Now that I was dying I no longer feared death. I was uncertain which part of about it reassured me the most: that numbing sensation in my body and its senses, the small reserve of sanctuary I had in between the living and the dead, the future promise of nothingness, of oblivion, of knowing quite well that with my passing, the world would continue to turn, and sooner rather than later, my mistakes would be written out to make space for a true hero.
Somebody once told me that a hero could be defined by no one. But how can that be? By all means, being a huntress should be enough to call yourself something close to that of a hero. I swore an oath, didn't I? To protect the citizens of Remnant, bearing the burden and responsibility for it every step of the way... But everything that I did, every act of kindness and faith, I suppose, it was more for a selfish reason than most.
When I was five, I realized that I had been born into a war. Despite history, the battle had never truly ended, even a child as young as me could have seen this to be true. I was born on the island of Menagerie, onto the crowded streets of my fellow kind. For many of them, it was a home, a safe haven from the afflictions of discrimination. For me, it had always been a prison, a prison cell of reminders that we were lesser beings, sentenced to an isolated spot of desert land, a landmark of deception that we so proudly call as freedom.
My father was the leader of the White Fang. He was revered by the community. He had worked his way from the bottom to the top, slaving away as he won respect from his peers. Of course, his efforts had been for nothing.
Our peaceful protests, our boycotts, our speeches of passion, our calls for justice and equality – condemned and wasted away in the eyes of others.
Then came the fear.
The anger.
And then, the violence.
I left my parents when I was twelve. They didn't share the same vision of the White Fang like I did. I believed in their new leadership. My parents were cowards, I thought, but then again, so was I.
I left them a note on my bedside. I never said goodbye to them face-to-face.
I met Adam Taurus, a week after leaving home. He was the same as me, a Faunus, alone. He was older, wiser, and angrier. It made sense; he saw more of the world than I had, faced more of its hatred and wrongful oppression. But he was always kind to me. Kind and gentle.
.
.
"Where are your parents?" It was the first thing he asked me.
"I… I left them," I answered truthfully, not knowing what else to say. "They didn't believe in our cause, and I wanted to stay with the White Fang."
"I'm sorry to hear that." He frowned, seeming genuinely concerned. But then, he smiled, and my heart skipped a beat.
"But I'm glad you're here now. I think you made the right choice," he told me, and I was grateful, so grateful. "My name's Adam, by the way. Adam Taurus. What's yours?"
"It's Blake," I said, too eagerly. "Blake Belladonna."
"It's nice to meet you, Blake." He took my hand and lifted me up from the ground. "Welcome to the family."
.
.
Family, that's what they were. He became the brother I never had. I crafted my first weapon under his guidance. He taught me how to properly wield a weapon. I taught myself how to wield two blades. We trained together, as kids, growing together as we aged.
My sixteen-year-old self knew better than to ignore the signs. Adam was changing. He was fueled by nothing else but rage, growing more violent, crueler and vicious. But he was still Adam. He had to be, I told myself. There were more protests, more thievery, more bombings and other acts of terrorism. Our missions grew more dangerous and risky, but it was all for the right cause, Adam reminded me each time I voiced my doubts.
If this was it, then so be it. I read the world as he wished for me to do so. It was strange, but for a moment the words on the page lost all their meaning. I wished to keep this dream afloat, an illusion of love and justice.
.
.
Blood splashed across the floor and the walls. Adam raised his sword, for the eleventh time, slashing down ruthlessly, plunging his blade deep into the man's bleeding chest.
"Adam, stop! Stop it!" I cried, shaking as I saw the life leave the man's eyes. "He's… He's dead, Adam. He's already dead…"
I choked on my own tears, realizing just then that I had been crying.
Adam lowered his sword, his breaths uneven and rough. He dropped his weapon. It clanged onto the floor, ringing with a loud thud.
"Blake…" Adam said, and he gently pulled me into his embrace. I pressed myself closer to his chest, resting my ears onto his shirt, listening to the calming beating of his heart.
"It's okay… It's over. He's gone, Blake. He's dead," he whispered into my ears. "He's gone now. It's okay… I'm here… I'm never letting you go."
I held onto his bloodstained robes, the smell of death filling my insides until I could hardly breathe. No, nothing would ever be the same again.
.
.
It came to me slowly, like a step-by-step guide. The fear. The violence. The mask.
If it had come all at once, perhaps I would have realized the truth a lot sooner. Adam wasn't who he wanted to be. He was far from the man he had been when we first met. And neither was I.
I was changing, just as much as him.
.
.
It had happened so quickly. I could have stayed where I was. If I did, maybe everything would have turned out differently. But no. I had chosen to move. I had chosen to pull out my knife. I stuck it, deep into the man's backside; my ears flattened, attempting to block out his screams of agonizing pain, or the sound of his flesh ripping; my hands grew sticky and wet as blood trickled down the blade, digging into my fingers and nails.
"Blake," I heard Adam call me from behind. For a moment, it was silent. I turned to face him, but neither of us spoke more. He was the knife in my hands. He saw the blood pooling beneath my feet.
"Let's go," Adam finally said, breaking the silence. I remained in the exact same spot; Gambol Shroud was shaking in my hand, still soaked with fresh blood.
"He's dead, Blake," Adam told me, his voice low and serious. "Let's go home."
I don't remember much after that. The next time I opened my eyes, I was lying on top of my bed. My hands were wiped free of blood, my weapon cleaned and sheathed. But it didn't matter. I would not sleep that day, nor the next day, nor the day after that.
"He's dead. He's dead. He's dead." Those words stuck with me all through the night.
I wanted Adam to console me. To tell me that what I had done was wrong.
It was murder. It was wretched. It was unforgivable. It was the same sort of sick, twisted violence that humanity had inflicted upon us, and in no such circumstance should I be allowed to deliver the same sort of injustice onto them.
It was wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
Adam remained silent. He was always silent these days.
.
.
I ran away once I realized what was happening to me, and to him. We were growing apart, our differences in faith becoming so prominent it was harder to ignore. We loved each other. We were like a family, possibly more. He was obsessed with me, and I had nobody else that I trusted more than him.
I was a coward from the start and there was no other answer that I could find. I was scared, fearful, and alone. The only man I knew and loved had turned into a monster. And I had failed to stand by him, to stop him from falling into what he has become.
I ran away. I ran away. I ran away.
I found sanctuary at Beacon Academy.
I told myself that I was doing the right thing. This time, I wouldn't mess things up.
I would be a huntress, fighting for everyone – humans and Faunus combined. I was accepted into a team of four. It was at Beacon where I created a new identity for myself. It was at Beacon where I found newfound hope.
It was at Beacon where I found Yang.
.
.
"I could have taken it." Yang smirked, trying naturally to sound aloof. She was strong, I could tell from the moment I saw the blonde in the grand halls. There was something about her, maybe it was her eyes, her beautiful lilac eyes. Or maybe it was her hair, wild, unkempt, and bright as the morning sun.
I wasn't sure what it was that I felt in my chest. It was like instinct, an animal-like, primal instinct that made me choose her over everyone else.
Was there even such a thing? Was it because I was a Faunus? I had felt this way before, back when I was first drawn to Adam. But Adam had been the same as me. Yang… Yang was different. She was something else entirely.
It was too much of a risk. I had trusted a partner before, and I had failed.
But there was nothing I could do, nothing I could do to refuse her when she smiled at me and held out her hand.
"So… Partners?" Yang asked.
"Partners." I nodded and smiled back at her. It felt strange, to feel safe after running away for so long.
.
.
I was happy at Beacon, so happy that I forgot myself, what I had done, and what I was capable of doing. I was like a black hole, and sooner or later, I would drag everybody down with me.
Yang was different from Adam. She had to be, I told myself at the beginning of the school year.
And she was. For the first time in my life, I was right to trust someone.
Yang was caring, understanding, righteous, and brave. She was loud, awkward, and annoying at times, but she was so full of love, a selfless kind that I never thought I deserved.
She loved me. And I loved her.
Like the sun, she burned me, and I was just happy, so overjoyed to feel something again.
I was right to trust Yang.
She was just wrong to trust me.
.
.
"I don't know!" Yang had shouted. Her voice faded, becoming quiet and forlorn. "And I don't care…"
Ruby said something, too quiet to hear through the closed window.
But that was all that I needed to hear, enough to get my legs to start moving again, away from their house, away from their lives.
Yang was damaged. She was hurt. She was in pain. She had lost her own…
I shook my head, feeling a fresh trail of tears burning my cheeks as I ran through the forest.
It was my fault.
My fault. My fault. My fault.
Guilt ate away at me, like a sickening parasite.
I made sure she was okay. That's all I could do.
Yang would be okay. She was alive. She was safe, in Patch, with her father and Ruby. And she would stay that way, as long as she stayed far away from me.
.
.
Where did it all start, I wonder?
I needed someone to blame, someone to hurt.
Adam.
Adam. Adam. Adam.
He would hurt nobody else, I would make sure of that now.
The rage grew inside me. The same monster, from the pits of despair and darkness.
I fell, directly into the chasm.
.
.
In seconds, Adam laid on the floor, with a puddle of his own blood.
I didn't remember what happened; it was all too fast, like I had seen red and been possessed.
The first stab had been out of self-defense. The second had been intentional. The third had been out of spite.
I, again, raised the tip of my blade, pointing it down at his neck. My blade was black, but it glistened with red in the light.
"Blake!" Someone else called me from behind.
The voice… It was so familiar. It felt like ages since I last heard it.
I turned around, and there she was, looking perfect. I could hardly swallow; my legs shook and I could barely feel my knees.
"Yang…" I whispered to her.
Yang was always perfect, despite her imperfections and flaws; she stood there, in the middle of the war zone. Her clothes were tattered, singed, and burned, her hair wild and unkempt as the first day we met, shining like gold.
"Blake…" She repeated, this time her voice more quiet and sullen. Her eyes were the same, soothing color of purple. She looked at me, like she could look right through me and reach into the depths of my soul.
There was blood, so much blood.
What are you doing, Blake? What are you doing?
"Blake…" Yang almost seemed to be pleading with her. I hated to make her sound that way. I hated it.
She reached forward, her arm extended. My eyes opened wide, seeing the mechanical yellow shine on her skin.
Adam.
Blood.
The White Fang.
Yang.
Adam.
Blood.
The White Fang.
Yang.
Adam.
Blood.
Red.
What are you doing, Blake?
I don't know what I'm doing.
I wanted to change. I wanted to make a difference.
I joined the White Fang, to feel like I was a part of something important.
I went to Beacon to run away from Adam.
I went to Menagerie to run away from Yang.
I loved you, Yang. I still love you. And that's why I'm so sorry. I will forever be sorry.
I ran away from everything, never realizing that I was always too busy running away from myself.
.
.
For what purpose does the law exist?
It protects us from nothing.
Death is death. Murder is murder.
So, I swung my sword.
And I continue to swing it now.
I'm sorry, Yang.
I can never go back now.
I'm dying.
I'm dead.
I was already dead.
When was I ever, truly, alive?