Forever Fall's crimson canopy bled like an open wound under the perpetual twilight, leaves crunching like brittle bones beneath frantic boots. A rogue Huntsman-Slate Harlen, once a promising Shade graduate, now a scorched footnote in Academies wide-panted through the underbrush, his emerald cloak torn and singed from the caravan blaze he'd left in his wake. Sweat beaded on his brow, mixing with the acrid tang of spent Fire Dust, as he vaulted a fallen log, gauntlets scraping bark.
"Damn it all," he snarled under his breath, voice a ragged whisper laced with Vacuo grit. "One slip-one-and that old man's got hounds on my scent. Should've torched the whole damn convoy cleaner. Bastards'll pay for the lien pinch...".
A roar shattered the forest hush-not a Grimm's guttural bellow, but the thunderclap of .500 Magnum wrath, echoing off the scarlet trunks like judgment's toll. The shot lanced from the shadows, a fire dust tipped bullet blooming fire in Slate's calf mid-stride. He cried out-a sharp animal yelp-his aura flaring in a desperate sheen of greenish blue, the impact punching through armour and flesh alike without full breach. Momentum betrayed him; he crumpled into a thorn-choked thicket, leg buckling as pain lanced white-hot up his spine, the forest floor swallowing his curse in a whirl of red leaves.
From the gloom, a figure stalked into view-lean and unhurried, dark red poncho with golden patterns parting like mist around his frame. Hat brim casting his face in half-shadow, levelled his revolver with gloved ease, the revolver's barrel trailing a lazy curl of gunsmoke. The gun's grip gleamed faint in the dappled light, and rose thorns etched eternal, as if the weapon itself savoured the hunt's end. His coal-dark grey eyes fixed on the fallen man, deadpan mask cracking just enough for a dry tilt of his lips.
"For a Huntsman," the Bounty-hunter drawled, voice low and laced with a drawl, holstering the sidearm with a fluid spin, "you sure know how to run like prey". Slate's head snapped up, aura flickering erratic as he clutched his leg, the faint pain from the shot earlier slowly fading away. Aggravation twisted his scarred features. The bitterness of being a Shade dropout echoed deep, eyes blazing with the fury of a cornered scorpion.
"You little shadow-rat," he spat, shoving up on one knee with a grunt, gauntlets igniting in dust powered flames as he ripped his weapon free: a brutal maul, haft collapsing from compact club to sweeping warhammer, its head wreathed in kinetic vents that hummed with stolen momentum.
"Bounty pup thinks he can preach? I'll crush that smug look off your face!". With a roar that rattled the branches-half-rage and half-desperation-Slate lunged, maul whipping overhead in a Dust-amped arc, the air cracking with superheated pressure. Leaves ignited in his wake, a trail of fire scorching the earth as he closed the gap in two loping strides, hammer descending like a verdant guillotine to pulverize the Hunter's stance. His eyebrow arched, a single flick under the hat's shadow-analytical grey eyes already tracing the swing's parabola, crunching the rogue's telegraphed fury from gait alone.
"No small talk?" he muttered, sidestepping with fluid ease, coat flaring as the maul thudded into the dirt where he'd stood, cratering soil and sending a shockwave of embers.
"Ok. I can deal with that."
The fight was a blur of burgundy and dark emerald, the flutter of their movements kicking up leaves of crimson. Slate recovered mid-swing, pivoting on his good leg with a hammer-shaft thrusting like a spear, vents belching kinetic bursts to propel the strike toward the Hunter's ribs. The Bounty-hunter smirked. His weapon unslung in a cross-back whirl, collapsing to an axe form with a click, the blade parrying the shaft in a shower of sparks.
Metal screamed as the young hunter twisted, using the rogue's momentum against him: a low sweep hooked Slate's wounded ankle, yanking him off-balance into a forward stumble. The maul grazed his shoulder-aura shimmering burgundy to blunt the graze-but he countered seamlessly, the axe's shaft thrusting upward to crack the hammer's vents, dust feedback exploding in a backwash of flame that singed Slate's cloak and staggered him back. Slate bellowed, hammer reforming mid-air into overhand smash-desperate, wild-but the young hunter was the wolf now.
And the wolf has now sanked his teeth into its prey.
He shifted the axe with a gloved twist as he closed in: the broad edge caught the descending maul's head in a bone-jarring clang, wrenching it aside while the Bounty-hunter's boot lashed out, steel-toed impact crumpling into Slate's knee with a wet crack. The rogue howled, trembling as his aura flickers, but he swung wild-a gauntlet-fueled haymaker crackling with residual fire. The young hunter ducked, the revolver's grip flashing free-it barked twice in point-blank harmony, bullets slamming Slate's chestplate like hammer-fists, his aura cratering under the 500 magnum barrage. The third shot was the final blow, a direct kiss to the maul's core, igniting its dust heart in a chain-reaction bloom. Slate's eyes widened-hammer exploding in his grip, the backlash hurling him backwards into several trees, aura shattering like stained glass in a final, greenish blue-veined pop. He hit the ground limp, unconscious before the leaves settled, chest heaving ragged under the flickering remnants of his cloak.
The Bounty-hunter holstered his revolver with a soft click, his weapon collapsing back into a compact form as he stalked over, boots silent on the smouldering earth. He crouched, gloved fingers rifling the rogue's belt-plucking the charred Huntsman insignia (a cracked emerald shield, Shade's faded pride) and the crumpled academy emblem pinned beneath, its gilt edges mocking the treason. "He's got quite some nerve holding onto these," the Bounty-hunter murmured, voice flat with that dry edge, pocketing them both. "The traitorous bastard."A sigh escaped him then-long and road-weary-as he straightened, tugging his hat brim against the encroaching dusk.
His scroll flickered to life in his palm, bounty tab glowing:
Slate Harlan - 50k Lien.
Claim verified: Insignia + Ledger. Payout Location: Beacon Academy, Vale. Headmaster Ozpin's Board.
The young man's grey eyes narrowed, fringe shadowing the faint twitch of his jaw.
"Beacon, huh? Softies and their towers." He pocketed the device, slinging Harvester cross-back, and turned toward the forest's edge-where a Bullhead's distant hum promised the next hunt's threshold.