Volume 1 – Icarus
Chapter 1 – Fox, Wolf, Bear, Lion
"Wa-Hoo!"
The four masked figures shrieked and whooped as they ran down the sidewalk, jumping to hit store signs they passed under. Passerby hopped and stumbled aside to make way for the armed boys; whether they understood what was happening or not, they knew better then to get in the way of a riled-up group like that. And so, unhindered, and not caring that they were in broad daylight, the quartet kept running to what, if they had their way, would soon be a crime scene.
"This is the life!" yelled the wolf-masked boy, clutching his makeshift billy club with heart. "Eh? Ain't this grand! Ha!"
Just ahead of him, the largest boy, clad in bear mask, yelled back over his shoulder, "Not yet it's not, boy!" The wolf responded by reaching forth with his club to give the big bear a soft rap on the back of the head. The bigger boy smiled beneath his mask; the little one would pay for that later.
"Please, lads!" yelled the lion from the front in a gleeful tone. "We can decide who's right and who's wrong when we're rich men and not poor bastard boys without two Vacuo coppers to rub together! You keeping up back there, pup!?"
At the back of the group, the smallest boy, clad in fox-mask, huffed as he struggled to keep up, holding his wooden club in two sweaty hands. "Fine!" he yelled as best he could, determined not to fall behind.
"Don't be losing spirit, pup!" the lion called back. "You'll make your dear old family cry! 'Course, if you think you're going to piss yourself again, we could always stop and wait for another score to pop up!" The three boys in lead whooped with laughter, while the fox simply tried to keep up, his face burning at mention of an unfortunate incident from many years ago.
As the four sprinted on, another young boy, wearing and apron and sweeping, watched from the opposite corner, shaking his head.
"Look at them go, wearing those masks as if we don't know who they is..."
"Hush now!" snapped his mother, smacking him with a newspaper. "If you know who those boys are, then you should know better than to stir matters. You don't want them coming for you?"
"No, momma." said the young man, returning to his work.
The lion-masked boy skidded to a stop just before the opening to an alley, straightening his ratty, burnt-orange blazer with one hand while keeping a firm grip on his weapon with the other. "This'll be the one," he said in a lower, quieter voice as his brothers slid to a stop behind him. "Remember, hit them fast before they can draw! You gonna be okay there, pup?"
They all turned to the fox, who had only just caught up. "I'll be fine! Let's just make the score already!"
"Aw, so tough!" chided the wolf, before turning to the lion. "Better look out, or this one's gonna take what's yours!"
"That's enough," the lion said back, "come on lads! Let's go be kings!"
In the alley, shaded with awnings stretching from the two-story buildings on either side, men in dark glasses and jackets gathered around a wagon, loaded with slatted wooden crates. As one of the crooks went to inspect the inside of one crate, opening the lid to look within, they were taken by surprise by the masked boys rounding the corner and charging into the alley, clubs in hand. The dealers turned and yelled, making to draw their weapons, but the masks overwhelmed them before they could, and in an instant, the alley became a confused flurry of activity as wood connected with aura and fighters shouted at each other in pain or enthusiasm.
The lion came in first and with a strong swing, and was laying a beating on the lead thug before he knew what was happening. The biggest of the thugs was ready, and managed to disarm the bear, but paid for it with a solid right hook to the jaw, while the wolf was in the alley quick, and struck quick too, landing a flurry of impacts on the third crook. Fists and sticks flew, blood, teeth and spit were scattered, and auras flashed and fell as the melee happened. The fox-masked boy was the last to reach the fight, and barely managed to get in a single, feeble swing on the biggest thug before it was over, the dealers all collapsing to cradle bruised bones and egos.
The bear looked to his younger brother. "Sorry, pup." he growled. "Gotta be quicker next time."
"There will be all the time in the world later, big guy." said the lion, socking the bear on the arm. "Come on, help me with these crates while our little brothers look ahead."
"That's our cue." said the wolf, nodding to the fox. The two jogged straight back out of the alley, the fox still cursing himself internally missing the action. They looked around the street; normal comings-and-goings, shoppers and tourists, but no cops.
"Clear out there?" yelled the lion from the alley.
"Clear enough!" the wolf called back.
The entire wagon rolled out onto the street, being pulled by bear and lion alike. "Didn't want to leave any behind." the lion explained. "And we couldn't carry it all. Let's roll!"
The boys got moving, lion and bear moving the cargo while wolf and fox jogged alongside, brandishing their clubs and anyone who looked too long at the cart. On they went, through the colorful and decorated streets of Little Mistral, no one daring to get too close to the Torchwick boys and their prize.
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The Torchwick brothers were known to hang their hats in a series of shanties deep within a large, overgrown vacant lot, what had once been a pumpkin patch before a fire had claimed the owner; now the old patch was just left to grow wild and free, a philosophy that appealed well to the four young men who called it home.
With a perimeter of high, dense brambles surrounding the cleared out, grassy area around the home, only the Torchwicks could get in; years ago, they had spent weeks carefully navigating the thickets until they had figured out a series of barely-noticeable trails that cut through, and they had taken pains to keep those paths clear, yet concealed, since. On the front of the hovel was a black, wooden sign with a leering Jack 'O Lantern on it, so that if anyone did make it through, they would know exactly whose territory they were standing on, and they would know to turn back. Now, as the hot afternoon sun beat upon the metal shack, came the rumbling sound of the cart on the rough terrain as the brothers worked it through the overgrowth.
The lion and bear emerged first, panting from the exertion of lugging the heavy cart in the heat, their breath catching behind their masks. The fox and wolf quickly followed. As the older brothers set the cart down, lion removed his mask while bear leaned forward to pick up his second wind. Turning and smiling at their haul, Coleman Torchwick shook his orange hair out of his face, grinning wide with uneven teeth that did surprisingly little to detract from his general handsomeness. The eldest brother caught his kin's attention by swiftly jumping on top of the crates, flamboyantly throwing his arms wide with his lion mask still clutched in one hand.
"Look at this, fellas! Look what we managed! Ha!"
The biggest of the lot turned around and removed his own bear mask to scowl. "Come on, Cole," Matches Torchwick growled in his deep voice, "at least let us get some water before we celebrate." Matches towered over his brothers, tall and well-built. Though as orange-haired as Coleman, his dark grey eyes contrasted with his emerald-eyed elder. Cole grinned down at him from atop the cart. "Come now, water's no drink to celebrate a win like this! We need something stronger!"
The wolf-masked brother, Snapper, unmasked. "Maybe... we could open that scotch you stole from the Browns?" he asked hopefully, through several missing teeth. Green eyes and jet-black hair went well with his boyish looks. Coleman stroked his chin thoughtfully, with a smile. "Maybe, maybe... but first thing's first, let's get our haul inside, right quick!" Matches groaned in annoyance as Coleman hopped back down, the two of them grabbing the cart again to haul it away.
As Cole and Matches lugged the wagon away, and Snapper ran excitedly inside, the last brother hesitated, turning around and looking up at the clear blue sky over Vale. Pulling off his fox-like mask, the youngest Torchwick brother, fifteen-year old Roman, took a breath, letting the summer breeze ruffle his orange hair. He was the spitting image of a younger Coleman, with the same acid-green eyes, and faint freckles that looked ready to fade. Roman turned to run inside and join his family.
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Things inside were already in pandemonium.
The Torchwick Homestead consisted of six interconnected shacks, and they were all crappy. The walls and ceilings nothing but rusted sheet metal and old wood planks, the floors nothing but dirt. By day, the place was lit by sunlight that made it through the plentiful cracks in the roof, and by night by the dozens of candles scattered around. The Torchwick brothers were very accomplished candle thieves.
Currently, that dirt floor was being raised into a dust cloud by a spontaneous and very involved wrestling match between Matches and Snapper, who slid around and grappled as Coleman laughed, watching from his place sitting on the cart.
"How'd this end up screwy?" Roman asked as his middle brothers tangled.
"Don't know, don't care!" Coleman proclaimed. "But never fear, little one, I'd put a stop to it before anyone lost an eye."
"Aw, come on, Cole," said Matches, who now had Snapper in a firm headlock, "if I don't take his eye, how's he going to learn respect?"
Snapper struggled in vain against his massive brother. "Come on, Matches, let me go!"
"Aw, let the little punk go, Matches." Said Coleman appeasingly. "We have work to do, after all, and a score to look over!"
This got their attention, and Cole smiled as he saw his kin perk up in excitement. Matches released Snapper, and four of the younger brothers gathered near the cart. Coleman hopped down, grinned at his family, and then popped open one of the crates with a showmanlike flourish.
Inside the crate were over a hundred fresh, pristine green apples.
"Wow..." Roman marveled, his mouth watering at the sight. Snapper was equally impressed.
"That's... Gods... Cole, are they all filled up like that?" Coleman nodded and grinned devilishly, and Snapper kept talking. "I figure that's more food than I've seen in my sorry life..."
"Wow..." Roman repeated dumbly.
"On your life." Coleman replied. "Food good to feed Little Mistral for weeks. And those mongrel-humpers were shipping it away... tsk, tsk..."
Matches looked at Coleman, adopting a serious tone. "What are we going to do with it?"
"Well, eat some of it, that's obvious. But we need to turn a profit. I figure we, ah... hold a little bake sale, maybe spread the love a bit. Lend a tasty helping hand to the poor downtrodden of Little Mistral."
Matches grinned. "For a fee, of course."
"For a fee." Coleman confirmed. "And it'll have to be shiny with the men up top; we stick to all of Poppa Gold's rules, no undercutting. You know, it'll be easier to sell some of these as pies, can you...?"
Matches nodded. "I'll see what I can do."
"Tomorrow. Tonight..." he reached out with both hands, ruffling Snapper's black hair and Roman's red. "Tonight we eat like royals."
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The satisfying crunch of biting into a fresh apple is, of course, one of life's greatest sounds. And that evening, the Torchwick brothers explored many, many variations of that sound.
Their shack, lit yellow from without during the day, was now lit orange from within under the inky sky. The place was a hell of a fire trap to be sure, but if the brothers weren't scared of their criminal rivals within Little Mistral, they sure as hell weren't scared of a few loose cinders.
Coleman had relinquished to Snapper's request, and opened his hard-stolen scotch for him and his brothers to enjoy with their feast. He and Matches took much humor from watching their younger brothers try to hold their liquor. A couple glasses in and Snapper was already stumbling around and trying to make a poorly-thought-out speech about the brothers' good fortune, and making a true idiot of himself in the process.
Roman was a bit more subdued, holding his still-full second glass with a weak grip as he sank into a rotten couch that Matches had dragged out of a dump. He gazed into the flickering fire of a candle, the smells of dust and sweat and scotch overwhelming him as his thoughts drifted off to the lovely Colza... perhaps, after the other Torchwicks retired, he would go and see her. But he'd need to keep himself alert. Looking down at the drink, Roman hiccupped and then placed in on the arm of the couch, not intending to return to it tonight.
Snapper staggered onto the table in the middle of the room, bumping his shin but still managing to stand up proud. "With this... ah, weeeeeee... we are... HIC!"
The other three laughed, and Coleman leapt up to join his brother on the makeshift stage, throwing an arm around the teen's shoulders. "I think what Snapper is trying to say is..." he raised his drink high. "To the Torchwicks! Bastard boys of a bastard mother! Princes of Little Mistral! Deciders of our own names, and our own fate!" Matches and Roman cheered, and Snapper fell off the table, to more laughter.
The roaring was cut off by a high, sharp whistle from outside. The four brothers fell into silence. Cole, Matches and Roman all craned around to look in the direction of the whistle, from the front of the house. Snapper picked himself up out of the dirt, brushing himself off with a confused look. "Matches," said Coleman, "get the bitch-beaters. We may have trouble."
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Outside, standing right at the edge of the shadows beyond the light from the shack, stood three young women.
The three sisters were dressed almost identically, in black outfits lined with yellow fur, and sheathes for their daggers. Their dark apparel contrasted the matching bright orange blazers worn by the Torchwick brothers. They each had medium, brownish skin tones.
The eldest sister, Robas, stood at the front of the group with her hands on her hips and a sly smile on her face, her spotted leopard's tail swishing behind her expectantly as she watched the shack and waited for the brothers. Her long black hair was pulled in a ponytail.
The other two sisters, younger, were twins. Raksha, who had the shortest hair, sported a pair of grey wolf's ears that twitched in the cool night air. The ashen color of her hair matched them nicely. Her twin, Sek, was the tallest of the sisters, despite Robas being older. Her hair, also black, was big and frizzy. Her faunus trait was not apparent, but her eyes had a predatory quality. Both Raksha and Sek looked eager for the coming clash.
Growing impatient, Robas yelled at the shack. "Come on out, you fatherless bottom-feeders! Come on out to take your beatings like the filthy little hobos you are!"
Coleman appeared from the doorway, standing at the threshold with a mischievous grin and a club held at his side. "Well, well, well! The Noir sisters, this is a surprise! I was getting worried tonight would be a bit dull... come out and see this, brothers, it looks like the local livestock is getting restless!"
Each window of the shack was suddenly filled with a Torchwick; Roman, Snapper and Matches each hopped onto a windowsill from inside and crouched there, brandishing their clubs and glaring at the Noir sisters. The light from within the shack cast four black, Torchwick-shaped shadows on the orange glow of the yard.
"Now then!" Coleman jeered, stepping out into the night with his arms wide in a mock expression of hospitality. "What exactly can the Torchwick brothers do for you this fine, fine evening?"
"'Torchwick?' Ha!" Robas replied, walking forward to meet the eldest brother in the middle. "Now there's your best joke yet, Coleman! Pretending the four of you, you four bastards, have surnames!"
Coleman stopped walking, still smiling as the faunus stepped past him and began circling him. She kept speaking. "You boys don't have surnames! You're no family! Your scarlet woman of a mother had each of you to a different slimy vagabond, and then went ahead and died pathetic and unsuccessful. To have a surname, Cole, you'd have to have something, anything to your name..."
She stopped in front of him, putting her arms around his neck. "But you don't. All I see is a rundown shack in an abandoned pumpkin patch, inhabited by mediocre thieving bastards who lie to themselves and think that they have a place in Little Mistral."
Coleman kept smiling the entire time. "Ah, but that's where you're wrong, Robas." He reached up and pulled her arms away, turned to take a few steps back towards the shack, and then wheeled around and opened his own arms theatrically.
"We're the Torchwick boys! Bastard boys of a bastard mother, we choose our own names! We're family as long as our momma's blood runs in our veins, and we named ourselves Torchwick because that's what we are! Brothers! And believe me, it's certainly not a dirty mongrel like you who's gonna be taking that away from us."
Robas just grinned. "Maybe not, but we are here to take something from you... we heard you fellas came into something pretty shiny recently." She drew her dagger to fiddle with it idly. Coleman kept smiling, his eyes darting back and forth between the weapon and the girl's own eyes. "And how would you have found out about that?" He asked amicably.
"And how'd you find us, anyway!?" Roman suddenly interjected, causing everyone to look his way. "We're the only ones who know how to get through that thicket!"
Robas leered at him. "Aw, look at this little one, expecting something for nothing. You want some of my secrets, kiddo, why don't you give me some of yours?"
"Let me handle this, little pup." Coleman called. Roman scowled at the dirt; he thought it was an important question.
The eldest Torchwick brother turned back to the eldest Noir sister. "Now then, Ro, why don't you go ahead and get to the point? Why are you here?"
Robas put her finger through a ring at the bottom of the dagger's handle and began twirling the weapon. "Give us the food, vagabond. It'll only go to waste on slime like you, and we have bigger plans for it."
"And I'm guessing you mean to dice us up if we don't, is that it furball?"
"Them's the breaks." she replied with a jovial shrug. "So what's it going to be, whoreson?"
"Hmm..." Cole said with mock thoughtfulness, stepping forward to take her chin in one hand. The two smiled at each other. "I think... that you can run home to your litterbox, little kitty."
They both made their first move at the same time, with her lashing out with her dagger in a swipe at his throat, and him jumping backwards while bringing his club up to block. The two weapons barely met, as the Noir sisters spun around and bolted back into the thicket. The Torchwick brothers hopped down from their perches and ran to Coleman's side. "What do we do!?" Snapper asked.
"Go after them, of course!" Cole said.
"It's definitely a trap." Matches pointed out.
"Aye, it's a trap." Cole said, nodding. "But we know these brambles better than they do, so the advantage is ours!"
Coleman led the charge, running after the Noir sisters as his brothers followed suit. "Come on, lads! Those filthy freaks aren't taking what's ours!"
Whooping and banging their sticks, the boys dove into the pitch blackness of the thicket, ducking low into one of their secret pathways and moving through in single file, searching for their rivals.
"I can't see a thing in here!" called Roman.
"Yeah, we've never had to go through in the dead of night, but neither have they." Matches replied. "Everyone keep your ears open, and listen for their footsteps, we can take them down before they take us."
"Should we split up?" asked Snapper. "Cover more ground?"
"No." said Coleman. "We stick together, or they could overwhelm us one by one." He stopped for a moment to cup his hands around his mouth and yell, "Hey, Robas! When you were born, was it just you, or was there a whole litter!?"
There was no reply, only the shimmering of the branches in the breeze. The brothers kept going, occasionally hearing the faintest movement in the brambles, but it would be gone by the time they got there.
"This is no good," Matches noted, grabbing Coleman by the shoulder to stop him. "Maybe there's some merit to covering more ground."
"Alright... but only into pairs. Nobody go off on their own. Matches, with me, let's push through here."
Snapper took Roman's arm to lead him in the other direction. "Come on, pup, we're off to the hunt." Roman followed quietly; the question of how the sisters had found them was still bothering him. It just didn't make sense... no one could navigate through this maze of brambles perfectly like that on their first time through. Even he still got lost on occasion, and he had grown up here.
Snapper and Roman went on for less than two minutes before something happened; unsurprisingly, the brothers splitting up was indeed exactly what the sisters had been waiting for. A sudden rustling to the left caught Roman by surprise, and something collided with Snapper, dragging him off down a side tunnel. "No!" Roman yelled. He tried to run after his brother, but tripped on an exposed root and went facefirst into the dirt. He could hear Snapper grunting in anger as he grappled with the girl dragging him away.
Still on the ground, Roman yelled in frustration; he's let himself and Snapper get separated.
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Matches and Coleman weren't in a much better situation. They knew that at least one Noir sister was nearby, maybe two, but they still couldn't see a damn thing. Back to back in a mostly-clear area of the dry brambles, they each held out their weapon, swinging blindly in the dark from time to time. "Dammit!" Matches proclaimed. "Cole, any idea where the mongrels are!?"
"Working on- AH!" His Aura had taken a strike, what felt like a slash across his chest. He swung, but hit only air. "Look out, she's making her move!"
Before Matches could answer, he was struck in turn. "Argh! There's two here!"
The Noir sisters were a dervish of knives and shadow; moving quickly but silently, they lunged and retreated, chipping away at the boy's Auras just a little at a time...
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Roman wasn't sure what kept him on the ground for so long. He should have been going after Snapper, trying to help, but he just couldn't get up. Of his four brothers, he was the weakest, and the youngest. Always the last to the fight. He sat there in the darkness, his hands resting in furrows in the dirt, which he vaguely recognized as the tracks that the cart had left as they dragged it through the maze. Somewhere off to the right, he could hear what sounded like a fight, probably Matches and Cole. He might have heard other voices too, but everything was distorted in here.
At any rate, he needed to stand. He needed to go after Snapper. Roman forced himself to his feet, still clutching his club. It didn't have any fancy folding parts, and it didn't shoot bullets or Dust, but it would do to bash a Noir sister's brains in. He started to jog after Snapper. He just needed to follow the cart tracks to find...
Roman stopped.
The cart tracks.
That was how the Noir Sisters had found their way through the maze. They had followed the trail left by the cart. They had followed the trail of the damn cart.
Roman spun around. It was inky black; he couldn't see the tracks. "But they can..." Roman said out loud to himself. The Noirs were Faunus. They could see in the dark. The revelation hit the youngest brother like a tidal wave; the ambush was perfect. The sisters had lured the brothers into the dark, where they had the ultimate advantage. They'd use shadows to snuff out the Torchwick brother's flames forever. But on the other hand...
Abandoning the search for Snapper, Roman turned and began navigating his way out of the thicket as fast as he could. Making his way to an exit, he emerged back into the orange-lit yard of his home, and sprinted up to the shack. Shouldering the door open, he skidded to a stop in the main room where he and his brothers had been celebrating minutes earlier, and looked around until he spotted the bottle of scotch, still half full. Roman wasted no time, tearing off a strip of his blazer and dipping it in his own glass, which was still balanced on the arm of the couch.
Seizing the bottle, Roman stuck the soaked cloth down the mouth, went to a candle, and lit the cloth from the flame. Examining his makeshift firebomb, the young brother smiled. "Hide from this, Kitty-Cats."
Running out the front door, Roman raised the Molotov Cocktail high above his head and flung it, as hard as he could, into the brambles.
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Robas Noir crouched in the shadows, licking her teeth in anticipation. Up ahead, she could see the eldest two Torchwick brothers, crouch back-to-back with their arms up defensively. A last stand. And she meant to make sure it was exactly that. Robas looked over to Sek, also crouched and ready to lunge. Sek met her eye, smiled, and nodded knowingly. It was time to end this. Robas brought up her dagger and hooked her index finger through the loop on the bottom. Twisting it, she unscrewed the secret compartment in the handle and withdrew a small vial of poison. She yanked the cap off with her teeth, and poured the venom onto the blade.
The two sisters had practiced this maneuver: Sek would deliver one final wide slash to finish their auras, and then Robas would bring in the poison. She was looking forward to seeing the look on Coleman's face when she sunk the blade into his gut...
Robas began slinking forward, readying her weapon for the final, crucial attack. Sek crept forth from the other direction, doing the same. It would be won in just a moment, the haul would be theirs, and best of all, they'd never have to hear the name "Torchwick" ever again...
Just as she was tensed to lunge, Robas was caught off guard by the crash of breaking glass and a sudden flood of light, as a nearby section of the thicket seemed to spontaneously burst into flames. Overbalancing out of surprise, the sister stumbled right into the waiting guard of Coleman, who caught her with an elbow across the face that sent her reeling, before bringing his club to bear and delivering a flurry of strikes. Sek, meanwhile, had been grabbed by Matches, who headbutted her several times before she unsheathed her lion's talons, taking him by surprise and allowing her to break free.
The Torchwicks and Noirs began a flustered melee and club clashed with dagger and smoke swirled through the thick air, cries of rage and pain mixing with the crackling of fire. The shock of the clearing being illuminated so suddenly had made all the difference, and the brothers were turning the tides on the faunus girls.
Anxiously aware of how strained her aura was, and of the flames spreading quickly through the dry vines, Robas decided it was time to cut and run. "Sek, let's get the hell out of here!" The clawed sister nodded, and the two turned to retreat into the darkness.
"Leaving already?" Coleman called. "I thought we were having a lovely evening!" He turned to look at Matches, while pointing at the fleeing sisters. "After them, let's go!" The bigger brother nodded, and the two ran after their rivals.
Robas and Sek burst free from the rapidly-expanding wildfire to see Raksha already waiting for them in the nearby alley. "Hurry!" Raksha called to her twin and older sister.
"What does it look like we're doing!?" Sek snapped back, before looking back over her shoulder. Not only had Cole and Matches followed them out, but the youngsters, Roman and Snapper, were emerging from the thicket as well. All four Torchwicks brandished clubs and devious grins.
Roman looked over to Snapper, relieved. "Snap, you're alright!"
"Yeah! Got into a bit of a fight with Raksha, but I'm okay."
As the sisters escaped into the darkened alley, Coleman slid to a stop, and beckoned for his kin to do the same. "Hold! We follow and this turns into a street brawl; we do not need the cops on us, not with our bounty safe at home."
The others stopped, Roman most hesitantly of all. "But... the Noir Sisters are gonna get away."
"Don't worry, pup. We'll have another shot."
Sure enough, the Torchwick brothers' eternal rivals were long gone, having fled into the night. Coleman gave a contented smile. To be perfectly honest with himself, he was rather looking forward to their next clash with the sisters. For the time being, though, he had bigger concerns. Turning around, Cole looked up at the inferno that now consumed the maze that had once protected their home. "Who's idea was this?"
"...Mine." Said Roman meekly. "I'm sorry, fellas. I couldn't think of anything else. They could see us in the dark, see. That's how they got through the maze; they followed the trail from the wagon we brought the apples home in."
Matches and Snapper seemed unsure of how to deal with this, so they simply looked at Coleman and waited for his response.
Cole was quiet, staring at Roman with a blank look on his face. After a moment, however, he couldn't hold it in anymore, and burst out laughing. "Well done, little pup! You protected what's ours, and saved our bastard skins to boot!"
"But..." Roman started. "I mean... what about the maze? It kept us safe."
"Aye, but we're still standing, and we still have the food. Speaking of which, we should really go make sure our home doesn't burn down. Come on, lads. Let's go dig a trench."
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The next morning, the entire perimeter thicket was nothing but a blackened field of ash, forming a massive donut around the Torchwick hovel. The four brothers stood out in front of the shack, looking out across the damage. "So," growled Matches, "we know how they got through the maze. But how did they know about the heist?"
"I don't know." Coleman admitted.
Snapper looked over at him. "You... don't even have a theory?"
"I know I seem like the man with the plan, but this time I've got nothing. I suppose the robbery was pretty public, but they sure were ready quick. Who knows."
He took a deep breath. "We're open to the elements now, and I don't mean wind and rain. We need to play things differently from now on." He turned to Matches. "We'll need to move those apples right quick. You'll need to get to work straight away." Matches nodded an affirmation, and headed back inside, while Coleman addressed Snapper. "Snap, I want you up on the roof. We need someone on watch at all times until the booty is out of our hands." Snapper followed Matches in, and the eldest brother turned his attention to the youngest. "Roman... come with me."
Coleman strode off across the ashes, hands in his pockets, and Roman followed.
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On the roof of the butcher store that made up the east wall of the empty lot the Torchwicks lived in, Coleman looked out over the city before him. The Great City of Vale, one of the four main kingdoms of Remnant. Ocean to its west. Mountains, east. Safe, secure and alive. Cole breathed in the cool breeze that sifted down from the mountains and looked back at Roman. "Look out here, little brother. It's time you had a full understanding of what our life is."
Roman walked over to join Cole on the edge. "I know what our life is. We steal to survive, and we look out for what's ours."
"Mm-hm. And you know what that makes us?"
"Uh..." Roman considered the question, but it probably didn't matter. No matter what he said, he had a feeling it would be wrong. "Crooks?"
Coleman laughed. "Yes, crooks, but more!" He gestured out over the view, indicating the local neighborhood. "Look at it! Little Mistral, our home! A little slice of a faraway kingdom, tucked into a slum. And it belongs to whoever can stay alive in it."
Coleman put an arm around Roman's shoulders. "Roman, you've got a real head on your shoulders. That's going to help you a lot. You think-" he tapped his temple, "and you stay alive. We do that and more. We're going to climb the ladder. We're going to take what we need, and we're going to be princes of this place." He looked down at his little brother. "So what do you think, pup? You want to be a Prince of Little Mistral?"
Roman considered his answer carefully. He knew he was supposed to say yes, but...
"No." Roman said bluntly.
Coleman blinked in genuine surprise. "No?"
"No." Roman spoke from the heart, as honestly as he could. "I don't want to be a Prince of Little Mistral." He looked up at Cole and smiled. "I want to be the King of Vale."
AN: Thank you all for reading, and please leave a review if you can, it helps me a lot.