It may come as no surprise to others, but Winter was not the kindest of people.
[Target is heading southeast.]
"I'm on it." A quick step made even quicker using her semblance, and Winter was atop a building.
With a better view, her eyes swiftly scanned the ground, and immediately zoned in on her target.
The hunt continued.
She had come to terms with that unkindess long ago. Kindness didn't win the war against the greatest of Evils that they were up against. Kindness didn't keep order, and it certainly did little to help when you were clawing for respect in Atlas, respect for yourself, and not as another accessory or belonging of a man bearing the same family name.
She jumped down, startling the group of homeless people down on their luck trying to warm themselves using a burning barrel. She spared no more than an apologetic glance
Kindness was a luxury she had learned to live without. It was simply one of many luxuries she had learned to live without.
It was almost funny how the most important lessons often came from the most unsavoury of teachers.
She had cast kindness aside in favor of precision, control, and strength: the pillars of her identity. There was no room for softness in a world that expected her to be sharp and unyielding. Emotions and empathy? Weaknesses she had been taught to bury deep.
And yet, there were moments, rare and fleeting, when those buried feelings clawed their way to the surface. Moments when she thought of her fractured family. When she remembered the brother she had left behind. When she recalled the way her younger sister still looked at her as if she were some kind of hero.
Those moments were bittersweet, the kind she didn't dare indulge in for long. But they were hers, and she allowed herself to hold onto them briefly before tucking them away again. She cherished them because they were rare and distant, and only came every once in a while.
These days, and rather recently she supposed, they came much more often as she tried to make new memories—better ones. These, she let herself indulge in whenever she was alone.
It was... liberating in a sense.
A twirl of her sabre and the famed Schnee glyph materialized. From an echo of a long felled Grimm by her blade, a Griffon appeared and took to the sky to circle the target from the other side.
Winter was not kind, but she, by all means, was no demon either.
She wasn't blind to the suffering of others, nor to the privilege she had been born into. The silver spoon in her mouth was no accident.
She knew that the two were deeply related. Her comfort was forged from the struggles of others and their misery.
She understood suffering. She saw it in Mantle's streets, in the crumbling walls of this place, where people shuffled through their days, and their lives were worn thin by a constant state of poverty. The cold air must have been cruel against their unprotected Aura-less skin, but it seemed to be nothing compared to the chill of despair that had long since clung to the people around her.
So, as she tore through the streets of District Twelve on Mantle's outskirts, she didn't miss a single detail at every corner. She memorized them.
She noticed the decay around her, the signs of crime woven into the fabric of the district. Gangs, thugs, and opportunists thrived in places like this, feeding off the desperation of those who had no choice but to endure. In a way, the criminals were far more despicable than even Grimm.
The target attempted to escape through a nearby small market. A click of a button, and the Dust extracted by, no doubt, people not so different from those who lived here, roared to life. She swung her blade in his direction.
A massive glacier shut off his route before he even finished the thought. The scream of frustration and fear helped alleviate her temper a bit.
Nor did she miss the ever-present Schnee brand looming over it all. Faded billboards stared down like cruel masters, mocking them, right next to the posters of the proud Atlasian military that taunted just as harshly. Both were reminders of a system that had failed these people.
The Griffon was waiting for her mental command.
Alas, that theater of the carefully constructed stage of privilege and pretence was one she found herself incapable of enduring. So, she had left it, seeking freedom. To her shame, she had run away.
She was not kind. She was not a demon.
What was she then?
Winter was a huntress.
Winter was strong.
If she couldn't fix this broken system, she would do what she could to keep it from getting worse. That much was well within her capabilities; if not, then she merely to get even more stronger.
Violence, when turned against those who exploited the vulnerable, was a tool she knew how to wield all too well, and was more than happy to use. If it meant making even the smallest difference, she wouldn't hesitate.
The traitor ahead glanced over his shoulder, his eyes widening as he saw her gaining on him. His movements turned frantic, his steps clumsy as panic overtook him. He veered into an alley, desperate to lose her, but Winter didn't hesitate.
Her summon dived from the sky, slamming into the alley below.
She leaped onto a nearby building, her boots finding purchase on the ledge as she scaled it effortlessly. The shortcut would give her the advantage, and she wasn't about to waste it. Her prey was already cornered; he just didn't know it yet.
Winter leaped from the rooftop, landing gracefully at the alley's edge. Her boots clicked softly against the frozen ground as she straightened. She lowered her sabre and let it hang loosely in her grip just a couple of inches above the frozen ground, and She approached.
Her target, or rather, her victim now that he was pinned, still hadn't noticed her. He was too busy spewing a stream of curses and straining against the massive Aura construct pressing nearly a ton of weight on his back.
"Get off me, you freakin'—!" he growled, his hand fumbling toward something at his belt. The Griffon's other paw slammed down, cutting off the motion with a decisive thud that left no room for argument.
"Corporal Denlow, wasn't it?" Winter's voice was cold with only faintest traces of anger that she allowed to seep. "Unfortunately for you, it seems your request for a temporary leave has been denied."
The corporal froze. His head snapped up, eyes wide as they met hers. His face had turned an ashen shade, though whether it was from fear or from the crushing one-ton weight on his torso was uncertain to her. The way his dog-like tail flattened against his leg, however, leaned toward the former.
"Shit… Spuh..Specialist Schnee!" The Faunus stammered with his voice cracking. "W-what… brings you here, ma'am?"
"What brings me here?" she repeated in a deceptively calm tone. "That's an excellent question, Corporal. I wonder, what could possibly compel me to chase down a no-name fresh out of the academy low-life through the slums of Mantle?"
The dog Faunus swallowed hard, sweat beading on his brow. "I—I don't know what you mean, ma'am," he stammered, his tail flicking nervously behind him.
Winter didn't respond immediately. What she did, however, was move the dial at the side of the hilt of her sabre and switch the Dust chamber. The tip of her blade started glowing as it grew hotter, and she let it dangle close to the traitor's head.
The Corporal flinched as the heat from the blade brushed close enough to singe the air around him and melt the snow beneath them. His breath hitched, his tail stiffening as the blade became unbearably close.
"You have some nerve claiming ignorance." Winter's words sliced through Denlow's blabber like thte blade in her grip. "Do you really think I'm unaware of your… extracurricular activities? Smuggling Dust, extorting the very people you're supposed to protect. And, worst of all, corresponding with terrorists who wish to harm Atlas." Her voice hardened from sharp edge of rage slipping through. "Who wished—who attempted—to harm my brother!"
"'Your... brother?'" The Dog Faunus's face twisted with confusion as he repeated the words. A moment later, that confusion turned into terror as realization hit him.
His tail twitched violently as panic spread across his face. "I had no idea about that! I swear! We would never attack—" He froze, his mouth snapping shut, eyes wide.
"'We'?" Winter's voice dropped, cold and sharp. Flames licked at the tip of her sabre, growing brighter.
Denlow's breathing turned frantic. "I-I can explain! It's not what it looks like, I swear! I've been—"
"'I've been'… what, Corporal?" Winter interrupted. "Busy ensuring Atlas' citizens are further caught in your ilk's disgusting acts? Busy betraying your comrades and selling out your oaths for a handful of Lien? Or was it for the sake of 'Liberation'? That's what your kind seems so gung-ho to claim, isn't it, while you slaughter the innocent?"
"Ma'am, please!" he yelped, squirming as far away from the flames as the Griffon's crushing weight would allow. "I swear, it wasn't like that! It was just one meeting! I—I didn't have a choice!"
"Didn't have a choice? Fascinating. You certainly had enough of one to flee like a rat the moment you realized your crimes had caught up to you." She stepped closer with a sneer. "Was it worth it? Whatever deal you made, whatever you thought you could get away with, was it worth throwing away your honor? Your position? Your comrades? Then again, I suppose we never were your comrades, were we, Faunus?"
The Griffon pressed its weight down harder, drawing a pained gasp from Denlow. Winter lowered her burning blade until it brushed his neck, the searing heat flickering against his Aura. Cracks began to form, his pitiful thrashing doing nothing.
"Fucking—shit—fine! I'll talk! I'll talk!" Desperation finally began dripping from his voice as the fractures in his Aura widened. "I—I can give you names! The ones higher up—real scum pulling the strings! Please, Specialist, I can help you!"
"I know you will," Winter replied coolly, deactivating her sabre with a flick of her wrist. Her summon remained but eased its crushing grip, allowing the traitor just enough room to breathe.
Winter pulled out her scroll, her fingers moving swiftly as she contacted reinforcements. "Bring a containment unit to District Twelve," she said crisply. "I've apprehended a traitor. And inform General Ironwood. He'll want a full report on this… incident."
Denlow's face turned ashen at the mention of Ironwood. His mouth opened as if to plead further, but no words came out.
Winter ignored him.
The last attack on her brother had been unexpected, and had it not been for her father's—Jacques'—intervention… It still tasted like ash to call him Father and not Jacques. But as much as her dissatisfaction and hatred for the man burned bright, it seemed his so-called "family pride" had been genuine.
That thought was both infuriating and comforting, though she'd sooner break her sabre than admit the latter aloud.
If not for him facing the terrorists during the attack, they might have succeeded. And Winter couldn't bear the thought of losing her brother. Not again. Not ever.
Unfortunately, no matter how thoroughly she investigated, no matter how many stones she turned over or servants she interrogated, she still had no idea how they'd managed to infiltrate the manor. At this point, the only plausible explanation was that one of them possessed a teleportation Semblance, as unlikely as that seemed.
Nevertheless, the attack—and her father's subtle message—had pushed her to conduct another, quieter investigation. With the aid of her most trusted subordinates in the Atlessian military, she began digging deeper.
To her shame, this time, she found success.
The revelation was as infuriating as it was disheartening: there were terrorist sympathizers within the military itself. The very institution she had long upheld as a beacon of discipline and loyalty. Despite herself, Winter felt her opinion of the organization sink, a bitter taste lingering in her mouth.
How far had the rot spread?
It wasn't just a matter of rooting out a few bad apples; this went deeper. If sympathizers had embedded themselves within the military, who was to say how many others shared their sentiments? Worse still, how many were actively aiding the enemy under the guise of patriotism?
That didn't mean she would falter. If anything, it hardened her resolve.
The damage to Atlas' reputation and safety was bad enough, but to have this corruption threaten her family—her siblings—was unacceptable. She wouldn't allow it. There would be no mercy for those who jeopardized the people she cared about. For while Winter was not kind, she was still not a devil.
But for the sake of her family, she would become something much worse. She'd become the Queen of Hell if necessary. She would transform into a nightmare for those animals that far even Jacques Schnee in cruelty.
The scroll in her grasp vibrated, its screen lighting up with an incoming call. She lifted it to her ear, a small, amused snort escaping her lips.
Perhaps, feeling her aiming for his throne, the Devil had decided to call.
"Hah!? What do you mean you can't make it?" Jacques barked into his earpiece, barely managing to keep the irritation out of his voice. Well, most of it was directed at the absolute unit of a bull currently attempting to turn him into a pancake.
The creature was massive, easily the size of an elephant and somehow even heavier. Its hooves carved craters into the ground with every step, and Jacques was doing his best to keep its horns from turning him into a shish kebab. His hands gripped the beast's thick, curved horns like his life depended on it, which, frankly, it did. Not!
Hah! Good luck getting rid of his ass now that he had Tranquil Deer.
Imagine not having a portable bullshit instant healer. Could never be Jacques!
The bull' nostrils snorted, flaring wide as it tried to shake him off. Jacques' feet skidded backward, digging grooves into the dirt as he held on for dear life.
Come on, you fucking... He nearly growled as Piercing Ox continued gaslighting itself into thinking it was running.
Fun fact: apparently, "movement" and "moving" weren't the same damn thing. This overgrown slab of steak didn't even have to go anywhere to get stronger. All it had to do was pretend to run, and voilà—bullshit power-up.
Literally. Bullshit.
His back ached, his legs burned, the gauntlet around his forearm wouldn't stop fucking beeping in alarm, and his patience was thinner than the air at the top of Solitas. And now, to top it all off, Winter was on the other end of the line, informing him she wouldn't be able to make it to whatever incredibly important bullshit event he was supposed to attend today.
"I thought today was supposed to be important. Unlocking his Aura and all," Jacques's voice strainied as he wrestled with the bull's horns, attempting to keep the massive beast from skewering him on its next move.
[It's not like I want to be away from Whitley!] Winter snapped through the earpiece, her usually composed tone turning into a frustrated one. Well, her usually composed with others, not with him. With him? Resting bitch face at best. It was always a battle, and not the fun kind with dramatic speeches and a cheering crowd or better yet, the ones that gave you murder beasts as pets. Still, her frustration felt a little… less sharp this time. Was that progress? Maybe.
How did he differentiate good frustration from bad frustration? Fucked if he knew. Jacques did, though. Or, well, he liked to think he did. Ol moustache was a connoisseur of frustrations, ranging the mild, the spicy, to whatever category Winter's specific brand fell into. Somewhere between "annoyed little shit" and "angry drill sergeant," probably.
"Oh, of course not," Jacques muttered, dodging the bull's massive head as it tried to gore him for the fifth time. "I'd never dream of suggesting such a thing." He caught the beast's horns in his hands and shoved it back, his feet skidding slightly. "I'm just saying, what's so important that you can't spare a whole week?"
[It's not a matter of being bothered,] Winter retorted sharply, her voice cutting through the earpiece like one of those laser pointers cats loved. [It's a matter of priorities.] A sigh followed. [We underestimated how far the rot spread—wait, what is that loud noise on your end?]
Jacques glanced at the bull currently trying to crush his ribcage with its sheer bulk. "Oh, that? Just the sound of the security team working hard. Very hard. Really giving it their all." He sidestepped in time as the creature swung its head again, and avoided getting sent flying.
[I see,] Winter lied, obviously not seeing shit.
"Anyway," Jacques continued, grunting as he wrestled the bull's horns back down, "have fun, you know, 'defending the kingdom' or whatever it is you're calling it these days. Kicking puppies? Punching orphans? 'Beating up minorities'—she made a sound at that— or maybe cracking down on tax evasion?"
He sure hoped not!
[Classified military operations,] Winter corrected curtly. [Something that benefits Whitley's future. And our mutual goal.]
"Which one?" Jacques asked, trying—and failing—not to sound winded as he slammed the bull's head back into the ground. "I've got at least three. Plus a side quest involving Willow's thighs around my head, but I'm guessing that's one you'd want nothing to do with."
Hey kid, wanna help me get freaky with your mom?
Winter didn't dignify that with a response, which Jacques took as a small victory. Not that he cared as he was too busy hauling the bull up by its massive horns to gloat. With a display of strength that never failed to slap a shit-eating grin across his face, he swung the beast overhead and slammed all nine tons of it back into the ground, sending deep cracks through the floor.
The bull, still doing its dumb little running-on-the-spot emote beneath him, seemed no worse for wear, but Jacques stepped back, brushing dust from his shirt. "I'll see what I can do."
Winter's sigh crackled through the earpiece, sharp and heavy with exhaustion. [I trust you can handle it, J—... Father. If that is all...?]
"Yeah, yeah, that's all," Jacques said, waving a hand like she could actually see it.
[Goodbye, then.]
"Bye, love you," Jacques replied absently, ducking at the last second to avoid the bull's latest attempt at turning him into a kebab.
There was a long, awkward pause.
[Oh… G-goodbye,] Winter finally stammered, sounding as if someone had just decked her with a metaphorical brick. Then the line went dead.
The fucker tried to bite, only to receive a thumb in the eye as Jacques leapt and let Piercing Ox rush under him.
Jacques paused with the still creepy grin across his face. "Still got it," he muttered, smugly basking in Sasuga-ness—right before the bull decided to introduce his face to the ground. Hard.
"Fucking prick!" Jacques snarled, kicking the oversized cow square in the jaw. He grabbed it by the horns, twirling the colossal bastard fast enough to lift its hind legs off the ground before YEETING the monstrosity across the arena like the handsome and wonderful discus thrower he always knew he could be.
The bull slammed into the stone wall with a satisfying BOOM, vanishing into a massive cloud of dust. But of course, because the universe clearly hated him, the damn thing burst from the debris a second later, casually defying the laws of the universe by running along the wall—and then up toward the ceiling.
"Yeah, fuck gravity, amiright, lad?!" Jacques shouted, craning his neck as the Piercing Ox sprinted parallel to the floor before dive-bombing straight toward him at the speed of a bullet. The beast slammed into the ground with enough force to crack the stone and shake the entire gymnasium.
Jacques gritted his teeth, now inside the crater, doing his damnedest to hold the massive beast over his head with what he was pretty sure was a broken wrist. "Oh, for fuck's sake…" he hissed through clenched teeth.
He exhaled sharply, still clutching the damn thing's face. Focusing his Aura into his shadow, Jacques summoned his Divine Dogs.
Even with proper visualization and ample Aura, summoning without the hand signs usually resulted in an unstable manifestation. Which, conveniently, was exactly what he wanted.
"Demon Dogs," he muttered.
The shadow beneath him bubbled ominously before erupting violently. Dozens of half-formed liquid shadow dogs sprang from the darkness, slamming into the Piercing Ox and dragging it away from him. Their fangs and claws tore into the beast, shredding flesh and muscle. Once they'd hauled it far enough, the shadows collapsed in on themselves, slithering back into Jacques' feet.
Now finally hands-free and way fucking angrier, Jacques wasted no time. He pushed more Aura into his shadow and tried again. "Rabbit Escape!"
This time, his shadow exploded upward in a tidal wave of tiny white rabbits; tens of thousands of them. The arena flooded with the fluff-filled chaos as the swarm surged toward the Piercing Ox, a mass of pure pandemonium. Jacques scrambled out of the crater, brushing dust off his jacket.
"Go get 'em, you fluffy little bastards," he muttered, retreating to a safer spot.
And go get 'em they did. Credit where it was due: the rabbits wasted no time trying to absolutely shank the Ox. They bit, scratched, hurled rocks, swung broken bits of metal, and even used each other as makeshift weapons. Unfortunately, their heroic efforts amounted to little more than an irritation even to an already wounded ox.
Piercing Ox bulldozed through the swarm like a freight train, the rabbits parting like the Red—or rather, white—Sea in its path. Its eyes locked onto Jacques.
Jacques bent his knees, spread his arms, and braced himself, grinning like a lunatic. "Come here, you fat piece of shit."
The beast charged with its massive hooves pounding the ground with each step. it shook the earth beneath it and picked up speed.
Jacques swung.
The Piercing Ox slammed straight into Jacques's fist.
The pain of his broken knuckles did little to erase the grin on his face as Jacques felt the Ox's skull crack under the force of the impact. A satisfying air boom ripped across the whole gymnasium.
Still, it wasn't enough to stop the beast. The Ox pawed the ground with its massive legs, only for the two of them to sink into the shadow beneath them. Jacques, now half-submerged in the darkness, felt the creature's efforts slow, and circled his long arms around its neck.
The Ox strained against Jacques's grip. Massive muscles rippled and tore under the pressure, but the shadows held fast. Jacques gritted his teeth, the sharp pain in his hand from the earlier strike still radiating up his arm, but he ignored it. He'd been through worse.
With a grunt, Jacques tightened his arms around the beast's neck, using the shadows to anchor him to the ground as the Ox tried to shift its massive weight. The creature's eyes locked onto him, desperate and furious, but Jacques just grinned wider.
"Not this time, you overgrown cow," he muttered through clenched teeth.
The beast pawed the ground, trying to break free, but every time its legs moved, it sank deeper into the shadowy abyss beneath it. Soon enough, Jacques felt his arms squeeze through the muscles and bones of the Ox.
Then, with a surge of his Aura, Jacques pushed upwards while his shadows dug down, increasing the pressure until it became unbearable. The force built to a snapping point. "HHNGH!'
Suddenly, there was a sharp Crack, loud enough to echo through the arena, and the Piercing Ox's body went limp. The beast's massive frame collapsed like a ragdoll.
Jacques held his grip for a moment still before he released his hold and let his shadows return to normal. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, letting out a long breath of relief.
He stood over the beast, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his face, and his muscles ached like a bitch.
Fucking finally...
The arena was silent, save for the echoes of his own breathing. With a final glance at the fallen Ox disintegrating form, Jacques allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction before dropping to the ground.
"God, I need a drink," he muttered to himself. or a cigarette. A cigarette sounded lovely. Maybe even a cigar seeing that he was now the Richest Cunt.
'But first,' Jacques remembered his conversation with Winter.
Whitley will probably throw a hissy fit over being told his Aura wasn't going to be unlocked today; well, as much as a kid like Whitley could throw a hissy fit. It wasn't really a hissy fit, but the boy would sulk, and that would probably make things awkward for everyone involved. He'd be sad, pissed off, and probably seething for a bit.
To be fair, Jacques would be fucking seething too if he'd been working like a damn horse for over a month and a half, only to get told next week. Hell, Jacques had to wait three days to get his Tranquil Deer. Three days of excruciating pain almost made him kill someone. And not because he was a psychopath, but because the pain was enough to drive a saint mad.
Jacques was usually a nice person, after all.
But in Whitley's defense, a week, if not longer, considering the Winter situation, was longer than three days.
Fuuuck.
"The kid is definitely going to ask me to unlock it for him," Jacques groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. Hell, it'd probably make Whitley happier than if Winter did it, considering how the boy seemed to worship the ground Jacques walked on.
...Or at least, he used to worship the ground Jacques walked on. That had all changed after that breakfast with an unannounced Willow. The next five breakfasts, with Willow now more or less expected to show up, didn't exactly help either. Nor did Jacques' annoyingly persistent attempts to get Whitley to stop outright ignoring his mother.
The boy had shifted from "Worship the ground Jacques walks on, and Daddy can do no wrong!" to "Maybe I should build a damn temple to show off my father's greatness to the uncultured swine!"
It's a true disgrace.
"What a fall from grace," Jacques shook his head dejectedly. At this pace, the kid might actually start doubting Jacques's divinity!
Yet even against such a blasphemous future, Jacques really didn't want to be the one to unlock Whitley's Aura, because, frankly, he had no idea how to. And if he did? Well, he'd rather not have his son scaring the shit out of people the same way Jacques had. Did. Does. He was working on it, damn it!
"Now," Jacques said, folding his arms, "what does one do when he's stuck with something he doesn't want to do?"
He snapped his fingers.
...
...
...
Two hours later, bathed, perfumed, hair styled, and impeccably dressed as ever, Jacques found himself in Willow's room. His right hand rested in a perfect Kabedon, and in his left, a massive bouquet of flowers that could've been mistaken for something fit for royalty.
Willow stood with her back to the wall, eyes wide and obviously awed by the display. Jacques flashed a grin, his usual arrogance softened just enough to make him look...well, somewhat endearing.
Willow blinked twice, clearly caught off guard by the suddenness of it all. She glanced at the bouquet, then back at Jacques.
Jacques smiled with a boyish grin, and his voice dropped low and smooth, the kind that was impossible to ignore. A bit contrasting, but one has to cast the widest net, after all.
"What say you and I go on a date?"