Chapter 227: Seventh Interlude - Autumn Rose

DISCLAIMER: This story is NOT MINE IN ANY WAY. That honor has gone to the beautiful bastard Ryuugi. This has been pulled from his Spacebattles publishment at threads/rwby-the-gamer-the-games-we-play-disk-five.341621/. Anyway on with the show...err read.

Seventh Interlude - Autumn Rose

Father was gone, she noted, more by feeling his absence than seeing anything. Even after several weeks, sight was still something new to her, with the images produced by her modified 'eyes' seeming almost detached from her—like something she was seeing instead of seeing, only inside of her head. That wasn't a very good way of explaining anything, but language was also new to her, as was keeping track of time in minutes and hours, days and weeks.

She could remember most of her existence, since her father had given her life and a self. Back that, she hadn't even been able to grasp what it meant to be able to see or hear—to her, there had only been the 'lights.' Auras, as she now knew they were called, they'd called to her since before she even knew how to question why. And the 'light' that had been closest to her, that had spoken to her, that had assured her that a world existed beyond the darkness of herself, had been her father.

And now he'd vanished. She couldn't help but feel a flash of worry at that fact—more for herself than for him. She'd seen firsthand what her father was capable of and she…believed in him. Even knowing, however vaguely, what death was, she was sure he'd be fine.

Would she be? Of that, she was less certain. Being separated from him was…uncomfortable? Nervewracking? She wasn't sure what word to use, because she wasn't sure what she felt. Raven had described her emotions in terms of physical responses, but hers were limited to what she created. She had no spine for a shiver to crawl up, no heart to race, no skin to cover with goosebumps, though she could make those things if she desired. Her father had shown her how to generate human responses, presumably for the sake of future social interactions, but she was smart enough to know—though it had taken some time to realize—that her father wasn't an example of normalcy in any sense. As such, she couldn't say how she was supposed to feel.

All she knew was that it was 'dark.'

Maybe that was loneliness, she mused. It would make sense; if she were given the choice, she'd rather be at her father's side. For a long time, he'd been all that she could truly communicate with or draw comfort from, more steady than the sun which she now knew rose and set. Her earlier memories were marked only by periods of his presence and absence, the times when he'd had to leave her for the sake of his missions. When that occurred, she'd have only Gou to keep her comfort, until she'd learned to grow and interact with the world. Whenever that had happened, she'd been struck by what she could only assume was fear, that the only thing she had to truly cling to might vanish forever. He never had, but she'd still worried.

But then, maybe the other part of it was simply hunger. She knew that she was a 'plant,' or had been at one point—an organism that fed, in part, on sunlight. She could do the same, to a point, gathering and storing minute amounts of energy through her natural processes, but that wasn't how she fed.

What she lived off of were the same lights she felt—the light of the soul. Her father had called it Animasynthesis, but whatever the term, the fact of the matter remained. She drew in the power that others shed and used it to fuel her own growth, gathering it within her constantly. Some lights, those of the 'normal' or 'unawakened,' were tiny; there, perhaps, but like candles and sparks. Others, those she'd come to associate with 'Hunters', were like fires, all of different sizes and colors and tastes. Some were bonfires and others infernos, while others still were more akin to volcanoes erupting.

But if that was so, her father was the sun—something immense, that shed power at an unspeakable pace, casting it off constantly. He emitted power brightly enough that it had taken her time to realize that there was anything but him. Even her guardian, Gou, had seemed like a piece of him more than anything independent; something tied to him, if in another body. The power her father gave off every moment had startled her from the first moments of her existence, and had grown at an absurd pace since the moment she'd been aware enough to watch. At times, he would leave for a day and return burning twice as brightly, burning power faster and faster.

And she fed from that power, drawing it in constantly.

Or rather, he fed it too her, helping her grow. Until she'd grown enough, it had been one of her only source of nourishment, along with the other plants she consumed—and while she could feed from any soul, it was only her father's that could come close to satiating her endless hunger and perhaps that's why she felt so cold whenever she was left behind

Because if there was one sensation she did recognize, it was hunger. Since the moment she'd first come to know herself, if not before, she'd felt empty—withered, worn, almost as though she were lacking something vital that she needed to thrive. That was why she drew in the lights of other souls, trying to complete herself, but nothing made the hunger fade. Neither had the plants or the meat she'd consumed, nor anything else she drew into herself; nothing made it vanish completely and only Aura helped at all. The need to grow, to connect, that was why she drew other plants to herself, but the desire behind it? Even a thousand forests wouldn't be enough to satisfy.

Eventually, when she'd learned the truth, she thought she might have understood the reason why. She, Autumn Rose, was also another—Summer Rose, her former self. A human woman, who'd had a life, love, children, and a completed self, until she'd been broken and scattered. Now, all that remained were the pieces.

She'd been one of them, before. When her father brought her to the others, she'd…recognized them, somehow. Or maybe understood them. They'd been like her, calling out—wanting to gather, where once they'd been scattered. It hadn't been a hard choice to decide what to do and she'd taken them into herself, hoping to be complete.

It hadn't worked. Not fully. There were still pieces missing and though the hunger had changed—though she had changed—it hadn't gone away.

Perhaps what she was looking for was impossible. Even if it wasn't, she couldn't say for sure that she knew what it was she wanted.

And increasingly, she wasn't sure it mattered. Whether because of her growth as a person, the return of the majority of her soul, or just her father's power and influence, she was more than she had been. Whatever had been lost, she had a life—she had a family of her own.

Though the desire that pushed her forth—or, perhaps, back, towards the name 'Ruby Rose'—hadn't faded, it was not all there was to her. She was more than the sum of her parts. Whatever happened, whatever came of her, of that much she was certain.

And however cold she felt, she knew why she was here—why she'd agreed to be here, had wanted to come, even knowing the danger. Her father was gone, but not yet somewhere he couldn't return from; things were still progressing as planned.

Dark as it was, now it was her time to shine.

All it took was a thought, an act of will, and things were set in motion. From the beginning, she'd remained high above the battlefield, hovering and drifting by drawing most of her mass into her well. At the same time, she allowed herself to drift apart, scattering pieces of herself across the area—pieces that were not quite seeds or spores or cells, but contained elements of all these things. They were pieces of her still, connected despite their separation. Wherever they'd touched the ground, they'd burrowed deep, aided by the steady hand of her father's fraction, the earth that walked and named itself Ereb. There, they drew power from the world around them; from the earth, the air, and from the oceans of power her father had shed with his usual abandon. They drew this strength in and waited until the moment was right, setting down roots to reach out further and draw in more.

Her father had said to move the moment he'd removed himself and the Other from the field and he had just done so.

It was time to begin the Gathering.

Yes, whatever she had been, she knew what she was now. Her father's daughter—and now also this.

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A Preta. A 'Hungry Ghost.'

She was more than that—more than hero who died, more than her hunger—but she was also those things and she had a job to do.

The ground rumbled and began to split as what was hidden at last came forth.

It started small, almost deceptively so. The blasted, barren earth her father had created was suddenly filled with new life, with grass, flowers, and other small plants emerging in a wave that rippled out from the epicenter directly beneath her feet. It raced across the battlefield in seconds, growing so quickly that it blanketed the earth between one step and another, startling the Grimm fighting below. Her family reacted only minutely, shifting in preparation of what was to come as her plants continued to grow.

Soon, the reason why became apparent. Some of the plants were twisted from the very beginning—a byproduct of her father's earlier work—and their twisted, bloated growths briefly masked the others, but soon there was no hiding what was happening. A small sprout quickly grew, rising and thickening into something like a mighty oak—'like' because oaks themselves were weak and ill-equipped for fighting. Instead of leaves, its branches were covered in bristles that gently leaked fluid and the end of each branch was capped with a mouth, with faces and eyes emerging from the trunk. The branches shook as if in a sudden wind, splatting the liquids they drool which quacking began eating into the earth, melting it all around the tree's base. It shook once and then something began to rise from the loosened base, pushing it up at an odd angle as it emerged; it looked, more than anything, like a headless lizard, bearing the tree into battle on its shoulders. Its hide was green-black beneath the dirt it sloughed off, and it moved quickly for something the size of a car.

Even so, it was tiny compared to any of the Grimm that remained, insignificant.

But…also just one of many.

Other things began to emerge alongside it. A worm with its head capped in armored hide twisted out of the ground and then back into the earth, moving through it as easily as a fish through water. Twisted animals followed—lions, wolves, tigers, snakes, bears, and birds, all showing signs of their true nature. Where flesh was visible at all, it was either waxy and smooth or rough like the bark of a tree, but it was usually covered, whether in bristles or moss or other growths. The birds flew of wings of leaves, the beasts released growls between teeth made of wood, and things began to grow on their skin. Some of them sacs containing damaging fluids, others pods waiting to be opened, but they were all there, and when the first bird flew into one of the Grimm, there was a sudden, sharp explosion. The damage to the Grimm itself was minor, but it covered a path of its flesh in a viscous liquid that sprouted forth more plants even as it tried to digest the creature's flesh.

There were others like them, small creatures that stood out as the least, differing primarily in shape and purpose. Flying creatures here, quicker ones there, with larger ones built to draw focus and filled to the brim with the same explosives for when they were struck down. Some of the creatures stood out from the rest, but it was mainly a result of random mutation—again, her father's work, covering them with tumorous growths, enlarging limbs, and misshaping faces and mouths. Even so, they were still part of the pack and the first wave.

Behind them came greater things. One, a favored of hers, began to tear up massive tracks of earth as it rose from the ground, each head ripping up a deep trench. The heads were eyeless, possessing of only mouths filled with enormous, tusk like teeth—and it had seven of them, each as long as many of the larger buildings in the city. They were larger versions of the forms she'd used previously, now modified slightly after the 'Hydras' she knew they apparently resembled, and quick to focus on her enemies.

Around it rose giants, roughly humanoid things, some of them headless while others had many heads or heads that didn't match their bodies. None were as tall as the not-Hydras were long, but they were wider, bulkier due to the different scale they were built on. Many had arms that were overly large even for their bodies, trailing down to beneath their knees and massive even for that, but many also possessed secondary arms—smaller and thinner appendages, built for finer manipulations. Massive bugs and gargantuan creatures grew beside them, somewhat smaller in scale as they barely came up to the creature's knees, but they were still giants compared to the rank and file beneath them, and larger still than the creatures that couldn't be seen.

Soon, wherever there had been ground enough to allow it, there was life—full grown creatures that moved on the Grimm as one. Even counting only those that were easily visible, there were hundreds of them, thousands—and all of their eyes, where they had them, were silver, the exact same shade as her own.

But then, they were pieces of her. Not her children. Not her companions. They were her hands and fingers, her flesh and blood, her mouths and teeth. They were parts of her and she could feel them, even while they were technically separate. She could feel the light on their skin, see through their eyes, feel it as they moved, because they were still one, however many of them there might have seemed to be. They drew from her well, drawing out matter to shape their forms as they emerged and moved into the fray of battle, marching to her will.

She watched silently from above, not bothering to put expressions on her artificial face since there was no one around to see it—but she was pleased.

The Grimm reacted quickly, of course, turning on the new threats even as the creatures swarmed them. They focused on the largest threats first, the creatures that were off a size with them, and the ground cracked as they clashed. With half a dozen mouths, she sank her teeth into one of the creatures—the Humbaba, she knew they were called, though she still didn't see much point in naming things they just planned on killing. She assumed it was a communication issue, but she and her many bodies didn't need to share information between themselves so it didn't really matter to her. She knew the details of its powers and that was enough without bothering with anything superfluous.

More importantly was the seventh head, with the creature had struck clean with ease, casing it aside before focusing on sinking its clawed hands into the others. The loss wasn't meaningful, granted, but she focused on the discarded head regardless, willing it to lose shape and come apart. It quickened oddly for a moment, things shifting beneath the skin before bits and pieces began to break away in new creatures. She could have willed them back to their source, but there was no point—the Humbaba was quickly tearing it apart, carving away entire tons of flesh with every attack, ripping away massive chunks with its talons and covering itself in its blood.

It didn't need any more help. Its job was almost done, as the smaller creatures crawled up its body, failing to do any meaningful damage even as they started to cover it. That was fine, as that was not their purpose.

She waited calmly, shaping and reshaping her form to remain aloft even as she watched them. In a matter of seconds, most of her larger creatures were 'dead,' damaged beyond the ability of most creatures to function. They fell, decomposing and coming apart quickly into smaller things, but she held them back, her forces already in position. Calmly, she focused several of her eyes on her family, making sure that they'd retreated out of range; Raven was familiar with this tactic, but her uncle was not. Regardless, they had withdrawn significantly. Gou remained, if only at the edges, watching over her carefully.

Where he was standing was a bit dangerous, but then, it was Gou. Something had torn out his throat recently, unleashing a waterfall of thick-looking blood that he was ignoring outright, waiting for it to close—after her father and possibly herself, he was likely the least concerned with matters of physical harm, with good reason.

She judged things sufficiently clear and continued her strategy, focusing her attention on the cloak she wore. Though it was completely white on the outside, the interior was sewn with countless, complex symbols, written into the fabric with Dust. It was a gift from her father and he'd taught her the basics of its use. This one was fairly simple, if likely impractical for most people.

Patterns began to glow through her cloak, layered over one another just as the cloth itself was layered. There were patterns in red, blue, yellow, green, purple, and more colors besides, until the original with was hidden beneath a shifting kaleidoscope—and then those same colors began to appear within her lesser bodies far below, still seemingly crawling ineffectually over the Grimm as it made them glow from the inside.

Several of the Grimm might have recognized the danger and tried to react—but it was rather late to do such a thing now.

The next moment, the battlefield was covered in explosions of light—sudden bursts of fire, ice, lightning, wind, and stranger effects besides. Space twisted as it was devoured by black spheres, odd smoke burst outwards to cover the Grimm, odd ripples and waves flowed across the earth and air.

There was no point in smiling at the sight or saying anything, not with no one around to see or hear. As such, she remained still and watched the Grimm suffer and die. Much of the matter she'd used to shape her bodies had been damaged and most of the traces of power she'd drawn from the area had been exhausted—but the results were sufficient. Her family was already moving to take advantage of the chaos and worsen matters for the Grimm, dwindling their numbers yet further.

She continued to float in the air and wondered when her father would come back.

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