In the beginning, God said.
"Let there be light!"
With those words, the order took form over the chaos, and the light created a new world.
But when the light came into conscious existence, so too did the dark. Resentful of the light's role in its being, the Dark chose to oppose his father and its plans for its new world. When the light created the land, the sea, the air, and all its myriad creatures the Dark reached out and turned what it could touch into Grimm corruptions of the light's vision for its project. Monsters of tar and bone who shied from the light and found comfort in the Dark's endless shade.
The Dark's masterstroke, however, was reserved for the Light's greatest creation. When the first man and his wife set foot upon an untouched land and took their first steps in their new life, Dark gave the woman a gift of its knowledge. With her husband and her gift, the first couple gave birth to four beautiful daughters and through them brought magic to the world.
Over time more children were born, and over this prosperous people, the first man and his wife ruled with wisdom and love for a time until the woman began to resent humanity's monopoly on her husband's attention. Resentment grew into jealousy, and jealousy led to the woman using the Dark's gift to give her worshippers the strength and fury of the beasts, before waging war against her husband when he tried to stop her from destroying the rest of humanity.
And so, the Dark destroyed the Light's dream. Humans came to know the madness of war, and with their champions, the First Man and his Wife had fought through the ages. Their battles are now the only Remnant of the love they once held for each other.
In the beginning, God said to Wilson.
"Kid, you are a title shy from being a Huntsman, but you are going to accompany the delegation to Menagerie as a Huntsman. An extra gun, in case those animals get any funny ideas. If you succeed, I will raise you as a provisional Huntsman. Report to Branch Headquarters in two hours. That is all."
Blasphemous, perhaps. But in the Militia, Wilson's superior officer is the next closest thing.
The 'Delegation' panel was expected to negotiate with the Chieftain of Menagerie the matter of opening trade routes between one of the border towns in Faunus hands, and an outpost controlled by the Kingdom of Vale. A simple trip which started with a freak storm and ended, after a false start with a gang of bandits, in a lantern-lit, overly spiced room, cluttered with food-laden tables and half-drunk guests. Set in a small town called Menagerie, named just like all the towns populated predominantly by the Faunus.
At an average of six-feet tall, and that's only the women, the Faunus held firmly to the trappings of civilization. For a race of giant beast-men, for whom food involved slathering everything in a sauce that could melt spoons, and entertainment included women dressed in nothing but veils dueling with knives. The sight confounded the Delegates, but Wilson wasn't that bothered. If the Chieftain was willing to display his wives, Wilson was happy to enjoy it.
With his eyes glued onto the duel upon the raised stage, Wilson would seem to anyone not to be in the posture appropriate for a bodyguard watching over the proceedings that followed after a routinely successful conclusion of negotiations. Anyone would be right despite the apparent violence, and the blood. The way the women moved spoke more to ritual rather than killing intent. Evident from the way both dancers exaggerated their moves to the point of parody. While still displaying a feral skill that one would not expect from women that tall. The slight lines of blood marking the pale belly of the woman with panther ears, the sweat sheening over the stripes of the tigress, the flicker of the torches, and the steady beat of the drums surrounding the stage added to the furious back and forth. There was no need for flashy jewelry or lurid nudity to engage the audience's attention and provide a feast for both the eyes and mind. Such things were toys for lesser women.
In any case, Wilson doesn't rely on his eyes much anyway. Anyone could fake their body language. But no ordinary person could stop their breath catching as a dagger swiped inches past a pale throat. Nor could a person stop the sound their fingers make as they tap in time to the beat of the drums, or stop their growing lust from sweating through the pores of their skin. The Faunus didn't bother hiding their libido, nor kept their manners up past the first course. Altogether, the mess created a fugue that was so thick it blanketed the banquet hall and could be cut with a knife if anyone was inclined.
That was why Wilson noticed the assassin moving through the crowd without even turning his head. The scent of determined nervousness stood out like an iron bar to the face when compared to the haze of lust that permeated Wilson's surroundings, and beneath the smell of cat and curry lurked the scent of gun oil and steel. Neither of which were the kind used by Wilson, or the other bodyguards.
Wilson's head didn't move until the assassin stepped into his line of sight. Close enough for him to catch a glimpse of black hair, and eyes of gold so pure that a bank could use them to finance itself for a decade. He then radioed his findings to the rest of the guards once she passed by him.
"Wilson, that is the Chieftain's daughter!"
"So?" Wilson replied as he picked his way gingerly past the tables while he straightened his tie. The dance had ended as Wilson approached the stage, and over the applause and cleared throats he could hear the guards to his left approach the Faunus Chieftain's daughter. One of the guards then said something that Wilson couldn't make out before the assassin replied by tearing the guard's throat out. The chaos of a giantess throwing the shorter human guards aside followed as she charged straight at her father. Damn whatever stood in her way.
Wilson tapped the face of the watch strapped to the bottom of his left wrist as he jumped on then cut across the raised stage. The dancers both had their daggers drawn but no target. So Wilson quickly pushed past them before he snapped his Bullwhip sharply off its holster and cracked it tight around the assassin's wrist just as her dagger was in mid-fall toward her father's chest.
"Blake?" The Chieftain rumbled, his baritone fury muted by disbelief as he cringed over his would-be killer, as if his daughter's blow had landed clean "Why?"
"You can't deal with humans, Father! They are dangerous and cannot be trusted!"
"I'm doing this for our people!"
"No, Father." Blake's denouncement ruined by the tremble in her voice, "You are not."
Blake then dropped her dagger. Which relaxed the tension in Wilson's whip and allowed her to turn, draw, and drill a bullet into Wilson's chest.
The shot blossomed out into a series of white cracks which rippled briefly across Wilson's suit. The result of a forcefield, produced by the Dust sewn into the suit and triggered by Wilson's watch, that had neutralized the bullet's energy before it dropped the spent slug onto the stage with a dull clatter.
"Huh, it worked."
It also only worked once. Hence it didn't stop the chieftain's wives when both of them tackled Wilson and stabbed him in the back.