Chapter Text
"Reaper, Metal Two-Six. Message, over."
"Go ahead Two-Six. Over."
"We've got an enemy foot patrol in the treeline opposite OP Fox. Three pax with two rifles and one shotgun, headed northbound. How copy, over?"
"This is Reaper, good copy. Foot patrol opposite Fox, break." Leaves rustled on their branches as the weight resting on them shifted for the first time in an hour, "I've got them. Three pax northbound in the treeline, definitely bad guys. Over"
"Reaper, Metal Two-Six. You want us to take them? Over."
"Negative Two-Six, I see two more following maybe twenty meters back. Advise when you see them, over."
"Roger, will advise. Hold one, over."
The small reticle in the rifle scope hovered over the chest of the first man in line, a dog Faunus judging by the tail. There was no wind to move the leaves in the trees around him as he walked almost perfectly perpendicular to the rifle's muzzle. An unnecessary glance at the scope's built-in rangefinder confirmed that the patrol was a clean five hundred meters away. An easy shot.
"Reaper, Metal Two-Six. We have eyes on the two pax, coming up to the treeline now. How do you want to play this? Over."
"Pick targets on the first three and be ready to displace in a hurry. Over."
"Copy that, lined up and waiting, over."
Birds chirped playfully in the distance.
A deep inhale with a slow release of breath.
"Two-Six, Engage on my signal. Out"
"Wilco, out."
The rifle's safety clicked off.
A soft breeze danced through the foliage.
The greased bolt on the rifle manually cycled in near silence compared to the two sharp Cracks that rang out in quick succession. A soft staccato of distant rifle fire followed shortly after, three controlled bursts from practiced hands. Five bodies and a blanket of silence fell over the forest.
Beneath the branches and leaves of the tree a handful of rose petals drifted slowly to the ground, the only evidence that anyone had ever been there.
Syran had been hesitant to join the White Fang at first. To hear it from news reporters, the Fang were nothing but two-bit thugs, no better than the mostly Human bandits that had harassed his family growing up. But after the last CCT broadcast, after Beacon fell, he knew that he had been lied to. The kingdoms were trying to discredit the organization, make them look like nothing more than criminals. He knew better after watching the aftermath of that night.
Criminals couldn't destroy Huntsmen Academies. Bandits couldn't take on the forces of two kingdoms at once and win. The Black Queen had been right, it was the kingdoms who were lying to their people. The powers that be who were using children to prop up their regimes, to subjugate anyone who didn't fit into their mold. Their big city based, conspicuously human shaped mold.
Syran had never considered himself anti-human, per se, but he couldn't ignore how people like him were treated, how they were seen as less than. His family had tried to convince him that it was temporary, that times were tough but that they would get better. Well the Fall proved them wrong. The kingdoms wouldn't change anything that wasn't to their own benefit, and the huntsmen academies were too tied up keeping the kingdoms appeased to keep anybody safe, including themselves.
The White Fang could, though. They weren't huntsmen, they were just normal people who were willing to do what was necessary to protect themselves. Once he had been hesitant, but now he was surrounded by people just like him. People he could share his struggles with, and who celebrated his triumphs. He found a second home. It was because of that sense of belonging that he could keep his head held high, even when he was on long patrols through the forest that gave him blisters and wore him to the bone.
A fist raising up into the air stopped Syran in his tracks. The ram Faunas leading the patrol signaled for everyone to take cover so he shuffled to the side of the trail they had been following. The squad fell silent, alert for any possible threats.
Originally his squad wasn't meant to be on patrol that day, the schedule had them on camp duty for another week while their cell cemented their presence in the region around Lancaester. Unfortunately, they were the first group the Captain saw when she got the news that that day's patrol had yet to report in on time. So they got their orders and out into the forest they went.
Each day's patrol route was somewhat randomized, but there were trends. They always checked on cache locations, checked the main crossings on the river that bisected the forest, and scouted the treelines near the forest's larger clearings. That day's route wasn't exactly familiar, but they saw familiar sights along the way. Where they had stopped wasn't far from the missing patrol's last check in, and was near the edge of one of the larger meadows.
The scout who called them to halt their march moved forward, examining the forest for signs that the patrol had passed through that location. Bootprints, broken twigs, bent foliage, all indicators that they were on the right track. With another hand motion, he called the rest of the squad up having confirmed they were in the right place.
It wasn't long before they came up on the edge of the meadow, a sparse treeline dotted with ferns and saplings.
"Fan out," The scout ordered as they gathered, "Look for any signs of the patrol."
Syran's squadmates voiced their acknowledgements and each stepped off of the trail to scour the area. Like the rest of the squads in their cell, there were five people in the missing patrol. As he walked through the brush, Syran couldn't help but be reminded that Eastern Sanus was beautiful, its far off regions even moreso. Yet the region around Lancaester and Fort Castle had been considered the frontier for decades. Even with the region's rich history and importance during the Faunus Rights Revolution, it remained largely wild and untouched by mankind. Just another area ignored by the kingdom that was meant to protect it.
That would change. The White Fang had arrived, and they were there to stay.
The kingdom's self-centered nature and their tightening of resources to the city of Vale had meant that there was little to no opposition to the Fang sending cells to the area. It was a boon, really, it meant that they had had time to gather their forces and train new recruits. On the downside, it meant that there had been few people keeping the local Grimm population in check.
It was rare to see creatures other than Beowolves and Nevermore, both creatures that a squad could take on if they were prepared, but the beasts didn't always announce themselves. If they got the drop on somebody, even a group of people, then it could end in a bloody disaster. Syran hoped against hope that that wasn't the case, but it wouldn't have been the first time that they lost a squad to a particularly quiet Grimm.
"Over here," One of his squadmates, a feline woman with keen ears, called out, "I found some of them."
So that was it. Another patrol gone, more comrades left to bury. Her phrasing piqued his interest though, did she mean that she only found a few of the patrol's members, or that she only found parts of them. Syran had been on the squad that found the results of their last Grimm attack. A couple bodies were whole, but the others... There wasn't much left for them to-
His boot caught on something, pulling Syran out of his memories and sending him crashing to the forest floor. The wind was knocked out of him with the sudden tumble but he recovered quickly, pulling himself up off of the ground and looking down to see what tripped him.
It was a body. Male with a large frame and a pair of rabbit ears sticking out of their hood. They wore the black and white garments of White Fang, including the bone white masks and armor plates attached to their vest. His name was Keiran. He had been born just outside of Mistral, and joined the Fang in the months prior to the Fall of Beacon. He loved to sing and dance, and tell jokes around the campfire at night.
And Syran had just tripped over his body.
His dead body.
Bile rose in Syran's throat. He scrambled back, trying to say something, anything, to let his squad know what he found. But words failed him. He couldn't do anything other than stumble back and stare at Keiran. The way his body lay in a heap partially hidden by tall grass, like a marionette whose strings had been cut. The way his head was lolled to the side, his mouth hanging open.
The single thumb sized hole in the center of his chest, at the edge of an armored plate. Stained crimson with blood, like the grass beneath him. Syran had to turn away. Had to look somewhere, anywhere, else except at the corpse of his friend.
He made a mistake, though. As soon as he turned his body he found himself standing next to another. Horns peaked out from under the hood of a slender body in the same uniform that Syran wore. He couldn't see the face, not because of the mask, but because they were face down in the ground. For a heartbeat Syran thought that that was a blessing, he wouldn't have to see another friend's face. Until he looked down, at their back.
Keiran's body had one finger sized hole in its chest, but the corpse at his feet was different. Instead of a tiny, almost neat circle in their flesh, there was a gaping maw the size of his hand in the middle of their back. Blood and bone and meat were shot across the ground behind the body, ripped out by some tremendous force that had gone straight through them.
Syran had seen bullet wounds before. He knew that the entry wound was always small compared to the exit, but if the exit wound was that big... Whatever had killed his comrade on the ground must have been massive.
Falling to his knees, Syran heaved beneath his mask. He heard more voices as the rest of his squad met with their teammate who had called out with the first body. He heard the horror in their voices as they found their murdered comrades barely twenty meters away. In the dark corner of his mind, hearing that pain in their reactions soothed the part of him that cried out in its own shock. At least he wasn't alone.
Still unable to form words, he dropped onto the ground, sitting up against a tree. He had seen bodies before, at least these ones were intact, but the way that they were laid out. Just left where they fell with a single shot. Their uniforms buttoned up, pockets still full. Whatever, whoever, had killed them hadn't gone through their things. Hadn't been seen before they did the deed. They just killed and left.
At least, he hoped they left.
The thought sent a bolt of electricity through his body. What was he doing? The patrol was dead, murdered, by an unknown assailant. It wasn't a Grimm attack, it wasn't wild animals, people had done this. His heart rate spiked, adrenaline beginning to course throughout his body. He needed to get up, to move, to warn his squad. He needed to do something.
The voice of the lead scout beat him to it, "Contact! In the meadow!"
There was the sound of aggressive movement as his squad hunkered down behind the nearest cover they had. Syran, already against a tree, flipped his body over to face the meadow. Peering out around the side of the tree he saw what caused the scout to cry out.
There was a shape standing in the clearing, no more than fifty meters away from them. It was small, shorter than Syran by a full head, and draped in a bright red cloak that hung low over its face. He could see boots coming out the bottom of the cloak, made of some dark material but capped in polished steel. It's presence was ominous, not to mention startling as one thought screamed out in Syran's mind.
'That wasn't there a moment ago.'
The meadow was massive. There was no way that something could have gotten that close without being spotted. But there it was. Still as stone, just standing there. Waiting.
"Identify yourself!" The scout shouted out, his rifle aimed at the shape.
The cloaked figure slowly turned its head under the hood, the first movement since he saw it. It didn't say anything, just turned to look at the scout. After a moment the head shifted again, scanning across the treeline only pausing for a second to look at each member of his squad. When it came to him, it simply turned back to look at the scout that had addressed it.
"I said, identify yourself!" The scout shouted, "Who are you?"
Still no answer, but Syran saw movement beneath the cloak. One arm moved back, reaching behind it and pulling the cloak away from its body. The body was slim, obviously female. She wore a white shirt underneath a black and red corset, and strangest of all, a black skirt. More movement, and the figure pulled a shape out from behind her back. A long, red, rectangular box as long as her arm held out like it weighed nothing.
Syran felt his body tense as she moved, but still remained silent. From the corner of his eye he saw the rest of his squad doing the same. There was a twitch in the figure's shoulder and the box extended from her hand. Parts and components sprung out with each flick of her wrist, a short tube on top, a handle out the rear, and some kind of lever from the bottom.
She took a step back, turning to the side and swinging the box over her shoulder where it extended further until it was longer than she was tall. With a final flourish, the box at the end of a pole flipped out again and again. The whole process took barely two seconds, but when she finished she was left in a fighter's stance holding the object out before her. Syran had to squint to make it out, but when he did his heart stopped.
It was a scythe.
"Oh shit-" Half of his squad shouted over one another.
"Huntress!"
"Shoot shoot shoot!"
Most of the squad fumbled for their rifles, but Syran was locked in place. The scout was the only member of his team who had their weapon ready and fired instantly once they realized what she was. His veins filled with ice as he watched the first rounds impact the Huntress center mass.
And she vanished in a puff of rose petals.
A flash of movement, a red blur shooting through the air towards them as the rest of the squad joined the scout's fusillade. Their bullets hit air as the blur rocketed into the treeline faster than Syran could react. Another puff of rose petals, and the girl was among them. Bright flashes accompanied by the shockwave and deafening roar of a cannon firing, it felt like the girl was teleporting between them she was moving so fast.
The screams followed shortly after, his squad scattered through the trees, some firing blindly as they ran. Only the scout stood his ground, and it was the last mistake he ever made. Another Boom and she was on him, swinging her scythe with superhuman strength. The first slice cut his rifle in half. The second, his arm. The third and fourth cut massive fissures across his chest. Her last swing went too long, resting the pole on his shoulder with the blade just beyond the scout's back.
Syran saw her hand squeeze the trigger down, and with an earsplitting Crack the tree behind the scout exploded like it had been hit with artillery, propelling the blade back through the scout's torso, bisecting the man. His body fell to the ground in pieces, and the girl's body barely shifted as she handled the recoil with next to no movement.
He had seen videos of Huntsmen fight, who hadn't, but what he saw there was nothing compared to the creature standing before him. This girl- this Huntress. She wasn't Human, or a Faunus. She couldn't be. No living being should be able to move that fast, or handle such a large weapon with the ease of a child playing with their first pellet gun.
Syran felt his knees buckling and he shifted back, still hugging the tree. There was a snap beneath his foot that should have been silent in the aftermath of that weapon's firing, but to Syran's ears it was the loudest thing he had ever heard.
He wasn't the only one.
Her head snapped to the side, the hood still masking her face, but Syran could tell that she was looking right at him. He stepped back, body shaking under the weight of her gaze. That was it, he was about to die. Just like the scout, just like Keiran. He watched as she silently worked the bolt of her rifle, ejecting a spent casing and loading a new one into the chamber.
Her gaze never left him as she calmly hopped slightly off of her feet and pulled the trigger once more. The blast sent her flying off into the woods out of his sight. His head snapped to the side, trying to follow her, but she was gone. More gunshots. More screams. More dead and dying friends. Syran still had his rifle laying on the ground next to him, unfired.
He should have picked it up. He should have gone after the Huntress, fought her alongside his comrades. But it just laid there, silent and unthought of as he bolted the opposite direction through the trees.
Syran didn't know how long he had been running. His feet hurt and his lungs burned, but the sound of that weapon kept him moving as fast as he could. The sounds hadn't lasted long once he left, he imagined that three footsoldiers were nothing to a seasoned Huntress. She had probably torn through them like wet tissue, like she had done with the scout. He had to be the only one left. The rest of his squad just more blood and meat spread across the forest floor.
No matter how hard he shut his eyes, or how hard he scrubbed at the tears running down his face, the visions just wouldn't leave him. The limp face of Keiran in the grass. The sprays of blood accompanying that horrible blade. Pieces of limbs flying away from their body's. They raced in front of his eyes again and again the entire way back to... Where was he even going? His feet just carried him through the forest.
"Halt!" A shrill voice cried out from the trees. Panic flooded Syran's mind. Had the Huntress caught him? Was she there waiting for him?
Just like his flight through the woods, his feet worked for him, skidding to a stop. Brush moving ahead of him drew his blurry eyes, revealing a figure in the black and white of the White Fang holding a rifle.
"Identify yourself!" The guard called out again.
"I-" Syran's voice croaked out, "Syran! It's Syran! The- It's- D-don't shoot!" His hands flew up in front of his face, desperately trying to communicate that he was unarmed.
Another guard materialized from the trees, approaching him carefully, "Syran?" He asked, the muzzle of his rifle lowering, "What are you doing out here?"
"I was- We were-" Syran paused to catch his breath, his system still flooded with adrenaline, "Patrol! There was a- a missing patrol. The Captain sent my squad out to find them." The rifles were reslung as the guards stepped aside to motion him forward. Through the brush he caught sight of tents. It was the camp, he had run all the way back home.
"No shit?" The female guard asked, "What'd you find? Where's the rest of your squad?"
Syran continued on towards the camp, relief flooding through him, "It was... They're..." As he caught his breath he realized that it wasn't over, "Huntress..."
"What was that buddy?"
"Huntress!" Syran shouted, pushing past the guards and running towards the center of the camp, "There's a Huntress!" He could hear people mutter as he ran past, repeating what he said to each other. Good, they needed to know.
It took no time at all to reach the middle of the camp, there were only around sixty people there. Minus the nine that now coated the forest floor. In the center stood a large canopy over a series of tables the officers used to coordinate their operations. Standing at the edge of the canopy was his target, the Captain. He beelined for her, she would know what to do.
"Hold it right there soldier," The Captain said as he approached, "What's all this ruckus about?" The Captain was a cat Faunus, two dark brown ears sitting on top of her head just beyond the top of her mask. Contrary to the mostly uniform... Uniforms. Of the rest of their cell, she wore a white short coat over a black tank top and cargo pants. Over her shoulder he could see her sword resting in its sheathe.
Syran came to a stop in front of her, "Ma'am! It's- there's a Huntress! Out, in the woods. The patrol, the one you sent us after, she- she killed them!"
The Captain held up a hand, leaning down over the nearest table, "Slow down soldier. Tell me your name, take a breath, and tell me what's happening."
"There's no time for-!" He started, closing his mouth at her glare. Taking a breath, he tried to calm himself and continued, "Syran, ma'am. With Squad E. We found the missing patrol, out by the large meadow to the East. They were all dead. Then, she just... Appeared. Out of nowhere!"
The Captain stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder, "Who appeared, Syran?" Another time he would probably have appreciated the attempt to calm him down. But there was no time for that.
"A Huntress ma'am." He said, "She came out of nowhere, tore through my squad like they were nothing. I saw- She cut our leader in half! There was nothing I could do, so I just ran."
She cursed under her breath and guided him over to a chair, "Okay, that's- That's less than ideal. But it's nothing we can't deal with if we're careful. Syran, look at me, I need you to be truthful with me. How did you get away?"
Finally sitting, Syran rested his head in his hands. His exhaustion from the run back catching up to him, "I just... Ran. Ma'am. She was in the field one second, and the next she was right there. She moved so fast, I couldn't even see her. She looked at me and I just, I panicked. I left my rifle on-" Hands shot out, grabbing him by the lapel and interrupting his recollection.
The Captain pulled him forward violently, face to face, "What do you mean 'she looked at you'? She saw you? And what, she just moved on?" He nodded numbly at her, "Shit. Shit, oh shit!" The Captain released him and turned away, stepping out from beneath the canopy.
"Alarm Grey!" She screamed at the top of her lungs, "Alarm Grey! Grab your weapons and armor, squads to your rally points. Get out of the camp, now!" She turned back, reaching for a satchel from the back of a nearby chair and began frantically shoving papers from the table into it. Syran stood up but she just brushed past him, grabbing as many maps and documents as she could.
"Ma'am?" He asked, lost in the chaos.
The Captain shoved the bag into his arms and pointed at another table, "You heard me, we're leaving!" She moved on, running out of the canopy to direct the nearby soldiers.
Syran was confused by the Captain's sudden shift, but he didn't need to wait long to get his answer. Above the noise of the suddenly active camp, he heard the distinct and frighteningly close Crack of a large caliber weapon firing. A very specific weapon firing. Syran immediately understood. He hadn't escaped the Huntress, she had let him go.
And he had led her right back to the camp.
The sound rang out again, and Syran watched as a comrade was sent flying by the massive bullet impacting him. Another sharp Crack, and a scream cut short.
Then another, and another, and another.
Shot after shot was fired into the camp, a steady pace of death streaming out from the forest with plenty of targets packed together. Some guards fired off into the woods, trying to find the sniper by sound alone. Maybe some got close, maybe they didn't. It didn't seem to matter as they were cut down regardless of the direction they shot in.
The sound echoed through the camp.
Crack
Crack Crack
Crack then a pause.
For a split second Syran let himself believe that one of the guards had gotten lucky when the sounds paused, but he knew that it was just wishful thinking. He watched as the red blur soared out of the trees straight into the camp.
She hung in the air above them, scythe held high with the cloak billowing behind her, before another shot rang out and she was propelled down. The Huntress landed boots first on a soldier, crushing him down into the ground with a sickening Snap. Then just like before, she was off in a whirlwind of death.
Syran knew in that moment that he was two things. A dead man and a coward. A dead man because there was nothing he could do to stop that monster, and a coward because he wouldn't even try. He just sank slowly to his knees, numb as he watched the evisceration of the people he had spent the last few months learning to call family.
He saw a black and white shape charge out to meet the Huntress. The Captain, sword drawn, sprinted towards them letting loose a primal battle cry. The Huntress turned in time to see her, swinging her scythe in a wide arc to catch her in the stomach. With a speed Syran could never hope to match, the Captain jumped high, one foot landing on the blade of the oversized weapon which she used to propel herself forward.
She slashed out for the Huntress' head, missing when she threw herself back into a roll. The Captain didn't let up though, chasing after the Huntress and refusing to let her get a hit in. The scythe moved like a blur, parrying each strike as it was twirled around her body. Each movement flowing smoothly into the next.
With the Huntress distracted, the White Fang soldiers started to regather themselves. Some ran forward to aid their commander, others tried to follow her last order and fled towards the forest. Those who ran were the first to fall as a second fusillade of gunfire erupted from the trees, that time from all around the camp. Syran saw muzzle flashes from behind trees and bushes as bullets ripped through the tents around him.
Bodies began to emerge from the treeline, and Syran got his first good look at a soldier of the Valean Army. Men and women clad in dark blue fatigues with segmented armor plates covering their chests, shoulders, and knees wielding firearms not dissimilar from those used by the Fang. They advanced on the camp, systematically killing those who came near them with weapons.
Looking back into the camp he saw the Captain on the defensive, struggling to keep her footing as blow after blow rained down on her. She tried to dodge and counterattack, but with each thrust she was met with a parry and retaliation. Syran watched as the tip of the scythe caught the Captain in the arm. A wave of blue light covered her skin beneath the blow, rippling up her shoulder.
She wasn't a Huntress, but the Captain had attended a combat school before joining their organization. She had her Aura unlocked, energy coating her body in a protective layer that anybody was capable of attaining if they trained hard enough. It allowed her to absorb a handful of blows, but even to Syran it was obvious that she was about to collapse. The light flickered under every blow that slipped through her defenses, until finally a hit to her side cracked through it.
A flash of blue energy over her entire body held for a moment, before shattering into pieces that fell off of her and faded into nothingness. The Captain let out a cry and with a pained expression threw one last desperate attack at the Huntress.
The sword was knocked aside with a sweeping blow that left the blade of the scythe over the Huntress' shoulder. His position behind the Captain let Syran witness as the weapon fired one more time, shooting it towards the Captain and skewering her through the chest with a small spearhead at the bottom of the scythe's shaft.
The White Fang officer weakly reached up for the polearm stabbed through her. One hand pawed pathetically at the haft as it was retracted, pulled from her chest with a wet Squelch. She let out a hollow gasp and collapsed where she stood, falling to the ground. The fight hadn't even lasted a minute.
All around him voices called out for the Faunus of the White Fang to surrender as the Valean soldiers entered the camp. They kept their rifles high, threatening any survivor who might think to reach for a nearby weapon. The occasional gunshot marked the few instances where someone tested them. Syran's comrades knew that they had been beaten, there was no point left in trying to fight. Their Captain was dead, they were surrounded, there was nothing else for them to do but raise their hands and pray for mercy.
Looking back to the Huntress he found himself mere meters away from her, looking down the barrel of her rifle.
"Don't try it." She stated simply. By the Brothers, her voice was so young. At some point during the fight her hood had fallen down, and from where he kneeled he could see the details of her face. Shoulder length black hair with red tips framing a fair skinned face. Bright silver eyes bore into his own, and he knew that if he tried anything, he would die instantly.
"I- I Surrender." Syran stuttered out, raising his hands in front of him, "Please, we- You won. It's over. I just want to live, please."
Her face was no different from any of the younger recruits they'd trained up fresh for their family's homes. She couldn't have been more than eighteen years old, but the way that she moved, the way she tore through everybody who was in front of her...
The Black Queen was right. The kingdoms really were just using children to fight their wars.
She looked around at the carnage, lips pursed. Turning back to him with a contemplative look, "Over... Yeah, I guess. For you at least. My day's just getting started, but who knows." With a humorless chuckle and a nod of her head, an unseen soldier appeared behind Syran and roughly grabbed his arm.
"Just relax and listen to the corporal here," She said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes, "You'll be fine."
He was hauled to his feet and prodded away from the canopy towards other White Fang fighters who had surrendered. They were being taken out of the camp and led into the forest in small groups, he absently noticed that the soldier who had grabbed him was a fellow Faunus, floppy dog ears poking out the bottom of his helmet.
Before they entered the treeline, Syran risked a glance over his shoulder at the Huntress who had decimated his cell. She hadn't moved from her spot in the center of the camp. The scythe was still extended, held loosely in her hanging arms. Her shoulders were slumped, and her head was tilted back as she looked into the sky.
Her eyes were distant, not focused on any one thing. As his escort prodded him to look forward Syran saw the Huntress heave a sigh and fall down into a sitting position. Her weapon laid across her lap as her hands rubbed at her face. He finally obeyed his escort and turned to his front, off to captivity.
But at least he was alive.
