Chapter Text
Yang Xiao Long
Yang Xiao Long emerged alone from a dark alleyway in what she assumed, at first, to be Vacuo City. The sky was dark and star-filled. The air dry and cold.
Alone. That wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She raised her arms, cupping her prosthetic and her natural hand on either side of her mouth. “Yo! Where is everybody? Hello? Sis? Blake? Weiss? Jaune?” She paused, hands falling as she waited for a response, and then muttered. “Come on, don’t tell me the Blacksmith messed up and we’re separated!” She scanned up and down the darkened street. After a few moments, she heard the sounds of doors opening nearby, and the sight of light pouring from several doorways drew her attention.
“Alright, at least there’s people awake. Maybe I can borrow a scroll and call Shade. I bet people are freaked out. Probably don’t even know we’re alive. Bet the others are around somewhere and have contacted Theodore too.” Small clumps of people were emerging, cautiously, and staring at her like they’d never seen a Huntress before.
She started toward them just as the sounds of massive explosions from far off to the left boomed, and movement caught her peripheral vision. Her gaze rose to see streaks of light streaming downward from what looked like an airship in the dark sky. Her first thought was that some remnant of Vale’s fleet must have arrived at Vacuo and was fending off a Grimm attack.
But it didn’t look like a Vale airship. Heck, it didn’t look like any airship she’d ever seen. It was sort of like a huge, flattened basketball.
The moon looked weird, as if she was seeing double or something. What the hells?
She moved further into the street to get a clearer view, strangers forgotten, and found that there were more vessels moving through the dark sky. Hundreds of double-blobby things dropping rapidly to the ground not far off. And there was the rising sound of shouting off to her right, where she suspected many of them were landing.
Then she heard the sounds of rapid fire, in the same general area where that big ship had been firing toward the ground, off to her left. Very familiar gunfire. “That’s Ruby!” She yelled, and started to turn that direction.
The thing that made her pause was the people. There were more of them in the street now, dozens. They had exited doorways, dressed in what she would have described as tribal Vacuan style. They were staring around them with wide eyes. She knew those expressions. She’d seen them on the faces of civilians during her Beacon training missions. She’d seen them on the faces of the people of Mantle.
They were terrified.
Some of them were pointing toward where the ships had been landing. Others back toward the explosions. A few of them were pointing at her.
She felt a tug at her sleeve, and turned to find a young woman, around the same age as her, with tanned skin and eyes that were like nothing Yang had ever seen. Blue-brown irises flanked by blue-tinted whites.
“Δη αρ κομιγγ! Ιου μυστ hιντε! Κομε!” The girl was jerking at her sleeve now, frantic. She pointed back toward the ships. “Ιτ ις δ Hαρκονενς! Δη αρ κομιγγ!”
I can’t understand a word she’s saying! But she could guess at the general message. There’s something bad coming, and she’s trying to get me to safety. “It’s alright! I’m a Huntress!” She said, gently prying the woman’s grip from her arm. With a look of sadness, her apparent benefactor shook her head, and bolted for a nearby doorway, slamming it shut behind her.
That was when Yang heard the noise.
It was pretty intense. The sounds of hundreds of booted feet, coming where the street curved out of sight, along with yells and what she’d probably describe as chants or barked orders.
And screams. The remaining people in the street began to run immediately. Most of them charged back toward their doorways. For a moment, doubt warred within her. She wanted, desperately, to get to Ruby. She could still hear the steady repeated two and three round burst from Crescent Rose. It was a reassuring sound. She knew enough about Ruby’s fighting style to tell, just from her firing cadence, when she was taking careful aim and when she was firing desperately. This was the former. And there was clearly some sort of threat right here. These people looked defenseless.
It wasn’t Grimm, though. Could Salem have raised some sort of army? From where?!
Soldiers rounded the curve at slow run in rough formation. She knew they were soldiers immediately. They had that look about them. They were nothing like Atlas military, though. They were dressed nearly identically in what looked like thick, black leather and metal armor with large fixed helmets. She couldn’t see their faces because the face shields that covered the entire front of their helmets had some sort of reflective coating. And they were all carrying thick bladed hand-and-a-half longswords.
The whole getup just smelled like something Salem would cook up. She tensed, trying to decide whether to call out, head for Ruby, or what.
They made up her mind for her. Two blocks away, one of the soldiers closest to the sidewalk encountered an old woman who’d been a little slow in getting back into the doorway of her home.
“Гет бацк ин ёур hомес, wормс, ор тhе саме wилл hаппен то ёу!” The leader barked. “Килл анy whо слоw оур адванце!”
Without a hesitation. Without breaking stride, the soldier closest to her drew back his blade professionally and cut the old woman nearly in half with a single slash. She fell in a bloody heap, like a puppet with strings cut. The soldier continued onward, blood running down his blade, as wails and cries filled the street and people continued to flee.
Yang had spent her life training to defend the helpless. She’d fought Roman and Neo. She’d fought the White Fang. She’d fought Cinder and her clowns. She’d seen her friends attacked and mortally wounded. She’d seen friends die in front of her.
She’d never seen such thoughtless cruelty to someone so absolutely defenseless by anything other than a Grimm in her entire life.
She felt her anger flare, like a living flame. Whoever these bastards are, they’re about to find out why choosing Salem was their last mistake.
Burn surged through her, fed by her anger as she stepped into the middle of the street. She could see the glow of her writhing hair reflected in nearby windows and the visors of the soldiers. She had to have been quite a sight in the dark street, because they actually slowed slightly as she drew their attention.
The one in the lead pointed his sword at her, “Kill her!”
. . .
Laleh stared in horror through the cracked shutters of her home. She had tried desperately to get the strange woman to leave the street, and had failed. She had known what was to come.
The Harkonnens. Everyone in Arrakeen had held scant hope that these Atreides would be different than the beasts that had previously ruled through fear and with an iron fist. When they’d arrived, scant weeks prior, rumors had poured from the household staff of the Governor’s mansion.
The Atreides had treated the staff with dignity.
They had been attacked by assassins, and had not taken it out on the local population.
They had received desert Fremen, and had sent out emissaries to the Sietches, attempting to form an alliance.
There had even been rumors that they might fulfill the prophecies that the desert Fremen clung to.
But tempering that was the knowledge that Dune, and Arrakeen, were a prize worth fighting over. Worth dying over.
Worth killing for. The Harkonnens would not stand for being usurped, the locals whispered amongst themselves. They would defy any agreements. And anyone who had collaborated with the Atreides, or merely stood in the way, would die when that happened. And the innocent would, at a minimum, suffer. Laleh was likely safe. She was an educated woman and a skilled technician, one of a cadre of professionals critical to keeping the Spice processing facilities outside Arrakeen operating at full capacity. She’d likely suffer, be expected to work far past a human should be expected to, but she’d likely not be killed immediately.
The woman in the street had shocked her, and intrigued her almost immediately. Like her neighbors, she had heard sounds that had awoken her from a fitful sleep, and had then heard the sounds of a foreign tongue being spoken, like nothing she had ever heard before. Curiosity had drawn her outside before the sounds of battle had told her what was occurring.
The figure she’d found had her back to her, and was dressed scandalously for Arrakeen, much less the open desert, with far too much skin exposed to the dry air, and masses of golden-blond hair trailing down her back over brown and yellow clothing.
And then Laleh heard the sounds of actual battle. Distant explosions.
It had to be the Harkonnens.
She tried desperately to get the woman off the street, but the stranger resisted her. “イット’エス オールライトゥ! アイ’エム エー ハントリス!” she said. Laleh still hadn’t understood, but the woman’s tone was confident. Calm.
Laleh had given up and run for her home, closing and bolting the door behind her, and then moved to a shuttered window, cracking it slightly to peek through, just in time to hear the wails of those only slightly slower than she. Wails for the dead and dying. Death would soon rule the streets of Arrakeen.
And then the golden-haired woman… seemed to glow with an inner fire. She marched to the center of the street and called out something as her arms jerked downward, hair erupting into flame that did not consume. And what had appeared to be a golden bracelet around one wrist expanded, while the right forearm, clad in yellow and black metal, shifted and expanded.
The golden warrior, for what else could she be, yelled again in challenge and righteous anger.
Laleh held her breath. Could this be what the prophecies had foretold? Surely this is a Voice from beyond Arrakis. A tongue I have never heard spoken before.
With a roar, the Harkonnens attacked in a mass, swords waving as they charged, and Laleh realized, with horror, that the golden warrior was unarmed. She had no blade!
And gasped loudly as the woman punched the open air in four rapid alternating movements. Something small and bright erupted with each punch with the sound of a large-bore weapon, and four projectiles flew toward the massed Harkonnens. Each one slammed into the center of mass of one of the armored figures, and each of their personal shields flared.
And then the projectiles exploded with a thud and a ball of flame and whump that made her windows rattle, throwing their targets backward into their fellow soldiers behind them, scattering them like chaff. She dared hope, for a moment, that they had been killed.
But no, their shields had protected them from mortal damage, save those so incompetent as to have been wounded by their own swords or to have stabbed their fellows. She turned her attention back to the warrior, who was… grinning ferally. It was the look of a Fremen in the midst of battle-rage. Fey and gleeful. She crooked a finger in a come-hither motion, and yelled another challenge.
. . .
When her first four rounds landed, Yang had feared that she’d maybe just killed a bunch of dumbasses. That was tempered by the fact that they’d murdered a defenseless old woman in front of her without a care in the world.
When she saw the flare of Aura, that fear had shifted to concern that maybe she was about to have a really bad day. That fear was tempered by the fact that while it appeared they had personal Hard Light shields that kept them from being blown into pieces by Ember Celica’s custom Fire + Concussion rounds, it hadn’t kept them from being turned into impromptu projectiles that knocked over dozens of their peers like a bunch of bowling pins. And at least a few looked like they’d even cut themselves and others pretty damn badly.
Serves you right, assholes.
She saw them pause, again, the leader, who had been one of the ones she’d knocked the crap out of, was shaking off the blow and considering her more cautiously. And she did the same. There was a hint of doubt, working its way through Burn. What if one of these guys has a Semblance? What if one of them is as good as Adam, and here I am, all alone?
The leader seemed to sense her hesitation, and barked orders, sending the massed numbers behind him left and right down alleys. Well crap. Looks like my mind has been made up for me. Guess I’m holding here and waiting for Shade to send reinforcements. She decided to roll the dice, and made a come-hither motion. If they were gonna try to flank her, she’d be better off pre-empting it. “I hope you’re ready to dance, butt-ugly. Because you’re about to eat Dust.”
. . .
Four more rounds from Ember Celica later, Yang decided that she wasn’t doing nearly enough damage with ranged attacks considering her limited ammo. Sure, it rattled them and knocked them around, and a handful were incapacitated each time, but their Hard Light shielding seemed to have a decent resistance against projectiles. Had Watts put together an army of some kind, and sent it to infiltrate Vacuo?
She decided to shift approaches, and with a burst of Aura bolted to the righthand side of the street to protect her back, right in front of a trio of the dark fighters. She gave a quick combo of Aura-enhanced punches, her prosthetic to the center of mass of the one in the middle, faster than he could parry, her natural fist to the one on the right, helmet-level. And then she brought her prosthetic up to block the nasty sword strike aimed at where her neck met her shoulder.
The first blow struck… that stupid Hard Light barrier again. There was a CRACK as he flew backward, even though her fist never actually touched his armor. Similar to the one on the right, though because of where her blow landed, he spun backward like a pinwheel, taking out men behind him in the process with flashes of Hard Light against Hard Light. She started to brace for the block against the lefthand attacker’s blade…
And almost stumbled. It was as if… he pulled back his strike at the last second. What had started as a full-speed strike, transitioned almost instantaneously into a slow, smooth slash that he shifted inches from her arm.
It was as if he was trying to fillet her arm, rather than hack it off.
Alright that’s… weird.
She adjusted her own movements, her Huntress reflexes allowing his blade to slide right past. And then another trio were approaching. They were clumped up far too closely, so she spared another precious Dust round to blast them backward with more flashes of Hard Light shielding, and spun again to counter her original attacker, who was now trying for another slash, even as his free hand reached forward to try to grab her by the throat. She blocked again with her right, metal arm while at the same time jerking her left hand out to grab his incoming wrist.
And again, he did that weird thing where a fast slash turned into a slower thrust at the last moment. One that, to her surprise, was finessed enough to actually contact her skin. She felt the momentary pressure of contact against actual Aura before she twisted smoothly, her left hand finally reaching his wrist with the intent of throwing his stupid ass at someone.
Her left hand bounced off Hard Light, inches from his wrist.
His hand slowed slightly at the last moment and she felt gloved hands touch her hair.
Oh you fucking don’t.
She shifted her artificial hand, sliding it upward toward his as his fingers started to close, and found his wrist completely unguarded this time. She twisted at the same time, forcing his blade to stop attempting to poke her kidneys out and slide off Aura, and gripped his hand with bone-crushing force.
She heard the crunch with satisfaction, as well as his muted howl of pain as she crouched and spun, throwing him bodily upward and into the sky.
Where he landed was not her problem.
The fact that she’d felt a tug on her hair in the process was.
The dozens of sword-wielding behemoths again closing in was more immediate.
“Always with the damned hair. What is it with assholes and grabbing by the hair?”
. . .
Slowly she wore them down.
Slowly her Aura reserves decreased.
She began to get a little tired, and decided that maybe a change in approach was required.
None of them were what she’d call master swordsmen. They were competent and relatively consistent. And they always shifted from moderately-skilled swings or thrusts to a weird sort of slower-motion jab or slice at the last second. They never tried to just punch the hells out of her, which would have at least helped her to charge up Burn. It was as if…
As if they expected a brute force attack to be stopped.
By a Hard Light shield.
That realization, in the midst of a storm of blades and grapples, had changed the situation. They’d tried, several times, to overcome her by force of numbers. They kept wanting to grapple her and pin her down. Each time, she used Huntress reflexes and strength to throw them off, or extract herself, while Aura prevented her from their blades.
The problem was, Yang Xiao Long was a brute force kinda gal. Blake would have nailed these guys. Heck, Weissy would have made soup out of them. Ruby… eh Ruby would have probably had the same issues she was. Ruby was a speedster who liked ranged attacks.
She blocked another sword thrust, managed a grapple and threw another asshole into a wall. A third charged her with a roar, and she tried out her theory.
Instead of a full-speed punch, she blocked his sword with her mechanical right-arm, shifting it to match the expected change in speed and target, and then slid her right fist slowly into the personal space of his visor.
And activated Ember Celica with a plain shot payload. There was the expected loud CRACK of the round.
And the soldier’s visor and entire helmet disappeared in a spray of glass, metal, and gore. She heard the yells of his fellows as his lifeless body went backward like a felled oak, sword falling from nerveless fingers. She felt a momentary pang of guilt.
An image of the old woman these sons of bitches had cut down seared through her mind.
Screw you guys. You invited yourself to this party.
. . .
Lelah watched in something approaching religious rapture.
The golden warrior had… she had faced off against a mass of Harkonnens so great and dense that their sheer numbers had prevented them from adequately forming a coherent strategy. Their sheer numbers alone should have been enough to overwhelm her.
But her weapons had proven more effectively than she would have imagined, blades or not. She had reduced their use, after the first few moments, but each application had served to clear out a space for her to maneuver, or had prevented her from being hemmed in. And she fought like a demon, with no blade, and yet took no wounds that Lelah could see. Only the flashes of a personal shield from time to time, regardless of how smoothly or stealthily the Harkonnens blades were.
It was incredible.
And her speed! She moved almost faster than the eye could follow in short bursts. She leapt higher than should have been possible without a suspensor. She threw men many times her mass, in full armor, like they were ragdolls.
But the Harkonnens kept pouring in, and while she was having an impact, she wasn’t killing them in the numbers that would have been required to remove them as a threat. And she appeared, finally, to be tiring.
Lelah saw the moment the warrior changed tactics, to devastating effect. The first indication had been when she’d reached in through a Harkonnen shield and then blown his head off with her fist.
After that, she began to make further headway, and the Harkonnen masses seemed to shudder in response. Blood and gore began to fill the streets outside her home.
None of it the warrior’s. She was as yet unmarked.
. . .
If she’d had a moment to actually think about it, the bloodshed and gore would have bothered her. She was killing men. A lot of men. They weren’t good men, she was certain of that. They were soldiers trained to kill and die. But still.
But she didn’t have time to consider the mental breakdown she’d probably have afterward, because she wasn’t sure there would be an afterward for her.
The problem was… Aura wasn’t limitless and neither was stamina. And there seemed to be a damned infinite supply of these black-clad Salem-cursed men. Something about that nagged at her. The sheer number of them…
She felt the burn of a blade contacting Aura, trying to saw its way through to flesh, and gave up on that thought. She feinted a punch, and slid her prosthetic inside the asshole’s shield, then giving him an Aura-boosted jab right between two armor plates. The man howled and spun back, collapsing in the street, and she spun to face the next.
Who was backing away.
They were all backing away.
“Had enough, huh?” she panted. “Good! Cause I’m tired of kicking your sorry asses!”
And then the soldiers parted, and new men poured through. These were taller and leaner, with slimmer combat armor. They walked like… well like Blake did. Smooth. Clean. Weight on the balls of their feet and gliding forward. And they held their swords like they knew exactly what to do with them.
“Oh shit. The Evil Specialists have arrived,” she muttered.
With a barked command, the newcomers formed up in ranks four deep, spanning the street, and began moving forward with well choreographed movements and swords held in a high guard position.
“I’m boned.”
. . .
Lelah felt her heart drop when she saw the new soldiers. They were dressed in Harkonnen colors, but she knew them for what they were.
The Emperor’s Sardaukar.
No. No no no. Run! She screamed into her head, too terrified to voice her thoughts. Run!
Lelah was not an overly religious woman. Not like the desert Fremen. But in her moment of desperation, she uttered a prayer to Shai Hulud.
Which was answered. There was a momentary flash of light behind her, and she turned to find a man, tall and blonde like the woman in the street, wearing white armor with a sword sheathed at his waist. He was blinking in surprise or confusion. “オーケイ, アー… ハブ ユー シーン マイ フレンズ アラウンド ヒア? ワイス? ルビー? ヤン アンド ブレイク?” His tone was questioning.
Her eyes widened. “Your mate is in the street! She needs your help!” Frantically she pointed out the window, then ran to the door, unbolted it, and threw it wide before gesturing for him to follow. “Please! You must hurry!”
. . .
Yang heard the sound of a woman screaming, not in pain but definitely urgently, and managed to spare a glance as she began backing up, though there were probably more of these special forces massing behind her.
It was that woman from earlier. She was pointing at her and yelling something and-
A very familiar man stepped out of the door. “Jaune!?”
She saw him take in the scene of devastation and gore around her, and his eyes narrowed. “What in Remnant is happening, Yang?” he said, but his hands were already moving, slipping Crocea Mors from his waist, and unsheathing almost two feet of broken sword from it. She hoped it would be enough blade. He moved forward to take position beside her.
“These guys are murdering assholes, the new ones look really competent, they have Hard Light shields that only let slow attacks through, and I’m low on Aura,” she managed.
"The Aura we can take care of," he replied, reaching for her shoulder. She saw his blue eyes lock onto the approaching men, and he moved his shield to a guard position while he activated Aura Amp. Something in his entire posture shifted in the process. It was an air, a demeanor, that she’d seen from an apparently decades-older Jaune Arc before, in the Ever After. “Why don’t you play rearguard for a while, and let me handle the front line,” the Rusted Knight continued.