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He ran.
He ran as fast and as far as he could, dodging the attacks from Huntsmen and Huntresses alike, as well as the pouncing and snarling Grimm that were attracted to his negativity.
Ozpin sprinted and ducked and weaved through the city of Vale, making swift and sharp turns into dingy alleyways that he knew like the back of his hand. It was all in the, hopefully not vain, attempt of throwing off the assailants sent after him.
If you told Ozpin he would be branded a villain in an international broadcast and be chased down like a criminal a few days ago, he would've laughed in your face.
But, unfortunately, here he was– running for his life, and attempting to reason with the Hunters' fooled by Salems lies.
His lungs burned as he slid into the next connected alley, narrowly avoiding rifle fire. The second he did so, however, the Huntsman landed in front of Oz. Oz skidded to a halt, raising his cane just in time to block the saw-sword.
"Give up, Ozpin! Turn yourself in!" The man growled, slashing at Ozpin in a flurry of attacks. Oz bounced backward in an effort to gain distance, pleading, "I don't want to fight you! I'm not your enemy, Salem is!" Once again, the Huntsman dashed forward, ignoring his words. Oz frantically blocked and dodged, occasionally jabbing his cane forward to drive the Huntsman back. But his aura was growing weak- he couldn't keep this up much longer.
And, unfortunately, he was right. The Huntsman slammed a foot into Ozpin's gut, sending the Ex-Headmaster backwards, his aura shattering. Oz just barely managed to keep his footing, looking up just in time as the Huntsman slashed towards his face. The sword caught against his skin, slashing from cheek to cheek across the bridge of his nose, the pain blinding, time seemingly briefly slowing before jerking back.
Blood poured from his face as he quickly slipped under the Huntsman, slamming his cane into the mans legs to knock him down. It took barely a second for his magic to activate, and Ozpin took the opportunity to dash off, speed fueled by his magic. The second he could, he hid, slipping into a hidden alley, masking himself with his magic.
Oz waited, and watched, as the Huntsman ran by his hiding spot, and he waited longer- several minutes, maybe, he didn't know. Finally, he let out a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding, letting up his magic and slumping against the wall. Oz panted, exhaustion burning his body, and for just a second, he felt nothing but that exhaustion, the pain, and the blood cascading down his face.
The next second, his chest bloomed in hurt. Oz could hardly believe what was happening. Being exiled and hunted down, like a criminal that had committed mass murder. All because Salem decided to lie to the masses, to- what? Make him suffer? To make it easier to get to the Relics as chaos divided people? Both?
Oz sighed heavily, covering his face with his free hand, ignoring the blood. For someone who hates lies, Salem really loves to lie, he thought, a spike of bitterness and anger spiking through him. It just wasn't fair . Oz inhaled deeply, rubbing the spot between his eyes, before carefully compartmentalizing that bitterness and anger away.
Lowering his hand, he straightened back up, carefully keeping an eye on his surroundings. Oz slipped out of the alleyway, a plan forming in his mind.
He should really find a place to hide.
—
Oz felt about ready to break down.
Any allies he thought he'd had had turned their backs on him. He no longer owned any of his safe houses, and now…
Ozpin glanced down at his scroll, the red symbol on it and the words making his heart ache.
His scroll was locked.
One of the only people that could do that was General James Ironwood.
It'd been a few days since he'd first ran (the wound on his face stung still). Oz knew James meant well- but the man was frighteningly easy to manipulate, given how paranoid the General was. He'd kept hope that James would stay at his side, but, as he'd feared- Salem had played up on James Ironwoods fear and paranoia. The speech the man had made proved that, as well as the Atlesian Knights and soldiers that were being sent after Oz.
Oz tossed his scroll into the nearest trash can, and continued walking, sticking to the shadows in the night. It wasn't a good idea to keep a scroll, considering it could be tracked, especially since he couldn't even use it. Oz sighed as his stomach rumbled painfully, hunger gnawing at him. Normally, he would've just bought something and moved on. But now, with his bank accounts disabled and being a wanted criminal with his face plastered everywhere… well, he wasn't so sure just waltzing into a store was a good idea. Though…
Oz glanced at a nearby store. It was closed, given it was fairly late. Looking into the windows told him this place sold sandwiches, with all kinds of meats, ranging from the typical cow to even lamb. Ozpin's stomach clenched painfully at the thought. He hasn't eaten since he first ran, and he certainly felt the hunger. The pain in his stomach, his weakening limbs, the nausea…
If he didn't eat soon, he'd either get himself caught, or starve to death.
Oz sighed to himself, giving in. He didn't exactly enjoy the idea of stealing, given the fact that he'd be taking from what others may need. But he wasn't opposed to it, given the fact he used to be a homeless orphan, stealing from others and from the trash, very akin to a raccoon. So, Oz turned, quickly dashing towards the store, carefully staying hidden. Glancing around, he covered the doors lock with a hand, silently focusing his magic. The second he heard a quiet click , Oz slipped inside, being careful not to make a noise.
He grabbed a bag, and the second he slipped behind the counter, he started shoving food into it. Meats (which sadly wouldn't last long), bread, pastries, and some water. Oz filled the bag until he couldn't, and when he no longer could gather food, he slipped back from behind the counter. He silently slipped out of the store, bag in hand, hoping desperately he wouldn't be seen.
Unfortunately, he wasn't known for his luck.
"Ozpin! Halt, and put your hands in the air!" Oz froze, looking behind him. Two Atlesian soldiers, and two Atlesian Knights. He weighed his options, and in a split second, he decided to run. Immediately, rifle fire followed, the hard light dust rounds barely missing him. Oz only ran this time, using his magic to speed himself up, sprinting out of the city of Vale.
He sprinted into the forest, dodging the rifle fire, ducking away from branches that fell. Oz ran, ignoring the ache in his legs and burning in his lungs. He didn't know when they stopped chasing after him, but he only jerked back to reality once he felt his aura flicker. Oz slid to a stop, heaving for air. He held himself up, propping his hands on his knees, sweat pouring down his face and neck. Hurt, once again, stung his chest.
Oz knew, of course, that James had turned his back on him. But it was different to see the proof as opposed to just knowing.
And it hurt, Gods, it hurt.
It wasn't anything new; but it still hurt anyways.
Oz swallowed in an attempt to ease his burning throat. At the same time, he was trying, and failing, to compartmentalize his hurt and anger. The anger was, admittedly, nothing new. He'd always felt it, towards many things. Salem, mainly, and to an extent, the Gods (which he was somewhat ashamed of). Oz always felt that none of this was fair, but he always bottled up that childish anger. He had no time for such things, he had no time for outrage.
But- Oz felt that outrage anyways, no matter how much he bottled it up.
Oz blinked as he felt a raindrop land on his head. Looking up, he saw storm clouds gather, the drops picking up speed.
He sighed.
May as well get a move on.