Mythical (RWBY Pyrrha Quest)

Πρωταθλητής 3

Earth and trees blend together in a dizzying swirl of green underneath you as you leap across the sky. You snap run across one branch, leap off into the sky, hook Miló, the mechashifting weapon currently in the form of a red tipped spear, into another branch and kick off to swing yourself across the air. Your feet carve divots in the branches of ancient trees as you jump from branch to branch, never letting yourself touch base earth.

You are a huntress of Selene, but in this moment you are a daughter of Jove above all else. The sky is yours.

You surpass the boy in twenty minutes. From above you spot him, white armored figure clamoring over rocks and through bushes, white banner waving proudly in the wind. You watch him look up and stare as you pass above him. Leaves shorn from your passage drift down around him. You half consider stopping to watch him gape, but it's enough to know that you're better than him.

Besides, if you stopped to remind everyone how inferior they were compared to you, you'd never have any free time at all.

Instead you push forward and past him. You are beyond him, in both distance and skill. You forge ahead alone, deep into the depths of the Emerald Forest.

Grimm come, of course. This is the Emerald Forest after all. Those who manage to follow your mad dash across the treetops and canopies of the Emerald Forest are mostly corvids, birdlike Grimm lacking full masks and power, not yet grown enough to be called Nevermore but still clearly defined as Grimm by the taint of shadow over flesh and jaundiced yellow eyes. At first, it is in ones and twos that slink behind you, following from a fair distance, yellow eyes glowing in the last dying dregs of the day's sunlight.

The ones and twos grow quickly. As the corvids pass each others nesting grounds they call out to each in shrill sharp trills, and the other murders join in their shadowing. They nip at your heels and swirl into a great mass of corvid Grimm, a black blot upon the sky, endless without number. But as numerous as they are they still hold back, not daring to attack a huntress in full armor girded and armed for battle.

Still, even if they are a cowardly bunch, they do have numbers. And all it will take is one spark to push the critical mass over the edge. Any sensible hunter or huntress with a healthy sense of self preservation would cull their numbers before they might gather like this and strike down the one or two lurking at the edges to scare off the crowd. The horde would die stillborn in its gestation before it could truly be conceived. Fortunately for the corvids, you are not a sensible hunter with a healthy sense of self preservation.

And you love a good fight.

The match that lights this fire is a dark shadow that blots out the sun. The Nevermore is a black giant of break and feathers that drips shadows and tainted blood. It flies above your head and looks at you with its full bonelike mask and glowing red eyes and croaks, "Send her to the Plutonian Shore."

The corvids come.

In a snap Miló and Akoúo̱, your faithful rifle-spear and shield, are in front of you in your hands, the former slotting into a little notch in the side of the latter just like it was meant to be. Steadied by the loving embrace of its partner, Miló the rifle speaks out a rapid pitter patter of words, dustfire bullets carving out a bloody swathe from the corvids before they approach. Birds squawk and feathers fly as the corvids' cowardly nature briefly overwhelms their moment of courage, yet black feathers from the Nevermore drive them forward once more as a deadly living arrow of beaks and bodies.

A single sharp and glinting beak rams into Akoúo̱, sliding off to the side of the angled shield. Miló the xiphos snaps out a repartee, and red mixes with red as the corvid's guts splay out of its carved open body. But vengeance is not far behind, flying foes a black tide, their bodies a massive battering ram that slams into you with raw, naked force. You grunt and brace your feet against the onrushing tide, pushing through with Akoúo̱, meeting force for force.

The combined power of over fifty Grimm is greater than what you can muster, and they blow you away. You're sent flying. The massive horde of Grimm breaks apart once you're airborne, each one hungry and grasping for your flesh. One foe has become many once more, each Grimm on its own attack run. Miló telescopes outwards and you swing once, twice, thrice. Black feathers and black blood spray in the wake of each swing - beautiful flashes of red followed by shots of black. You twist as you touch upon a branch, still for a moment, caught in a twisting pirouette, and explode forward in a violent burst of speed, wood and bark mangled with spiral patterns in your wake. Akoúo̱ snaps back onto your back as you swing Miló with reckless abandon, reaping swathes of corvids from the air with every movement. It's still not enough. At this rate you won't finish until the next morning.

The solution, as it always is, is to go for the head. Kill the Nevermore and the corvids will flee. It is a simple two step plan. Reach it. Kill it.

You unhook Akoúo̱ once more to guard you from the swarming corvids as Miló shifts into rifle form. The corvids see their chance and take it, swooping in just as the elder Nevermore commands them. Akoúo̱ sees action, crushing corvid heads under the weight of solid bronze. A lesser hunter would be overwhelmed by the sudden onrush but for you, even just your shield is enough. You aim Miló straight behind you and empty all but one of the remaining rounds in the magazine in rapid succession, while at the same time taking leaping into the air. The effect is just as you hoped it would be. You're thrown forward in blast of movement, self-made rocket thrusters firing at full power at your back. You'd scream at the sheer exhilaration- but you only have eyes for your prize.

You rocket into the wall of corvids, thrown at you like another poorly constructed javelin of flesh and feathers, elder Nevermore pulling their strings from behind. As you pass one by, you smash its skull in with your foot, propelling yourself upwards. One, two, three. The stepping stones die eagerly in their rush to fight you and it is only too late that the elder Nevermore realizes what you're doing.

Miló carves a ragged line through its right wing and it screams. You roar in victory, your path laid clear with Nevermore blood.

In fury and rage and fear of the death you bring, the Nevermore thrashes its wings with sudden unfound strength and throws at you a typhoon of wind and stiff black spear-like feathers. Akoúo̱ comes up to receive it and groans under the assault, but your faithful shield holds. Even so, you're thrown back, Miló ripped out from the Nevermore's flesh, strings of tainted black Grimm blood streaming from its tip. Your back is supported by nothing but air and it's a long fall to the forest floor below. In this brief window, the Nevermore desperately beats its wings, to escape its certain demise, fleeing from the small human who wounded it so.

The act is futile. From the moment it had allowed you to close in- its end was already determined. The arm holding Akoúo̱ lines up. The arm holding Miló pulls back.

And you fire the last, single, remaining dust round in Miló's magazine in a perfect straight line shot right into the soft spot under the Nevermore's mask.

A mortal wound. The Nevermore screams and wails and slams from side to side, trying to live another moment, another second, another day. But the glory of the kill is yours. You reach out your hand to faithful, trustworthy Miló, soaked in years and years of your Aura and baptized countless times in blood and glory.

"έρχομαι."

As Miló drags the Nevermore down towards you, you are dragged up to meet it. One hand clings onto the Nevermore's mask, the other pulls Miló out. You raise your spear, red and thirsty, to strike the finishing blow-

And then a bolt of lightning comes down from the heavens and knocks you and the Nevermore senseless.

Your body jolts and rattles in the embrace of the storm, and you barely manage to turn Akoúo̱ aside in time to catch the oversized tree branch below you. It snaps under your sudden weight, and so does the next, and the next, and the next, but as the as last branch comes you manage to throw yourself aside, Miló punching deep into the flesh to a tree to your side. You cling there for a few moments, struggling to catch your breath as the adrenaline fades away.

Then you let yourself drop slowly in a controlled fashion to the forest floor below. Now that the blood rush is fading you can feel all the scraps you just took, like small cuts across your legs and face from corvids strikes that struck a little bit closer than you'd expected and an ache around your back and shoulders which speaks of developing bruises. And the lightning induced paralysis of course. Can't forget that. They're already fading away, but for now you feel raw and sore.

Above you two figures dart across the canopy top. One wields a giant hammer in hand, bound to some sort of dust piston mechanism because there's an explosion of force every time she swings it, a rocket of force smashing everything in her way. The other carries an oddly tipped long spear, a qiang, across his shoulder. Every so often it lashes out in a cutting blow, striking down those who manage to make it past his partner's hammer.

The girl and boy you saw back in the locker room. The ginger valkyrie and her raven haired companion. You watch them clean up the last of the rapidly fleeing corvids and narrow your eyes when the girl points and a line of thunder unspools itself from the heaven.

Suddenly, the soreness across your body is gone. Your hands twitch for your weapons again.

It takes them no more than a handful of minutes to scare away the last of the corvids now that their leader, the Nevermore, is no more than a shattered bone mask and a pile of steaming dark Grimm flesh. They land near you once the threat of another attack from the air is gone and dealt with.

"Hail warrior!" The ginger haired girl says as she approaches, waving her giant hammer in greeting. "I and my companion-"

"-Ren," her companion offers.

"Ren, don't interrupt me." The ginger girl shoots him an annoyed look. "It undermines my authority. Anyway," she's all smiles again turning at to you. "I and my companion-"

"-Ren."

"My companion Ren," she grits out, teeth clenched. "Noticed that you were engaged in mortal combat with a Nevermore. Fearing for your safety, we endeavoured to rally to your aid."

"You forgot to mention your name Nora."

"I am Nora Valkyrie," Nora says, gripping her hammer tightly with a strained smile on her face. "And my companion is Lie Ren. It is good to meet you."

...good to meet you, huh? You purse your lips. This is the girl who just shocked you so hard your right pinky is still twitching and stole your kill right from under you in your moment of glory. And this is in her mind, a friendly greeting? You can't think of anything which would make an even worse first impressio-

"Oh, and you don't have to repay us for the favor." Nora says, the magnanimous expression of a gracious overlord upon her face. "It is a warrior's duty to help out all poor souls in need of aid. Know that you need only call the name Valkyrie and the Great Nora will take it upon herself to protect you."

Oh.

Oh.

[ ] For her insult there is no other punishment suitable than death a beating. Kill her Crush her for her insolence.

[ ] You are a merciful goddess. You will let them off in exchange for tribute. Extract concessions (at spearpoint).

[ ] Pyrrha in her tent.

[ ] Write in

QN: Pyrrha, making friends all day every day. This update brought to you by the editing magic of logiccosmic. 50 percent chance of Grimm interrupt in all options.