A Path To Omniscience

After dealing with a few more White Fang members and memorizing a map of the airship posted on the wall, Asher reached the hallway leading to the bridge. Peeking around the corner, he spotted two guards deep in conversation, both armed with rifles. From this distance, their words were just a muffled murmur.

Extending his hand, another S.G-1 materialized in his grasp. He swiftly adjusted the grenade's settings, running the trajectory through his mind.

[S.G-1]

[Mode: Sound Burst]

[Intensity: High (100-120 dB)]

[(D)Duration: 2s]

He leaned out just enough to throw the grenade. Its rubberized edges served their purpose perfectly, letting it ricochet off the ceiling, then the wall, and finally skid along the floor—just as Asher had envisioned. The White Fang guards only noticed him and the grenade when it was too late.

The sonic detonation ripped through the corridor, a shrill burst of sound that made Asher's ears ring even behind cover. The White Fang members shrieked, their rifles clattering to the floor as they clutched at their ears, overwhelmed by the piercing noise.

Two seconds was all it took.

Asher launched himself around the corner, his O.M.N.I. Frame propelled him forward with a surge of speed. The fifteen-meter gap vanished in a fraction of a second, his movements a blur.

The guards didn't stand a chance. Asher crashed into them, slamming both into the wall beside the bridge door. Their bodies crumpled, unconscious—likely with a few fractured ribs as souvenirs.

Stepping back, he crouched down, deftly securing their rifles. One vanished into his Nexus Space, while he kept the other ready in his hands.

I've never built a proper firearm before. I should take some of these guns apart when I get home—if nothing else, for the experience.

With that thought lingering, Asher moved toward the bridge door, each step measured and soft. His hand hovered near the door panel, and he paused, pressing his ear against the cold metal. A faint shuffle from the other side made him instinctively pull back, his grip tightening around the rifle.

He exhaled slowly, then tapped the door panel.

The door slid open with a hiss, and Asher rolled into the room before falling into a kneeling position, rifle aimed at the wall just past the threshold of the door. Standing there, sword raised and ready, was a White Fang member. No surprise—the sound burst grenade had practically announced his arrival.

One well-placed shot later, both of the guard's kneecaps shattered. His screams filled the bridge, but Asher didn't linger. He spun, his HUD lighting up with trajectory lines as another White Fang member near the helm raised his weapon.

Asher moved on instinct. He tilted his head and shifted his body, the enemy's bullets grazing past him. His own rifle barked three times—one shot to disarm, two more to immobilize through their ankles.

The White Fang member hit the metal floor with a painful thud, his back crashing against the side of a control panel.

Asher remained still, eyes scanning the bridge. His HUD showed no additional signs. Still, the frown on his face deepened. Despite the airship's size, the bridge felt cramped, offering little in the way of cover or hiding spots. The only potential ambush points were the walls flanking the two doors.

The bridge was the only place untouched by the blaring emergency lights, and its windows remained uncovered by shutters. Peering through the front windows, Asher saw they had left both Atlas and Mantle behind. The tundra stretched out before him, with distant mountains cutting jagged lines against the horizon.

Atlas and Mantle are surrounded by mountains. If I can still see them, we're not too far from the city. That's good. Still…

His thoughts trailed off as he moved to the White Fang member he'd shot in the ankles. The man lay sprawled against a control panel, groaning in pain. Without warning, Asher slammed his foot into the metal next to the man's head, the impact leaving a deep dent. The White Fang member jolted, his eyes snapping up to meet Asher's.

"Where are the others?" Asher asked his voice calm but edged with intent.

"I don't believe for a second that just the two of you were assigned here." The man gritted his teeth, a flicker of defiance cutting through his pain.

"I- I'm not telling you anything…" Asher's head tilted slightly, a thoughtful gesture. He slung the rifle over his chest and reached into his clothes—though in reality, he was pulling from his Nexus Space. When his hand reemerged, he held a flat-head screwdriver.

A weak laugh escaped the White Fang member's lips, raw and broken.

"Haha… what, are you gonna stab me or something?"

"Not exactly." Asher shifted his foot, releasing the metal panel, and instead pressed down firmly on the man's shoulder. His hand shot out and his grip latched onto the guard's wrist, pinning him with unsettling ease. With practiced precision, Asher straightened one of the man's fingers.

Before his captive could react, Asher drove the screwdriver under the fingernail.

"Fu- Aighhh!" The scream tore through the air, raw and animalistic. The man's animalistic ears twitched violently as his face turned red and his body thrashed against the unyielding weight on his shoulder.

"Stop it, you bastard!" The other White Fang member, the one Asher had shot in the kneecaps, shouted from where he lay. But with his legs shattered, he could do nothing more than writhe, even crawling hurt too much.

Asher didn't respond. His focus remained steady, his movements clinical. With a final, deliberate push, he wedged the screwdriver fully beneath the nail and pried it off. Blood smeared his hands and the White Fang members, pooling on the metal floor.

Releasing his grip, Asher crouched down, bringing himself to eye level with the broken man. His victim cradled his mutilated hand, his breath hitching through clenched teeth.

"That was one," Asher said, his voice disturbingly even.

"You have nine more nails—nineteen if we count your toes. Your choice: talk, or I pluck the next one out even slower." There was no chill in his tone, no malice or threat. His words came out as casually as if he were discussing the weather—an unsettling normalcy against the backdrop of the bloodied bridge.

He wasn't making a threat—just stating a fact—and that made it all the more terrifying. The White Fang member clutching his bleeding finger gulped, his eyes darting to his comrade. The other man stared back, a silent plea in his trembling head shake, urging him to stay quiet. But the throbbing pain in his hand made him wince, breaking his resolve.

After a strained moment, he finally spoke.

"Th-They all left. A unit reported that a girl… the heiress to the Schnee Dust Company… was wiping out the men stationed in the left wing. The Commander sent everyone. When they didn't report back, he went himself." Asher's expression remained unreadable, but understanding clicked into place.

I made sure to take down the White Fang on my side before they could radio for help or reveal my position. Sounds like Weiss took a more direct approach—and it drew all the reinforcements her way. Including the Commander, I intended to handle myself. Well, I doubt they can overwhelm her with numbers. But just in case…

"How long ago was this?"

The White Fang member hesitated, then stammered, "Eight… ten minutes ago?"

Asher's brow creased slightly.

It shouldn't take Weiss that long to handle the White Fang—even if they sent twenty her way. No one I've encountered so far has been anything close to challenging.

Clicking his tongue, he stood and slipped the bloodied screwdriver back into the Nexus Space. He ignored the two White Fang members writhing on the floor as he approached the control panel.

Operating an airship isn't exactly in my skill set, but it can't be too difficult.

His hands moved over the console, tapping through the interface. It didn't take long for him to figure out how to engage the autopilot and set a course back to Atlas.

The airship shuddered in response, the hum of engines adjusting to the new route. He disabled the alarm system, and the emergency red lights dimmed, replaced by the soft glow of the bridge's standard lighting. Shutters rolled up, and natural light flooded the bridge, offering a clearer view of the tundra beyond.

Satisfied, Asher retrieved something that could be used as restraints from the Nexus Space and methodically bound the two White Fang members. He double-checked the knots, ensuring they wouldn't be able to free themselves. Once secure, he moved to the door he'd entered through and locked it.

Now there's only one way into the bridge—and that's through the other door.

"Where exactly did that unit report finding the girl?" Asher asked the tied-up White Fang member.

"It- It was the B-12 Passage, left wing." Asher mentally mapped the location, comparing it to the airship layout he had seen earlier. His sense of urgency sharpened.

The B-12 Passage isn't far from here. There's no way Weiss shouldn't have made it by now. Not unless something happened.

He moved swiftly through the other door leading off the bridge. As he made his way down the corridor, he checked the rifle's magazine, the quiet clicks of ammunition settling into place breaking the eerie silence.

It didn't take long before he started encountering unconscious White Fang members. A quick glance was enough to assess the situation—most of them had been taken down in a single strike, their weapons still in hand, fingers frozen on triggers they never had the chance to pull.

Asher only paused long enough to stash a few interesting weapons into his Nexus Space before pressing on.

The closer he got to B-12, the more the scene shifted. At first, it was the bullet holes—pockmarked walls, ceilings, and floors, clear evidence of Weiss being fired upon. But as he moved further in, the devastation took on a new form.

Slash marks scarred the metal surfaces, some delicate and webbed, others brutal and deep. There were gashes that cut clean holes through walls—too precise to be from conventional weapons. Metal beams lay twisted, and structural supports were cleaved in two. Doors had been reduced to splinters and shredded steel, with some walls obliterated entirely, connecting rooms that had never been meant to meet.

This… isn't something that can be done without a mechanized battlesuit. But there's no way the White Fang has access to that kind of tech. Even if they did, sneaking it aboard would've been impossible.

That left only one conclusion. Someone on board had their Aura unlocked—likely a White Fang member.

"Worst-case scenario… a rogue Huntsman." Most people with unlocked Auras either came from a family of Huntsmen, inheriting semblances along bloodlines or were students at combat schools or one of the four Huntsman academies. But nothing stopped a prospective Huntsman from dropping out, or a fully licensed one from turning to a life of crime.

It was rare—but when it happened, it was a massive problem. Especially if it was the latter.

This could get messy fast-

A violent tremor snapped Asher out of his thoughts. The floor beneath him shuddered, not with the subtle turbulence of an airship but with forceful, repeated impacts.

"Dammit!"

He broke into a run, following the vibrations through the corridors. The destruction around him made navigation faster—walls had been reduced to rubble, and doors were either missing or hanging by twisted metal. The interconnected rooms and halls became shortcuts as he moved through the jagged openings.

And then he found it. Not just a single breach, but a series of holes in perfect succession. It was as if something massive had plowed straight through the airship, leaving a raw, open wound in its path.

It was a miracle the kitchen—where the hostages were held—hadn't been caught up in the devastation. Room after room, the carnage painted a grim story of unchecked power and relentless force.

=====================================•=====================================

Weiss panted, leaning heavily on the metal shelf leg she had torn from the kitchen. Her grip was tight, knuckles white against the cold steel as she stared down the looming figure before her. He was massive—easily over two meters tall. Unlike the rest of the White Fang, his black-and-white uniform was sleeveless, hanging from his frame in ragged strips.

His muscular torso was exposed, skin marred with bruises and dark, angry welts. Yet, he seemed unfazed by the fresh injuries, his body already a canvas of old scars etched into his flesh.

Tattoos wound around his arms, inked patterns visible beneath the layers of damage. But it was his horns—thick, curling ram horns atop his head—and the enormous two-handed axe dragging behind him that demanded attention. The weapon's blade cut through the dining room's carpet, the fabric tearing with a sound like ripping flesh.

"Who would've thought the rumors about the Schnee Dust Company's heiress wanting to become a Huntress were true." His deep voice rolled through the room, punctuated by a low, rumbling chuckle. He wiped the bruised corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, then spat a mix of blood and saliva onto the carpet.

"I have to admit, it was fun. If only your family wasn't such a blight on the world, I might've considered letting you live after all this. But I've got a schedule to keep, and taking you alive would be too much of a hassle."

Weiss sneered, pushing herself upright. Pain flared through her leg, and she let out a sharp hiss as her knee buckled. A swollen bulge had formed at her knee and ankle, and blood dripped steadily onto the carpet, staining it a slow, creeping red.

A gash on her left shoulder pulsed with each heartbeat. Her arm hung at an awkward angle—she could still move it, but only barely. The muscles beneath her skin felt tight, the wound worsening with every strained breath.

"You really... think your plan is going to work now? After all this?" Weiss's voice wavered, but her words struck with intent.

"This airship isn't even en route to where you want it to go anymore. Even if you take care of me, the Atlas Military will swarm you before you even touch down. Not that you and the rest of the White Fang don't deserve it." She forced a confident smirk, trying to project the same boldness she'd had when she split from Asher.

But the ragged edge to her breathing, the tremor in her limbs, betrayed her.

The White Fang commander tilted his head, a low, rumbling hum escaping him.

"Hmm? Oh, so someone made it to the bridge and took care of my men. Oh well." His lips curled into a smirk beneath his mask.

"Just in case, we've had people ready to scramble communications between this airship and Atlas. Even if someone managed to call for help and turn this thing around, I've got plenty of time to get things back on track." He hefted his double-bladed axe, the metal scraping against the floor as he raised it. His eyes, sharp and predatory, locked onto Weiss.

"Of course, that's only after I butcher the hostage who broke into the bridge in the first place. Can't risk leaving heroic types like that alive." Weiss's expression froze, her eyes widening before narrowing into a razor-sharp glare.

"Filth like you don't get a chance! I'll handle you myself." White glyphs shimmered to life beneath her feet, encircling the Commander in a glowing formation.

He chuckled, the sound dark and mocking.

"Oh, this trick again? I've gotta admit, you've got stamina for a little girl who spends all her time in a palace. Makes this all the more fun for me." She didn't bother with a response, lowering her stance as her aura flared. She knew exactly who had reached the bridge, who had turned the airship around and deactivated the lockdown.

Looks like I lost our bet. And knowing him, he's probably already on his way here.

A part of her twisted at the thought. She didn't want Asher anywhere near this monster. She'd been fighting him long enough to know what he was—a force of brutality, a living weapon—and he hadn't even used his semblance yet.

Without her sword, she was at a disadvantage, she didn't have any access to her Dust. But even if she had it, deep down, she wasn't sure it would be enough.

Even if Asher comes to help, he'd only be putting himself in danger.

Her grip tightened on the metal shelf leg, blood slipping between her fingers.

If I can just hold out a little longer... until help arrives. Then everything will be okay.

Her breathing steadied, and her vision narrowed. The Commander's silhouette loomed ahead, but her focus was unshakable.

I just need to last a bit longer.

With that thought driving her forward, Weiss sprang into action. Her foot landed on the first glyph, and momentum seized her. In an instant, her figure blurred into a streak of white, circling the White Fang Commander who stood at the eye of the storm.

His gaze followed her effortlessly, a low whistle slipping past his lips.

"I've got to admit, kid—you're fast." Weiss broke from the glyph's path, her speed snapping past the sound barrier. She became a white comet, her makeshift weapon a silver arc as she swung at him from the right.

But his reaction was unnervingly calm. The Commander raised his axe, angling the broadside toward her.

A thunderous clang erupted as metal met metal. The force of Weiss's strike bent the shelf leg in her hands, and the impact drove the Commander's feet deep into the metal floor beneath the carpet. Ripples of force shot through the room, sending the nearby tables, chairs, and whatever else flying about. 

But despite the raw power behind her attack, he remained unshaken. His body didn't budge, not even a flinch.

Weiss pulled back, her expression tight and wary. The metal leg in her hands was twisted, nearly useless. Her knuckles turned white around the warped steel, but her stance remained firm.

The Commander's grin widened a cruel curve that cut through the dim light. Amusement bled into his voice, a dark undercurrent beneath every word.

"Still, it doesn't mean much when you're up against a former Huntsman."