of Grimm invade Vacuo.
And the world stops looking so boring.
Not as dull as the day Aifal found his semblance.
Aifal set aside his finished glass of wine and looked away.
No one had ever considered that the main problem with a semblance such as his own was not mind overload, but the most banal of boredom.
Aifal glanced out the window once more, looking out over the rapidly engulfed city by Glenn's army, and turned, heading away to his next plot. "As you always say, Jonathan Goodman, bani Bonisagus… So it is done."
Mind-reading really does make the world so boring that you have to go to all lengths of tricks to make it at least a little more interesting to yourself.
Comments
clagann
My goodness that reveal at the end there has worrying implications for our boy Jonny goodmeme
