A Path To Omniscience

"You know, I've been curious. What's the Frostvale heir doing with the Schnee heiress on an airship like this? And you even covered her escape. Seems like you're more than just business partners," the White Fang Commander mused, pacing around the dining area with his axe resting on his shoulder.

Asher's gaze tracked his every movement as he replied. 

"If you must know, we were on a date. Though it was interrupted—thanks to you and your men."

"Ah, I see. That's actually pretty adorable. Prince Charming stays behind so his princess can escape. Sounds like something out of a fairy tale." The Commander came to a stop, now standing just to Asher's right, about thirty meters away.

"But personally," he continued, a smirk creeping into his voice, "I prefer tragedies."

With that, he lunged. A shockwave exploded through the room as he launched forward, sending furniture and debris flying in all directions.

Asher's high-speed image sensors kicked in, feeding critical data into his HUD.

[Target Data]

Name: Unknown

Status: Hostile (Aggressive Engagement) [Locked On] 

Distance: 12.34m | Speed: 377.3 m/s

Attack Commitment: 89% (Confirmed) / 11% (Feint Possibility)

Trajectory Path:

  - 2A (Primary) - Angular Left Strike → [High-Impact, Full-Body Momentum] 

 - 2B (Secondary) - Midline Feint → Right-Side Arc

Weapon Loadout:

 - Primary: Double-Bladed Axe (One-Handed)

 - Secondary: None Detected

 - Hidden Threats: No Anomalies (Thermal | X-Ray | Magnetic Scan Clear)

Threat Level: Extreme

Reaction Window: 0.23s (Recommended Counter: Right-Side Evasion or Direct Parry)

Asher's mind processed the data in an instant. The Commander closed the distance, his axe hanging low, poised for a brutal upward slash that could cleave him in two. Then—his grip shifted.

The O.M.N.I. Frame recalculated instantly. A new alert flashed on Asher's HUD.

Attack Commitment: 7% (Confirmed) / 93% (Feint Possibility)

Trajectory Path:

  - 2A (Primary) - Angular Left Strike → [High-Impact, Full-Body Momentum] 

 - 2B (Secondary) - Midline Feint → Right-Side Arc

They moved simultaneously. Just as the Commander seemed ready to swing, he suddenly switched hands, shifting the axe to his right before whipping it in a deadly arc aimed directly at Asher's chest.

Asher reacted.

Following GAIA's recommendation, he ducked, raising the exoskeletoned section of his forearm to shield his head. The segmented metal locked into place just as the axe made contact.

A shriek of metal on metal rang out as sparks scattered in every direction.

His arm angled just enough for the axe to slide along the exoskeleton's frame, missing him entirely. Asher seized the opening. Planting his feet, he launched a strike aimed directly at the Commander's abdomen—right where the scar was. Five tons of force, perfectly channeled, smashed into the target. Even if Asher didn't match the Commander's raw power, an attack like that wasn't something to simply brush off.

The impact sent a tremor through the ground. The Commander's eyes widened as he staggered back, his face tightening. His Aura held, keeping him from real injury, but the pain? That was very real.

And Asher wasn't finished.

Rushing in before the Commander could regain balance, he struck again—same spot, same precision.

The Commander gritted his teeth, a grin stretching across his face as he bellowed, "That hurt, you little shit!"

With a sharp swing, his axe came down in a brutal arc.

Asher reacted instantly. He threw himself onto his back, legs raised, arms braced against the ground. The axe slashed overhead, missing by inches. Then, in one fluid motion, he kipped up—not to his feet, but straight at the Commander, legs snapping forward for a direct kick to the chin.

The Commander, fast as ever, leaned back just in time. His free hand shot out, catching Asher's leg mid-air.

Before Asher could twist free, the Commander yanked him through the air, before pulling down and slamming him into the ground.

The O.M.N.I. Frame absorbed as much of the impact as it could, but even with its dampening systems, the force rattled Asher to his core. The moment he hit the floor, his body felt like it had been jolted, his brain slamming against his skull. Pain exploded through his chest, and blood spilled from his lips.

But there was no time to recover.

The Commander raised his axe, gripping it tight, and swung it down in a lethal blow aimed straight for Asher's body.

Even with agony wracking his frame, Asher forced himself to act. He drove his free leg up with everything he had, smashing it into the Commander's grip.

The impact was enough. The Commander's hold slipped, forcing him to let go. Asher didn't hesitate. He pushed off the ground, rolling away just as the axe crashed down where he had been, the blade biting deep into the floor.

Coming up to his feet, he clutched his chest, his breaths ragged. Blood dripped from his lips, but he wiped it away with the back of his hand, eyes locked onto his opponent.

Both Asher and the Commander locked eyes for a split second before launching at each other again. Asher kept to his usual defensive style, with or without a weapon—dodging when he could, parrying and redirecting when necessary, and blocking outright when there was no other option.

But even as he defended, his counterattacks were precise, targeting only one place: the Commander's abdomen. No matter the angle, no matter the stance, every strike landed against that scarred flesh.

At first, the Commander brushed off the blows, enduring the force behind them. But as the fight dragged on, something changed. The dull ache from the repeated impacts intensified, turning into a searing pain that refused to fade. With every strike, the sensation grew worse, throbbing and relentless.

Realizing this, the Commander sneered as Asher barely slipped past another of his swings.

Alright, I've played around with this brat long enough.

Frustration, pain, and irritation boiled over. The next attack was wild, faster than anything he'd thrown out before. Had he kept the strike smaller, sacrificing strength for speed, Asher wouldn't have been able to avoid it—even with the O.M.N.I. Frame's predictions.

But he hadn't.

It was too big, too obvious, and Asher seized the opportunity. A step back, a swift kick, and just like that, the downward swing he had launched was knocked off course, the axe slamming into the floor a hair next to Asher instead.

The Commander was staggered, his balance thrown off and Asher didn't waste a second.

From the Nexus Space, he pulled two things. One, a Predator Round—one of the deadliest anti-Grimm munitions in existence—held firmly in his right hand like a chisel. The other? A screwdriver. The same one he had used to peel back that White Fang member's nail.

A bullet and a primer.

And in the next instant, the bullet was pressed right against the Commander's abdomen, directly over his scar. A chill ran down the Commander's spine. His aura enhanced senses felt like they were screaming at him, warning of imminent danger. He moved to shove Asher away, but it was too late.

The screwdriver's head struck the back of the Predator Round. Over a ton of focused force detonated it.

The air cracked like thunder.

Asher barely registered the sound before the Commander's shove connected, sending him flying. He hit the ground hard, rolling and skidding before his back slammed into a window, the glass cracking from the impact.

Another boom followed, echoing through the dining area.

As Asher looked up, he saw the White Fang Commander on his knees, clutching his stomach.

His axe lay forgotten beside him.

"Agh!" The scream tore from his throat, raw and unrestrained. There was no hiding the pain in his voice—no way to mask the sheer force of it. The Predator Round was built to take down Grimm, not Huntsmen, so it didn't shatter his Aura. Huntsmen and Aura users in general were typically tougher than the creatures of darkness.

Still, the Predator Round wasn't just any ammunition. It was designed to put down most Grimm in a single well-placed shot. The force behind it, combined with its explosive payload, meant that even if it didn't break through his Aura, it sure as hell felt like it had blown a hole straight through his gut.

Asher, on the other hand, remained slumped against the window. Unlike when they were fighting, the Commander hadn't held back when he shoved him away—he'd used his full strength. Now, Asher's entire body trembled from the impact, his joints screaming in protest.

Blood trickled from his nose, and something inside him felt off. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to move, testing his body inch by inch.

Nothing's broken I don't think... but I'm stiff. Sluggish. Still... I can make this work. I just need to hope that was enough to sell the bait.

His focus shifted to the Commander, who was still on the ground, groaning as he pushed himself upright. The initial agony had faded, replaced by something far worse—rage. His bloodshot eyes locked onto Asher, his breathing heavy, his body trembling with fury.

"You! I hope protecting your little lover was worth dying for! Because I'm going to rip you apart for this!" Asher didn't react. He just sat there, slumped against the cracked glass, motionless, as if he'd given up.

Yet, at the word lover, something stirred in the back of his mind.

Not memories of himself. Not of Weiss. But faces. People. Some sharp, vivid in his recollection. Others once blurred, forgotten, until the Nexus Space restored them with it's gift of a near-perfect memory. 

No living human could fathom the number of lives he had lived. No one could understand the number of lovers he had lost.

That part of him—the thing humans needed to truly love another person—had burned out a long time ago. In its place, he had gained something else. The ability to endure. To keep going, no matter how much pain coursed through his body.

And somehow, that thought at a time like this made him laugh.

The Commander, still seething with rage, watched as Asher's lips curled into a smirk. And then, as if the situation were some kind of sick joke, Asher started laughing.

"You- Are you laughing!?" The Commander's voice rang out, raw with disbelief and fury.

Asher glanced at him, and in that moment, the Commander saw it. Apathy. There was no fear, no anger—just amusement. But it wasn't aimed at him. The way Asher looked at him made one thing painfully clear.

He didn't see him as important at all.

Something inside the former Huntsman snapped. The realization was a trigger, spurring him forward in a blind charge. Pain slowed him, but not enough to stop his outstretched hand from reaching for Asher, ready to tear him apart.

But in his rage, he didn't see what Asher had tossed. An S.G-1, set to light burst mode, detonated in an instant.

A blinding white engulfed the dining room, drowning out every other color. The Commander barely had time to register it before his vision was seared away. He staggered, shouting in frustration, trying to halt his charge. But it was too late. His balance was gone, and stopping was impossible.

Asher, however, remained unaffected. The moment the O.M.N.I. Frame detected the sudden light spike, his visor automatically adjusted, darkening to counter the flare. His vision remained clear. Ignoring the lingering pain in his body, he surged to his feet.

As the Commander stumbled forward, Asher moved. He caught the man's outstretched arm, braced himself, and twisted. With a sharp pivot of his hips, he leveraged his entire body.

The Commander barely had time to react before he was lifted off the ground and hurled over Asher's shoulder. The already fractured airship window took the full impact of his massive frame. Cracks spiderwebbed outward before the reinforced glass finally gave way, shattering into the open sky.

The alarms, which had gone silent thanks to Asher, flared back to life.

A powerful suction force roared through the room, dragging everything toward the breach in the airship's structure. Tablecloths, decorations, and utensils whipped past Asher, disappearing into the endless expanse beyond. Only the magnetized tables and chairs held firm.

The O.M.N.I. Frame's locking system engaged, anchoring Asher in place. But just as he steadied himself, he felt something clamp onto his arm.

The Commander.

Through barely opened, burning eyes, he glared up at Asher, his grip unyielding.

"I'm not going anywhere!" He bellowed.

Asher frowned. He was stuck. If he moved, he'd lose his footing and be sucked out. If he stayed put, the weight of the Commander pulling on him would drag them both into the open sky.

A lose-lose situation.

For a brief moment, Asher considered his options. Then, he spoke.

"Let's hope my theory's right on this..." The words made the Commander pause mid-struggle, confusion flickering across his face. Then, he saw it—Asher's O.M.N.I. Frame unlocking.

Before he could react, Asher grabbed onto him, locking them together. And just like that, the two of them were ripped from the airship, flung into the icy winds of Atlas.

"What- What the hell are you thinking!? Fuck!" the Commander roared, watching the airship shrink into the distance, heading back toward the city. While he panicked over their free fall—thousands of meters above the ground—Asher got to work.

With a sharp yank, he pulled the Commander closer, positioning himself on the man's back. One hand wrenched the Commander's arm behind him, pinning it in place with his knee. His other arm coiled around the man's neck, locking him down.

"What the hell? What are you doing!?" The Commander yelled.

Asher's voice was calm, a near whisper against his ear.

"Surviving. From what I've learned, Aura is fairly good when it comes to absorbing blunt force impacts. So, if I had to guess... as long as I'm on your back when we land, and I calibrate my exoskeleton just right, I'll survive. Maybe a few fractures. A couple of broken bones. But in the end, I'll live even when we hit the ground at terminal velocity." The Commander's eyes went wide. He twisted his head to look at Asher, disbelief bleeding into his expression.

"Are you crazy!? You're going to use me as a cushion!? That'll kill me!"

"That's the plan," Asher replied, his tone disturbingly even.

The wind howled around them as they plummeted, the sheer drop stretching endlessly below. And for the first time, the Commander fully grasped it—this kid, this fourteen-year-old was completely serious.

Panic turned to desperate thrashing. But they were in free fall, and Asher had both his arm and neck locked. Without solid footing, the Commander couldn't break free.

"Listen to me, kid! Do you know what it feels like to break a bone!? You might die too! Just let me go, and I'll protect both of us!" He pleaded, his voice raw with urgency. He couldn't wrap his head around it. Why? Why would a boy take such an extreme measure—flinging himself from an airship like this?

Then, he got his answer.

"Exactly." Asher's voice was cold, detached.

"The more severe my state is when they find me, the better this story plays in my favor. But it only has the impact I need... if you're dead." It wasn't just what he said. It was how he said it. The complete lack of hesitation. The way he spoke about his own body like it was nothing more than a necessary casualty.

The utter disregard for his own safety. The Commander's struggle weakened.

He wasn't just fighting a desperate kid trying to survive. He was dealing with someone who had already accepted the worst outcome.

"...Here it comes," Asher murmured. The Commander's eyes snapped downward—to the sea of white rushing up to meet them.

"Shit..." It was the last thing he muttered before impact.

From a distance, their figures streaked through the sky, leaving behind a thin vapor trail before vanishing into the tundra. A massive cloud of snow erupted into the air, the dull, sickening impact swallowed by the howling winds.

Then, silence.