[center][h3]Brewing Storm [/h3]
[color=orange][b]HEAT UP[/b][/color]

[@krayzikk][@sho minazuki][@herecomesthesnow][@kaithas][@plank Sinatra][@suku][@narayank][/center]

In the distillery's plaza there came to be a reunion.  Three quarters of team BASL and a third of JCL came together, each with a retinue of survivors.  Though the time spent in the place, be it second floor or basement, wasn't too much in the end, everyone here could agree that it felt like ages.  Some nursed wounds, both fresh and old, or worried over the injuries of others; a few were rattled by what they'd seen or experienced, be it the primal, disturbing sensation of being hunted or an intense psychological reaction to witnessing dead bodies.  Altogether, everyone felt fatigue, and not just in their muscles, but for this very place.  In the wake of this tragedy, the entire complex seemed like little more than a monument of death—further proof, though nobody need it, of mankind's inability to dominate the wild.

Nobody got much time to think about any of this, though.  By the time that Lucas, Lauren, and Cian were about halfway up the elevator, the familiar noise of jet engines washed over the ominously silent distillery once again.  Everyone anxiously awaited the arrival of Goodwitch's airship, their souls poisoned by hope.  All the same, many of them dreaded the vehicle for the living catastrophe that would surely follow.  Sure enough, the airship zoomed out from above the thick, twisted forest and cruised toward the plaza, its ramp already down.  Goodwitch beckoned to the assembled people before it even stopped moving.  “Quickly!  By my estimation we have twenty seconds!”  The survivors needed no more impetus than that.

With Beacon's students on alert to either side of the ramp, the distillery works gushed into the vehicle, carrying Priscilla with them as gently as they in their fear-addled states could.  The hairs on the backs of necks would rise and the eyes of hunters-in-training would harden at a series of rumbling crashes growing quickly and steadily louder.  Goodwitch's tranquil expression transformed into a scowl, and through clenched teeth she shouted first to the students and then to the pilot, “Get on, now.  Take off!”  All hands held tight their purchases as the airship rose into the air, and not a moment too soon.  The gargantuan Grimm tore out of the forest like a car through tall grass, zeroing in on the airship, which had yet to ascend out of reach, in an instant.  With murder in its eyes it pounced straight for it.

Time seemed to slow down while the colossal, awful creature hurtled toward the human-laden airship.  A single swipe from its paw, even if it didn't pierce the hull, would turn the flying vehicle into a steel deathtrap and extinguish every soul inside.  Like a reaper's scythe that black limb descended: down, down down, and past the hull.  The next instant, the ship was dozens of meters away and climbing, and with no small amount of occupants too scared to soil themselves.  After a moment, it became clear what happened: the pilot had engaged the airship's afterburners to provide a burst of thrust, just enough to rocket out of the way of the threat.  Of course, while it would have been a great joy to soar away into the sunset, the problems of Beacon's finest had only just begun.

On the ground, the garage elevator was just now reaching the top.  The shapes of Lauren, Cian, and Lucas could be made out even from the sky.  The manticore had yet to notice them, but since the airship had taken off those three were trapped in hell.  Goodwitch narrowed her eyes, her mind clearly racing.  “I know, I know,” she preemptively informed anyone who might berate her for 'abandoning' students.  “We're not leaving them behind, but I'm in a poor position to cast at that thing.  I can't take it down from here.”  She turned to the students, eyes burning.  “Can you all coordinate a way to either kill that thing or get rid of it long enough to save the others?”