Disclaimer: RWBY is not owned by me. It is owned by Rooster Teeth. This fan-fiction is not for profit.
Warnings: This fiction will be rated T for bad language, fantasy violence, and dark themes.
Author's Notes: Holy crap I'm still alive. The good news is, I have a new laptop to replace the crashing POS from before. Also, I have finally caught up with my schoolwork, which means I now can return to a balanced lifestyle. I have been writing like crazy over the past few days and guess what happened? This chapter progressed more in the past week than it had over the last month. I'm picking up speed again, and I won't be slowing down!
This chapter almost broke my old record. Get ready for 12k words of RWBY-styled action.
Author's Notes(con): Well, with the advent of RWBY Volume 3, Requiem for Remnant has now become a canon divergent story. I encourage readers to remember that my depiction of characters will be different than canon. Qrow, Raven, and Taiyang are both much different in my story. My story will likely not change much, unless I can incorporate the new lore into my established world.
All that being said, I am super-duper excited to see what's coming.
Requiem for Remnant
Chapter 21: The Grimm Fake
"No! It can't be her!"
A deafening explosion sent plumes of smoke and ash skyward. Fragmented debris rained down upon the heads of the closest people, even as spreading flames drove them to retreat and shock waves tossed them to the ground.
"I can't die here! There's no way I'm letting her butcher me like an animal!"
Chaos reigned supreme beneath the broken face of the Moon. There were many voices crying out in fear and alarm, all muffled by a thick curtain of soot and cinders. Earsplitting gunfire shattered the night as poorly aimed firearms were rapidly unloaded by panicking thugs. Bullets buzzed around the perpetrator like a swarm of angry hornets. Her Aura absorbed what few projectiles found her.
"Someone shoot her! For the love of god, someone shoot that bitch!"
Above the pandemonium, a lone figure wearing black and red stood upon a stack of boxes. Upon her face was a dreadful full-faced mask. It was pure white, with insidious bloody streaks, shaped like the skull of an Ancient Nevermore. Crimson eyes burned with inconceivable odium behind four dangerously slanted eyeholes. She was laying siege upon the criminals like a one-woman army. She hoisted a metal tube over her shoulder and aimed it at the crowd below her.
"Holy shit, she has a rocket launcher! When did the Grimm Reaper get a rocket launcher?"
Horrified screams were drowned out by another world-shattering BOOM. Thick oil-black clouds blotted out the battlefield. Those caught in the rolling smoke clouds began coughing and choking. Each contaminated lungful was immediately expelled and replaced by even more putrid tasting air.
"This can't be happening! I never thought I would actually be attacked by the Grimmspawn!"
The mask-wearing Huntress thumbed a button on the launcher's handle and the metal tube reconfigured into a five-foot long baseball bat. She gripped the blunt weapon with both hands and took flight like a winged beast. She landed in the middle of a crowd and smashed the club on the ground. There was a tremendous GONG like a church bell. A shockwave spread out from the epicenter, pushing back the smoke and throwing men like ragdolls. They flew until they were slammed against far walls, where they dropped and landed in crumbled heaps. Pitiful groans rose from the beaten bodies.
"How come she's swinging a baseball bat now? Isn't the Grimm Reaper's weapon a sword?"
She roared like a wrathful dragon as she swung her heavy bat again and again. With each swing, she pummeled another gang member and sent them head-over-heels against a far wall. The impacts sent vibrations through her hands and up her arms.
"It doesn't make sense! The Grimm Reaper has never set foot in the city of Vale before! Why is she—"
Her bludgeon impacted the current speaker with enough force to launch him straight into the ceiling above. His unconscious body fell to the floor. Pieces of ceiling showered groups of thugs like rainfall. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a group of mooks gathering together to combine the stopping power of their guns.
The warrior woman pressed a button at the bottom of the club's handle and the whole weapon converted back to a rocket launcher. She leveled the launcher at the group and squeezed the trigger. Exhaust smoke plumed from the breech end. A missile shrieked as it rocketed from the barrel and toward the group. They immediately scattered, scrambling in every direction to get away from the blast radius. The missile exploded on the ground with a teeth-rattling BOOM and blanketed the area with smoke and wreckage.
"Hold up, has the Grimm Reaper always been blonde?"
Yellow hair flowed like liquid gold from behind the fearsome mask. The waist-length tresses were ablaze, as though she had dipped those sun-kissed strands in gasoline and lit a match on her crown. The incandescent locks made her a very visible target, even through the smokescreen. More dust-bullets struck the blonde warrior's Aura, drawing her attention. The launcher transformed back into its cudgel form. The masked blonde held her bat in one hand as she jumped back into the melee.
One by one, the last remaining mooks met the business end of the hefty stick. When there was only a single enduring thug, the blonde casually tossed her bludgeon into his arms. The gang member staggered backwards, his knees buckling beneath the weight of the bat. While he was struggling to hold the weapon, the masked woman pulled her fist back to her ear and clocked him square in the nose. His head snapped back and he fell flat on the floor with a dazed expression.
Scathing eyes scoured her surroundings in search of remaining opposition. The survey revealed that she was the last conscious combatant. She marched to the nearest wall, smashed an exit hole through solid concrete, and leaped through into the city night.
The masked woman spread her arms as she soared, as though they were feathered wings. Cool nighttime wind whipped against her Nevermore mask, whistled past her ears, and swept along her lengthy locks causing them to unfurl like a banner. Time seemed to slow as crimson eyes soaked in the scenery.
All around the cityscape climbed and spread, an impossibly vast beast made from stone and steel. Tall towers shot up from the streets, forming rows of altitudinous spikes that scraped the azure skies. The metropolitan monster slept beside the coastline. The tail of the goliath was laid out into the sea, a tremendous wharf as long as three Atlesian flagships lined bow to stern. Pitch dark smog rose from cylindrical pillars, reminiscent of smoke from a dragon's nostrils. Urban lights glistened like reptilian scales, golden plates reflecting silver effulgence from the Moon.
Gravity quickly took hold of the blonde and dragged her down. She fell like a wishing star, her brilliant mane following her curved descent like a comet tail. Plummeting into the space between two nondescript buildings, she kicked off the nearest structure and ricocheted between alleyway walls. Finally, she tucked herself into a tight roll and landed on the ground. She somersaulted to her feet in a single graceful motion. She mentally applauded her flawless landing while brushing dirt off her shoulders.
She sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, as though she were blowing out candles. The tongues of fire that licked down her golden hair were extinguished. Behind the mask, crimson faded into violet.
Yang reached up and removed the replica of her mother's mask. Cold night air rushed to abate hot pink flesh. It felt like a blessing on her salt-licked skin. She shook her head to loosen her beloved hair.
The clothes she was currently wearing was as close of a copy to the Grimm Reaper's uniform as she could manage. The Malachite twins were surprisingly eager to help the blonde pick out pieces from their wardrobe. They served as bouncers most nights, but also showgirls on special occasions. They had a vast variety of costumes to pick from, although finding anything that would fit Yang's womanly frame was an Olympic event.
Miltiades had given her a dark kimono with a salmon colored sash, not quite the right colors but close enough to be indistinguishable under the cloak of night. It was a size too small, and especially tight around her chest. Yang had to wrap crimson armbands around her forearms to replicate Raven's gauntlets. There was no armor on her waist, just two differently sized skirts, red overlapping black. Black-leather belts were strapped around her hips. The tallest black boots that fit Yang only went up to her knees, far cry from the thigh-highs the Reaper wore. A black feathered scarf, donated from Miltia, hung from beneath her skirt. The stupid thing kept tickling her legs and forcing her to suppress peals of laughter.
"I get the impression that Raven isn't ticklish."
The Nevermore mask had been Junior's reluctant contribution. Yang had gotten her whole idea after he showed off the replica in his office. The only way to keep the mask from flying off in combat was with copious amounts of spirit gum. Pulling the mask from her face felt like ripping off a band-aid, but far worse. She slipped the mask into the obi sash across her stomach for safekeeping.
Junior's other major donation had been his weapon, the baseball bat slash rocket launcher known simply as Zhīshì. Since a hunter's custom weapon was like a fingerprint, Yang could not carry Ember Celica into battle. Junior was not a hunter, he merely carried such a weapon for self-defense. The dragoness felt naked without her golden claws. The handle of the bat collapsed like a telescope and she belted the weapon against her lower back, just above her ample posterior.
The Malachite twins had offered to try and dye Yang's sulfur-yellow hair to match the Reaper's oil-black tresses. But Yang had declined vehemently. It would be a cold day in Hell when Yang changed her hair color. Yellow was the color of her soul, and it was reflected in her amber Aura. To try and change her dominate color-scheme would be like rejecting an aspect of herself.
It wouldn't have mattered even if Yang were willing to dye her hair. Past experience has taught Yang that hair dye is not fireproof. In the past, she has tried to inject red streaks into her golden tresses. She wanted to try and achieve a permanent flame-on effect, even when her Semblance was not in use. However, the very next time Yang ignited, her Semblance burned away all of the red color and put her back in square one. After a couple more mishaps, she admitted defeat and instead used the last of the red dye on Ruby's short hair.
Yang reached into the sash and pulled out her scroll. She speed-dialed Junior's number and held it to her ear. The man answered after half a ring.
She spoke first, "Hey Junior, I just finished beating down the bad guys on Maplewood Street. What else have you got for me?"
Junior acknowledged, "You just took down the Demon Snake gang, who are—or were clients of my competition. Maybe they should have thought to take their business somewhere reputable."
"We're both benefiting from this gig," Yang smirked, "ain't we, baby bear?"
He chuckled. "My competitors aren't going to like the loss of commerce."
"Just keep feeding me the location of other criminals, and they'll lose a lot more clients."
A moment passed in silence. Then Junior spoke in a somber tone.
"Yang," he implored, "as much as I love the idea of you knocking my competitors down a notch, I really don't know if this is a good idea. Dressing up as the Grimm Reaper and fighting crime is going to attract a lot of attention. If you keep making noise, then someone is going to notice and come after you."
"And that's the plan." Yang retorted.
"How exactly is this supposed to help you track down the Reaper?" he sounded skeptical.
"That's for me to know and for you to never find out." she stated firmly.
"Have you," he broached delicately, "thought this plan through?"
She shrugged and admitted, "Not really. These things tend to work out in the end."
Static burst through the line as Junior sighed in defeat.
An address appeared across the screen of her scroll. She uploaded the address to the scroll's city map and found it to be on the other side of the city. That was fine with Yang, she could use the ride to clear her mind.
Yang strode down the alleyway. As she turned a corner, a yellow and black motorcycle came into view.
"Right where I left her."
The Bumblebee was Yang's most treasured possession. She had given it the name on account of its color scheme; as well as its long and narrow seat cowl, which was designed to look like a bee stinger. Taiyang has given it to his daughter for her 16th birthday. Both of them loved to ride, and the more powerful the bike the better the experience. Boasting a two-hundred horsepower engine with 1000cc's, the Bumblebee was a force to be reckoned with on the road.
A built-in gyroscopic stabilizer kept the Bumblebee standing upright, even while in rest. Yang threw one leg over the seat and mounted her beloved bike. She draped herself across its frame and gripped the handlebars as she started up the engine. She could feel the Bumblebee trembling impatiently as she straddled the mechanical beast. It purred like a content cat until Yang throttled the grip and revved the engine. Throaty roars echoed off the alleyway walls. Then she released the throttle and squeezed the handbrakes. The back tires screeched as the rubber burned a black print on the ground. Yang swung Bumblebee in a wide arc and aimed straight down the alleyway. She locked her knees against the Bumblebee's frame and ground her hips into its seat. The dragoness unleashed the brakes and launched into the streets of downtown Vale.
Yang shared an affinity with Bumblebee. Both the bike and the blonde are constantly raring to go. She could jump on the back of her bike and take off in a moment's notice. She didn't even need a reason. She simply loved to ride fast. The roar of the bike as she pushed it to neck-breaking speeds; the power of the engine beneath her breasts; the wind tugging at her hair; the adrenaline pumping through her veins. When Yang rode Bumblebee at full throttle, nothing mattered but her and her bike and the road. Every extraneous thought was forgotten. Doubt and anxiety were pushed out and left in the dust.
It was like she could abandon all of her troubles behind, if she simply rode faster.
Seconds after leaving the alleyway, Yang was passed by a squad of police cars heading in the opposite direction. No doubt they were heading for the three-story building that the dragoness had left. It wasn't difficult to spot. It had smoke clouds billowing out of a huge open hole in the side. When the officers arrived, they would find a battlefield full of unconscious bodies and an illegal weapon stash. Yang was only happy to put distance between her and the crime scene.
The blonde biker followed the directions to the destination and entered the intercity highway. Her signature reckless riding was almost an afterthought by this point. She could ride like a devil completely on autopilot, trusting her instincts to see her safely to her destination while her mind wandered aimlessly.
"Raven," she contemplated as she flew down the highway, "what are you doing now? Are you lying in bed and wondering what could have been?"
She swerved back and forth, threading between and around other vehicles like a bee stinger.
"Or are you like me, fighting as many enemies as possible just to lose yourself in the mind-melting heat of combat?
A semi-truck came up to Yang's right hand side. The exit ramp that she needed to use was on the far side of the semi-truck's trailer. Rather than slow down and let the larger truck pass, Yang banked hard to the right. She tilted her bike until her right knee brushed asphalt and dipped beneath the trailer, just to make the exit at the very last second. The adrenaline junkie was so lost in thought that she didn't even feel the thrill.
"Dad has proclaimed that he enjoys a good fight. But he never seeks it out and always gives his opponents a chance to walk away. That's not like me. I'm always aching for a brawl."
Yang approached an intersection with a red stoplight. The dragoness spared a cursory glance at the perpendicular traffic. Then she blew through the junction. Tires squealed. A horn sounded. One car came close enough that Yang could feel the heat from its engine. A handful of colorful expletives were thrown her way. But she didn't hear them. That would require slowing.
"You, on the other hand, hunt down enemies to fight. Do you enjoy fighting as much as I do? Did I take after you, in the end?"
There was a line of stopped traffic straight in front, waiting for another stoplight to turn green. After appraising the pedestrian density on either side, Yang chose the path of least resistance and rode down the sidewalk. It was late at night, so there were few walkers. She only had a single near-collision with a perambulator.
"Do you have your ear to the ground, Raven? Will you even hear my calls? Will you even answer?"
Slipping into a narrow alleyway, Yang came to a stop. Bumblebee's engine shut off. It ticked as the metal lost heat. She disembarked from her bike and it remained upright. Then she reached into the obi sash and retrieved the mask of Grimm. The moment Yang put it on her face, she felt a sudden surge of power. There was no rational explanation for the rush of energy. It felt as though somehow she were tapping into the primordial might of an Ancient Nevermore, just by wearing its mask.
It felt damn good.
Behind the mask, Yang was baring her teeth wide enough to stretch her cheeks. Suddenly, she was overcome with an animalistic impulse.
"I want—no, I need to make noise!"
Her head snapped up and she saw a fire escape leading to the roof. She leaped from the ground and gripped the cold metal rails. Then she scaled up the outside of the scaffolding until she reached its summit. Yang kicked off the banister and landed on the roof of a building.
The Moon gazed down upon the blonde as she threw her head back and sucked in a deep breath. Golden flames streamed down her curled hair. Eyes were stained red like rose blood. The dragoness opened her mouth and unleashed a deafening roar. Dust swirled as though a tornado had touched down upon her. Her cacophonous upheaval echoed throughout the night sky.
She listened as the bellow faded with each reverberation, "I don't feel like a person, I feel like a monster! Is this what it's like for Raven?"
Then another thought occurred to her.
"Is this what it's like for the faunus of the White Fang? Do they feel like monsters because they wear these masks? Or do they wear these masks because they feel like monsters?"
Filing away that question to ask Blake later, Yang returned her focus on the mission at hand. She turned and began to run along the rooftop. Her muscular legs pumped harder as she gained speed. Incandescent strands flowed behind the masked woman. The end of the roof raced to meet her. She kicked off the ledge and took flight.
The rooftop fell away as Yang soared through the air like a dragon. For a glorious moment, she was weightless and free. Nothing could touch her from up here, not her troubles and not her doubt. The streets of Vale passed underneath her feet. She bent her knees just before landing on another rooftop. Gravel crunched under her boots. Her breath was hot against her face as she sprinted to the edge of the roof and leaped again.
Yang never stopped and never slowed. She was chasing a ghost in the wind on the other side of the world. Raven would forever remain out of her grasp if Yang didn't pursue with every fiber of her being. The elusive Reaper held the answers to questions that have long been abandoned. If getting those answers meant exposing herself to danger, then Yang would go the distance without hesitation.
The address that Junior gave her led to a shipping warehouse in the downtown district. At ten thousand square feet, it was a small and inconspicuous building. Yang knelt on a roof corner overlooking the area. Crimson eyes scanned the scene, searching for possible exterior guards or security cameras. Then she noticed was the skylights. There were twelve windows evenly spaced along the roof. Rather than just blindly charging in, Yang saw an opportunity for surveillance.
In no time at all, Yang made her way to the roof of the warehouse. She treaded lightly over the aluminum panels, trying not to make any noise that could be heard from below. Hunters were taught how to move hastily yet still silently. It was a skill that Yang hadn't exactly mastered yet. The blonde winced each time her boots caused the roof panels to rattle. Finally, she stood over a ceiling window and peered into the interior. Once she saw what was going on inside, she knew that Junior hadn't misled her.
Files of tables were rowed up like assembly lines. There were many people working at each table, each performing a single repetitive task like robots. They wore wrinkly plastic suits over their clothes, safety goggles, plastic gloves, and surgical masks. Yang noted that most, if not all, of the workers were faunus. Some of them were packing little porcelain dolls into crates. Some of them were packing little bags into holes on the bottom of the dolls. And some of them were packing a white powdery substance into little bags.
Yang's stomach tumbled when she realized that she was standing over a drug smuggling ring.
"Okay, so it would probably be a bad idea to fight around the drug area."
She strode in circles around the roof, getting a better view of the interior of the warehouse. From what she could see, the majority of the warehouse was suspiciously untouched. It seems as though the drug packing section was isolated from the rest of the building. The logical explanation that Yang deduced was that the warehouse was probably a front for a legitimate business. They wouldn't want any possible traces of their illegal substances to land on their lawful exports, so they keep the drugs away from the rest of the warehouse. It appeared that only the porcelain dolls were used for smuggling.
There were crates stacked nearly as high as the ceiling. Open boxes revealed their contents to be ceramic plates, bowls, and cups. Rows and rows of shelves filled the storage area. Yang spied racks of porcelain plates, stacks of ceramic cups, and files of fine china. Beyond her limited line of sight, more crockery filled the shelves, waiting to be packed into boxes and shipped out.
The workers were not the only people present. Obvious gang members strolled around the floor, wielding automatic rifles and full length swords. Tattoos and hoodies and loose pants were the dress code for these thugs. They milled around the floor, keeping an inattentive eye over the workers and patrolling in sleepy circles. The late night had stolen their vigilance.
It would be their undoing.
Yang stepped on one skylight. Directly below was a small gathering of goons. Five gunmen were casually chatting to each other, weapons pointed at the ground, completely unaware of the Huntress above.
She lifted one foot and stomped on the glass. It smashed to smithereens and fell away. She drew her arms close to her sides as she plummeted. The dragoness descended in a shower of shattered shards and touched down directly in the middle of group. The circle of thugs beneath didn't even raise their guns for a full second. Yang slammed both of her fists together. A deafening thunderclap echoed throughout the whole warehouse like a declaration for war.
Those immediately around her were stunned by the overpressure wave. They staggered backwards like drunken sailors, faces contorted with pain. With each of her following attacks, the dragoness bellowed.
Yang threw her first forward and took down the first gunman in front of her, while kicking backwards and nailing the second behind her. Then she drew the same fist back and smashed her elbow into the third guy's face. Even as the third reeled rearward, Yang grasped his arms and swung him as though he were featherweight. She released him and he flew into the fourth. They landed in a pile of tangled limbs. Yang leaped in the air and delivered a diving elbow drop on the both of them. They expelled groans of agony and ceased struggling.
The fifth gunman was just barely recovering from Yang's opening move. The barrel of his gun listed aimlessly as he sought to land a bead on the masked Huntress. She reached behind her and pulled out Zhīshì in its compact form. Just as he squeezed the trigger, Yang expanded the baseball bat and held it horizontal in front of her. He unloaded his rifle in her general direction. Gunfire filled her ears and bullets pinged off of the metal bat. Yang dashed forward, ducking and weaving even as she bunted the incoming projectiles. She hauled the heavy club back and then swung it into the punch drunk thug's stomach. He hurtled like a ragdoll and landed in a stack of porcelain plates.
CRASH! Tinkle-tinkle-tinkle.
The chaotic cacophony was like splendid music to Yang's ears.
Dozens of boots stomped on the ground. Yang turned around and faced the army of gangsters gathering behind her. Crimson eyes burned behind the fearsome mask of Grimm. Yang held Zhīshì in both hands, like a sword, and pointed the bludgeon toward the group of gangbangers. The entire front line stopped in their tracks upon sighting the assailant. Mouths dropped open and eyes widened in pure fright.
Angry voices rose from the back of the platoon. The thugs in the back hadn't yet seen the Huntress.
"Why did we stop?"
"Are we under attack or what?!"
"Who're the idiots attacking us?!"
One of the hoodies in the front cried out with a terrified voice, "It's the Grimm Reaper! She's come to kill us all!"
Hushed murmurs swept through the crowd of criminals. Many of them were frozen in place, unable to look away from the imposing figure before them. Others were inching away, as though trying to find a means of escape. A handful tentatively pointed their rifles at Yang.
A pin drop would be the loudest sound in the room.
"Holy shit," Yang thought, "if this is how everyone reacts when they see Raven, then it's no wonder that she's able to tear through them so easily. They're not even shooting! They're so afraid of the legendary Reaper that nobody wants to be the first to attack!"
If they weren't going to fight first, then that gave the opening move to Yang. She pressed the button at the bottom of Zhīshì's hilt and transformed the club into a rocket launcher. She knelt on the ground and leveled the tube toward the center of the crowd. The front line fighters quickly tried to run backwards, only to find themselves walled in by the people behind them. A single soldier can move freely, but not a mob.
Yang squeezed the trigger and launched the first missile. It howled through the air as it flew at the front lines. The rocket dipped and impacted the ground just in front of the closest gangsters, sparing them from being reduced to giblets. The explosion tossed them over the heads of the other gangsters, where they landed in crumpled heaps.
Yang sucked in a breath and shouted at the top of her lungs, "Don't even bother praying! God can't save you now!"
Flames flowed down her curled locks. Crimson eyes, boiling pools of blood, fired scathing glares into the hearts of her enemies. Heat and rage poured from the masked Huntress. The Reaper stood in the center of a firestorm, declaring blasphemies while wearing the face of a godless monster. She roared like a demon straight out of the Book of Luna. The effect was immediate and catastrophic. Half of the gangsters turned and tried to run, leaving the other half to fight for their lives. They were tripping over themselves in their attempts to escape.
Three gangsters ran toward Yang while swinging swords above their heads. Zhīshì returned to its melee form and Yang gripped it tightly in one hand. The first one to reach her didn't even get to slash his weapon. She raced to meet him and swung an uppercut into his jaw. His head whipped up and he fell to his knees, eyes rolled into the back of his head.
The second thrust the tip of his sword at Yang's stomach. She backhanded the flat of the blade with her free fist and it flew from the swordsman's hand. Then she swung Zhīshì and crushed his nose flat. Blood spurted from his face and he howled in anguish. The third swordsman ran around her and slashed at her exposed back. Yang held Zhīshì behind her and felt the blade deflect off of the blunt weapon. Then she spun as fast as a top and delivered a roundhouse kick to his skull. His head bounced off the ground and didn't move.
More and more gangsters began to surround the dragoness. Some held firearms like pistols, assault rifles, and shotguns. Others were wielding melee weapons like swords, hatchets, and sledgehammers. A familiar heat began to pump through Yang's veins. Adrenaline flooded her body and caused her heart to pound harder. She could feel her Semblance flare in anticipation.
Beneath the mask, a wide grin split across her face.
Several fighters rushed to meet the Reaper. She ducked beneath one blade and returned the favor with a left hook to his jaw. A hatchet nearly buried itself in her spine, but she sidestepped and delivered a spinning backhand to the axe-wielder behind her. Even as he stumbled back, Yang was following up with a home-run strike with her bat. His unconscious body was sent flying and he slammed against a towering stack of crates. The column of crates teetered dangerously. Then it toppled over. Wooden boxes crashed on the ground and exploded their contents all over the floor. The air was filled with musical notes of breaking porcelain.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spied a gangbanger screaming into a handheld radio. He was probably calling for reinforcements.
Bullets whizzed through the air past Yang's ear and bounced off her Aura. There were three mooks with rifles standing on the catwalks above her. She spun to face the gunmen and leveled her rocket launcher in their direction. She squeezed the trigger and fire erupted from the breech end. One unfortunate gangster was running up behind her and received a face-full of flames. A rocket screamed out of Zhīshì's tube and detonated against the catwalk. The suspended bridge shook and fell apart with the sound of sheering metal. While the catwalks were collapsing, Yang was fighting more and more thugs as they arrived in droves.
Even without Ember Celica, the blonde boxer's fists could send a man flying. She alternated between punching, kicking, and swinging the baseball bat. If a gangster slipped into Zhīshì's minimum range, he found himself eating a knuckle sandwich. Every time someone tried to get cute with a gun, Yang responded with a rocket. It was working so well that she was beginning to wonder if she could change her shotgun-gauntlets to launcher-gauntlets.
Yang blocked a sledgehammer with Zhīshì. The impact ran up her arms and numbed her muscles. Unable to move her biceps for a second, she instead kicked the hammer-man's knees and sent him tumbling to the ground. Before he could return to his feet, she flipped in place and landed a double leg drop on top of his skull.
The dragoness was still flat on her back when one mook dove on top of her body and tried to pin her down. Then another one landed on top of the first. Then another one and another one and another one. They kept piling on each other, each adding to the weight pressing down on Yang. She was being crushed beneath a growing tower of sweaty gang members.
Golden flames sputtered out and crimson eyes faded into violet. She suppressed her Semblance and felt it beginning to build within her. Yang tightened all of her muscles like coiled springs. She waited, even as she felt her spine flattening against the concrete. She waited, even as her lungs burned with need. She waited, even as her bones creaked with the mounting stress.
Then her Semblance peaked and Yang held back her attack no more. With a tremendous bellow, the dragoness unleashed all of her power at once. She flexed every muscle in her body. The bodies piled on top of her were as weightless as styrofoam. She erupted like a volcano, an amber explosion that launched every gangster on top of her against the ceiling. Ten unconscious bodies fell like raindrops. Her shoulders were heaving as she sucked in sweet air.
Breathing deep, Yang turned to face the remaining gangsters. She picked up Zhīshì and knocked it against her boots.
Two tank-like thugs charged at her from opposite directions. Yang slung the bludgeon behind her back and braced herself. They slammed into her simultaneously, but Yang absorbed their twin tackles without budging. Then she grabbed both of their skulls knocked them together. Yang took off running, pulling the stunned brutes behind her. Up ahead there were two parallel aisles, one facing the other, their shelves stacked with fragile pottery. Yang held her captives to her sides and charged down the middle of the aisles. She dragged the thugs against the shelves and smashed them against every piece of porcelain crockery. Not a single ceramic plate was left unbroken. Yang exited from the aisles and let the defeated ruffians drop to the ground. Blood oozed down their faces. Broken porcelain pieces were embedded in their skin.
She heard the sound of something sharp passing through the air behind her. She instinctively tilted her head to the side just as a throwing dagger hurtled over her shoulder. Turning to face the new attacker, she saw a distinctly Asian gangbanger with crimson tattoos on his fingers and knuckles. He wore a leather jacket, but no shirt underneath. Beneath his coat appeared to be a lean, yet muscular body. He grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled them apart. Rows of throwing daggers lined his inner jacket. The knife thrower drew two more daggers and threw them at Yang. She could hardly even see his hands; they were a blur of motion.
Sidestepping one dagger, Yang swung Zhīshì and knocked the second dagger out of the air. She was just about to run toward the knife thrower when she felt cold steel slap around her left wrist.
"Shit! The knife thrower distracted me!"
A quick glance revealed the steel to be a thick length of chain circling her forearm. The other end was being held by a huge man with bulging muscles. Before she could react, he gripped his chain with both hands and pulled as hard as he could. Yang was yanked off balance and nearly fell to the ground. Without warning, a razor-sharp knife struck against Yang's neck. Her Aura only just managed to stop it from piercing her throat. She knew that the next knife would most likely reach its target.
She managed to stay on her feet and quickly adopted a wide stance. Zhīshì fell to the floor at her feet with a bass bonging. She gripped the chain with both of her hands. Then Yang wrenched on the chain as hard as she could!
The huge thug was pulled clear off his feet. He flew face-first toward Yang, who was waiting for him. She leaped from the ground met him in midair. She slammed her knee against his face. Then she clutched her hands together and delivered a sledgehammer of a strike that spiked him straight down. Concrete cracked upon his impact. Yang landed beside his comatose body and ducked another flying dagger.
She picked up Zhīshì and transformed it into its launcher form. She leveled the tube at the knife thrower. He slipped knives in between each of his fingers. The moment she pulled the trigger, he threw all of the knives at Yang simultaneously. A missile flew straight at the Asian gangbanger. One of the daggers intercepted the missile and caused it to detonate before it could reach its target.
A flower of flames bloomed between the combatants. The explosion shook Yang's teeth. A thick ashen cloud covered the battlefield. Without hesitation, Yang reverted her launcher to the club and charged though the smokescreen. The smoke stung her eyes. She exited the other side, just in front of the knife thrower. His mouth fell open in shock just before the heavy weapon swung into his face. An instant before his teeth became acquainted with his uvula, he ducked and somersaulted beneath Yang's strike. Springing to his feet, the Asian gangster stabbed two knives at the blonde's exposed back. She quickly thrust Zhīshì's hilt backwards and caught him squarely in his solar plexus. He staggered back and grabbed his torso, face contorted with pain. The metal bludgeon traced a wide vertical arc as it slammed down on his head. His skull bounced off the concrete with a nasty crack.
Silence fell over the battlefield.
Every muscle in her body burned like overcooked rubber. Sweat trickled down her face and neck. Her knuckles were cracked and bleeding. She could scarcely hold onto Zhīshì's handle. Breathing was laborious. She knew that when she took off her clothes, there would be bruises all up her body. The dragoness couldn't stop grinning.
Yang looked at her Aura gauge. She was scraping a measly thirty percent. She felt like she had been fighting all day. Upon further consideration, she realized that this was actually pretty accurate. Starting from this morning, Yang had sparred with a bunch of different opponents at the gymnasium, then her own partner, then took a short break at Junior's nightclub, and now she has been attacking criminals all night.
The feline faunus' words echoed in Yang's weary mind. "You need to take breaks between bouts to rest your body. You're only hurting yourself!" She could practically see Blake's frown-y face on the back of her eyelids.
Putting her hands on her lower-back, Yang stretched her spine rearward and heard a series of cracks and pops. The rush of relief elicited a deep groan from the dragoness.
"Alright, alright! I'll head back to Junior's club and return all his stuff. Then I'll go to Beacon and get some sleep."
That's when the sound of two hands clapping drifted into Yang's ears. Immediately, she forgot all of her aches and brought Zhīshì to bear. She faced the source of the noise. Then she did a double take.
Strolling toward her was a tall, middle-aged man in a flamboyant outfit. The entire lurid ensemble was divided between two primary colors, red and blue. His hair was a mass of curls that flowed down past his shoulders and ended with a bow. He wore a knee-length justaucorps coat; one side patterned with icy blue snowflake and the other side with ornate crimson flames. A great number of golden buttons ran down the length of the lapels. The sleeves ended with thick upturned cuffs and golden cufflinks. Over his left shoulder was a waist-length gold-trimmed cape made from jacquard fabric and decorated with elaborate fire decals.
Beneath the overcoat was a frilly azure doublet. Around his neck was a cambric jabot emblazoned with a decorative sigil. It featured two crossing daggers. Upon his head was a gaudy tricorn hat embellished with frills and a huge peacock feather. Knee length petticoat breeches and scarlet stockings adorned his legs. Black square-toed boots, golden buckles polished to a gleam, completed the ostentatious attire.
The man looked like an aristocrat prepared to attend a historical baroque-themed party. The sight was so surreal that Yang wondered if she were dreaming.
His skin was too pale, as though he had not seen the sun in quite some time. He clapped white satin gloves as he approached. A serpentine smirk slithered across thin lips.
As he came closer and closer, Yang could feel a pit growing in her stomach. Instincts whispered warnings in her ears, telling her that this man was very dangerous. It was something about his eyes. The upturn in his blue eyes appeared to be a sign of delight. But the emptiness in those plutonian pits…
…was like staring into the mismatched eyes of little Miss Neo.
The masked Huntress tightened her grip on Zhīshì until her knuckles bleached.
He spoke first. The dulcet tones coming from his lips gave Yang a surprise. And so did the volume.
"Congratulations!" he screamed dramatically. He raised his hands above his head and cried out, "The Grimm Reaper certainly lives up to the notorious legend that I have heard so much about…"
Yang's bewildered expression was hidden behind the mask.
"…is what I would say if I were a fool. Anyone with half of a brain could tell upon a single glance that you are not the Reaper. The only thing you have that is similar to the Reaper is her mask."
The man began to pace back and forth, gesticulating wildly. Yang caught sight of something bulging beneath the arm of his coat. When he turned, there was an identical protuberance on the opposite side. She surmised, "He has a pair of weapons, but they're small enough to fit in his coat."
His voice was full of disdain as he rattled off a list. "The clothes you wear scarcely resemble her attire, the weapon you wield is not the same, your hair is the wrong color, you have a far different body shape…" Yang could feel his eyes roaming her curves.
Then he gestured to the moaning and groaning bodies laid out like abandoned action figures. "And to top it all off, you haven't even killed a single one of these weak buffoons!" He thrust an accusatory finger at Yang, "If you're attempting to copy the Reaper, then you're doing a terrible job."
He slapped a hand upon his forehead. "Ah, but I am forgetting my manners." Swiftly, he removed his tricorn hat and placed it over his heart, "My name is Rogue Froideur, pleased to make your acquaintance." Then he swept the tricorn in Yang's direction, "What is your name?"
Yang thrust her pelvis to the side and rested her hand on her hip, "I ain't falling for that, chucklehead."
Irritation flitted across his expression, then it settled back to the same condescending smirk. "What a rude lady. I suppose I'll simply have to call you 'the Grimm Fake'. How does that sound to you?"
She didn't answer. She was rather let down that her disguise hadn't even lasted a single night. In the end though, it didn't matter if the criminal element really believed that she was the Reaper or not. The important thing was that news of a blonde crime-fighter wearing the Reaper's mask was circulated all around the globe.
Froideur proclaimed, "I have desired a chance to test my mettle against the Grimm Reaper for quite some time. So, try to imagine my delight when I heard over the radio that the Reaper was attacking the very warehouse I was stationed within!" He pointed at his mouth, which was stretched with an exaggerated smile.
"Now, try to imagine my utter disenchantment when I arrive and find out that the intruder is nothing more than a Grimm Fake." The corners of his lips plunged dramatically and he began to shake his head sadly.
"Sorry to disappoint." Yang said sarcastically.
"What I would like to know," Froideur tapped his finger against his chin, "is your reason for attacking the Iron Kings. What did we do to you? I imagine that you have a fairly sensible raison d'être. What could possibly stipulate such an assault?"
"The Iron Kings? Is that the name of your gang? I didn't even know, I'm just here to bash some skulls in."
Her flippant attitude clearly did not win her any favors. Froideur's smirk vanished and his eyes became narrow slits. "You… didn't even know who we are?" There was an edge in his voice. He swept his hand around the battle ruptured warehouse, "All of this, just because you wanted to bash some skulls in?"
"Eh… what can I say?" Yang held her hands up and shrugged her shoulders, "I love a good fight." She paused, then goaded, "Not that I found one here. The Iron Kings, my plush ass." She slapped her ample posterior for emphasis. "You guys might wanna change your name to something like The Wet Cardboard Kings."
The diamond edge of Froideur's jaw-line flexed as he clenched his teeth. "I see, you're just like every attention-starved urchin in your generation. Doing anything you can, just to get noticed."
Yang felt her Semblance flare briefly in response to his insults. "The thing is, he ain't exactly wrong." She pledged to knock his lights out.
"Do you truly believe that you could simply waltz into our operation, attack everyone in sight, then exit stage left without any consequences?"
"Pretty much, yeah." She confessed, tongue in cheek.
Froideur was becoming visibly angrier. His lipped pressed together hard enough to form a narrow white line. "What makes you think that it will be so easy?"
Glancing around at the heaps of unconscious Iron Kings, "Uh… recent experience maybe?" She scratched the back of her head.
Nostrils flaring in outrage, Froideur ranted, "You must be one of Beacon's brats. Simple teenagers are being armed with Aura and Semblances. Powers that were once considered to be holy gifts, bestowed upon chosen heroes, are now merely the playthings of children. Well, your arrogance will cost you greatly."
He reached inside his justaucorps. Yang's eyes were drawn to the armaments she had spied before. Twin gilded handles glittered golden. Ornate engravings snaked up the handles. One was inset with rubies, the other with sapphires. Froideur gripped the handles and drew his weapons out in the open.
They were a pair of daggers; seven inches long. Each blade was colored like the jewels on their hilts, bright red and pale blue. Light caught on the length of the blades and glittered like sand.
Or like Dust.
Warning bells rang in Yang's head. She quickly returned to her previous fighting stance. The speed in which she fell to a defensive stance seemed to amuse Froideur greatly.
"Oh ho," he chuckled, "so you have a brain after all. Only a mindless fool would underestimate the threat of a Dust weapon. Behold the daggers of Ice and Fire!" He twirled the twin weapons in his hands.
Yang bellowed, "How about you behold this!"
The blonde kicked off the ground and soared toward the dandy aristocrat. She brought Zhīshì straight down upon Froideur's skull. He skipped daintily to the side just as the heavy strike impacted the ground where he previously stood. Concrete shattered and erupted toward the ceiling. The force of Yang's attack created a shockwave that carried bits and pieces of debris away from the epicenter. Crimson eyes never lost sight of the colorful combatant.
Rogue spiraled as he landed a good distance away. The instant his toes touched the ground, he dashed straight at Yang. Fire and Ice twirled in his palms, their razor edges glinting dangerously. With her left hand, Yang lugged Zhīshì along the ground, aiming for his kneecaps. Froideur gracefully hopped over the metal bat and plunged Ice toward Yang's stomach with a straight stab. Yang lifted one leg and performed a standing hook kick, catching Rogue's extended arm and deflecting his thrust. He withdrew Ice and attacked with Fire, the dagger singing as it cut the air. Her right hand clenched into a fist and she backhanded the blade away. Immediately, hot agony ripped across the back of her hand and bright red blood ruptured from a fresh gash.
"Dammit! I can't rely on my Aura to stop his Dust weapons!"
Yang hissed between her teeth as she pulled back her injured hand. At the same time, she swept Zhīshì in front of her body. Rogue leaped away from the bludgeon and flipped through the air. Taking her eyes off him for a split second, she quickly assessed the damage. The cut was shallow and hurt like a bitch, but Yang's Aura was already trying to stitch the skin back together. There was no time to stem the bleeding, as Rogue was already on the assault.
"He's fast!"
Spinning on his toes like a top, the two-toned duelist pirouetted toward the dragoness. He resembled a red and blue tornado. She held Zhīshì vertically, at the top and the hilt. Fire and Ice became blurs as he crashed against her defenses. The twin blades struck the bludgeon in rapid succession. They were so fast there was no space for a counterattack. Waves of blistering heat and freezing cold buffered against Yang as she struggled to keep her weapon up. With an ugly roar, she pushed against the assault and forced Rogue to back away.
Her arms felt like wet noodles and the back of her hand was aching something fierce. "Now I really wish I had Ember Celica."
Refusing to stay on the defense, Yang ran at Rogue. Her club traced a vertical arc as she slammed it down upon his tricorn hat. He simply stepped straight back away from the cudgel.
CRUNCH! The bat became embedded into the concrete floor.
Using Zhīshì's handle as a fulcrum point, she drew both feet to her chest and somersaulted over the anchored weapon. She kicked out as hard as she could at his chest. He quickly sidestepped her boots. Keeping a tight grip on the handle and using her momentum, Yang swiftly ripped Zhīshì out of the ground and swung it straight at Rogue's stomach. He fell to his knees and the baseball bat swept overhead. The tricorn was knocked off his crown.
Rogue sprang to his feet, daggers flashing in his hands. Ice and Fire thrust and slashed at Yang. She couldn't bring Zhīshì to bear in time. Ice stabbed straight at her face. She cocked her head to the side and the blue blade dug a gouge along her mask. Junior was likely going to be upset.
Fire was aimed at her chest, intent on slipping between her ribs. Letting go of Zhīshì's handle with one hand, she made a wild grab and managed to catch Fire in her palm. Its razor edges cut into her palm. Fresh blood coated the dagger. It felt as though she had stuck her hand into a nest of angry hornets. Rogue tried to withdraw Fire, but Yang squeezed tighter. She lifted one leg to hip level. Then she released Fire and kicked out simultaneously. Her boot struck Rogue squarely in the stomach and he was launched head-over-heels through the air. He fell out of sight, behind a stack of crates.
Ice cold agony exploded along Yang's left leg. She dropped flat on the ground and grabbed her lower leg. A wide cut ran along the knee-high boot. Pulling apart the torn boot revealed a slash wound on her outer calf. The skin around the gash was frozen, with black blisters surrounding the damaged tissue. Apparently Rogue had tried to hamstring her with Ice, even as he was being kicked. It was bleeding slowly, the severed veins iced over.
Yang could scarcely move her left ankle. Bright red blood flowed down her palm and dripped from her fingertips. She could feel her diluted Aura struggling under the weight of her injuries. Sweat fell in her eyes and burned. Her breath hitched as though there were a knife in her ribs. Every inhale stabbed like a red hot poker.
Rogue emerged from behind the boxes. He was gripping his stomach, face contorted in pain. His hair was a mess and the garish clothes were crumpled. But that was about the worst of it. He wasn't bleeding from multiple wounds, nor struggling to suck down a single lungful of air.
"I'm fighting for my life and losing." She wheezed inwardly, "So why am I grinning so hard?"
Using Zhīshì as a crutch, Yang struggled to her feet. Putting weight on her left leg felt like stepping into a bucket full of ice and broken glass. The pain poured into her soul and fanned the inferno of her fury. Golden flames licked down her mane.
"I can win this! But I need a plan, because what I've been doing so far ain't workin'. The problem is that Zhīshì is too slow to hit him. I need to think of a way to speed up my attacks." Her eyes widened in abrupt realization.
Yang held Zhīshì loosely in one hand. With a flick of her wrist, she flipped the heavy baseball bat and caught it by the fat end. Then she pointed the handle at Rogue, her free hand hanging at her hip. She turned her body so that she faced sideways, with her right foot extended in front of her left. After a second of consideration, she withdrew her forward foot ever so slightly.
"Alright, let's see if we haven't picked up anything from sparring with Weiss."
Rogue shook his head mockingly, "So you're a fencer now?"
"En garde, bitch." Yang retorted.
"How well do you think you can fence with that injured calf?" Froideur gestured to her back leg. There was blood dribbling down the boot.
"I tend not to think these things through. It's worked for me so far."
If there was any talent that Yang could boast about, it was her gift at pushing people's buttons. Apparently, a flippant attitude was one of Froideur's buttons. His face became an expressionless mask. Without another word, he produced his weapons and charged straight at the dragoness.
Drawing Zhīshì back to beside her ear, Yang braced herself for pain. The golden haired Huntress kicked off her rear foot and lunged forward with a thrust. Tears pricked in her eyes as she swallowed a scream. She left a bloody boot print on the floor behind her.
The force behind her thrust caught both combatants off guard. She had closed the distance between them in a split second. Rogue's eyes widened. The handle plunged straight at his chest.
He sidestepped Zhīshì at the last instant. Yang barreled past with the speed and grace of a locomotive. She dug her heels in the concrete and grinded to a halt. Quickly turning around, the dragoness faced her opponent and reprised her stance. The aristocrat was upon her in an instant.
Ice and Fire danced in Rogue's hands, the Dust blades stabbing and slashing faster than ever before. Their razor edges hissed as they rent the air apart. To the untrained eye, they were untraceable red and blue blurs. But Yang has been training, and with another Huntress who also dual-wielded a pair of weapons. Being able to keep track of two simultaneous blades was a requirement for fighting Blake.
With the bulk of Zhīshì's weight resting in her palm, Yang could swing and poke much faster than before. He hacked and slashed at her body, but the blonde was having no trouble defending herself from his onslaught. Each of Rogue's attacks was deflected with a flick of her wrist. Again and again, the bat's handle caught the aristocrat's wrist and turned aside his lethal strikes.
"Looks like I've learned more than I expected. Now, to go on the offensive!"
The metal handle shot out like a rapier straight at Rogue's chest. He immediately fell back, out of Yang's range. She lunged forward again, the handle tip whipping back and forth wildly. But the colorful aristocrat just kept dodging back and to the sides. No matter how fast she poked, he proved himself too nimble for the clumsy cudgel. Compared to Myrtenaster, Zhīshì was as slow and inelegant as a tortoise.
Annoyance gnawed at her nerves like an army of fire ants. She slashed at Rogue's feet, but he effortlessly evaded the attack by leaping straight up. Zhīshì rapidly converted to its launcher form and Yang fired a rocket directly at her aerial opponent. The missile shrieked as it rose up to meet him.
"He can't dodge in the air!"
He didn't need to. Rogue flipped in midair and extended his foot. As soon as the missile reached him, he kicked off the projectile and flew even further away. The rocket hurtled off-course and exploded against a far wall. Yang watched him gracefully cartwheel through the air and land with poise on his perfectly polished boots. Her jaw twitched as she grinded her teeth together.
Rogue extended his index finger toward Yang. Then he curled it toward himself with a come-hither motion.
"That bastard will regret taunting a dragon!" Fire flooded the blonde's veins. Her weapon transformed back into a cudgel and she charged at him, the pain in her leg forgotten. He immediately turned and began to run away. No matter how hard she ran, she could only watch him get further and further away. A sense of déjà vu washed over Yang. She halted the chase and let Rogue retreat a distance.
Gulping desperately for air, she forced herself to empty the heat from her veins.
"Okay! I am not going to fall for that again. All I'm doing is tiring myself out. This is exactly what happened on the train. Just speeding up my attacks ain't enough. I need to slow him down." Turning her head, she scoured the battlefield in search of anything that could turn the tide in her favor. There were many weapons littered around, firearms and melee weapons alike. Crimson eyes landed on a cold metal article lying on the ground. As soon as she saw what it was, a plan began to form in her mind.
Yang turned away and began to leisurely walk toward the object. She strolled at a casual pace, as though she didn't have a care in the world. Her full hips swayed with every step. The dragoness slung the heavy bludgeon over her shoulder, keeping a loose grip on its handle.
It didn't take long for Rogue to realize that Yang was no longer pursuing him. He stopped running and looked back. In the distance, he spied the blonde as she ambled with her back turned on him.
"What is the meaning of this?" the sumptuous patrician called out. "Have you given up already?"
Shouting back, "Well yeah! All you're doing is running away! It's no fun if the opponent is too much of a pussy to fight back! Screw you guys, I'm going home." She flippantly gave him the birdie while drifting away.
His nostrils flared; teeth clenched; a vein bulged in his temple; eyebrows gathered like a storm. Froideur tightened his grip on his weapons until his knuckles bleached. He bellowed, "You have insulted me for the last time!"
Yang could hear his footfalls growing louder and closer as he rushed straight at her exposed back. She closed her eyes and envisioned his distance by sound alone. Her grip around Zhīshì's handle tightened.
"Closer…"
Her heart hammered in her chest. If either Fire or Ice plunged into her body, she would die. Aura would have no say in the matter.
"Closer…"
He was almost on top of her. She could hear his ragged breathing. Every fiber of her being screamed for her to move out of the way!
"Just a little bit closer…"
She stealthily slipped one boot beneath the object at her feet. It rattled lightly.
Rogue lunged, the hissing of his blades heralding his attack.
"NOW!"
Yang spun around as fast as she could and swung Zhīshì singlehandedly. The heavy metal bat hurtled directly at his snakelike face.
Rogue leaped backwards and soared high in the air, away from the oncoming bludgeon. Zhīshì didn't even come close.
He crowed at the top of his lungs, "Did you really believe that I would fall for such an obvious trap?!"
Yang kicked the object off the ground.
A cold metal chain slapped into her awaiting hand.
She swung the chain around and whipped it at the airborne aristocrat.
The chain's great length bridged the distance and lashed around his ankle.
His mouth fell wide open.
Yang hollered, "Get over here!" as she yanked on her end of the chain.
Rogue halted in midflight and immediately nosedived straight into the ground. He landed on his back and the concrete cracked beneath him. All of the air in his lungs expulsed from his open mouth. He wheezed as he struggled to inhale a single breath.
Yang was on top of him in an instant. She held Zhīshì horizontally in front of her torso, at both ends.
Rogue rose up on shaky legs to face the oncoming Huntress. His twin weapons simultaneously plunged at her stomach.
She maneuvered her metal weapon to intercept the incoming daggers.
Ice and Fire met Zhīshì head-on.
The Dust blades shattered upon contact. Broken shards clattered musically on the floor.
Froideur's face became sheet white.
Yang took a wide stance and hauled the five-foot bludgeon backwards until it was behind her head. Her hips pivoted with the motion. She squeezed the handle with both hands until her knuckles became white. Golden flames poured from her crown and set the world ablaze.
Furious crimson eyes burned into fearful blue.
A deafening scream tore out of the burning dragoness as she swung Zhīshì as hard as she could into Froideur's stomach. The impact shook her arms.
His Aura flared and failed. The man crumpled around the circumference of the cudgel.
Yang completed her swing and the follow through sent Rogue tumbling toward the ceiling. He smashed through a skylight and continued his involuntary flight beneath the night sky.
She watched her opponent shrinking until he was a mere twinkle in the distance.
For a moment, Yang held perfectly still in her homerun pose. Then she dropped the baseball bat and let it clang on the ground.
Turning her face skyward, she roared at the top of her lungs. The concrete at her feet splintered. Smoke and dust roiled around the Huntress. An inferno exploded and tongues of fire tasted the ceiling. Temperatures in the warehouse skyrocketed as Yang thundered her victory.
When the last echoes faded, she picked up Zhīshì and used it as a crutch while she hobbled out of the warehouse. It was a painful odyssey, but Yang made it all the way to Bumblebee. She leaned against her beloved bike and inspected her calf. It was angry and red, but Aura had managed to stem the bleeding. There was nothing that seemed to indicate an infection.
Yang pulled out her scroll and dialed the last number. Junior didn't make her wait. He answered immediately, "Did you take down the Iron Kings?"
Laughing cheerfully, "I sure did! I got a little bit more excitement than the last couple raids, so I'm turning in for the night."
"Are you going to return my stuff?" he asked tentatively.
"Yeah, sure." Yang drawled, "But I'll need some medical supplies before I return this stuff. I'm kinda cut up something fierce."
"Really? Who did you fight?"
"Some popinjay by the name of Roger Feud or something."
A moment of silence passed. Then he exclaimed, "Did you just fight Rogue Froideur?!"
"That was his name, yeah."
"He's one of the King's highest ranking members! What happened?" Junior questioned.
Yang beamed, "He put up a pretty decent fight, but he was nothing compared to the dragoness from Patch. After a grueling duel, I knocked him into orbit! To my knowledge, he's still traveling via Xiao Long Airlines."
"…All drinks are on the house."
Grinning from ear to ear, she closed her scroll and hopped onto Bumblebee.
By the time she rode back to The Cub's Club, the adrenaline rush had subsided and left Yang feeling every cut and bruise. She was wincing every other step as she entered through the back door. Junior and the Miltiades was waiting for her as she limped into his office. He held out his hand and gestured for Zhīshì.
Shaking her crown, "Oh no, Junior. I ain't disarming myself until I have Ember Celica back on my hands. I'm not stupid enough to trust you that much."
Sighing, Junior reached behind his desk and retrieved the golden shotgun-gauntlets. Once they were resting on Yang's wrists, she returned his weapon and the mask. Junior stared at the damaged replica of the Reaper's mask.
"I think," he began sternly, "that I'm owed an explanation for why my stuff is getting broken. What exactly is your plan for catching the Reaper?"
"I disagree. I don't owe you anything." Yang snapped. "Don't go losing that mask. I'm going to need it again tomorrow."
"How many nights are you planning on keeping this up?" Hei Xiong demanded.
"However many it takes." she declared.
Miltia held a first-aid kit in her hands. Yang picked up the box and tucked it beneath her arm. She returned alone to the wardrobe room, where her normal clothes were waiting for her, and changed out of her Reaper cosplay. Surprisingly, there weren't quite as many bruises as she had expected.
"I wonder if fear of the Reaper caused their attacks to weaken?"
Years of fighting has granted Yang plenty of practice applying her own first-aid. After cleaning the cuts, she smeared medical gel to her injuries and wrapped her calf and hands in thick bandages. Once she was satisfied that she was no longer in danger of bleeding on her own clothes, she dressed up and strode out of the nightclub. She held a strawberry sunrise in her hand.
Beacon Academy was situated on top of a plateau overlooking the city of Vale. Yang stepped into an elevator and swiped her student ID over the scanner. Undoubtedly, the electronic system would register Yang as out-past-curfew. She could expect consequences in the morning. The lift began to rise up steadily, granting the blonde a gorgeous view of the city lights. But those violet eyes were unfocused.
"Raven, you have been running away for my entire life. You've never contacted Uncle Qrow or Dad."
She strode off the elevator and entered Beacon's grounds. Her boots clopped over the cobblestone path that led directly into the main hall. Yang passed the Hero's Monument, briefly glancing around as though she expected her mother to be standing there. Nobody was waiting for her.
"Somehow though, eleven years ago, you must have contacted Summer. Was that related to the mission that she left us for? Did you meet your old partner, your best friend?"
Team RWBY's dorm room opened noiselessly on oiled hinges. Yang peeked her head in and listened. She heard the sounds of soft breathing and snoring. Removing her boots, she snuck inside. Hand on the doorframe, the blonde gently eased the door closed behind her. She took one glance at the bathroom door and discovered a great big sign taped over the handle.
A warning, handwritten with a calligraphy pen, declared bossily, "NO BLONDES ALLOWED!"
The first warning was crossed off and beside it was Blake's small but tidy note reading, "Weiss, you're technically blonde."
Beneath the first warning was another, equally embellished and authoritarian, which clarified that, "NO YANGS ALLOWED!"
In the corner was childish scribbles that read, "You got seven years of bad luck, sis." It featured doodles of a yellow-haired stick figure punching a mirror. The effigy looked so angry with its frowny face and red eyes.
Guilt settled in Yang's stomach as she remembered her explosion earlier. Turning from the bathroom, she knelt down to set her boots on the ground and looked straight into beady black eyes.
Zwei the corgi opened his mouth to bark.
Yang quickly hissed, "Zwei! Stealth mode activate!"
The foot-long dog recognized the order and snapped his mouth shut. She rubbed her dog behind the ears and then stood up.
After stripping off her skirt, socks, bandanna, and jacket, Yang was too exhausted to remove any more clothes. She set Ember Celica on the dresser and somehow made it into her upper bunk bed.
Once she had slipped beneath the covers, there was nothing left to do but wait for sleep. In the silence of the night, unwanted thoughts rose into the foreground.
"How did the meeting go, between you and Summer? Were you happy to see her? Was she happy to see you? If everything went well, then how did Summer end up…"
She sucked in a breath and choked back a sob.
"Why are you still running?"
Weiss once told Yang something, back when Blake had abandoned the team in their first semester.
She had said,
"The innocent never run, Yang."
End Chapter 21: The Grimm Fake
With such a reckless plan, do you think that Yang has a chance of finding Raven again?