Chapter 6

Summer looked at the grip of Kojiro's katana. The purple cloth wrapping around the hilt was still fixed to the handle, and the bent, broken blade that was somehow still connected to the sword was seen to be affixed to the wooden shell via a couple of strategically embedded screws.

Summer unwrapped the purple cloth, and the rag fell away to reveal an extremely worn sword grip. It was so worn that there were hand imprints rubbed into the wood, with slight dents as to where Kojiro obviously gripped the sword.

She paused for a while, just holding the smooth worn wood. How many times had this sword been swung?

With a couple of whirrs from the drill, the sword's screws were taken out and the cheaply assembled blade tumbled out. Higher quality swords had their handles and blades welded together, because aura worked better on a singular object than many at once. The new mechashift weapons were more taxing on aura control to reinforce.

And due to Kojiro's obvious lack of aura, his sword looked like any normal sword off the ordinary gangster (which made sense, given the fact that Kojiro was a gangster), except with slightly higher quality steel and a blade almost as tall as Summer was.

…Now that she thought about it, the blade wasn't exactly tall because Summer was so-

She shook her head, filtering her teammate's teasing over her height.

With practiced ease born of many attempts at forging a sword, Summer set aside the handle pieces, measured out the dimensions of the sword blade, and began to work.

…

Kojiro and Neo wandered around Beacon, looking every inch the excited family members they were.

Neo was immediately mesmerized by the fridge that Beacon held. What mysteries awaited within that myserious metal box? Did huntsmen have their secret ice cream flavors?

Kojiro, dragging Neo by the collar, was currently heading towards the sparring grounds. Many people chuckled at their antics and never once suspected that they weren't actually supposed to be here.

In situations like these, the more bold and uncaring you are about your surroundings, the less people were to suspect you.

When he got there, however, Kojiro was… disappointed.

Expecting people on the level of Qrow Branwen's skill and grace to attend this school, what he instead saw were troops of gorillas attacking each other with maces and war hammers.

'They are training to fight monsters, after all.' Kojiro thought.

Still, at least they could try and fight with more tact than Spartacus, who actually had the physique and regenerative capabilities to maintain a reckless fighting style. However, even Spartacus has more skill than some of these buffoons.

The hammer blow trading finally slowed to a stop, and the two sweaty contestants shook hands, before wearily stumbling off of the platform.

Neo still thrashed in his grip, but his calloused hand would not falter, and although Neo was determined to get to the fridge, being the child she was, she still did not want to destroy her collar.

Then, she grinned, and with a part of her semblance that Neo rarely used, created some glass between her collar and Kojiro's hand. Then, Neo made for the fridge as Kojiro shook his head in exasperation.

Then, he realized that Neo was loose in a school.

Oh no.

He sprinted out of the room just as a white haired man fast walked into the room.

…

"Where did you see Summer Rose's cousins?" Ozpin asked the poor teacher on the other side of the phone, who stammered out an answer.

They were in the dining hall. Ozpin abruptly shut his scroll, slammed down his cup of quivering coffee, and almost broke the glass button that decorated the elevator.

He tried calming down in the confined space, but only sank more and more into his thoughts.

Getting one silver eyed warrior as a bonus was already amazing. Maria Calavera was currently on the frontier, distracting Salem's forces from invading the reconstructing kingdoms. He sighed, knowing that Salem was undefeatable. She was unkillable, after all, and how could he possibly end the immortal and eternal threat that was Salem?

He could only stave off the destruction of the kingdoms. Keep the Grimm at bay and her minions less plentiful by making society better and more just, thus creating less potential for normal people to turn into sociopaths and have everybody crave something to live for in human society, thus making their wish to destroy it less prominent.

It was a shoddy plan. It was not even a solution. But somehow, it was working. After he had stepped down as King and given everybody in Vale their own options, crime rates have gone down. The slums were a problem, but he had planned to solve it with Mt. Glenn.

Ozpin would mourn the loss of more Silver Eyed warriors, but if one person could buy everybody ten more years to live, Ozpin would sacrifice them without a second thought.

He hated himself to death. He wished nothing more than to not exist, and to fade out of the world like the brother gods intended him to do when he died of his illness before he was placed on this world as one of their chess pieces.

But humanity was depending on him. And so, with a heavy heart, he slowly sped up into a brisk walk, going to the location where "Summer Rose's cousins" were.

Besides, civilization was strong. The economy was improving, and communications across Remnant were, for the first time in its history, developing.

Everything looked to be better on the surface, with the old, decrepit government models toppling to reemerge into a form of democracy.

(He would train the two, however, just in case. If anything, centuries of keeping Salem at bay taught him to always be cautious.)

…

Summer looked at the rapidly cooling bar of metal. Aura made forging everything much faster, making the wielder of said force literally immune to heat. Turns out, it means that as long you had aura, casually touching a piece of hot metal wasn't a big problem.

It could defend the wielder against exploding bullets imbued with elemental powers, and of course it could handle a bit of heat.

She smiled a little, the wonder of such a mystical force still exciting to her. Taking the blade, she slowly put the sword into a cool bucket of water. The longer sword was difficult to patch up, but after just an hour of work, with the aid of aura and with the ability to bypass all of the safety precautions via aura (If one had a power that could nullify any damage and heal any wound, sometimes safety falls to the wayside.) the sword was already in the cooling stages.

Summer took off the forging gloves she wore out of habit, before mentally congratulating herself on a job well done.

Now, it was time to find Kojiro, but she looked out of the hallway, and they were nowhere to be found. An image of Neo's exuberance in the face of ice cream appeared in her mind, and she probably knew where the two were.

Near the fridge.

…

Neo stared up at the fridge. The fridge's handles did nothing. Kojiro looked into the room, and Neo quickly disguised herself with her semblance, blending herself in with the environment.

Kojiro walked past this room, and Neo dissolved the discuise, reaching up for the handles only to fall slightly short.

She reached out for a stool, and then dragged it to the foot of the Refrigerator.

The chair made a scraping sound, and Neo groaned silently. Kojiro walked back, looked at Neo's self berating face, and then sighed.

Another hand was gripped on her collar, and she was dragged out of the room.

"Remember, we don't own the fridge. We can't take it."

Neo mimed an umbrella, and then glared at Kojiro.

"Okay, so maybe we made that umbrella change owners." Kojiro said, "But that was out of nessesity."

Neo glared at him again.

"It wasn't raining that day?" Kojiro said, scratching his head.

Neo turned on her heels and growled, though her irate stomps didn't even make much sound.

"Stupid idiot. He probably remembers nothing but sword strikes in that head." she thought.

Kojiro took one look at the irate look on Neo's face, and then slowly began walking away. That face did not bode well for his wellbeing, and he had seen what had happened to EMIYA in Chaldea after some ... specific servants were summoned. Neo turned back, grabbed the ice cream anyways, and followed Kojiro to wherever he was going.

Meanwhile, Summer Rose came, saw the fridge ajar, and then closed it without a second thought. Then, she went to the cafeteria. Maybe they were somewhere over there, fueling Neo's ice cream addiction.

…Ozpin was still completely lost, wandering Beacon's halls and garnering weird looks as he looked for what seemed to be two children that weren't even students here.

…

"What the fuck is going on?" Old man Xiong shouted, holding a pistol in his hands. Besides him, another man sweated nervously under cracked shades, fumbling with the ammunition and trying to reload.

Bullets tore into the bar, demolishing the bar counter. Outside, a car with sheets of metal hammered into it and a couple of people wielding machine guns unloaded heavy caliber bullets into the brick. Injured and dead gangsters caught off guard littered the blood-soaked ground.

Between two wine barrels, the smaller Xiong, Junior, whimpered. However, he was tall enough that the barrel didn't really hide much of him.

"We're under attack."

Old man Xiong smacked the head of the grunt, knocking off the circular shades and spraying glass shards over the basement floor. Getting up, the grunt almost hit his head on the sideways meeting table. Normally, the room was pristine, but now?

Spilled wine was everywhere. Splinters scattered across the ground, floating on the thin layer of aged alcohol, giving the room a fruity smell. Beneath the purple liquid, a deeper red seeped into the pool, the formerly sweet scent now giving way to a slightly coppery taste.

"I know that we're under fucking attack. What's the motive behind this? It's against the fucking rules to destroy other gang's bases like this. Didn't we establish five years ago that we're supposed to settle territorial disputes by duels?"

"If you don't know, boss, then how do I know?"

The leader sighed and rubbed his face with whichever hand felt cleaner.

"Where the world is Kojiro?" the leader shouted across the bar. On the second floor, somebody shouted back after a volley of gunfire.

"He went to go look for a Nevermore or something."

"Signal all patrolling units to return and circle the attackers! We're taking the fuckers down no matter what!"

"Aye, boss!" The grunt that he just knocked over said, stumbling over to the stairs and grabbed the communications device that miraculously hasn't been knocked over.

"All units, return to base! I repeat, return to base! We have attackers assaulting home base!"

Various radio jargon splurged out of the slightly soaked speakers, but one jumbled word vaguely sounded like "Roger."

"What do we do now, boss?"

"Now, we wait."

The gunfire continued. Explosives were thrown, and wine was lit on fire. The bar was burning down, and only the brick walls were the only stable thing about the place. Old man Xiong coughed on smoke, before channeling what aura he had left to try and mitigate damage. Junior was already fainting in the corner, his normally well kept suit slowly being soiled by the spilt wine currently aflame.

Old man Xiong grunted, grabbed his son, and hoisted him over his shoulders, before making a run upwards onto the second floor.

Bullets pinged off of his aura, and he had to hold out an arm and deflect a bullet aimed at his son's back, wincing as the bullet made his bones rattle even after his aura mitigated the blow. He staggered up the burning stairs and collapsed on the uncomfortably hot floorboards.

Said floorboards were slightly smoking, but the cold tea in Kojiro's tea pot and the hot water in his insulated jug were their only defense against the creeping flames.

A fist was slammed into the floorboards, before the person who did it rapidly regretted their decision. The whole base trembled, and they were reminded of how unstable a flooring the slightly smoldering wood was.

"Damn that man and his strange tendencies!" Old man Xiong cursed.

Another truck pulled up, and one gangster peeked out of the window to see the grenades and machine guns be redirected at the figure standing on the cargo trailer. A shield was held in front of him, and that defensive equipment along with the hastily fastened armor (some straps were still flapping in the air) protected them from the onslaught, and they could see a grayish glow shimmering every time an explosion rocked his frame.

"That's Mason, from the docks!"

"We're going to owe them a lot for this." Old man Xiong said, looking at the state of the bar as the patrols they sent out returned as if on cue, attacking the back of the gang that was attacking them.

Said enforcer suddenly glowed once more, and many people were yanked out of their encampments in the armored truck and pulled towards Mason. Bullets also inexplicably curved towards him.

At long last, the gunfire petered out, and what was left of the people at the bar staggered out of the smoking wreck.

Only the rooftop remained unmarred by the combat, save for a couple of bodies bleeding out on the concrete above. The bar was still on fire, and the old fashioned bar and tables were shot into splinters, scattered across the stained red floor and the blackened floorboards.

Thankfully, Xiong wasn't that injured. He was a bit singed and his suit was in tatters, but he and his son were alive.

Despite is gruff exterior, he had to blink many times as he looked back into the bar to see several pairs of shattered shades on the ground behind him. Men caught in the initial attack hadn't put up their auras in time, and were, as a result…

It was a scene out of Xiong's worst nightmares.

"I don't think Kojiro would've been much use against these fuckers anyways." Mason said, trying to lighten up the mood. "Too many bullets for him to deflect. He's more of an anti huntsman kind of fighter."

Xiong thought for a while, before nodding his ascent. "I… suppose so." He gripped the metal railing of the truck that the enforcer and the leader now sat on. Still, the clan's guard wasn't completely down, even with the rescue, and many men casually leaned against the now captured armored trucks and not so subtly glared at Mason.

"But he went off hunting fucking nevermores!" He shouted. The metal rebar made an odd crunching noise as his hands were wreathed in red, and an involuntary burst of strength caused the shards to dig into his palms.

The pain only made him angrier.

"If anything, I think it's best that Kojiro wasn't here." Mason said.

"What was that? You happy about our base getting destroyed?" His already grimy shades were dropped and crushed beneath his boots. Xiong roared in Mason's face, and his gang pointed their weapons at Mason, who still looked totally calm in the face of that many weapons.

"He would have been the first to die. He doesn't have his aura, and we all know how much of a battle maniac he is. He wasn't even hampered by my semblance. I pulled him straight into the spikes on my bat and he just kept going, swinging that sword of his even if the metal spikes poked holes into his fucking chest."

Mason had a faraway look on his face now, remembering how Kojiro and Mason had fought once in the years past. Kojiro had still been a growing kid, and Mason was a lot less scarred.

The look in Kojiro's eyes had never changed. The fearless tranquility in regards to everything that happened to him had never wavered even as he was almost shot by Verdant or smashed in the head with his bat.

It probably wouldn't even change in the face of several men pointing machine guns at him.

Xiong didn't make a sound., but his grip on the railing relaxed, and the injures on his hands knit themselves back together. He slowly got off the truck and waved to his men.

Junior was carried out of the bar by a couple of fresh grunts, and laid down in one of the cars that were carting the surviving supplies away to a backup warehouse.

The old leader pointed at one of his men.

"You. Stay here."

"W-why?" The gangster stuttered, pointing at himself. Clearly, he was shaken by the attack. As a gangster, he had probably never really been on the backfoot.

"Tell Kojiro to come to the warehouse when he gets back. Once he gets there, we're going after this… what did these bastards call themselves again?"

"The Monarchs, sir." One of the drivers yelled out of a passing car window.

"Yes. Those guys."

…

Red flags signaling complete victory were slowly being stabbed into the map of the city, with the occasional orange and yellow flags signaling enemy retreat breaking the monotony in a forest of crimson banners. The grin on the man's face grew and grew as report after report came in.

All of the gangs were out of the slums. They had either been eradicated with preplaced explosives done with members who turned traitor or particularly vengeful locals, or been shot to pieces by the militia they've been training.

Green eyes glinted in the cramped base of operations, and many other fancily dressed members lounged on the chairs as attendants and people running messages stood near the sides.

"The first step is complete. The gangs that aren't in our control are out of the city."

"Why did you allow that… scum to stay in the city?"

"They are to loot and pillage their already dwindling resources now that those other protection brackets are gone, and with Winter on the horizon, the people will become desperate." Somebody in glasses said, reading off of a meeting transcript.

"How do you not know this?" a woman in a somber black dress at the table whispered, glaring at the person who asked the question.

"I work on vehicle dispatchments!"

"You're at the table of command now. It's your job to listen."

A stiff nod was given as a reply, and

"Your sector has done your job admirably." A voice from a scroll on a stand said raspily. "Most gangs in the inner city have been flushed out. The next step is at the docks. I trust you understand, Mister Torchwick."

The green eyed individual smiled. "I understand."

"All of you…" The scroll said. "Continue to serve our cause with this excellence, and soon, our goal may very well be in reach. The meeting is at an end."

The sweating messengers squeezed against each other in the corner breathed out a sigh of relief, finally allowed to go off their duties. They stumbled out of the door before members at the table shook hands and broke off into groups to discuss their respective roles in the next operation.

The named Torchwick and the man in glasses stayed behind.

"Have you found him yet?"

"I'm afraid not, sir. He wasn't among the ranks of the gangs that we have felled, and no returning squads reported anybody with the characteristics you mentioned."

He nodded to the man in glasses, who organized the meeting transcripts before walking out of the door.

Roman Torchwick, despite closely resembling him in outward appearance, was anything but similar to him. With a stupid dream of becoming a gentleman thief instead of falling into the family business of murder and mercenary work, he had ran away from home at a young age.

Rufous Torchwick wanted to see his nephew again, crush him under his foot, and then ask him how his efforts had turned out.

Before taking a gun into his head and ending his piece of shit brother's last creation.