An answer to the recurring question of how strong Jacques is: Pretty fucking strong.
I've avoided giving an exact power estimate, but there are plenty of clues scattered throughout the chapters that gives an idea of how he compares to the average huntsman.
Not saying anymore, at least for now, so that I don't ruin the tension of the coming chapters.
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Crossing a man is dangerous.
Crossing a rich man? Even more so dangerous.
But the entirety of Atlas' smug, self-satisfied elites growling at your neck and ? Sorry to say, lad, but you're kind of fucked.
Those pompous bastards could topple cities just by wagging their forks the wrong way. If you find yourself at the wrong end of their collective disdain, you're not just screwed; you're plummeting off the edge of Solitas with nothing but an empty wallet and a 'Best of Luck' card signed in gold ink.
They didn't need weapons. Oh no, not these people. Weapons and brute force were for the uncultured barbarians down under in Mantle's various districts.
They had influence. Subtle, insidious, and far-reaching. The kind of sway that could tank your business, ruin your marriage, or mysteriously triple the price of your favorite wine at every establishment in Mantle. They didn't stab backs. Insstead, they signed contracts that made you stab your own. And, dear heavens, they'd do it all with a genteel smile and a toast to 'progress.'
The worst part? They didn't even consider it cruelty. No, to them, it was a simple equation. Money in, favors out. And if you fell short, well, that was just the natural order of things. They weren't sinking you; you were sinking yourself by not keeping up. Even a stray rumor, an arched brow at the wrong moment, could put you on the fast track to ruin; and the poor soul who called them out on it? Atlas' finest didn't deign to hear complaints.
...Unless you were Jacques Schnee.
You might be noticing a pattern here. No, not his constant self-glazing; no, not his constant need for monologuing either.
It's that he's fucking Special!
For Jacques, it wasn't about playing their game. It was about making them play his. Every sneer, every polite jab? They knew he could flip it into a lecture on their reliance on his dust mines or the steady profits their investments pulled because of his factories.
And that's all they had, investments. Ol mustache made sure to keep the upper hierarchy of his big-ass money printing machine free of any of these fuckers. So with their lien in his hand, and little control over it, they were a bit more docile.
There would be retaliation for the stunt he pulled. Oh, not immediately, of course. Not because of the audacity itself; Atlas society thrived on the occasional brazen maneuver. It gave them something to dissect over their overpriced luncheons and imported cigars. But retaliation? That was inevitable.
Atlas elites didn't operate like common thugs, throwing punches and smashing windows. They had people for that. Their tools were more refined, more insidious. A sudden audit might appear out of nowhere, with "concerned" officials combing through years of financial records. An inconvenient zoning regulation could spring up overnight, blocking key expansions. Invitations to exclusive galas would conveniently vanish, and the tabloids? Oh, they'd start running exposés about the ethics of your business complete with anonymous sources and strategically placed insinuations.
In other words, the same petty games they always played, just cranked up to eleven.
Jacques wasn't particularly worried about it. Good ol' Moustache, bless his dark and twisted soul, had done more than enough proofing to ensure their petty tricks wouldn't stick. The labyrinthine legal fortresses, the cutthroat clauses, as well as the sheer complexity of his empire all made him untouchable. Even if they somehow managed to land a blow, it wouldn't be without catastrophic consequences for everyone involved. Jacques had made it abundantly clear: if they ever dared to go after him directly—and by some microscopic chance succeeded—he'd bring all of Solitas crashing down with him. Starting with them.
And after his latest show, they wouldn't know if he'd do it through blackmail or crack their necks himself.
If Salem didn't get them all first, of course.
So, for now, they'd keep up appearances, smiling their polished smiles and toasting to civility. Because, at the end of the day, there were things they hated far more than an upstart Dust seller, and they weren't nearly as united as they liked the rest of the world to think.
"What a visionary endeavor, Mr. Schnee," a noblewoman purred, her tone so thick with syrup it could've given him diabetes. "Ever the trailblazer, aren't you?"
He chuckled, raising his glass in a practiced motion. "Ah, coming from you, dear Countess, that's practically a royal decree." The laugh was effortless and charming serving as a well-rehearsed weapon in his arsenal. He'd be using it a lot this evening.
Inside, he was already bracing himself for the next wave of passive-aggressive flattery and thinly veiled inquiries.
"Tell me," the Countess continued, her eyes glinting with barely concealed curiosity, "how do you manage to stay so ahead of the curve? The rest of us can barely keep up."
He smiled, a mocking grin hidden behind a thin veneer of politeness. "Oh, it's nothing, really. Just a little ingenuity and a lot of hard work. And, of course," he added with a soft touch over Willow's hand, "having the right company helps."
The Countess's smile tightened ever so slightly. Her eyes moved toward Willow. It was brief and subtle. But Jacques caught it. He always did.
Willow, for her part, had kept her cool and fixed her best mask admirably. It wouldn't be long before she was back to the A-game she had before. It also helped that Ohma had spent the entire two weeks prior preparing her. As expected of the Head Maid!
"You do me too much credit, Dear" Willow said smoothly with a smile that might have as well told the other woman: ' Try me, bitch.'
"Aah! What a wonderful display of companionship," the balding—how the fuck can you be rich and balding, for fuck's sake. You're even sadder than Klein!—CEO of Eisendrift Industries declared with a smile that was as fake as the hairpiece he should've invested in.
"Mr. Dwyer," Jacques drawled, his voice smooth as the finest Mantle whiskey, though inwardly he was cackling. "Coming from you, that's quite the compliment. After all, Eisendrift is practically synonymous with unity, isn't it?"
That's right, the latest DLC for his body had just dropped. Jacques now had the patch notes on these people: every fucked-up little insecurity and every embarrassing skeleton in their closet, so he could tear them a new asshole with precision and make it really fucking sting.
God, he loved being a dickhead.
Dwyer's grin faltered for the briefest second. He turned to Willow. "It truly warms the heart in this cold climate to see you back with us, my lady," he cooed, managing to sound both overly sentimental and patronizing at the same time.
"Kind words, my sir, but perhaps you should be careful," Willow said simply, and a hint of mockery the dumbass probably missed. "Too much of that warmth, and you might end up losing that chilly reputation you've so carefully built."
Dwyer chuckled awkwardly, as expected unsure whether he'd just been complimented or insulted. Jacques sipped his champagne. That's right, keep guessing, you preening buzzard.
In the end, the poor sod never caught on, so the man just laughed, a little too loudly. "Oh, you flatter me. But we could all learn a thing or two from the Schnee approach, couldn't we?"
Jacques chuckled politely, giving a small nod. "Collaboration is indeed the cornerstone of success."
Dwyer looked pleased with himself, and Jacques had to fight the urge to roll his eyes.
All in all, the Gala was going about as well as could be expected. Part of that was thanks to the Nachri lady, who was proving to be a good host even if she still hadn't come to seek him out. Mostly, though, it was due to the fact that half the attendees had only shown up after Jacques had pulled his figurative dick and slammed it down on the table, reminding everyone who ran this bitch. And, of course, the annoyances surrounding him were part of said late-arriving group.
Oh, they all knew he'd snapped. It was in the weary glances thrown his way, the way people subtly avoided him. They'd heard about it as soon they arrived, of course. But hearing about it and seeing it firsthand were two very different things. Especially when the ones telling the stories made sure to downplay it, painting themselves as the better party in the situation.
But, predictably, they still came for him. Acted like the cracks in the glass and the broken remnants on the floor, cleaned up rather quickly, so, kudos to Nachri he supposed, weren't even there. They circled around him and feigned ignorance.
Jacques Schnee lost his shit? Well, that sounded like an opportunity to them, didn't it? Better warm him up, get in good, maybe snag a slice of that pie, or at least use him to take down a rival like the mad dog he was surely becoming. After all, what was the point of being at the top if you didn't have a few pawns to throw at each other? Ho Ho! I'm so smart!
Eh. It wasn't the worst thing. It beat being alone. After all, Jack was a social butterfly. He needed people to talk to, to kiss his ass, and tell him how great he was.
On cue, Ass-kisser number trois, some guy who Jacques didn't even pretend to know, was quick with the same flattery." But to actually venture fully into weapon manufacturing, Mr. Schnee, you're really aiming for the top, aren't you? Bold move. I mean, most people would say it's risky, but you, you know exactly what you're doing."
Jacques gave him a tight smile, not even bothering to respond.
"More like he never knows when to stop." A deep voice cut through the conversation, parting the small crowd around Jacques.
A bigger fish came to snoop.
"Ah, if it isn't old Johnny. What a sore sight for the eyes," Jacques greeted him jovially, a smirk tugging at his lips.
He was met with a growl—because, of course, what was it with rich people and growling? Every time. The man's lips curled back into the same disgruntled expression Jacques had come to expect. "Heard someone tried to put you in the ground with your dust in. Looks like they failed." the old fossil clocked his tongue, "Shame."
Jonathan Roderick Colebrook, the powerhouse behind Colebrook Enterprises, looked like a man who could tear down a building with nothing more than a screwdriver and his bare hands. His massive frame made the space feel smaller as he took another drag from his cigar. No pleasantries here. No "Mr. Schnee" nonsense. This guy had a cold and straightforward disdain for Jacques, and he wasn't shy about letting everyone know it.
He didn't even deem to greet Willow as funnily enough, he hated Jacques not because he was an outsider, but because he was a 'Schnee', even an honorary one. A carry-on from a hate boner he had with Nicholas. It was respectable in its own way. At least Colebrook wasn't pretending to be anything else.
The peanut gallery took step back. Like Jacques said before, the Nobility of Atlas wasn't as united or in agreement as they liked people to think.
"I suppose it was only a matter of time," Grayson's voice was rough and gruff when he continued. "But... Aura-reception tech? Do you think you've got the chops for that? You're stepping on a lot of toes, boy."
Jacques grinned, his eyes glinting. "Anyone stupid enough to leave their toes in my path deserves to lose them."
"Is that so?"
Jacques took a step closer. "That is so."
"...Well, it doesn't really matter to me as long as that bastard Grumman gets driven out of business." The old man scoffed, shaking his head in disgust. "Now, if only you'd chosen a better partner. That would've been swell."
Jacques's grin never faltered as the old fart turned his glare past him, fixing on the man Jacques knew they hated most: General James Ironwood. The discount RoboCop himself, striding through the door like he owned the place.
What was that Arabic (or was it Asian?) saying again?
"Me against my brother, my brother and me against my cousin, and my cousin and me against the stranger?"or some shit like that. Yeah, that summed it up.
For all the disdain these people had for Jacques (and trust him, it was a lot!), they hated the Atlasian government ten times more. At least Jacques was part of something vaguely noble—well, he was now, anyway. Sure, the Schnee family wasn't much before Nicholas, but hell, they had some claim to the game from the start.
The government was not.
So, these people held no real loyalty to the city or its people. Hell, calling them the Elites of Atlas was practically an insult. That's why Jacques loved using it. They called themselves the Elites of Solitas. These so-called elites were more loyal to their little houses, and their old as shit alliances that went back far beyond even the old Mantle Kingdom.
That's why Atlas tried to keep the Schnee house in a mutually beneficial relationship. The dust, the influence, and the fact that the Schnee family was a useful buffer between the city and these arrogant schmucks made Atlas look the other way more than one time.
But then again, Jacques fucking hated the Atlas Council and Military, and the feeling was mutual.
It was such a lovely hate-boner-fueled trifecta!
One that Jacques had no intention of not taking care of. Named important characters vs nameless NPCs? well, it was never a fair match.
Luckily, they spared him the effort of telling them to fuck-off.
With nary a farewell from the old fart and hurried promises of "we'll talk again," the small circus around Jacques dispersed. Just as that happened, General Ironwood zoomed in right toward Jacques, though his step faltered for a fraction when he saw Willow by his side. A bit wide-eyed, he approached.
"Jacques, it's been some time." He gave a nod before turning to Willow, offering a smile. "It's good to see you again, and in good health, Lady Schnee."
Willow gave a small smile, one a bit more genuine than the ones she'd offered to the earlier clowns. "It's good to see you again too, General. And thank you, for looking after Winter."
The general nodded simply. "It's I who should be thankful to have a subordinate as capable as Specialist Schnee."
Ironwood turned back to Jacques, raising an eyebrow at the smug smile on his face. "You seem happy."
Jacques furrowed his brows, looking almost offended. "Can't a man be happy to see his best friend?"
Ironwood let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "Not sure I'd heard you call it that, but I'll take your word for it."
Willow gave Jacques a sideways glance but didn't say anything, just letting the conversation roll on.
"I'm simply surprised that the ever-busy and serious General Ironwood would be the type to attend galas like these," Jacques said with a shrug almost to say the thought had just crossed his mind.
"Atlas can manage for a couple of hours, and Himmel Koenig is too prized an event for me to ever miss," Ironwood replied simply. His smile shifted, becoming a little more restrained. "I also came because I heard my 'best friend' was attending, surprisingly enough. More surprisingly, said best friend was apparently threatening the fine citizens of Atlas."
Jacques put a hand on his chest, his eyes wide in mock disbelief. He turned to Willow with a look that clearly said, You hear this? before glancing back at Ironwood with a smirk.
"Threatening?" Jacques chuckled like the very idea was absurd. "James, you wound me. I simply had to remind a few of our fine citizens here of their place. Nothing too drastic." He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial tone. "You know how it is. Some people just need a little... guidance. And need I remind you that matters between houses are settled between houses?" He finished, letting a small pulse of his Aura slip outward.
They might not be actual thugs, but the nobles weren't much different from gangs. They didn't believe in snitching to Big Brother and really didn't like it when outsiders started snooping around in their business
The subtle shift in atmosphere didn't go unnoticed by Ironwood. His eyes flickered momentarily before narrowing. He leaned in closer, his tone firm. "I'm serious, Jacques. Don't expect me to look the other way if you're going to pull stunts like that, especially in front of people. Now's really not the time."
Willow, at least trying to be the voice of reason, stepped in. "Apologies, General. It was partly my fault..." She shot Jacques a brief, but pointed look, though her voice softened. "Sometimes, Jacques makes his point in the most... dramatic of ways."
Jacques grinned, throwing a wink at Willow. "I try to make an impression."
Ironwood sighed, clearly not impressed, but he was used to dealing with rich people's antics. "I hope that impression doesn't come back to bite you. And for the record, Jacques, I might turn a blind eye once or twice to what goes on behind closed doors. but I will not stand idle on stuff like this. Do not bring it into the open, and don't drag the rest of the kingdom into it. Understand?"
Jacques' grin didn't falter. "Of course, General. I wouldn't dream of causing a stir... too loudly."
Ironwood shot him one last mean look, and, with a curt nod, straightened up. "Just remember, Jacques. No spilling blood."
"I know, I know. I'll try to keep my thirst for the blood of the innocent in check," Jacques said with a roll of his eyes. He paused for a moment, scanning the room before turning back to Ironwood. "Until we're finished with our business, that is. I hear things have been lively on your end, James."
Ironwood's jaw tightened at Jacques' words. "So it has. The past few weeks have been eye-opening. Atlas is full of... holes, whispers in the halls. Luckily, thanks to you-" Jacques preened like a peacock, "we managed to avoid the worst, but it was close. Replacing everything might take years, but for now, we've managed to avoid what could have been a catastrophe."
He gave a hollow snort. "I suppose Specialist Schnee is owed much of the praise for her latest efforts. She is certainly enthusiastic."
Jacques answered with the same shit-eating grin. "It's what we do. I told you before, right? Our family is nothing but a bunch of happy, law-abiding citizens."
"And I told you before," Ironwood said with a measured smile, "Atlas remains grateful for the contributions your family has made. Our recent collaboration has been... invaluable."
"And expensive," Jacques cut in, adopting a dejected look and letting out a dramatic sniffle. "I don't think I'll ever financially recover from this. And it's brought me no shortage of enemies, too." He sighed deeply. "And all I got was a lousy bribe, imagine."
Ironwood gave Jacques a flat look, clearly unamused by the theatrics. "I'm sure you'll manage, Jacques. You always do." His tone was dry, but there was a trace of sincerity buried beneath it.
Jacques clasped his hands together, his expression shifting to one of mock determination. "Oh, of course, James! That's the Schnee way: Always rising above adversity, no matter how unfairly we're treated."
Ironwood didn't rise to the bait. "So, I take it things are going well on your end?"
Jacques waved a hand and shrugged. "About as good as they can be, I suppose. Updating the systems, improving our security protocols, weaponizing our defenses... all that tedious, expensive nonsense you military types seem to love to nerd about so much."
Ironwood's expression softened. "Necessary nonsense, Jacques. And it's a good thing you've been able to handle it. Atlas can't afford to lose you right now, not with everything going on."
Jacques' eyes lit up mischievously. "Oh, you do care," he said, grinning. "Don't worry, best friend, I'm taking it seriously. Once it's all done, nothing short of a fully realized Maiden could hope to get in without my permission."
Ironwood froze, his body visibly tensing. "Is... is that true?" His voice cracked slightly at the end.
Jacques waved it off casually. "Damn straight. You know, I was even thinking of bringing in that famous scientist for a little something extra. What's his name again...?" He snapped his fingers a few times, as though trying to jog his memory. "The, uh... black crippled fat guy."
Willow shot him a disappointed look before she thankfully provided an answer. "Doctor Pietro Polendina?"
"That's the one!" Jacques exclaimed, relieved. "It's been on the tip of my tongue all month, right next to the other name—what was it? Oh yeah, Fria. Anyway," he turned to Ironwood who seemed to be spazzing. "Polendina's the best, isn't he? He's the one working on that Pinocchio expy; the robot girl—"
Jacques didn't get to finish. Ironwood lunged forward, grabbing him by the shoulders and yanking him close. "What did you just say?" he hissed.
He scowled, resisting the urge to smack the shit out of Ironwood for creasing his coat. "The robot girl. The android. Penny," he replied flatly.
Boy, if you don't get your dirty ass hands off my shit...
Ironwood's teeth clenched audibly. His grip tightened. "Jacques..." he began carefully, his voice trembling with barely contained panic, "the Maidens, Project Pinocchio, and Doctor Polendina's involvement are top-classified information. How the hell do you know about them?"
Jacques blinked, genuinely perplexed. "Wait, really? Huh."
Did he just commit treason?
He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Must've mixed it up. My bad, James. Me and my scatterbrain. You know how it is. Hard to keep track of what's secret and what's not when you've got so much rattling around upstairs."
Ironwood's glare intensified, his jaw clenching so hard Jacques half-expected to hear it crack. "If you've heard anything—anything—about military operations or classified projects, you will keep it to yourself. That's not a suggestion or a request, Jacques; it's a directive!"
Jacques raised his hands defensively, an innocent smile plastered on his face. "Of course, of course! Loose lips sink ships, and all that. What the fuck is Penny, anyway? Never heard of her!"
For a moment, Ironwood looked as though he might throttle him. Instead, he released Jacques with a shove, straightened his coat, and turned away with a heavy sigh. "Good," he muttered, his voice clipped.
Without another word, Ironwood fucked off.
Jacques watched him leave, to the other side where Whitley was talking to some kids his age next to Winter who was glaring the shit out of the poor Marigolds.
James made it halfway to them before he stopped. He turned back, glared at Jacques, then continued walking.
Jacques smoothed out his jacket with exaggerated care. "What the fuck is his problem?" he muttered to Willow. "Honestly, you'd think I'd threatened to overthrow Atlas or something."
Willow sighed, rubbing her temple. "You really do love pushing buttons, don't you?"
"Only the ones that need pushing," Jacques replied with a wink, already turning his attention back to his clothes. "Besides, if I don't, who will?"
"On that, we are in agreement, Mr. Schnee," a soft voice replied from the side.
Jacques stopped mid-adjustment, his fingers still fussing with his lapel, and turned toward the unexpected voice. The first thing he noticed was a nice pair of tits.
The woman attached to them was short, her tan skin glowing under the room's lights, dressed in something expensive enough to make an impression but subtle enough to keep her respectable. Her outfit screamed wealth with tailored, clean lines, probably hand-stitched by someone who didn't ask questions. Her dark hair was styled well, not overly long, but enough to frame her face like she knew exactly what she was doing.
This was a woman who wanted to be able to steal the lights and fade into the background at the same time, his Jacques senses helpfully supplied.
Green eyes met his cold blue, and a smile graced her face. "One can learn so much by pushing boundaries,"
"And who might you be?" Jacques asked, knowing fully well who that might be. He remembered every pair of tits that impressed him. especially the ones that insulted him.
Not even bothered by being dismissed as not worth remembering, the woman curtseyed with a polished grace that seemed almost mocking in its subtlety.
This was a game, and she was clearly used to playing it. His Jacques senses were dead silent. He couldn't actually tell if she was lying or not."Frieda Nachri, the Director-General of the Atlassian Broadcasting Corporation at your service, Mr. Schnee. I am glad you have decided to answer my invitation."
"Ah, the insolent woman who thought she could threaten me so easily," Jacques drawled, his grin spreading like a predator spotting an easy kill. Beside him, Willow visibly tensed.
The woman, Frieda Nachri, didn't even flinch. Instead, her smile remained a delicate curve that didn't quite reach her sharp green eyes. "Threaten you, Mr. Schnee?" she said smoothly. "I wouldn't dare. I merely wished to get to know you better."
Jacques let out a short, sharp laugh. "Get to know me better? Then, I'll let you in a small secret about me. I am not a man who takes kindly to disrespect."
"I believe you've already made that clear, Mr. Schnee. A truly wondrous display of might and presence. I had already assumed my life was forfeit," Frieda replied truthfully.
Jacques' eyes narrowed. This was the thing that bothered him. The little woman had clearly witnessed his display, yet unlike the rest of the ball attendees, not even the faintest trace of fear flickered in her eyes.
"I'm glad you find my demonstrations entertaining," he said, his voice suddenly cold, the warmth of his earlier grin vanishing. "Most people have the decency to be a little concerned when I remind them of who I am."
"Only the fools who consider themselves your equal," she replied, shaking her head lightly. "I would never make the mistake of underestimating you. I am your biggest fan, after all."
"A fan?" Jacques repeated, a snort escaping him. "And what, exactly, have I done to deserve your fanfare?"
Frieda smiled with a touch of nostalgia in her voice. "What haven't you done, sir? At the risk of sounding like a stalker, I've always admired you since you were just a small regional manager. I actually wrote my first report for my school paper about you back in middle school."
Jacques' expression flickered with slight surprise before he masked it with a smirk. "Middle school, huh? That's dedication. I'd call it obsession, but I'm not one to judge."
Frieda pressed a hand to her cheek, pretending to be wistful. "Oh, how I cried when I heard you were getting married. Such a tragic day, really," she said dramatically. Then, with a quick glance over at Willow, she added, "But I suppose, losing to a woman like your lovely lady wife... well, that's an honor in itself, isn't it?"
Jacques' smirk dropped. "How sweet of you," he said, his tone dripping with mock sincerity. "To mourn the loss of such a... happily coveted man. Darling, if you wanted a date, you could have just asked and be rejected like all others."
Frieda's smile meanwhile didn't falter. She seemed to enjoy this little game, every word coming out with just the right amount of calculated charm. "Well, I've always appreciated the finer things in life, Mr. Schnee. And you—" she gestured in his direction, "—are a fine thing, indeed."
Willow stood off to the side, clearly not amused by the interaction. Her hand instinctively tightened around Jacques' arm. "Get to the point."
Frieda's eyes flicked to Willow for a moment. "Oh, I'm never one to waste anyone's time," she said sweetly. "I'm just getting to know the man behind the reputation... perhaps you'd be interested in hearing more of my thoughts later, Lady Schnee."
"Answer the question," Jacques said and his Aura flared as his annoyance began to bubble over. He had little patience for cryptic bullshit.
Frieda's smile remained, but Jacques could feel the subtle shift in her stance. Oh, so she did feel fear. "Very well," she replied, a flicker of recognition in her eyes as she acknowledged the growing danger. "I am simply saying that I am not your enemy. The price is simple: your influence. There are certain... situations I believe you'd rather handle yourself, rather than let them spiral out of control."
Jacques raised an eyebrow. "So, you want to trade information about potential problems for some... vague favor? That's it?" He didn't know why, but something about her approach made her just a bit less interesting now.
Frieda's smile took on a more sardonic edge. "It's not vague, Mr. Schnee. It's power. I am merely placing my bets on the right horse, one I believe will not win, but will keep things... interesting."
She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping just low enough to sound like a private confession. "I know exactly what you want, Mr. Schnee. I just offer a way to make sure it stays that way."
Jacques' eyes narrowed, but before he could respond, something shifted in the air. A subtle hum, a faint vibration through the floor, the kind of sensation that made every instinct in his body scream danger.
From the moment he stepped into this place, he'd never once bothered to tune his Aura again. Even when he eased Mahoraga's ritual he kept it the same. So, his Aura, still mimicking Nue's ability, in addition to heightening his senses to superhuman levels, had made him far more alert to a certain type of phenomenon, namely electric currents, lights, and sparks.
And Jacques had long since grown too familiar with the sparks that preceded an explosion to mistake it.
"Take cover!"
His warning sent ripples through the group. in those short fractions of a second huntsmen and guards reacted with the reflexes of people trained to deal with danger.
But, it wasn't enough.
They were still too slow, and there was little they could do.
His fingers curled.
His shadow expanded.
There was a deafening crack, followed by a rush of air as everything went up in flames in an instant.
From the outside, the explosion was chaos. The cameras shook, picking up flashes of light and sudden movements as helicopters swerved to stay in position. The first thing visible was a bright flash, then a massive burst of flames shooting into the sky, turning everything around it into a blur of orange and yellow.
The shockwave hit almost immediately, sending debris flying in every direction. The helicopters above struggled to stay steady as the blast roared, drowning out everything else. Smoke quickly began to rise, swallowing the area in thick black clouds. The camera zoomed out, showing the destruction and the trail of fire and wreckage where the blast had hit.
A booming laughter echoed through the silence that followed the blast. Figures began to emerge from the holes in the ground, like shadows crawling from the earth. They wore the same distinct white vests and white masks and were all moving as one.
The White Fang.
"Did you see that? Pathetic humans," Varek sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. The hulking, gorilla-like Faunus grinned as he stomped closer to the wreckage. His steps were heavy, crushing the dirt beneath him. "So much for all their big talk. All it took was one damn blast, and look at them; burned to nothing. These rich fucks thought they were untouchable. How's that for karma?!"
He laughed, louder this time, ignoring the cowardly humans who were scrambling to run. "Let them scurry off. They'll pay for their cowardice soon enough."
HE let out a satisfied chuff of air.
Varek's eyes gleamed in the reflection of the lights of the flames. "For now, though, I'll enjoy this. All these high-and-mighty assholes, torn to shit, burning in their precious Atlas. Now that's what I call justice." He spat on the ground.
It was almost a shame how quickly it ended. If only those rich human fucks could've suffered a little longer.
At least, he thought, he would've liked nothing more than to rip the Schnee bastard to pieces with his own hands. What a damn fucking shame.
The silver lining, though, was that he'd no longer have to deal with that goddamn Scorpion and his damn Grimm.
Varek's fist clenched, and he bellowed into the sky. "Hear me, humans!" he roared. "This is only the beginning! The age of Faunus is coming! You will all kneel! All of you will bow to t—"
His declaration was interrupted rudely by a voice from the burning tower of flames and smoke.
"Damn, and I thought I made an explosive entrance."
Varek froze mid-roar, and his eyes snapped back to the crackling fire and thick smoke.
Before he could react, a sudden gust of air whipped up from inside the flames. It twisted and pulled at the smoke in a violent circular motion. The flames sputtered and swirled as the air forced them together until the smoke began clearing.
At first, Varek saw... a dome?
No...a white, multi-layered shape that seemed to glow even when covered in soot and burn marks in the chaos. But then that thought stopped. The dome shifted and coiled in on itself, and Varek's eyes widened as he realized what he was actually seeing.
Scales!
It wasn't dust or light; they were the scales of a massive snake, one that had to be hundreds of feet tall, winding around itself to form a crude imitation of a protective shell. Between the gleaming, interlocking scales, e could see bits of blackened small bones and fur that peeked.
And standing at the top of it all, cool, composed, and as alive as ever, was Jacques Schnee.
"What the fuck?" Varek muttered in disbelief.
Jacques waved his hand dismissively in front of his face. "Ah, damn smoke," he coughed. His hand moved to brush the soot and smoke from his jacket. "I knew it was a good idea not to wear white to this shit."
Jacques lifted his head to take in the destruction around him, a low whistle escaping him as his gaze scanned the aftermath. It didn't take long for his eyes to settle on the new arrivals. A grin spread across his face. "Well, look what we got here!"
His eyes locked onto the leader at the front, frothing at the mouth in anger before he turned to shout at his dumbass friends. "He's still alive! Ready your weapons!"
"Damn, not even a G'day?"Jacques raised his hands and yelled at the Faunus standing some dozen meters in front of him. "Well, sorry to bust your bubble, mate—"
The Great Serpent beneath Jacques' feet trembled. its massive coils shifted as the terrorists leveled their weapons in his direction.
"But this ain't a masked party!"
"Fire!"
In the blink of an eye, the Great Serpent exploded into shadows, and from within, the tens of thousands of tiny, destructive bunnies burst free like a flood.
"So, fuck off!"