Archive of Our Own ^beta

Ah, Contessa thought.

A golden beam of light had pierced her around the shoulder. More than half a foot across—her death wasn’t quick, but her loss of consciousness was.

For all that her power offered, when it came to Scion, it was nothing more than…

…dust?

That was an odd last thought.

And Contessa died.

——

She opened her eyes not in Heaven, or limbo, or far more likely of the three, Hell, but on an apartment balcony in a dismal city. Distant explosions, frighteningly frequent, shook her where she stood. Surrounding buildings—and by the ambient temperature, this building too—were lit ablaze.

The street below her was awash with an army of hellspawn.

Hell seemed an apt descriptor.

Contessa frowned, and looked closer.

Hellspawn was not… an inaccurate term for them. Monsters, for lack of a better word, of inky darkness and armored white plates, seeking indiscriminate violence.

She turned her attention from the street below and to herself. Her suit was gone, so was her hat, and even her trusty gun. Instead she wore a black band tee and booty shorts. Also, rather conspicuously, there was no gaping hole in her shoulder.

It was reincarnation, then.

Path: Knowing where I am.

One step.

Think: The city of Vale, in the kingdom of Vale, on the world of Remnant. Not an alternate dimension of Earth, another planet entirely.

Did her agent reach that far? Or did it travel with her?

Querying her power, she was returned only gray fog.

Instead, she turned her attention to the monsters attacking the street.

Path: Know what they are.

The Grimm. Familiar, but much more widespread than anything she knew. And even more vicious—

Distant roaring. She turned, and the central tower—a query to her power said that was Beacon Academy—was actively being buzzed by a giant dragon.

…Much more ferocious than any of Nilbog’s creations. And armies of these Grimm were overrunning the city.

Path: Saving as many lives as possible while not coming to significant harm.

Steps in the hundreds, thousands, but doable.

First, think: For it is in passing that we achieve immortality.

Shining bright blackness, despite the oxymoronity, enveloped her body. It was cold, and smooth, but somehow comforting.

Path: Knowing what this is.

Aura, the light of one’s soul, granting strength and power. It was Contessa’s Aura, a power that was truly her own.

Second, think: For all that I sacrificed, not just my life but the lives of thousands by my hands alone, millions by my actions, and I don’t even know if Earth was saved. Everything I did may well have been in vain—was I ever in control of my life? My destiny? Did I even matter?

A second power took hold in her body.

Path: Knowing what this is.

A Semblance. A one-of-a-kind power that manifests during moments of sufficient emotional duress.

Contessa frowned. She had triggered two separate trauma-related superpowers within seconds of each other.

Next on her path… she had to travel to the center of Beacon Academy.

Where the people of the city a lost cause, then?

Leaps and bounds empowered by Aura—what she would have given for this strength back on Earth—took her across rooftops at a dizzying speed, and then the ground. It was a limited resource, but with perfect control, she had no worries over running out.

The buildings gave way to open yard. Long before then, though, she dropped from the rooftops to run along the road instead. Keeping control of her emotions seemed to keep the Grimm from minding her as much as more fearful targets.

At the behest of her path, rather than running straight along the sidewalk, she dove through the window of a car.

While flying through the car, to head through the other window without stopping, she reached down into the glove compartment and retrieved a pistol.

Further along the way, she was directed to a side alleyway, where precise shots from the pistol allowed her to stagger a large bear-like monster. The man fighting in the alley finished it off shortly with a claymore.

Next step, toss the pistol to him. He caught it. She wouldn’t need the weapon, but she did need the trust from him.

“Beacon Academy itself is safest. Take any survivors there.”

“There’s a dragon—”

“It’s safest,” Contessa repeated.

“Damn,” he whistled. “You’ve got guts.”

Contessa turned and continued on her way to the school.

Running like this was effective, but rather monotonous.

By the time she arrived at the avenue, she saw a group of—again, querying her power—students battling a set of combat mechs.

She had no weapon of her own, but she was able to throw a concerning amount of Aura into her Semblance—the two were, apparently, connected—to briefly puppeteer the bodies of those fighting, adjusting their aim.

Sprays of automatic fire precisely targeted microfractures in the armor, or tiny exposed weakness, effectively disabling three.

That was all from a distance—Contessa kept to a side path, entering one of the academy’s buildings by barrel-rolling through a window.

There was a voice in her head.

“Oh dear…”

Path: Knowing who that is.

Think: It was a reincarnating wizard named Ozma, who jumps to the bodies of those like-minded to him, upon his death.

Helpfully she was also given the added context that he shared the goal of saving the world.

And that…

Path: Keeping him from accessing my memories.

Just a few steps, all mental, and Contessa settled into a kind of self-hypnosis.

“...well,” Ozma’s voice rang, hesitant, uncertain. “I can see that I don’t need to explain myself to you. Who are you, exactly?”

“My name is Contessa,” she said aloud. Although she could respond to Ozma mentally, introducing herself verbally served a double purpose.

A man in black, with a red blade poised to impale a man in white prone beneath him, turned to face Contessa instead. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said.

Confusion flashed on his face briefly, and he turned to face another woman— huh, she has cat ears —before he moved to kill the man below him.

That was enough ‘the man’ for me. Path: Knowing his name.

Adam Taurus. The woman with ears was Blake.

She charged forward, taking no care to mask her approach, and Adam responded immediately, turning and holding his blade out to parry her attack.

As instructed, Contessa stopped her charge dead, rather than clashing with his sword by some manner.

A feint. Adam’s face flickered, uncertain, and Contessa took that as her time to take action. Her fist plunged into his stomach—or would have, if not for Aura.

She traded blows with Adam briefly. It seemed that skill and control of Aura determined how much power it granted. Contessa’s control, perfect, meant that there was no contest, even if Adam was armed.

She struck him in the face with an elbow, then spun under his side and struck downwards on the back of his head.

His Aura shattered and he fell.

“...well, I must admit I am quite impressed,” Ozma said. “How did you get so skilled?”

Contessa disregarded him for a moment. Instead, she turned to Blake. “I need to take Ruby—” who? Querying her power showed that she was one of Blake’s partners. “—and myself to the top of the tower.”

“You plan to use her silver eyes to defeat the wyvern? I wouldn’t risk that,”

Silver eyes? Contessa asked the voice in her head.

“...you don’t know?” Ozma asked. He seemed dumbfounded.

“Why—” Blake hesitated. She looked around. Off-balance, confused. “Why should I trust you? And why are you wearing that?”

Convincing people to believe her was always tedious, path or otherwise.

“You can say that again,” Ozma echoed.

She just threw a meaningful glance at Adam’s prone form. He wasn’t unconscious, but he was delirious. “I didn’t choose when this all happened.”

“Blake!” another woman called. Long blonde hair. She climbed through Contessa’s pre-broken window. “What—huh?”

Contessa tore her focus away from the path, which was working to convince the two to guide Ruby—whoever that was—to the top of the tower. Instead, she poured her attention on the other occupant in her head.

You died? She asked.

“I did. It was not pleasant. And you?”

I think I died a few minutes ago, too. Contessa frowned. This isn’t my body, I don’t think.

Ozma was silent. “...then what of the original owner, if you would?”

Path: What happened to—

“That is incredibly convenient,” Ozma noted.

Please don’t interrupt me, Contessa responded.

Path: What happened to the owner of the body.

“Overdose,” Contessa said. It was closer to a shout.

““What?”” Blake and Yang—apparently—both said. Contessa’s one word, entirely out of place and even louder than their yelling match, was enough to interrupt their trains of thought.

“Can we go now?”

“This power of yours is entirely mental? I wonder if I can…” Ozma cleared his throat. Mentally. “Path: Knowing who you are.”

Think: She was born Fortuna, now Contessa. She used her power to help maneuver the people of her planet to—

Contessa cut it off.

Path: Removing Ozma from my head.

Gray fog.

“Rude,” he said.

“Can it wait until after this is all taken care of?” Contessa said, verbally. Once again, addressing both conversations.

“...Yes,” Yang said.

“Thank you.”

Minutes passed, during which several more combat mechs were destroyed, and things were finally arranged. Contessa suspected it would have been faster, in raw time, to climb the tower manually.

Regardless, she and Ruby flung themselves to the very top of the tower, making use of constructs created by the Semblance of another student.

The majority of the way up, Contessa gained awareness of two people at the top of the tower. That would be her Semblance, offering a kind of sixth-sense. Following the path, she burned almost the entirety of her remaining Aura to shift one of their arms.

As she turned the precipice, she relied on Ruby to catch her, to save what little Aura remained.

At about that time, Contessa saw what she had used the dregs of her energy for.

Two women were fighting atop the building, the dragon—

“Wyvern, please.”

Shush.

—the dragon circling overhead.

Contessa’s use of her newest power had thrown off one woman’s aim, turning a lethal killshot into a gut-wound that was… still lethal, but would take much longer.

“What—” the archer said, identified by Contessa’s power as Cinder, said.

She was interrupted by a bird-like screech from Ruby, and a flood of silver light pouring forth.

Cinder also screamed, and fell to her back. Her left arm had disintegrated.

Contessa used the very last of her power to leap forth and jam her fingers up to the palm inside Cinder’s throat. Apparently, whoever this Cinder was, killing her was important enough to the path that the very last of her energy was worth spending on it.

“How often, exactly, do you kill people with only your power’s direction and no greater thought behind it?”

“Extremely frequently,” Contessa said, watching the statue-form of the dragon crash to the academy below.

“Wyvern.”

Contessa rolled her eyes, and queried her power.

Miraculously—or not miraculously at all—its crash would not crush anyone.

“Ruby,” Contessa said.

The girl turned from the shot woman to Contessa. “Wh- what…?”

“Your headmaster is stuck inside my head.”

Ruby made a wet, sob-like noise.