To ksgrip: Read your review, and I would like to address a few points you make here.

I completely agree with the main cast having to share "screen time," which is why I opted to split Saint and Lisbon from the main group so they can progress their own storylines, which will intersect at some point in time. RWBY as a show is extremely cluttered with how many characters there are in the game, and it becomes hard to write around that. This should result in a lot less POV changes, limiting it to a max of 3 per chapter but the average should be around 2.

Second point about supers. In lore, Guardians can use their Supers at whatever point in time they feel like, (depending on the strength of the Guardian, of course) and since we're dealing with two of the most powerful Guardians in the universe, that's what I bet on. In retrospective, I notice that there is some significant power-creep going on here, so I'll reel it back a bit with some in-story explanation.

I still disagree with your take on what a crossover should be, but maybe you're just not into AUs, which is completely fine. My new story in the works will be more traditional and will probably be more of what you're looking for.

Mantle.

Saint snaps his body to the side, Bastion raised and the sights trained on whatever made that sound.

"H-help…" A man, half-consumed by SIVA is hobbling towards him. His light-grey armor plating is chipped, cracking in jagged gaps that are filled by a glowing red that glows brightly in the dark, like the leer of a predator. A full-face respirator, shattered at the glass visor, hangs off his neck, revealing a deathly pale person with a stare that is begging for release. Little nanites buzz and fly around different parts of their body, burrowing, digging into his skin and flesh. The man's hobbles progressively grow less stable with every step, and he fall over at Saint's feet.

"What did this to you…?" Saint steps back, to prevent himself from risking infection. "How…how did it get this bad?" He lowers Bastion and sighs. "I'm sorry…there's nothing I can do for you." He lowers his head in respect for what looks like this victim's final moments.

This was the first time he had seen a SIVA infection grow this bad. Watching someone be consumed and eventually taken over by an unfeeling, ruthless machine makes his stomach churn. He had heard the tales from Saladin and they seem to corroborate what is in front of him right now. A part of him hoped that the person inside the corruption was still present, that it was still possible to free them, give them another chance at life.

That fleeting feeling is now gone, this felt like a fate worse than death, worse than being skinned and eaten alive by Fallen Dregs.

A tremor runs down Saint's body, chilling it in a way he hasn't felt in quite a while. This is reminding him of Mercury; the failed expedition. He shakes his head and steps back. He will put a stop to this, it isn't a matter of if. A city like Mantle could house hundreds of thousands of people, maybe millions, possibly from centuries worth of development. He won't let it be stopped.

Saint snaps his head up as he picks up on the whir of a Wire Rifle charging up. He locks in on the source of the noise, that being a little white-blue dot on the rooftop in front of him, a few feet to the side. He leans his body back, avoiding the projectile before raising Bastion at his aggressor.

"Damnit, too far…" Saint mutters, before being struck on the back of his left shoulder by another Wire Rifle. He staggers forward, before turning around to see an entire row of white-blue dots with two red eyes on top all staring at him.

There are too many of them considering his current position. He has no chance right now, which means he has to get close and very, very, personal. He conjures an Arc grenade that would detonate and erupt into a bright flash, which should buy him some time to take cover inside a building.

Saint barrels towards the building in front of him, the entrance being a wide dark hole with a barricade of trash about as tall as the wheels of a truck in front of him. He throws the grenade high into the air, far enough so that it would be the first thing anyone on the roofs would see. His hands grab at a loose car door acting as part of a barricade and pull it outwards, displacing it from its entrenched spot before discarding it to the side. Saint enters the building using his new entrance before sliding behind cover, catching a moment to breathe and think about his next moves.

The interior is pitch black, semi-periodically dimly lit by what seems like a small flashlight pointed towards the entrance. The glow of Saint's helm can only go so far, so he ignites a Hammer of Sol, unpowered but able to act as a torch.

This building seems to have been some sort of restaurant, judging from the number of circular tables knocked over and a counter with various fridges and cooking material behind it. There is a helmet on the counter, with a flashlight on the side of the forehead that is indeed flickering in and out of life. Despite it being unmoving, it feels like it's watching Saint. While he gently steps through all the trash littered on the ground, he imagines what could have happened in this kind of place, as a day-to-day business. He thinks of a quaint little shop, where the owner is shuffling back and forth between the counter and all the machines, producing a variety of baked goods that go in a rack that's displayed proudly beside the counter. He thinks of the people that would frequent this type of place, all worrying about their own facets of life while they wait for a baked good or a hot drink.

Mantle doesn't seem to be the type of city that worries about raiders that skirt around their borders, searching for an opening to attack and pillage. The people here don't seem like the type of people that sleep on the walls of their houses, rifles in hand and always ready for any threat that could come at their doorstep.

Saint imagines Mantle like the Last City that The Guardian showed him but…dimmer, somehow. The thought of children playing in the street didn't cross his mind, but at the same time they wouldn't be cowering in their homes, underneath the tight grips of their parents. This city seemed to have a sort of shadow of resentment cast over it, jealous of…something. It isn't an environment he's familiar with, and he can't pinpoint what was causing this jealousy.

Saint shakes his head, clearing his mind and returning himself to the present. He would have to see the inhabited parts of Mantle to pass judgement. Maybe the island floating above, too, if he ever gets the chance.

For now, he has to deal with some fools carrying Wire Rifles.

His glowing hammer raised to the top left of his vision, he stalks his way through the ruined café. He finds a set of concrete stairs that seem to lead to the top and takes it. All is quiet, there being seemingly no activity for his ears to pick up on, except for a faint scraping sound far away.

Somewhere on the ascent, Saint encounters a body slumped against a wall, a rifle resting on their legs and their helmet also flickering in and out of life. The Titan kneels down, and uses his free hand to lift the corpse's head, so it would be facing him. Again, a shattered respirator with mauling that disfigures this former person's face, making their descriptions unidentifiable. SIVA hadn't gone lightly on this poor soul. Saint lets the head sag before leaving them be. He exhales through his nose, before continuing up.

The rest of the trip up the stairs goes quietly, and there's only a closed door in front of him.

What he doesn't expect is the door to slide open for him while a person in light armor plating holds their index perpendicular to their lips while cocking his head into the room. They remove their finger from their mouth and point to the roof.

"They'll hear you," she whispers. "Get in, and don't make anymore noise than you did coming up."

Saint nods and steps in, turning to watch the woman slide the door shut behind him.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," the woman says, her voice still hushed. "There are dozens of those snipers on the rooftops, and they're crack shots. Took out my entire squad on the street."

"What are you doing here?" Saint whispers back, kneeling down underneath a window.

"Look, if you can help me get rid of these bastards, we can talk afterwards. You look like a Huntsman, can you fight?" The woman asks. Saint nods.

"Of course, I wouldn't be Saint-Fourteen if I couldn't fight." He unveils Bastion to her, and nods. "I can distract the ones from across while I deal with the ones above us. It would be of good help if you can deal with them."

The soldier nods, before taking a silver scoped rifle that was leaning against a wall. It looks oddly familiar.

She takes up a position at a boarded-up window. She points to another door in the apartment that has the words written in bold and bright yellow:

ROOFTOP ACCESS

AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY

"If you hear fighting above, start shooting," Saint says, pushing the access door open and then giving one last glance to the woman.

"Roger," she says, loading a magazine into her weapon. "Good luck."

Saint closes the door behind him before rushing up another flight of stairs and charging into the last obstacle that's stopping him from pummeling these SIVA machines to pieces. Something is immediately thrown to the side as the door pushes them off of the building and to the floor below.

Bastion raised, Saint steps out and he locks onto a Fallen Vandal, infected by SIVA. The Eliksni charges its Wire Rifle but he does the same with his own fusion rifle, hearing three clicks before a volley of three slugs tear the dead being into shreds. Another tries swinging at him with the butt of its rifle from the left, but he blocks the attack with the armor on his forearm, holding firm before colliding his head into its chest, piercing a hole into the mix of metal and flesh that lets out a ghastly hiss as the amalgamation of Fallen and SIVA goes limp.

The dart of a Wire Rifle strikes Saint's back, followed by around three more that force him into cover. He charges Bastion once more as a duo of a Fallen Dreg and a Marauder rush at him with their puny blades out. His foot digs into the rooftop.

Three clicks. Three volleys. One Dreg dead and a Marauder severely maimed. The one still moving tries to crawl away, screeching in its language. There isn't the typical desperation Saint would hear from a surrendering Eliksni, but more of a plea for release that betrays its actions, which the Titan was more than happy to fulfill. He pulls the Marauder back by the remaining leg it has and slides its head underneath his boot before crunching the two together against concrete.

The crack of a light-sounding and rapid-firing rifle from underneath reassures Saint he has his back covered. He turns to see the snipers on the opposite rooftops dropping like flies before they're all gone.

"You are a fantastic shot!" Saint bellows as he shoulders Bastion and dusts his hands.

"Good work up there, I think we're clear!"

. . .

The woman sighs as she leans on a wooden table, displaying a holographic 3D map of this particular district of Mantle. She shakes her head and wipes her face.

"You can call me Ari. I'm a soldier in the Atlas military," she says, her expression deadpan. She removes her helmet and places it on a shelf, angling it so the visor is looking at Saint. Her dark skin nearly blends in with the shadow behind her and her hair is nowhere to be seen. Her face is well-built, with an ever-present look of vigilance.

"My name is Saint-Fourteen…" Saint says, squinting at the map of Mantle.

"Yeah, I know who you are. The story of what you did to the Ace-Ops has spread like a wildfire and you're a literal urban myth around these parts."

Saint chuckles but hums in confusion. "Ace-Ops?"

"Story goes that you managed to handle two of them at once, beating down the fast one while you kept the other at bay with grenades that could suppress Auras." The description seems to recall to his encounter on Kuo Kuana against those two fighters that were overseeing the Vex component shipments. Harriet and Marrow, he recalled were their names. "Some people are saying that you would have sent them with their tails tucked behind their legs if you weren't stopped by someone else."

"Ah…I remember clearly. 'Atlas,' correct?" Saint asks, tilting his head.

"That's it." Ari takes a breath before using her fingers to zoom in on a large complex with a giant crater at the center of what looks like to be the main building. "My squad were sent in this area as a strike force to have a go at the heart of this threat, with some other small objectives on the side." She swipes over to some other, less important-looking markers littered about Mantle.

One in particular, labelled: INVESTIGATE POTENTIAL PRESENCE OF HAPPY HUNTRESSES AND ROBYN HILL piques Saint's interest.

"Anyways, we have free reign over this area, until…well, until an ambush wiped out my entire fireteam and put my days to a limit." Ari smiles half-heartedly, a look of resignation on her face. "I don't know if anyone is listening to this, most likely not since all of our comms were jammed the moment we entered into Red Land, but if I had the chance to reconsider, I would have backed the fuck away from this shitshow of an operation." She chuckles. "Fuck this place. I'll be gone in a few weeks and no one will know I ever existed, nor will they know what shit goes on here."

"I promise I will make your sacrifice worthwhile," Saint mutters. "How long have you been here?"

"About a week, maybe two. I can't tell the time in this place," Ari replies dryly. "I probably have maybe another before these little things turn me into a zombie."

"I won't let that happen," Saint says, his resolve steeling for another battle. "I will be heading for the Replication Chamber."

/

Atlas.

An intelligence officer, high-ranked in the Atlas military and a direct reporter to the General himself, gulps and readjusts his tie. The hand holding his tablet is clenched tight on the device, and if the man had the strength from his field days, he would have snapped the thing in two. His other hand is trembling.

The General won't like the news that just came from the leader of Fireteam Ember, who were considered KIA a week ago after they set foot in The Red Lands. It was a fringe transmission, a video that seems to be spliced together from an assortment of headcams that were still active, but their users most likely dead.

The officer clears his throat as he steps into the General's office. "Sir," he says, his expression stiff and worried.

"Officer Xiao, you said this was urgent. Urgent enough to report to me, instead of Winter?" The General is a mix of majority perplexed, and minorly annoyed as he sits at his marble desk, his elbows on top and his hands locked together in front of his face. "Well, don't keep me waiting."

"We have received confirmation of Saint-Fourteen's presence in The Red Lands," the officer says, keeping himself as level as possible. "He is heading for the Replication Chamber at Ground Zero."

General Ironwood's expression immediately shifts. "And you're absolutely certain that this intel is correct?"

The officer nods shortly. "We have received a transmission originating from Ember-One's headcam. It's a video of Saint-Fourteen himself. Our analysts weren't able to find any proof of doctoring. He is here, sir."

"Damn," Ironwood swears. "He is more mobile than we thought. You can leave, I'll deal with the problem myself."

/

"Penny, you're looking as…normal, as ever," Lisbon says, rotating his wrists inside his handcuffs before stretching his palms to the sides, revealing them to the very disappointed looking orange-haired girl sitting in front of him.

"Lisbon." Penny frowns and glares at him. "You ran away."

"Like I said I would," Lisbon says. Penny looks hurt at his statement. "What, you knew about my plan from the very beginning. You could have stopped me."

"I didn't want to stop you." The frown turns into a scowl.

"So why are you mad at me?" Lisbon snorts. "I gave you every opportunity to keep me in Atlas."

"Because it isn't right to deny a person his need for freedom," Penny says. "Even if it means running away from their friends." She stands up, and crosses her arms, waiting for an answer. It seems she's preparing for an excuse. "And now you're back."

"Look, I know what I did hurt you-"

"So why did you do it?" The robot-girl snaps, a rarely seen flare of anger showing in her eyes.

"There are things that are more important than friends, Penny. I wanted out of Atlas the moment I crashed. Bring your issues to Ironwood, not me," Lisbon hisses, his own attitude turning sour.

"If you hadn't left the way you did, we could have negotiated a better deal for you!" Penny exclaims, her hands placing themselves on the tabletop. "People are hurt because of you! And not all of them physically!"

Lisbon clenches his eyes shut and hits the table with his binds. The statement stings at him, but it's true.

"What do you want me to say, sorry?" Lisbon nearly spits. "I'll say it right now if you want me to."

"I want you to tell me why you would run away like that."

"Penny, Penny, just hold on-"

"Answer the question, Lisbon."

"I…" Lisbon bites his metal lip. "Like I said, some things are more important than friends."

"Is that so?"

Lisbon nods, and artificial tears begin to form. "Last time I had a friendship like this, I killed them." He seethes. "There, is that what you wanted to hear? That's why."

"Lisbon I-"

"Shut up, and get out of my sight," Lisbon barks, leaning his body forward and glaring with an uncountable amount of bottled up rage flowing through him.

Penny looks down and averts his gaze. "O-Okay…"

In a second, she's gone. The minute after, Lisbon smashes his face into the table.

The Dark beckons to him.