A/N: A'ight, chapter two is up. Nothing more to say here, other than a quick Author's Note at the bottom.

EnriksD8: I was planning to do it anyway, but consider your request granted!

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The Bullhead was much too slow for Qrow's liking. If he were less impatient, he would have already barged out of the craft and ran the rest of the way to Shion, but he had long since outgrew his idiotic teenage years.

He had arrived in Mistral four days ago and had immediately met up with one of his numerous contacts, intent of locating his target; the mysterious armored berserker capable of instilling fear into Grimm. Many of his informants lacked the info he wanted until one of them mentioned a large Grimm horde being repelled from Shion, a relatively small village on the southern region of Mistral and one of the few with an airfield capable of housing aircraft.

Normally, Qrow wouldn't have batted an eye. Villages in the Wilds went dark on an almost regular basis; its inhabitants either overran by Grimm or taken over by a strong bandit tribe. It was a fact that many experienced Huntsmen had long since come to terms with; you couldn't save everyone. His own Semblance didn't help refute that fact one bit.

But what caught his attention was how the Shionites managed to repel the Grimm horde. According to his informant, they rallied under a Huntsman in green armor wielding large weapons who fought with an almost animalistic brutality and rage.

Qrow immediately called the airport to book the first flight there. To his surprise, the operator apologized and said there weren't any available flight to Shion as most of the available aircraft were being redirected for relief efforts. They were to deliver supplies and manpower to help the village rebuild, and they had no room for extra passengers.

A good thing then, that Qrow was a Huntsman.

The cargo hold inside the Bullhead was cramped, filled with crates laden with supplies. Food, clean water, clothing, everything and more tucked into every available space there was.

Beside him were a team of four Hunter trainees, one of three sent from Haven to act as bodyguards and help with the reconstruction efforts. The other two were riding on the other Bullheads, with one of them riding with the professor sent to oversee their duties.

The team Qrow was with were composed of teenagers, two boys and two girls. They were as teenagers were, and their antics annoyed Qrow more than he cared to admit.

"So, like, Vivian was acting so much like a bitch—" went one kid, a girl with a frilly shirt and curled-up twintails.

"Oh, I know right? And did you see her clothes? They were, like, so old school—" went the other girl, short with an armored pauldron and chainsword.

"Do you think May has a boyfriend yet? Do you think I got a chance with her?" asked one boy to his compatriot, who was busily trying to ignore him.

"Dude, the fuck would I know? Just ask, she's right there—"

Qrow sighed and fought back the urge to hit them with his sword. Gods above, was he that chatty back when he was a brat? Was Tai that chatty too? No, he was the stoic badass of the team— wait, no, that was Raven. His sister was never a chatty person to begin with. Her preferred method of communication involved sharp swords and stabbing it into others. His was alcohol and drinking songs while bashing other people's heads in. Ahh, those were good times. Maybe he and Tai should get together for a guys night out—

There was an explosion and the Bullhead rocked perilously, snapping Qrow out of his thoughts. He braced a hand against the Bullhead's interior, steadying himself as the aircraft shook and ignoring the panicked cries of his fellow passengers. He peeked out the window, eyes tracking for the attacker.

"Pilot!" Qrow barked. "The hell was that?!"

"Hostiles firing anti-air from forest!" the man barked back, regaining control over the craft. "They'll shoot down the other Bullheads if they aren't stopped!"

Qrow grumbled under his breath. Of course his Semblance decided to fuck things up now, and after giving him false hope for an easy trip, too.

"Open the door." Qrow rose. "I'll take care of 'em. Get your cargo to Shion safe."

"You sure, sir?" the pilot asked even as he flicked a few switches. Qrow snorted and drew his flask from his jacket.

"Just open the damn door already." Qrow took a swig out of it as the Bullhead's doors slid open. Strong winds buffeted his frame but were nowhere near enough to topple him. He turned to the kids. "You four stay here and keep the plane from crashing. I'll meet you all at Shion."

"What about you?" the lead brat asked, bringing his weapon up.

"I'll be fine." Qrow scoffed. What was he, a rookie? "Save your strength for when you guys get to the village. Later."

He stepped back and fell to the greenery below, his Aura shielding him from the anti-aircraft fire sent his way. His reached back and drew his weapon, grip tightening as the ground rushed up to meet him. He readjusted his stance mid-fall as he hit the treetops, letting his feet break through the branches and leaves to lessen the damage to his cloak. It was a gift he got from Summer back when they were still in Signal, and he would be damned before he let it get damaged any further.

He raised his sword and swung just as he fell through the tree cover. His blade fell with enough force to shake the entire forest and send whatever wasn't heavy enough flying every which way.

He rose, instinct coming to life as he took in his surroundings. Men in low grade armor wielding mass-produced weapons escorting light tanks. Possibly a few experienced Aura users in their midst wielding lo-quality mecha-shift weaponry with low to non-threatening Sembances. Nothing he couldn't handle, and they'll likely have information he could use.

He thumbed a switch and his sword mecha-shifted into a lightning edged scythe. The mercenaries backed away.

"You guys saved me a boring flight." Qrow groused, walking forward and idly spinning his scythe in one hand. "I'll do one of you all a solid and keep you alive for the info you got. Everyone else is gonna die. And lemme tell ya, plasma hurts like a bitch…"

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He chases them, relentlessly. A green, ironclad figure of death whose heavy strides sound like nails being driven into coffins.

He kills them, gloriously. Every broken body left in his wake becoming proof that fear was a choice, one many had begun to decide they were better off without.

He fights them, unfalteringly. Standing before the tide of claw and talon and fang like an avenging angel and force of nature in one.

Every blast of his weapons scours the earth of midnight flesh and living nightmares. Every blow of his fists shatters the bone white masks that have hounded civilization since its inception. Every step he takes spreads his rage and empowers the weak, turning the dim lights of their fledging souls to raging bonfires that drive back the dark further and further. Every village and settlement he saves spreads the righteous rage further to more people, who join the growing hunts in greater numbers.

The Doomslayer does not care about this. He's too busy killing Grimm to notice.

The pack of Beowolves he chases lead him up a mountain, the last survivors of a once thousand-strong horde. They come to a stop before the entrance of a cave, littered with old weapons and covered with uncountable claw marks. It is home to a great monster, one responsible for the destruction of hundreds of villages and the deaths of countless thousands. It is an emaciated horse with a horned, humanoid upper body stuck to its back. On the humanoid's back are weapons from a myriad of defenders who failed to stop it, worn and paraded like hard-earned battle scars.

The Beowolves rally around it, their base pack-hunter instincts returning to the forefront of their minds alongside a miniscule shred of hope. They growl and roar as the armored monster steps into the cave a moment after, determined to not die here at its ironclad hands.

The Nuckelavee screeches, the noise loud enough to deafen those without an Aura and shatter reinforced windows. It rattles the cave and dislodges a few stalactites from the cave ceiling. A few fall on the Doomslayer's form, breaking harmless against his bulk. The Beowolves join their roars with their larger kin's voice, malice and murderous intent leaking into the very fabric of their being in preparation for a fight that would go down in history.

The Doomslayer produces a rocket launcher and fires a five-rocket burst in answer.

The resulting explosions from the turn the smaller Grimm into smoking chunks and makes the horse-half of the Nuckelavee rear back in surprise and no small amount of pain.

The rocket launcher is replaced with a pump-action shotgun. Its underslung grenade launcher fires its payload onto the Nuckelavee's exposed belly.

The Grimm's two mouths screech again in rage, and the humanoid half spins. Its spindly arms flail about wildly like whips, carving open stone and breaking a few of the fragile weapons in the cave. One of the claws catch the Doomslayer's side and the armored man is sent tumbling across the floor. He recovers and continues firing, red energy repairing the deep gash on his side and the holes on his armor.

He replaces the grenade launcher with the rapid-fire attachment and unloads more shells into the Grimm faster. The monster roars in agony, its horse half charging forward and knocking the Doomslayer onto his back with enough and tumbling across the stone floor. His impacts scatter old weapons and crumbling bones, throwing up a cloud of dust in his wake.

The Doomslayer pulls himself back up and walks through the cloud, the sounds of dented armor bending back into shape and broken bones being mended overshadowed by the sound of his deep growling.

The shotgun is replaced with a heavy assault rifle. The explosive dart launcher attached to the side of the weapon's barrel opens and unloads its dangerous payload onto the monster. Tiny explosions blossom across its length to singe fur, burn exposed flesh, and crack bony plate. The Grim retaliates by flicking its spindly limbs like whips, throwing the Doomslayer's aim and forcing him back.

Back into a wall.

The Nuckelavee screeches in triumph and charges forward at full speed, the head of its horse-half angled low to enough to try and pulp the Doomslayer.

The man crouches low and jumps. The boosters in his boots flare in activation and propels him higher, enough to avoid being pasted by the Nuckelavee's horse-head. He lands on the horse-half's neck and replaces the rifle for his chainsaw.

The weapon roars to life with one tug of its engine cord, and digs into the horse-half's neck to send viscera and Grimmflesh everywhere. It eviscerates the bony plate, pulps through midnight flesh, and destroys meat as easily as a child tears apart wet paper. The Nuckelavee screams and thrashes about in agony until the horse half's spinal cord is severed and the beast's lower half tumbles to the ground in a heap.

The monster screeches and flails wildly, too overwhelmed by pain to form a coherent method of attack. The Doomslayer keeps out of the flailing limbs' range and grips the neck stump of the Nuckelavee's horse half.

He pulls and throws the Grimm into an open part of the cave that leads out into a cliff with a spectacular view of the world beyond.

The Nuckelavee watches in dawning horror as the Doomslayer slowly approaches, his weapons put away and leaving him with just his fists. It lashes out with one spindly arm, but the Doomslayer catches it and pulls. Puts his weight behind his furious tugs, digs his armored heels into the cave floor and marches back far enough to stretch the captive limb to it absolute farthest limit. The Grimm howls, battering the Doomslayer with its remaining limb until he escapes out of the whip-arm's range.

Until the captive whip-arm snaps in two.

The Grimm screeches again in agony, the sound making the Doomslayer puff his chest up in something like pride and satisfaction. He marches up to the flailing Grimm, hops onto its prone form, grabs one of its horns, and slugs the side of its face. Then he brings the monster's face down to his knee, rupturing an eye and damaging the frontmost half of its mouth. Fangs and chips of bone-plate come off, tumbling off the armored gauntlet and splattering all over the floor over the noise of its agonized screeches.

By now, the Grimm has all but given up. Its remaining arm lies limply on the cave floor and its remaining eye is laden with hopeless despair.

The Doomslayer laughs, a booming sound so cold and malicious that Dark Witch watching the carnage unfold through her minion's eyes shivers.

The man grabs one of the Nuckelavee's horns and wrenches it free with one good tug. He flips it in his hand to hold it in a reverse grip, then plunges it through the monster's remaining eye. The monster screeches again, the loudest it ever has, a cry for help and a plea to end its suffering in one. The Doomslayer raises a heavy boot and stomps on its neck, snapping bone and stopping the annoying noise forever.

The Grimm's body begins to disperse into black smoke, drifting out from the opening and into the sky.

The Doomslayer watches the smoke rise, then holds out a hand the comb his fingers through the smoke.

"Scans complete." A voice announced to the Doomslayer. "Initiating prototype energy reclamation systems."

Microscopic pores along the Praetor Suit, made through fine manipulation of stored Argent Energy, open and draw in the black smoke that was once a Grimm. Not all of it, but a enough to serve as an experimentation sample for future use. The pores close, and the Doomslayer grunts, walking away while ignoring VEGA's incessant chattering about alternative energy sources and possibilities with the collected 'exotic matter'.

So long as the A.I doesn't get in the way of him killing these wannabe demons, then it can do whatever it wants to his suit.

Though, those potential suit augments sounded interesting…

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Atop her throne, Salem took deep breaths and tried to calm her racing heart. Tried to dispel the rising fear and quell the feeling of helplessness welling up in her chest.

Her creations couldn't stop him. Entire hordes had been thrown at him and died. Ancient monsters, some older than the Four Kingdoms, were torn apart and killed with a savagery that she thought humans were incapable of doing. She had even assumed control of her creations and fought the man through them personally. She still lost and her controlled creation always died.

But that laugh… That horrid sound, so raw and visceral…

Was that what the humans felt whenever one of her stronger and older creations manage to corner them after some amount of playing? Fear and utter helplessness? She knew what it felt to be the one who inflicted feelings, but to experience them from the receiving end was—

She shook her head. Not now.

She composed herself, willed her fear away as the doors to her throneroom opened and a man walked in. His scorpion tail waved sedately through the air and an excited smile played on his lips, the muffled sounds of barely contained mirth bubbling to his face. The man stopped before her and knelt, head bowed in reverence.

"You summoned me, my Queen?" Tyrian Callows grinned. Salem forced a smile onto her mouth.

"Tyrian," she drawl, a finger brushing her lower lip. "I have a task for you."

A/N: Now we can see VEGA getting ideas on what to do with the smoke that Grimm turn into when they die. Salem's getting panicky and sending Tyrian out to deal with Doomguy. Qrow's on Doomguy's trail and is fending off people who'd want Doomguy for themselves... All in all, a good place to cut off.

Any questions can be directed in the reviews. I'm expecting you guys to point out any errors for me to edit out, so don't be afraid to speak out! Learning from mistakes are what makes us grow, after all!

So, that's all from me. Thanks for reading and have a nice day, wherever you all are!