No offense intended. But there's a sweet spot on the sliding scale of realism, and most of the interest checks I usually see skew too far to the realism end for me.
2
likes
9 yrs ago
Can't describe how quickly I go from excited to sad when a mecha premise turns out to be realism wankery.
The Mage's smile turned a little sheepish after her mistake was explained, accompanied by an apologetic nod. Trying to outmaneuver Angel had lead her to make the same error. Still she stayed composed and cocked her head a little bit at the... Volume of his explanation. The man, 'Rik' he said, seemed to be a bit of a chatterbox.
Still, even though his question seemed innocent enough...
It was worth exercising a little discretion, so as not to accidentally give key information away. Or, for that matter, offend one of the locals that wasn't fond of magic. They were trying to build bridges, not burn them. Best to keep certain aspects downplayed.
"Sorry about the mixup, I'm still waking up a little." Cyare admitted with a faint smile, hooking her thumbs in her swordbelt. "We got in late last night. Angel and I are here on a job, looking into those marauder attacks."
Name: Staten, Amanda Kathryn (“Kat”) Age: 25 Gender: Female Origin: New York City, United States
Appearance: At five feet and ten inches in height, Amanda Kathryn Staten is pretty difficult to miss. If her height doesn’t do it, the blond hair and bright green eyes probably will. If neither of those factors clues you in, look for the boisterous woman in the athletic wear. She usually wears her uniform or something she can move in, without a whole lot in between the two extremes. Anyone she’s stationed with gets used to seeing her in training clothes on her way to or from the gym very quickly.
Kat doesn’t look a whole lot like a pilot at first glance, enough so that more than one unfortunate soul has mistaken her for support personnel. She certainly wouldn’t look out of place as a civilian secretary, though her hair is kept short enough to fit inside her helmet and meet regulatory requirements. It’s a little easier, up close, to see the fit physique required of her career. Despite her youth, she isn’t easily mistaken for a rookie; though largely faded, the scars on her left side and just above her left eye are proof of her history.
Callsign/Codename: Centerfold, gifted by peers during training. Explanation given on request. Kills: 7. 4/7 in one skirmish, 2005. Veritech Specs: Preferred Loadout: -UUM-7 x2 (One left, one right) -AMM-1 x1 (Left) -RMS-1 (Right) -Strike FAST Pack
Kat was trained as the pilot of an air superiority fighter and that preference bleeds through to her Veritech. She largely eschews air-to-ground capabilities in exchange for a varied and potent air-to-air loadout, maintaining a degree of air-to-ground capabilities solely in the form of her UUMs and FAST Pack cannon. Though she chafes a little at the mandated red and white paintjob, she has taken the liberty of painting kill tallies on her craft’s wings and a rabid-looking rabbit on the nose.
Psychological Analysis: Incredibly energetic. Kat Staten is, in a word, boisterous. She’ll laugh the hardest, yell the loudest, and fight the happiest. She takes a fierce pride in her country and her original branch of service, and will contest anyone claiming to be better. She makes friends easily, brushes off adversity with complete irreverence, and never takes things particularly seriously. ‘Irrepressible’ would be a good adjective, as would ‘stubborn’. It doesn’t matter how silly the contest, Staten never gives in.
A deeper familiarity shows that, while the demeanor she projects isn’t false, there is more to it. The American possesses a keen tactical mind, and an almost ruthless determination in the face of opposition. Anyone that threatens her squadmates or her home is to be eliminated, if they fail to take their chance to back down. Her tactics have been called reckless many times, and tend to demonstrate a distinct lack of fear for her own safety. As much as it tends to get her in trouble, it has also been (grudgingly) admitted to be what makes her an excellent pilot. It doesn’t seem to be unintentional; Kat’s brushes with mortality seem only to have reinforced her convictions. Her all-or-nothing attitude is born of determination rather than ignorance.
No matter what, the people Kat serves with are her family. Anything they need she will go to hell and back to provide, whether on or off the battlefield.
Military Record: Amanda Kathryn Staten was born on December 29th 1984, destined to grow up in a world wracked by the Global War. Anthony Staten, her father, served as a fighter pilot before and after she was born. He was an immense influence on her life, and a significant part of her choice to serve in the military came from following in his footsteps. She was raised to be proud, resolute, and unwavering. Kat excelled in high school, took part in extracurriculars, and did everything she could to ensure that she would be able to follow the path she wanted.
Her enlistment and subsequent training, naturally, was a little hectic. Her enthusiasm tended to net her almost as many lectures as it did commendations, if she got a little too heated, thought a little too far outside the box, or otherwise questioned what she was being taught. Still she avoided any real disciplinary action (if only by knowing which lines to toe), and was able to face her role model with the utmost pride when she was accepted as a pilot candidate. The Global War had died down following the crash on Macross Island, something that had only strengthened her resolve, but she still went into active service as a pilot in a chaotic time. Not everyone was on board with unification in the face of extraterrestrial adversity, and though relatively small in number, these forces were enough to cause problems when they put their mind to it.
Kat was the pilot of an F-16, an air superiority fighter tasked with just that; achieving and maintaining air supremacy for the USAF. Much of her early service was without incident, though she displayed excellent ability in the line of duty. That changed when she was twenty one, near the end of the Anti-Unification forces’ decline.
Acting on orders, Kat and her squadmates were dispatched to neutralize a hostile enemy air force discovered in Indonesia. Their superior’s underestimated the size and capability of the force present, and in the ensuing skirmish with the entrenched AU forces the entire squadron was shot down. Not without inflicting losses on the enemy, but the entrenched resistance was made up in large part of Global War veterans. Staten was the last of her squadron to be shot down, only after shooting down five of the AU aircraft during the course of the battle. After-action reports from her surviving squadmates described her maneuvers both as innovating and “[CENSORED] insane”.
It took four days for US forces to subdue the hostile parties, hidden in Indonesia’s rainforests, as well as recover the surviving pilots from her squadron. Kat herself employed what they had been taught in USAF SERE Training to survive and evade capture.
Her high performance marked her for recruitment as a Veritech pilot, and later for assignment to Fox Squadron.
Just about done. Will look it over with fresh eyes tomorrow to make sure I'm satisfied (and give time for feedback), but the first draft at least is done.
Discord would be my vote. It's not a personal favorite, but it's what pretty much everyone has switched to and I'm loathe to set up another venue for communication.
Things were going fine so far. No one was hit, no one was grabbed, one tendril down, they’d made a little forward progress. Despite the tendency towards tunnel vision in a situation like this, he’d caught on to Trad’s plan; he might not have been on Ben’s team anymore, but he still had their backs. When this was done, one of these days, they’d have to catch up. Had been too long since they’d gone their separate ways.
Friendly joining behind, per Skye’s report. Helpful, for sure, but-
He heard more than saw the assault on Skye, it was too far behind him to see, but it didn’t escape his notice. His advance slowed long enough for him to glance back over one shoulder, determine if someone needed to intervene, but was relieved to see the girl back on her feet.
But it presented an issue. If the rear guard was under such heavy attack, he wasn’t doing his job well enough.
The Dionaea wasn’t focused enough on him.
Time to fix that.
Three tendrils came next, the Reisen was upping its game, which necessitated a change of strategy. One, the sneakiest, went for his ankles; it received a shotgun-enhanced swing from Caletfwlch to dissuade it of that notion. Hurt, but not severed, it withdrew just in time for its brethren to strike. The first came in as before like a whip, a swing from the massive limb meant to smash him into the ground.
It met Joyous Guard like the crack of thunder, sliding across its angled surface to deliver the brunt of its momentum into the ground. Water sprayed from the spot, drenching his left, but he was unhindered. But the Grimm was smart. It could see the way dealing with the first two had opened him up, left him without a viable defense. So the last rocketed towards him like a spear, with such force that it didn’t need a point to tear into his defenses. The water inhibited his movement, his guard was wide open-
Exactly as planned. Bastille’s captain twisted, avoiding the brunt of the blow, but that left it clear to pass him and reach his teammates. Until he clamped his arm down, trapping the thick tendril between his limb and torso like a vise. His Aura gauge dropped in his peripheral vision as Deinamig kicked in, he slid backwards with its continuing momentum despite his footing, the beast overcame its surprise and started to encircle him like a python, but Ben’s grin only widened.
Steel met vine with the crack of a shotgun, Caletfwlch descending like the wrath of an angry god upon the Dionaea’s limb. It had experienced such an attack once before, so perhaps it was surprised when the blade cleaved through its tendril like a knife through butter.
The tendril went limp and he let it drop contemptuously to the ground, pressing the opening to advance several more steps and flicking the viscous sap-like substance from his blade. His Aura dropped again precipitously, his BaSTEEL’s dutifully informing him of Deinamig’s expenditures, but it barely registered.
”1-1, Nuit!” The declaration was more like a war cry, resonating from deep within the blacksmith’s chest. He locked eyes with the Dionaea’s main head as best he could, whether the beast noticed or not, and slammed Caletfwlch’s hilt once against Joyous Guard’s to punctuate his message with the ring of steel on steel. ”Keep up! Skye, status?”
Featuring a character you'll only really know if you pay close, close attention to Jericho posts. But the locale should be a little more familiar.
Not a perfect fit for the theme, but happens technically last summer; after Graduation Day.
I don’t regret my creation. If it never came to pass, I would not have an existence to regret.
Jericho would tell me not to regret a thing. That my circumstances are not my fault, and that the world is better for me existing. I know this because it is what I would tell him, were he in my place. Because I am him, a mirror, the opposite side of the same coin. I am him in a way that not even he can be me. If that’s confusing, I understand. It took some time for me, too.
I am everything he was, and he is everything I was. But he is not everything I am and as time goes on I am less and less everything that he is. Diverging lines, that once shared a single point but will never again intersect. Not the same way that we once were. Yet still closer than anyone else ever will be.
I am a mirror of him in a way that not even Babylon is, much the same way that I mirror her in a way that not even Jericho does. They are my siblings, dearer to me than anything, but they cannot truly understand.
I’m not sure I can, either.
That’s the truth of why I’m here, in a forest on a continent miles from my origin. Why after days of sleep I had to move, and this place was just the thing. Somewhere as beautiful as it is terrible, as calm as it is violent. The forests between Redwood and Shiroyama were serene at their calmest, and hellish at their cruelest. It made them perfect.
No one in Shiroyama paid me any mind when I disembarked, but they volunteered directions when I asked. They strongly urged that a trip to Redwood be on the bus, where it was safe, but they didn’t press the issue too strongly. The city’s guards seemed to get the impression that I was an Atlesian specialist, so I could handle myself.
I don’t know what made them think so. I would never lead them astray.
Intentionally.
My… technicalities… Aside, the inauspicious start was fitting. They wouldn’t think much of my departure, certainly not enough to worry about checking in with the Atlesians. Not for a few days at least. That was good. I was free to go when I left, but technically in the custody of my family. They didn’t say as much but I understand the implication; the Pipers were to be my handlers, my tethers to morality. … To humanity, frankly.
The sun cast my path in the dappled shadows of a red-gold light, reaching down through the scarlet leaves to penetrate the gloom. They were red even in the height of summer, contrasting with the more typical green around them. Red became more and more predominant as I hiked, getting closer to the town named for them. There are hours left to go at this rate, but that’s exactly what I want. I need the almost oppressive silence, it blocks out all but my own thoughts. I need the exertion to focus me, I need the light to see my path, the forest to obscure my destination… And the Grimm to understand myself.
They’ve been quiet since I got here, but I don’t have to wonder why. They don’t know what to make of me any more than I of myself. A couple of Boarbatusks, near the beginning, but they weren’t even worth breaking a sweat.
My rifle bumps against my hip with each step, a steady and consistent tempo all the more comforting for its presence. There is little here that I can’t handle, should it show itself. I want it to show itself. A simple hike would have been easy enough without crossing a sea. I need them to make up their minds, to come out and fight me already.
But they hesitate. Because I smell like them.
That’s how I liken it, at least. It isn’t really a smell, though it’s just as pervasive, because they don’t have to be near me to understand. Only when I keep it suppressed do they have to see me, approach me, to discern it.
”In your expert opinion, doctor, is the subject human?”
No.
”I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Major.”
I am.
”These abilities. These tests. They’re all in here, with your notes. A deeper integration than we’ve seen with the Lieutenant. Right from the moment it came out of the pod.”
…
It’s top secret, but classification means nothing when I know everything he did. I’ve read the files, anyway, even when I wasn’t supposed to.
My brother is a shining Knight of Atlas, in so many ways. The exemplar of Atlesian virtue, a paragon of a specialist’s ideals, the embodiment of what a Gold Stripe should be. A defender, for God and the Kingdom. I can understand because I have been him. People adore him, no matter how much it irritates him. Even when he tries to push them away. His loyalty is unshakable, his abilities unquestionable, and his personality indomitable.
He can, and does, do terrible things in the name of his Kingdom. He can do it, and he can sleep like a baby. Because he trusts the people who wield him, and they trust him in turn.
Even with Judgement, something a good many would call a grave mistake, he is still their Knight. They call him their Devil, but with affection. Pride.
I am their devil.
The people that made me lose sleep over it. I was supposed to be a backup for him, in case of the worst. I came out wrong, fascinating and horrifying in equal measure. Just a curiosity, until they started testing me. My Semblance.
Until Graduation Day.
-roaring, thundering sound in my head drowning out rational thought and urging me to fight, and fight, and fight and win and show them what I am show them what they made me show that I am not inferior that I am not some clone that I am strong and fierce and worthy and-
Jericho scared them, but they sealed Judgement away as best they could and took comfort. He was still their Knight. Whatever he was, he was what they made him.
But they saw me, too.
I had to save him. He’s my brother. My big brother. My Knight. I couldn’t let what they did take him away, I couldn’t let them stop me from helping, I couldn’t let them force me to stay idle. I volunteered, and I did everything I could.
give him back
I scared them.
I showed my family them what I really am, I showed them the truth of my soul, and I scared them. They stood up for me anyway, when the Committee decided what to do with me, but I couldn’t… I can’t…
…
I haven’t really seen them. They don’t really know I’m here. I can’t see them until I have an answer for myself. I need to know that they don’t need to be scared. That the Committee wasn’t right, that I’m not…
I need to know that my family was right to stand up for me. That I’ve earned that. They put so much faith in me, I need to be able to show that it isn’t misplaced.
Jericho would tell me that it isn’t. Babylon would, too, even more emphatically. They would defend me to Remnant’s end and beyond, if they had to. I would do the same for them with every fiber of my tainted, imperfect being. But that taint is what scares them. Scares me, sometimes. I get…
-anger, red hot and piercing, burning through every inch of me pumping my heart like a forge rising and flooding my mind red washing over my vision-
I didn’t realize I was grinding my teeth.
I also didn’t realize that I was being followed.
Sloppy. In the extreme. Ursa are far from stealthy hunters, even in their natural habitat. I should have seen them coming even before they noticed my presence. I’m getting distracted. They were biding their time until now, but they knew I noticed. I didn’t look to know, I could hear it in the way they moved. The sound of their paws on the forest floor had been quiet, the scraping of claws against dirt and root alike a consistent ambience. It was likely why I hadn’t noticed, though I wouldn’t console myself like that. An excuse means little if you don’t learn from the mistake. That digression matters little, however; I could tell they had noticed because now those claws were ripping at the earth, the Ursa- no, Ursas- tripping over themselves to get to me faster.
A lot of things happened all at once. I dropped low, feeling the rush of air as a heavy paw ripped through the space my head had occupied. The turn to face my foes let me jam a pistol against its knee, and then it dropped too. A second shot from the right pistol through the chest and into the upper spinal column removed it from the equation. Textbook.
The other two, now that I could see them, had slowed down a little when their apparent leader engaged. His demise covered my movements for a moment, just enough time to readjust and shoot the second Grimm once in the chest, and once in the head a split second later. A shot to the chest might not kill it outright, not unless it was perfect, but a second to the head would do the trick for certain. From a Manticore heavy pistol, at least.
The last was a Major.
This was the fight I needed.
It hadn’t waited to see what I did to its last ally, I had proven a threat and a threat that it would neutralize with extreme prejudice. Its thoughts were refined in that way, a simple analysis of threat and response, a decision unburdened with indecision. It saw a threat to its existence, its mortal enemy, and it would take the most direct course to end that threat.
Without higher reasoning, this instinct also made it predictable.
I spun away from its charge, putting a round into its flank on its way by. It staggered along the line of force, for just a second, but it recovered quickly. With its heavier plating, a Manticore wouldn’t put it down so easy.
A Golden Stripe’s would.
I had time to put two more shots into its body, alternating weapons, before it faced me again. I had mostly enraged it. It favored its left side just a little, but it wouldn’t slow the creature down much. I could feel my heart rate tick up a few notches, for the first time, and met its stare. I confused it, I think. I didn’t smell right, I didn’t look afraid, I felt different. If it was smart enough to register such things, at least.
Its weak point was still the upper spine, but its extra plating made for a much more limited striking angle. I needed to get a hit in on its neck. That meant getting close enough not to miss. A melee weapon would let me keep some distance. I didn’t have one with me.
I could, a little voice reminded me. Easily.
…
It was in motion and I had decided on a course of action. My brother wouldn’t have flinched away, he would have caught that paw already coming in with his left hand and jammed the barrel into its neck. No acrobatics, no theatrics, direct route from point A to point B. I don’t have that same option, so I made some changes.
When I sidestepped, this time, it began to turn immediately. It had learned that trick. But that wasn’t an issue, because I had taken hold of its other arm and used its charge as a counterforce to swing myself up towards its back. The big creature’s spined armor made a perfect handhold at the apex of my swing, boots slamming into its back, pistol jammed into place and-
Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack.
Click.
I tucked into a roll when it stumbled, head dipping towards the ground just enough for me to somersault forward and turn that into a crouch, bracing against the ground with the hand that had run empty and bring the remaining one up towards my foe.
Needn’t have worried. It was already beginning to dissolve when it hit the ground with a-
Crash?
That wasn’t right. That noise, the Ursa Major didn’t weigh nearly enough for that. Something was definitely wrong, especially when it was followed by the distant sounds of creaking and cracking, the trunks of trees twisting and breaking.
It wasn’t a singular event, it only increased. The ground tremored beneath my feet as the noise began to reach a dissonant crescendo, swelling with each breaking limb.
And it was along my path, I realized.. Towards Redwood.
Unbidden, a memory rose; it wasn’t mine, and I knew it wasn’t mine. No matter how much it felt like it. It was a classroom at Bastion, a place I’d never been, with a teacher I’d never met. It was a lecture on Riesen class Grimm, their characteristics and practical examples. Some history was in there, too, especially with notable creatures like-
No.
I reloaded swiftly, ejecting the spent magazine and unspent alike to slip in new ones. Each went into different pockets to avoid mistakes at a critical moment, but that was habit, not conscious thought. Every fiber of my being was focused on that sound, on what I knew, and on the desperate, fervent hope that I was wrong. They hadn’t mentioned it at Shiroyama. Between Shiroyama and Redwood there was more practical experience with such a threat than anywhere else, and surely they would have known…
I was moving in a blink, towards the source of the sound. The traces were small at first, upturned earth here, a broken sapling here… But they started getting bigger. Craters in the earth where a trunk had once been, creepers strewn ripped apart on the ground, gaps in the forest. Each accompanied a spiderwebbed trail of disturbed earth, where the very roots had escaped Remnant’s grasp. She knew, if she looked closely, these traces all connected; even if only at a single tendril, the oddly captivating web connected even the most disparate traces. When it spread, infected the flora around it, it still had to connect to the center. It was quieter, now; the wildlife had gone silent completely, and the ongoing cacophony in the distance was further away now. I checked the compass in my pocket, hoping against hope for a sign that I was wrong, but the compass supported the chilling conclusion lurking unvoiced in my mind.
The forest was still too dense to get a good look, the foliage blocked any gaze upwards and the trunks any view ahead. If I was going to know for sure, I needed to get higher. So I grasped a tree branch on the tallest tree nearby and swung myself up, ascending as quickly as possible.
”-earliest records date from the library in Mantle, when it was our capital city. People couldn’t communicate so easily back then, so how long it existed before then is unknown. But these reports alone indicate that it is at least a hundred years old. Locals in the region are so familiar with it that they have named it-”
Vlitra.
Reisen class Grimm, almost as a rule, are large. Some are immense. The Ankou is an exception, for example, that barely outsizes a Feind. But it is an exception. Creatures like the Manticore, or the Bael, or the Dionaea are the norm. Immense beasts that we are lucky exist in limited numbers, far from civilization. Only Grausam are considered worse, and most in that category have achieved a nearly mythical status for their rarity.
But Datura are perhaps the most insidious. They sleep for years, spread out so that they cannot be easily found or killed. And while they sleep they grow. All Grimm grow bigger with age, but only Datura do so by infecting the plant life around them. Each infected bit of flora adds to its biomass, furthers its size, and enhances its strength. They could even, through the ages, merge together. Scholars have declared the Gaia Datura extinct. Not a one exists in the world, as far as they can ascertain. Such creatures would pose a nearly unstoppable menace. Old Datura, at least, only pose a threat to settlements that they approach. Even then one that only occurs every few years, if it survives long enough to sleep again at all. A terror, to be sure, but a manageable one. So long as they are not permitted to grow.
If you were to see Vlitra, you could be forgiven for thinking the scholars are wrong.
It towered above its surroundings. It had been small, once; it had to have been given how Datura start. No longer. It had not finished pulling itself together, I was watching the last of the process, but I could see its immensity. The oldest trees in the forest, those too strong and proud to have become part of its form, reached perhaps to its waist. It dwarfed all but the most towering monuments built by man, certainly those that I have seen with my own eyes. Datura are most often black and green, the color of Grimm mixed in with the remaining greenery of that which they have infected, but Vlitra blazes red in the sun with the foliage the forest is known for. A scarlet that its eyes can barely match, behind the growing shape of its mask. It bears the oldest of its trophies atop its head like a crown, straining to rend the very sky into pieces, and twines the roots of its conquests together to make its vicious claws. Its first, lumbering step shakes the ground.
I cannot even fathom it.
It…
My brother has never felt anything like it.
Neither have I.
It is the feeling of witnessing something so far beyond your comprehension that your mind goes blank, that your terror is lost in the ocean of existential dread inspired by such a monstrosity. Its presence goes beyond physical, settling like a great pressure upon the strongest shoulders. Seeing the noon sky shine upon it conjures up questions that you don’t have answers for, questions for whatever force may have created the universe.
Grimm are monsters from the blackest depth, with no purpose but to eradicate the living. Soulless, unreasonable monsters that deal death wherever they can.
If Grimm, with their eyes of red, were monsters, then Vlitra was a demon with its crown of fire.
I climb back down quickly, because in my heart, I don’t want it to see me. Every rational part of my being reminds me that it would not, not when I am so small and distant, but I fear that chance. I fear having its focus brought down upon my meager frame.
I still see the black specks, the hordes of Grimm hidden within its body, descending in my mind. Vlitra’s awakening is supposed to be met with a veritable army. Once it was just the two towns and whatever they could muster, whatever Huntsman and Huntresses they could call in. But in the decades following the Great War it was treated more and more seriously. Atlesian forces had been dispatched before every awakening to aid in the defense, to drive back Vlitra and the hoard with which it arrived. Great effort was devoted to predicting when he would awake. There were always signs, shifts in the earth like the fitful twitches of a waking soul, but she saw no one.
The forest wasn’t safe. I came looking for a fight, but this… It was a monster. I can’t fight it. I can’t. I need to get to Redwood. Redwood’s Fangs could hold it at bay, give me somewhere safe. They would know, even if no one else did, what was coming.
I ran.
I’m not proud. I didn’t run towards it. I ran away from it. I ran, and I ran as quick as I could. My legs burned within minutes, my legs soon after, the pounding of my heart drowned out still by the tremors. The dull, throbbing impacts that grew ever louder. The regular, rhythmic crashes of its feet striking the surface of the world. Enough, she was sure, to shake the planet.
My compass was in my hand but I never slowed long enough for it to settle. I only made sure it pointed south, at least loosely, while I ran. Vlitra was immense, but slow; and he had a ways to travel. Every year Redwood sent men and women out to the edges of Vlitra’s grasp and burned anything that showed signs of infection, year by year keeping it back from Redwood’s safety. The Grimm defended it zealously, throwing themselves upon the saboteurs with ferocity unmatched even in a normal encounter the deeper they traveled into Vlitra’s lair. Even those miles, however, paled before Vlitra’s stride.
And its minions were faster. The legions that hid within its form, waiting for their dark god to awaken. They could envelop the forest in minutes given the chance.
All these thoughts barely registered, the increasing sound of impending doom only served to motivate my legs to move faster. Nothing else mattered.
But I wondered how it could exist.
There was a good. For all their faults, for all the harm they visited upon one another, humanity was good. Their very souls pushed them to do the right thing. Upon a sane mind the act of ignoring its bidding weighed heavily. Grimm had no suching urging, they were fundamentally evil. The creatures that kept good people awake at night. That, like her, kept the people of Atlas awake at night.
Jericho fought those monsters, even when they feared he might become one of them. So did every strong-hearted man or woman, whether with a sword or their defiance of that despair. Defiance of the existential threat that sought the end to all that was good.
Why did monsters like that exist?
People weren’t strong enough to fight that. Even when they banded together, fought as bravely as they could, the best they could do was drive it off. Time after time. Year after year. Decade after decade. And for everything they won, they lost. That was what Atlas sought to fight. They sought to remove lives, precious as they were, from the battlefield. Safeguard them from loss. And when loss was unavoidable they wanted to bring those heroes back.
They tested that theory, and instead of creating a second chance for one of their greatest heroes…
Made another monster.
That was what they feared.
”You saw what she did. We couldn’t stop him, his friends couldn’t stop him, his dad couldn’t stop him. That thing finally did. Today she was on our side, what about when when she isn’t?”
She was almost there, and she needed to be because she could hear the chaotic chorus of the Grimm sweeping into the forest. The silence was long gone, now the air was filled with an assortment of cries enough to drive a person to madness.
But one broke the haze. Not Grimm. Human.
Redwood was close, but still too distant. She didn’t have any time to waste. If someone screamed, they’re probably already dead. They’re not my problem. If no one’s close enough to save them then whoever gets close enough is dead too. But they’re still out there. I can hear them, they’re not very far. I can’t see them, not through the forest, but I can hear them.
Vlitra is coming. There’s no time.
My head screams to run. To get away, to hide, to save myself from the demon that’s coming. But I can’t, I stopped, I…
…
Fuck.
My Manticores aren’t going to do me any good anymore. Not fast enough. They’re more familiar to me than anything. Jericho swears by them. My His father does, too. Fear just… Goes away. Once they’re in my hands. The weight, the feel… It isn’t exact, it isn’t the pair I’m used to, but they’re comforting. They’re as close as I can get to that confidence I remember. Even if it isn’t mine, even if I’m only borrowing it… They make me feel like a Piper, they make me feel like the best that I know my brother can be. If they’re good enough for him, they should be good enough for me.
They’ve carried me as far as they can today. So has he.
Jericho would save them.
My rifle doesn’t feel the same way, it can’t quiet the hammering of my heart, but it’s in my hands anyway. Cold metal against my cheek as I sight down its barrel, bursting through the foliage in my way, and-
Fire.
The first Beowolf slumps like a puppet with its strings cut, dead before it could even register a threat. Its pack was small, only four or five beasts, but more than enough for their target. They didn’t even notice me until I fired, too intent on their prey.
It took a second for me to realize the growl came from my own throat.
Three round bursts, just to be sure. Sighted properly, not rushed, just like I was taught. Grimm dropping with each pull of the trigger, trying to target me instead but simply not quick enough. The last lost a third of its head in mid-leap, close enough that I have to step back to avoid being caught in the dissolving carcass’ trajectory. Too close.
No more targets sighted.
“W-Who are you?”
Good. He was alive.
I lowered my rifle and turned to the kid leaning against a tree to my left. He was alright, for the most part; judging by the broken stick next to him he’d tried to fight with whatever was on hand. Another half minute and I wouldn’t have been quick enough.
Still wasn’t quite quick enough.
“Someone here to help.” I answered quietly, dropping into a crouch myself to get on his level. I brought a small first aid kit with me, enough to bandage up that ugly cut on his arm, but there wasn’t anything I could do about his ankle. He was clearly favoring it. It was going to slow us down. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Eli.” He answered a little hesitantly, trying to keep his eyes on the woods and me at the same time. I couldn’t blame him. I wouldn’t be eager to trust a stranger so easy, but times like these… He didn’t have a choice, and I think he knew it. He was scared. “What’s yours?”
“... Rebekah.” No point in lying, some kid in Redwood wouldn’t know anything about me. Not that some kid in Atlas would, either, but… I didn’t come here under my own name. As stupid as it is, I don’t really want to admit I’m here. Especially when I’d like to be anywhere but here.
I kept an eye around us while I patched the kid up, and the good news was that we weren’t interrupted. The bad news was that the Grimm had surged past us, leaving us caught in the lion’s den with safety still too far away.
“Do you know the way back to Redwood, Eli?”
He nodded and pointed back the way I had come, trying to muster his resolve. I could respect that. We both were. I was just better at hiding it.
“T-That way. This place is safe. Supposed to be. Curfew starts in a few days, after that we’re not supposed to leave town, b-but-”
“But it’s early.”
I didn’t have to elaborate on what ‘it’ was, the kid knew. He just nodded and suppressed a shudder. I needed to think quick. If I didn’t, neither of us was going to make it. We still might not.
“Eli, I’m going to need you to walk. That stick should be sturdy enough to support you. We’re going to move as quick as we can to Redwood, and you’re going to stay right behind me. I can keep you safe, but I need you to stay close. Can you do that?”
“Yes, miss. Are you a Huntress?”
“Sort of.” The only answer he’d understand, and it wasn’t really a lie. I am. … Kind of. But I know everything a Huntress does, I can do everything she does, and that’s the important part. Anything else could wait for later. “We need to get going. Are you ready?”
“Yeah.”
The kid was tough, I had to give him that much. He hauled himself to his feet, braced against his makeshift walking stick, and gave me a nod. I don’t know if he completely understood what was happening, but he was scared enough to listen to me. That’d have to be good enough for now. I reloaded while things were still quiet and started towards Redwood, the kid faithfully sticking to me like glue.
We were set upon almost immediately.
For every few dozen yards we made it, Grimm appeared. Mostly Klein, for now; Beowolves, Creeps, the occasional Broodling; those worried me, mostly because if an Ariadne was anywhere nearby we were finished. It was alright for the first few minutes, even if it was hard to tell how much time passed. Each second seemed to stretch on, no time to check a watch. The tremors were louder with each passing second, and the Grimm kept coming faster. As much as the forest hampered us, it hampered them too; in their ferocious assault I could hear them coming before I saw them.
Three rounds for each target, check for termination, sight the next. Repeat, repeat, repeat.
I was thankful the Klein were the fastest, because if waves of Feind starting showing up things were going to go bad fast. I was only just fast enough now. The kid, Eli, whimpered whenever one got too close but nothing had gotten through yet.
I have no idea where the resistance to Vlitra is. In this dense forest, I can barely see or hear for a short range around me. I have no certainty that we’re headed the right way, only that we’re headed away from Vlitra. Eli has my compass and he’ll correct our course every now and again, but for the most part… We just kept moving, as quickly as we could. Our slow pursuer was an unseen but ever-present fear, driving us forward.
Unfortunately, a much more imminent danger loomed.
The Grimm are still coming, and I’m beginning to run low on ammo. Even shortening the bursts, first to two rounds, then to a single shot as needed, I’m burning through my munitions. I came here expecting a few fights, not what bordered on a siege.
My heart’s hammering in my chest, because even if the kid doesn’t know… I do. Our odds are getting slimmer with every Grimm. They didn’t have to be tough. They didn’t even have to reach us. Every single one was another bullet I needed to fire. Every single bullet fired, one less to use if something big came. And still Redwood seemed distant.
I slung my rifle over my shoulder again, slapped a pair of Fire Dust magazines into my Manticores, and resumed the fight. Explosive rounds were a little excessive on Kleins, sometimes she could get more than one. And with her rifle so low… She needed to conserve ammo. When the big game showed up.
The first came from the one place I wasn’t looking; the sky.
A Harpy dropped out of the air, right beside me, and tried to grab the kid. I put a bullet through a wing, then her chest as she fell out of control, but the distraction was enough. An Ursa Major rocketed out of the trees on my right, the opposite direction I’d been looking.
I didn’t think, I reacted. I shoved Eli down, crouched low as it soared towards me, sighted a shot, and fired. Right leg practically disappeared, but it still came down on top of me.
And God, it hurt. Even through my Aura. Teeth and claws tearing, trying to keep me from getting a shot. I could hear the rest closing in, I didn’t have time, I needed to move, to act, kill it before it killed me, before it got the kid-
An explosive round, point blank, doesn’t feel great for you either.
The Ursa disintegrated with three shots, but that was three rounds going off right on top of me. Aura or not, Fire Dust hurts. I shoved it aside, it wasn’t dissolving quick enough, and put a round into the small pack of Creepers seizing their chance. A couple died outright, the explosion scattered the rest. A second shot dissuaded them from anything further.
An Ursa right, fire now.
Eli’s behind me, trying to help me up off the ground without obstructing my arms. That’s exactly as complicated as it sounds when you can’t stop firing for a second. But above the din around me I can hear a few things; most notably, gunfire. Somewhere, out in the chaos, I wasn’t the only one fighting.
The smart thing, the normal thing, was to establish a perimeter. Redwood’s walls were the absolute last line of defense, they would send whatever fighters they had past that. If Vlitra was only a few days early then their defenses would be here, just not in place yet.
So would Atlas’.
They’d been caught with their pants down, but they were recovering and recovering fast. The thought emboldened her. If the defensive line was close, they could meet up with the defenders, get some protection, maybe make it out al-
Click.
One Manticore fell silent.
I didn’t have to reach for a magazine to know I didn’t have any left. I compensated with the other, felled the immediate target, but there were a scarce few shots left in it, too. The Grimm were slowing down, just a little, probably diverted by the other fighters. But…
“Kid.”
“M-Miss?”
“We’re close, right?”
“Y-Yeah.” He pointed nervously, flinching when her gun went off again. Better a flinch than what the Grimm’d do to him. “One of my friends hangs out near that rock. It’s a fifteen minute walk from here.”
I switched the pistol to my left hand and grabbed my rifle with the right, catching a Beowolf with a quick burst from the hip. Inaccurate, wasteful, and a lucky shot. Still quicker than sighting properly. I flipped the pistol around in my left, held it out to him, and gave him a level look.
He stared back fearfully.
“Go. It’s going to suck, but you need both hands for this. You shouldn’t have many problems but you need to go now.”
He opened his mouth to reply, but I shook my head violently. The pistol was shoved into his hand, and I all but pushed him towards the village. Despite staggering a little he stayed upright, and looked ready to protest.
“Mr. Abraham would never leave anyone behind.”
Noble as you are, Abraham, whoever you are, you are not helping.
“Sounds like a good guy. But that’s for adults. Eli, if I watch your back too, I can’t watch mine. You need to go back. Now.”
Speer’d be proud of that one, I admit. Not really the time, but some habits you can’t unlearn. Brave as he was, the kid wasn’t stupid and he took off with another push. I didn’t lie to him, not really. He was slowing me down. Having to look after him was distracting.
But the root issue was that I wasn’t leaving. If we both went, they’d finish catching up and we would both be dead. Grimm don’t understand tactics, they understand aggression. And if I keep that aggression on me… None for him.
A rock for the wave to break upon.
No more running. Not until he had time to get back, at least in range of the Fangs.
Ten minutes, probably. Ten minutes was seemingly like an awfully long time. The Feind were out in force, now. I switched my rifle over to explosive, too; a couple Dust magazines were the only thing left. Everything burned. My muscles, my heart, my lungs; so long running, so long fighting, with the doom still looming overhead… It was exhausting. And I was at the end of my rope.
The first Ursa Major went down with a three round burst, enough to penetrate even that armor. A Nevermore, swooping overhead, lost a wing. I didn’t have much room to think, just act. And even actions were beginning to be limited. The deafening crash was louder, and louder, and louder the underbrush crackled and creaked under the forces that traveled through it…
There was no room to run, anyway. I’m encircled now.
”You don’t need it, Bek.”
“You use yours.”
“And look what happened. That part of you, it isn’t you.”
He wanted me to rise above it. To do the best I can without it.
I love you, brother. But you’re a hypocrite.
Not that you realize it. You’d use it in a heartbeat, if it was to protect someone else. If it was your orders. If it was necessary. It’s limited, now that they sealed it. Maybe Graduation Day scared you as much as it scared me. Maybe you’re afraid of what they think about you, too, after what you did.
But it isn’t you.
It is me.
Every fiber of it. It was added to you, but it was always in me. From the moment I was born, to the moment I die, it will be there. Without it, that might be very soon. It might still be. Maybe using it makes me a monster. Maybe I am one, whether I use it or not. I’m not quite normal. I can’t be.
I feel it. The twisted, tainted part of me that I don’t want to acknowledge, don’t want to admit is there, want to avoid at all costs… It’s there right now, urging me to do what I can. To take hold of all the power in front of me. Inside me. To turn it upon them as they would turn it upon us. As they are trying to do.
That little voice… It’s me. A part of me, whether I want it or not.
I blink, and when my eyes open again, I know one is no longer violet. I know that that piece of my hair, what we both call a rune, is as red as Vlitra’s eyes. As my eye.
And for a second, the forest held its breath.
The Death Stalker emerged, first, and I wanted it to. I feel glee. I feel a savage, bloodthirsty glee as it charges and I meet its striking tail… With a pincer like its own, as much a part of my body as anything else. The heavy pincer I use to catch and sever its tail, and slam a mirror of its pincer down into its body. My hand safely ensconced inside.
The stinger becomes another claw, one for each hand, before I even really register it. I rend what’s left of it apart before it can understand what has happened, torn apart as though by its own hand. The heavy, ephemeral carapace around my fists is perfect to backhand the Beowolf that lunges for me.
There are no tactics anymore, not now that I’ve begun. There is only action. Action fueled by the heat in my blood, the inferno pumping pumping pumping through my body urging me to fight and fight and fight until I can’t fight anymore. To shred, and tear, and smash, and destroy the enemy until there’s nothing left. Until Vlitra itself shudders before me.
I can control it. I can channel it.
But I know why they were afraid of me. I know what they saw, I know how the scientists felt when they discovered my Semblance. That the very nature of my soul let me emulate them, manifest their own bodies, weapons that I had felt…
I am what they made me, and I can’t control their fear. I can’t deny what I am.
But I can make the best of it.
I can’t be their knight like Jericho. I want them to see me like they see him, to be able to praise me, thank me, call me a hero… But I don’t think I can make them see.
I can be their devil.
If Vlitra is a demon, I can be the devil to force him back. With every iota of my strength, every ounce of my self, every power at my disposal. I can fight fire with fire. I refuse to let their monstrosity define me.
I force my will outwards, force it to form a wispy, black and white minigun around my hand. A bone-plated weapon born straight from a human’s nightmare, bearing the visage of the monsters at their door. But despite its looks, it’ll stop them just fine.
Exhausted or not, I have a job to do. I can afford to start falling back, no matter how much I desire nothing but to rush forward and meet their challenge head on in a glorious battle of wills. Meet claw with claw, teeth with bullets, and rend their forces to pi-
No.
Backwards, inch by inch, firing or shredding every enemy that got close. Even I’m not always sure where I end and the Grimm begin, which claws are my own, or from whom the roars issue forth. I don’t have time to care. If I survive, I can try and sort it out. They’re drawn to me. They can sense that which is them within me, and it angers them. They hate what I am as much as those that made me.
That’s okay.
Jericho would be proud, if he were here. He would look upon my stand, potentially my last, and say I made the right call.
The demon is at the gates, now; I can see him through the trees. Coming forth.
The Fangs are ready for him.
So is Atlas.
A deafening roar rumbles through the air, Vlitra fired upon by Redwood’s arsenal and the Atlesian fightercraft that had scrambled.
That’s good.
Because I’m all out of… Everything. Bullets. Energy. Strength. Redwood’s walls are visible in the break of the trees behind me, and despite myself, I can’t help but laugh.
The kid sent backup.
Half a dozen professional Hunters or Huntresses, acting in perfect synch, rushing past me to plug the hole in the defensive line while a local man slung my arm over his shoulder and grinned at me. He looked like he needed support himself, the man couldn’t have been a day under seventy himself, but he carried himself with an air of calm that defied question.
“Looks like you could use a little help, miss. Youngster said you were still out there.”
I tried to muster some sort of response, but truth be told… It just wasn’t coming.
He nodded anyway.
“Kind of overwhelming. I know. Come on, they won’t let me fight anymore. Let’s get you to a bed. Fresh set of clothes, too, yours are a little worse for wear. The old lady’ll be happy to have company.”
Ghosthands
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