Chapter 4: A Ride on a Train
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Morning came and, a he rose to once again buckle his armor on, he heard a knock at his door. Opening the door he found a somewhat tired looking, but thinly smiling nonetheless, young Faunus waiting on him, a thick cloth wrapped around one of her arms. Holding it out for him, she let it unfurl into a long traveling cloak and, before he could argue and seeing a grimace stretch across his face, she explained simply, "For the cold. Winter is coming, and we're headed North."
"Ah." And there was the touch of shame for having assumed. A touch that, from the girl's smirk when his mandibles quirked, amused her somewhat. Taking the traveling cloak he bowed his head simply, "Thank you, child."
"Of course." She shrugged, turning and adding a parting, "Thank Ruby, though, not me. It was her idea to get you a cloak."
"Mhm." He grunted, watching her leave before turning his attention to the cloak in his hands.
It was simple and black, matched to the undersuit of his combat harness in what had to be purpose given the bronze edges that cut around it. The material itself was thick but soft, and when he wrapped it around his hand he could feel the heat building, trapped by the material's insulation. Pleased by it, he threw it over his shoulders and found the thick steel chain at his neck to fasten it tight. It fell nearly to his ankles and closed around his entire form, hiding it from view and, for its purpose, the air around him. The hood didn't fit around his armor's crest, sadly, but it pooled warmly around his neck regardless.
A bit warm for the climate but, looking outside, he saw a grey sky and pregnant clouds, and people bundled lightly against the weather. And so he left it on, tucked back over his shoulders like a cape.
"Like a Lost Warrior of old." He thought with a spark of childish glee, having loved the tales of the warriors in his youth. Resting a hand on the hilt of the Bane in a loose pantomime of it he murmured, "Seeking honor and retribution… Fitting, I suppose."
He finally grunted his satisfaction, turning to leave the room and finding a pack beside his door. A small sat note on the top, pinned by a pin to the side of an apple bag, and he sighed as he read the sloppy handwriting as best he could, "F-For- For y-you to have…" He sighed, shaking his head. "Reading sloppy Human characters is too much, it seems, for my meager skill."
"Its says that they're for you to enjoy on the train ride." A voice, young and anxious, offered simply. Turning, he looked down on Oscar, smiling awkwardly. "I, uh, wanted to thank you. For the training. And Ruby said you liked apples, so… There you go."
"Ah." She was too kind, really, and he felt himself growing indebted to her. And spoiled on apples, besides. Still, he gave the boy a nod and rumbled the question he had, quietly, wondered since he awoke, "Are your bruises healed, then, youngling? I would hope so, ahead of a journey."
"Yeah, yeah they're… Aura heals things like little cuts 'n bruises really fast, Oz says." The boy shrugged, then, seemingly trying to ignore the parasitic person's presence in his person.
Something that, were Thel to be asked, made a lot of sense. He hadn't the faintest idea how he would handle a voice in his head. The Spartan might have known the feeling, though, given the created woman that dwelt within his armor. Alas that he could not be here now for the Arbiter to ask after it. Not to mention the man's rifle arm, which would have been enjoyed as much as a Plasma Rifle would have been.
Or a Sangheili combat lance, for that matter, he thought with a grin.
"Do your, uh, your kind…?" Oscar winced and gave him a look, as though asking if the way he spoke was acceptable. At a nod of his great head, the boy continued, somewhat more surely, "Do your, you know, your kind… Really train kids that way? It seems rough, is all."
"It is, yes. And we do." He answered with a small shrug, already aware of the differences between Man and Elite. As they began to walk, he explained, "For a thousand years and more, my people have been warriors. We neither tolerate nor aid those who are too weak to fight. When one spars on the logs on the water, they are fit to survive or be dragged under by the beasts of the sea."
��That's… Just meant to be metaphorical." Oscar tried, giving him a look, licking his lips and adding unsurely, "R-Right?"
"Were it the case, friends of my youth would yet be with us." But to die in training was, at least, redemptive of the faults that led to it. Somewhat. Though, at his horrified expression, he expounded, "Rest assured that the spars weren't to the death. Such casualties were of a rarer kind than it might have seemed, and incidental. Not purposeful."
"Then why fight there?" Oscar asked as they reached the stairs and began to descend.
"To impart caution, for in any battle, even the very ground can betray you. To fall for poor footing is to die on the field of battle." It was a more cruel way than strictly needed to teach it, but at the same time it was effective. Rarely did he see warriors stumble for pebbles or sticks in his way. Finally, he added, "It is tradition."
"Doesn't make it right…"
"No. No, I suppose that it would not." He answered, rumbling a laugh as thoughts of the Covenant were stirred. So much of the Covenant had been tradition, and that tradition had chained his people. Enslaved them, and leashed them as dogs to be let loose on whomever the Hierarchs deigned needed die for their twisted machinations. "Perhaps, once I am among my people, I will revisit the training of my Keep."
"Really?"
"Why not?" He challenged in jest, smiling and rolling his shoulders. "I am a breaker of tradition, after all. Why should I not seek a better path, if one exists?"
The young boy, small and anxious, laughed at his boisterous proclamation. But that was all he did, as they reached the table to eat with the others. Mostly the meal was quiet, aside from the occasional joke and laugh from the children, and made of light foods that wouldn't sit heavily while they traveled. Once he had finished he stood and left, stepping outside to wait and meditate, passing the time well enough. Inside half an hour, he heard the door open and close.
"Figures you'd disappear out here, big man." The alcohol scented man grunted, joining him sitting on the porch's edge, turned to face him and with his back pressed against the wall and his knee in his chest. Fishing his flask out of his vest he took a sip and sighed, eyes closed and head conking back against the wood of the building. "Kids're gettin' their gear together and packed up."
"I figured they would." He nodded, patting the small pack beside him. On him, it was barely a hip pouch. "I am carrying only provisions, though. And a utilitarian knife I have no use for."
"No?" In answer, he reached to the back of his waist and pulled out the small, finger-length knife he always carried on him. Too thin to use for battle without breaking it, edged in plasma emitters if he needed it nonetheless. The man grunted at the sight and he returned it while Qrow asked, "Whatcha planning to do with the new one? Dump it?"
"I would do nothing so wasteful and wonton." He snapped, reigning himself in with a sigh after a moment. That had, perhaps, been too harsh. So, he breathed, and apologized as best he could, "Forgive me, Branwen. I am… Unused to being given gifts of use, and so perhaps overvalue them. And even if you meant nothing of the sort, I felt insult at your words."
"Nah, nah, s'fine." He took another drink and his grimace turned into a small, dissatisfied sort of smirk. In a darker tone, the man dismissed the concern and added, "Just a run 'o bad luck, me opening my mouth for a boot to go in."
"A boot to go in…?"
"Right, Human metaphors you don't get." The man sighed and, after another long drink and tired, suffering sort of sigh, grunted, "Means I said something dumb, Arby. That's all. Just a sayin', even if yeah, it kinda doesn't make much sense."
"I see." He filed the information away in a corner at the back of his mind and closed his eyes, returning to his meditation while he waited for them to depart. After a time with only the distant sounds of people far below and the children laughing as they readied themselves, he asked, gently, "Why do you drink so, if I might ask?"
"Because I want to?" The man tried, sighing when he rumbled his displeasure at the answer and turned a bright eye on him. Shaking his head, he took another drink and stood, sliding the flask away and grunting, "As me when you know me enough to get the answer."
As the man disappeared inside to shout for the kids to get ready to head out, he considered following to question him. Something about the sharp refusal, even if the logic held sound, screamed of need to him. Need of help, that was. But help he was neither qualified or learned in how to administer, nor which he found was his place to even look to try his hand at. And so instead, he returned to his meditations, finding them disturbed with what was a mix of idle curiosity and true worry over the middle-aged man.
"He is a warrior, though. A broken man would be unable to even fight." The thought did give him comfort and surety, at least for the future. For now, though… His hand moved to the Bane again and he resolved himself to protect the man for the kind child's sake. "One step on the road to repaying her charities."
The same kind child was at his side a moment later, bent over his shoulder and grinning excitedly. In the same excited voice she always used, she cheered, petals trailing, "Come oooon! Gotta go catch a riiiide!"
"As you say." He rumbled, hiding a laugh as he rose and rolled his shoulders to close the cloak around him against the chill of the wind blowing against him. With it came more clouds and, high on the mountains that he could see, snow. "An ill omen…"
"Hm?" Ruby grunted, standing shorter than him but standing on the tips of her toes to follow his line of sight. "You mean… The snow?"
"Indeed." The warrior nodded, resting his hand comfortingly on the Bane's handle and rumbling his displeasure. Watching the snow falling so high but failing to reach them, he explained. "Frost and snow hide what is beneath in a veneer of white, a color of purity. But this melts before reaching us, chilling the ground but carrying the veneer of safety. Deceit within deceit, the omen is. A hard winter, a hard path, is shown to us in it."
"Maybe, yeah.�� The girl sounded drained for a moment before she bumped her shoulder against his forearm and smiled up at him. "But hey, we got it together. Yeah?"
"Indeed." And he knew of few problems that, in one way or another, a plasma sword and a skilled hand couldn't solve. "Let us go, youngling."
"Youngling." The girl murmured, pulling him to a stop as he turned. Sharp silver eyes looked up to him when he turned back. "You said that's what your people called children. Right?"
"Indeed." He nodded, eyes narrow.
"Then maybe call me something else, hmm? Because calling me a child… Kinda doesn't work, you know?" She smiled but it was stiff, brows knitted down in a furrow that spoke of aggravation. She stepped past him and he watched her vanish, rumbling an amused laugh as she went.
"A fiery little one, she is." He mused, turning another, final look on the snow that died high above, dusting only the highest points of the mountains with white. "She will need that fire if the snow portends disaster and deceit, as I suspect." "But," he sighed as he finally turned to leave, "we shall soon see, I suppose."
With that, they left, pulling on packs filled more with their clothes than supplies for their short journey to the train station. The train, as he'd been told, would have food and drink for them to buy. Which was in large part the reason for the previous day's short-lived scouting run, over the wall to check out a civilian crash that had turned out to be nothing at all. But such, he'd been told, was only good fortune. No one was in any danger and they were still paid for their time, and the risk that the young ones had agreed to take by going out there in the first place.
A good, honorable principle of payment.
The walk to the train-station was a loud affair, with the children surrounding him and chattering energetically as they went. Between them, with Ozpin in front of him for his own protection, he lumbered on. It was easy enough for him to ignore the petulant, hate-filled glares and murmurs he and the young Belladonna earned as they made their way. The both of them were used to such attentions, he was sure, even if they got them for very different reasons indeed.
Young Yang, though, was either unused to it or unwilling to tolerate it, shooting glares and flexing whenever she saw someone glaring their way. The Belladonna was shy about it, but he could tell from her flush and smile she didn't mind the protection. Whether she needed it, or would have asked for it given the chance, was likely immaterial. Merely the act of defending her made her happy enough.
"Like young maidens from ancient fairy tales, I suppose." He chuckled, turning his gaze skyward to once more look at the clouds blocking out the blue of the sky. Perhaps, he hoped, like those fairy tales and legends, all would end well. Or at least as well as could be hoped, given whatever circumstances befell them.
The cynic in him, though, warned against such hope. Better to wait and see what would come, with a hand on the Bane for when he needed to cut down some foolish ones. 'But,' he mused, 'how strange and wrong could a simple train ride truly go?'
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He staggered back under the shockwave of the Grimm's explosive breath, shield sparking as heat and broken metal showered his back and side. Trifling annoyances and nothing else, but the smoke that it sent up, from burning wreckage and insulation, clogged his nostrils and broke up his vision. But if it burned his nose and eyes, and blocked his vision, then it did the same for the Grimm's. Stepping back he turned his armored half to the smoke, cloak whipping in the wind on his other side, and took a deep, long breath. Gripping his armored sword-arm he turned the Bane down and to the side, angled along his hip and nearly cutting into the metal hull of the train. There he waited, while the wind howled, his young friends fought, and the gun turrets further along the train tried to fend off the Grimm closing on them.
He didn't have to wait long.
With a feral roar, the winged creature leapt through the smoke, aiming to crush him under its sheer weight. Used to such brutish from the Covenant's fall, he merely stepped to the side to avoid the beast, Prophet's Bane lashing up from its wrist to its shoulder. The black fur burned and the flesh parted with a wet sizzle and pop, cleaved nearly in two. The creature roared in pain from the wound and then again as its momentum carried it to land on the ruined hand, buckling and collapsing onto the metal before him. Before it could rise he stepped in, burying the Bane in its skull and perforating what would have been its grey matter.
It died with a final heave and he wrenched the blade free, turning at movement as it dissolved and another Grimm leapt for him. His blade thrust for its shoulder and buried to the hilt but the beast's weight bit home regardless, pushing him back as he wrestled with the wounded monster. Twisting the blade in its shoulder he pushed it back and up, cleaving its wing off along with most of its arm and then slamming a boot into it to force it towards the edge.
The creature snarled and lashed out with its other claw, but he turned and let them scrape along his armored hide, countering with his own, plasma based claw and blinding it. With a feral roar of pain, the Manticore staggered back, good forearm finding only air to retreat to. With no wing and its weight teetering off the edge, it gave a final, desperate snarl and fell away, crushed by the train's wheels.
Heaving for breath he turned, searching for the next opponent only for his eyes to wide as weight slammed into his back, knocking him to his knees. Claws closed around his armored arm and leg and lifted, carrying him into the air before he could recover. Swiftly, he was lifted several feet above the train, the creature trying to carry him up and off, into the woods the train was passing. Below him, cars raced by, and he felt damnation clawing for his life, for not the first time.
And not for the first time, he resolved to spit in damnation's eyes.
Reaching up, he took the Bane in his other hand and lashed out and up, carving the claws around his leg off. The creature snarled and dipped as his weight shifted, but another Manticore rushed to its aid, claws closing around his hips and shoulders and mouth filling with flame to end him. He buried the Bane in its breast before it could enact its plan, fire licking his hands as the blade cut up and into its throat. It fell back, plasma sword cutting through its flesh as it went, fire leaking from its body as it fell and turned to ash.
But another Grimm took its place, and a third clambered onto its back, the beast swarming him as he was carried away. The one on his front fared no better than the other before it had, head falling one way and body the other when he reacted. But he couldn't reach the one on his back, and he could feel his armor's gaps being felt out, claws digging into his padded combat undersuit. Soon, they would be digging into flesh and bone, unless something was done.
Suddenly, as though a divine hand had reached down to aid him, the Manticore on his back was gone. His sword saw to the claws of the one holding him still, and then he was falling. Which was better by a small margin, if not for the fact that the train was racing by a few feet to the side, and not below him.
"Gah." His breath was driven from him as he landed on something, nearly losing his grip on the Bane for the suddenness of it.
"Got your back, Arbiter." The young Schnee called back, sitting at the back of the head of a great bee of some kind, shining a resplendent white. Giving him a small look she smiled, "Get ready to hop off, gonna drop you at the back of the passenger area. Tunnel's coming up."
"I understand and thank you for your aid." He grunted, righting himself and letting the Bane rest on his hip once more. Ahead of them, racing closer, he could make out a tunnel's entrance. And the Grimm swarming the sections of train meant to carry the passengers, attracted by the turrets and the Huntsman using them for cover. "He is drawing the creatures to the civilians."
"We noticed." Weiss shouted back, though how she'd heard him was a mystery he left for another time. Instead, he listened as she explained, "We need to get him to turn it off. Leaving that to the others, though."
Why she'd decided to do that was easily understood, the girl sounding and looking worse for wear and fatigued. Coming to his aid had doubtless done little to help her in that regard, either. Another kindness for which he owed these young warriors, he supposed quietly. But at the very least, he was alive to owe the favors, and so he minded little.
"Hop off and be careful, it's easy to fall off." Weiss cautioned him as she came along the side of the train, the mountain fast approaching in the distance. He did as she ordered and turned as she leapt, stepping in to catch her and then dropping down onto the landing, the girl tucked under an arm. As he let her down, the tunnel swallowed the train, casting them in shadow, and she murmured, "Thanks."
"No trouble." And in truth, he owed her, so trouble would have been immaterial. Pulling the door open onto an empty passenger car he beckoned her in and added, "Take your rest, young one. I will see to the rest of our troubles."
"Yeah." She nodded, collapsing onto a bench and taking a half-drunken bottle of water from the floor, grimacing at it before taking a sip.
Two cars up, he caught sight of the others, huddled at one end of the train car while the civilians huddled at the other end. Pulling open the door, he stepped in to catch the end of their 'guardian's' sentence, "-an idiot! I turn those guns off, and they rip me and the train apart!"
"Were it so easy to destroy this train, and were they to target it instead of you, then it would have been derailed long ago." He rumbled, the small Huntsman turning to look up at him with wide eyes. They'd met prior so, he figured, it had to be his height towering over him. Seeing his wounded arm, he rested a hand on the opposite shoulder and assured him, "You have fought well, Huntsman. But you are wounded and unable to fight further."
"We can, though." Arc, the young knight, added from behind him. Turning to the hammer-wielder beside him he asked, "Nora, explain your plan again?"
"Yeah, um, sure." She nodded, biting her lip for the briefest moment as all eyes slid to hers before she collected herself with a breath. "Jauney can augment Ren's Aura and Semblance to hide the civilians. Blake, Arbiter, doesn't matter which of you do it, you detach the train cars at the back."
"And we hold the Grimm there while the train escapes, so that Ren can get them out of range of the Grimm without being noticed." Ruby nodded, turning to give the Arbiter and the Huntsman a look. At his nod, she turned her attention wholly on the wounded man, asking, "Will you please shut off the gun turrets? Our plan won't work with them blasting the Grimm all the way. You'll just draw them with you."
"...Fine." He finally nodded, fishing out his Scroll with a wince as his arm sagged. Pressing a few keys, he grunted. "There, done."
"Good." Ruby nodded, turning to the Arc with the confident smile and ease of a leader. He would have known its ken in anyone of any species. "Jaune, can you heal him a bit? Don't use a lot of your Aura, but make it a bit easier on him? And show him to a spot to rest?"
"Sure." He nodded, laying a hand on the man's shoulder and guiding him away, already glowing a bit as his Aura flared around him. Over his shoulder, Jaune called back, "Tunnel exists in two minutes!"
"Arbiter, you don't have a ranged attack." Ruby said quickly, pushing him towards the door again and then pointing. In a voice full of enough authority that even he felt the need to listen, she explained, "Go back three train cars and wait with your sword out. Count to fifteen and cut the cars free. Stay on either side you want and just… Hope it works."
"It will be done." He nodded, turning and pushing the door open after she returned the gesture. Striding through empty cars, he finally stepped out just as natural light washed over the train. Overhead, he saw the children leap past his car and stepped to the other side, facing back the way he'd come.
Once he reached the count he lit his sword and knelt, easily cutting the thin, not particularly plasma resistant, coupling free. As he rose and watched the receding train, he blinked at what he thought for a moment to be a face, before it was gone. He was spared a chance to think on it, though, as the car raced on and, from behind him, a fireball slammed into the tracks far ahead of their still speeding section of train.
He'd only just managed to get inside and grab onto the sides of a private room's door when the train lurched up and to the side, hurling him against the roof as it soared through the air and into the trees and ground. As it bit into the ground he was hurled again, slamming his head into a wall and falling, dizzy and fading from consciousness. With the last of his will he pulled himself up and crawled to the door, laying against it and looking up at the snow, where they'd find him.
Then, nothing but the bliss of sleep.
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