(Author's Notes: Let me get this out of the way beforehand. I use a ton of OCs, as in so many that I've lost count, but absolutely none of them are intended to be SI characters. If my character delivery has failed, I admit that it could be my fault but please note that I try to make each character work on their own merits. Now, on with the show!)

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Exhibit 1 - a journal entry, ostensibly by one Noctis Argent; better known later on as Captain Ahab. The journal was discovered among the ruins of Beacon by scavengers after the end, and it seems to have almost miraculously escaped the effects of Vale's [SALVATION].

This is not my hand. This fact is forgotten by those close to me - inexplicably, it has always seemed to me. My left hand is strong, to be sure, and has created great things for us all, but it is not mine. And that counts for something. It must count for something. It has to.

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The music of the club pulsed, its heartbeat keeping the revelry within it alive. The dance floor was a tangle of limbs and lust, with people writhing to the maddening beat of the music. Hands groped at unmentionable areas, and bodies ground against each other, the music, the lights and the atmosphere driving all inhibitions from the minds of most of the club's patrons.

The DJ, who for some strange reason was wearing a giant bear mask, more befitting of a mascot, was pumping out tune after tune to keep the party 'alive', so to speak. He knew for a fact that said DJ could easily kill the party as well, especially since under that control station's desk was a submachine gun just waiting to be used.

But for a select few, they were trying to actually get shit done. And, nursing a cup of diluted yet pitch black and immensely bitter bilgewater that Junior had had the gall to pass off as strong coffee, the music and strobe lights only made Noctis Argent even more pissed off than usual. This was the fifth such place he had dragged himself into twice as many hours, and he was gradually losing his temper bit by bit.

His sister was coming to Beacon and he was doing the usual to ensure his safety just in case her teammates dragged her into establishments such as this. His objectives here were to instruct Junior to not sell her alcohol in the event that she became inebriated and to instruct his men to keep their hands off her, and they seemed simple enough for the man to enforce that he would accept his proposition.

Any deviations from his instructions would be replied with swift and overwhelming retribution, preferably the explosive kind. Plain and simple murder would also suffice, but that was just unadventurous.

He drained his cup of black water, grimacing as he did. The bitterness of the fluid clung to the back of his tongue and throat. When he got back to the hotel suite that his family now resided in, he was going to drain the entire one litre bottle of complementary mineral water that stood on his nightstand just to clear of his bowels of the bad coffee.

There was a reason he preferred tea; at least tea didn't become something resembling Grimm blood when shoddily made.

His drink gone, he pulled the gas mask that had been hanging off his neck to cover his entire head, but leaving the helmet and faceplate on the floor. His ruffled greyish hair was now pressed flat against his scalp by the mask, but luckily none of it reached his eyes. He needed to have it cut soon, Noctis noted.

However, his attempts to talk with Hei 'Junior' Xiong, the owner of this forsaken place and the best information broker of the Valean criminal underworld, had been interrupted by Roman Torchwick of all people. Sure, the infamous crime boss definitely warranted more attention than a mere bodyguard, but Roman has been allowed to bring his weapon in while he had to leave Sable Lament in a locker simply because it had no inert mode. At least he had been allowed to bring his parrying dagger in.

He was too far away to hear what they had been saying, but it certainly seemed serious enough.

Besides, he was too busy surreptitiously scanning the club with his scroll, downloading what was essentially a three dimensional blueprint of the place. Having friends in high places certainly helped.

Just in case he had to storm the place, guns blazing, in the future. Just in case he just so had to place a bomb in the premises.

A seat at the bar had ensured that he could get Junior's attention immediately after Roman left, and he was getting impatient. Not impatient enough to interrupt the two men, but some of the way there. The bulky greatcoat he wore was already getting uncomfortable to sit in, the coat having been designed for soldiers that were supposed to be standing for most of their time, and in winter climates, no less.

However, he had specifically chemically impregnated it to ward against biological and chemical attack, you know, just in case someone throws in a gas grenade or something like that. It was also thick enough to provide limited physical protection against melee attacks and provided padding in case of blunt impacts.

In other words, it was much better than that skimpy thing his sister wore for tournaments. However, he was now sitting on a bar stool in an air-conditioned club.

Not exactly ideal conditions to be wearing a greatcoat and a vest of the same armour that made up his faceplate and shoulder plates over it. The mask was hooked up to a backpack sized battery, which Noctis referred to as a power pack. It powered both the air filtration system that made his gas mask functional, which was honestly unnecessary in a nightclub, and his now detached weapon.

Noctis certainly felt lucky to have his gas mask, however. The bimbo hooker hanging around in the club that was currently somewhere behind him trying to seduce a man whose baser urges were stronger than basic human intelligence, had perfume strong enough to easily count as poisonous gas.

While he brooded in a corner, Roman and Junior had apparently wrapped up their conversation. Excellent.

Roman now stood and prepared to leave, saying, "See you around, Junior, and I trust that you won't just dump some dumb muscle on my hands."

Then, the other man left. Noctis raised his hand and said, "Junior? Now that you're done talking to Torchwick, can I ask you something?"

Junior didn't really seem surprised that Noctis knew the other man's name. Not that he should, with Roman's name and face plastered on the news almost every week.

There was a moment in which Junior paused. The blood seemed to run out of his face, leaving an unhealthy-looking white colour, while his lips moved of their own accord to pronounce, "Matador."

Ah, this one knows what they face, at least. The monster that wiped the Crown off of the face of Mistral.

But then another person, this time an almost scantily clad blonde walked in, and Junior replied, "Hold on a sec, I need to deal with her first."

Noctis stared in disbelief. He had been waiting for the past half an hour, and he hadn't exactly been enjoying himself. Now, the first and probably last chance he gets to talk to Junior, owner of the largest and most popular nightclub in Vale, and it slips out of his fingers entirely?

God damn it all.

He slammed down the mug in his left hand, ignoring the spiderweb of cracks that almost instantly creeped over the entire porcelain structure.

His right arm reached up, and his forehead came to rest on his palm. A clear expression of exasperation if there ever was one.

The blonde went ahead and ordered a drink, much to Noctis's consternation. Looks like this was going to take a while. He decided to play a game on his scroll while waiting, and soon his finger was dancing on his screen to help the little spaceship dodge a veritable storm of virtual bullets.

Staring at the blonde and Junior while they talked, Noctis had a few questions on his mind. Was this girl some sort of call girl, or was her frankly indecorous attire intentional?

Now they were sniping at each other. He wished that more people knew the skill of getting to the point of a conversation. That would be very useful here.

But then Junior asked for the blonde's name, and everything just went to hell.

Noctis realised, with a start, that the grin on the blonde's face had become positively predatory.

And her hand literally blurred into motion as she grabbed Junior's groin in a vice-like grip.

The man's agony was both visible and audible. Crying out in surprise and pain, his eyes bugged out and he bent over in a futile effort to protect his crotch.

Noctis clenched his left arm into a fist. The augmentic limb almost silently clicked and whirred, while panels opened to expose heat sinks. Servos locked in place and springs compressed while a piston, slightly more than half of the length of his forearm, connected his wrist to a point barely before his mechanical elbow - his prosthetic arm's combat mode had been engaged.

Hopefully he wouldn't need to crush any skulls today; bone fragments were a bitch to pick out. He might not have Sable Lament with him now, but he would still put up a good fight regardless.

A good fight? You'll crush her, damn it! Pick her apart, right down to the marrow of her bones!

Shut up. Please.

"People say you know everything," the blond girl said, now discarding any semblance of civility, while reaching into her pocket.

Junior's henchmen had started to gather around the scene, weapons drawn. Red swords and axes gleamed in the flashing strobe lights of the nightclub. The Malachite twins had also begun to advance towards Yang, their grim expressions making their intentions clear.

Melanie's bladed heels engaged, while Miltia prepared her own claws. Noctis silently praised them; hiding weapons that well took skill.

The situation had become markedly more tense, Noctis noted, and a fight was exceedingly likely to break out at this point. Yay. Tactical genius for the win.

Instead of a weapon, which was what Noctis had feared, she took out her scroll and brought it up to Junior's face.

"Tell me where I can find her and I'll let you go," she said, still cheerful in tone at least. "Or else, I close my hand. No more Juniors for Junior."

Junior's voice strained as he whimpered "I've never seen her before, I swear!"

Noctis stared in disbelief. This girl was mental. First she walked into a nightclub looking like a damned hooker, and still expected to be taken seriously? Now she had assaulted the bartender, who by the way happened to be a mafia bookkeeper, and humiliated him in front of possibly hundreds of people.

He wouldn't be surprised if her house was set on fire for this, to be honest. At least, it would have... until every single criminal organisation on Remnant seemed to mellow down two years ago.

Maybe because of something you did, hm?

Noctis sighed under his breath.

"You definitely know how compromising this looks, so I'd suggest you hurry the fuck up," the blonde chuckled, seemingly taking delight in the man's humiliation.

His voice still strained, Junior was apparently trying to bargain. The pained tone in his voice was unmistakably genuine.

"I don't know who the hell that is, so let me go now!"

The blonde let go, Junior breathing a sigh of relief.

"You'll pay for that!" The older man growled. He then puts his sunglasses back on and walks away, the blonde following closely behind.

Is she dumb, suicidal or both?" Noctis wondered aloud, the harsh notes of derision rising clearly into his muttered whisper.

Pissing off someone so well connected, so powerful as to be able to own the largest entertainment venue in Vale complete with henchmen, and she still had the guts to aggravate him further after she had crushed his family jewels? That took some guts, and Noctis could respect that.

But guts tended to get people killed.

He was lucky that that white cloaked woman had come to save him before it was too late, but that goddamn Goliath had trod on his left arm, and literally smeared it on the floor. Overkill much?

He had had to get a prosthetic arm, improving it over the years, and as for the kind white cloaked woman, with the greatsword that seemed so... radiant, resplendent in its ethereal light... he never saw her again…

The light of salvation.

Mountain Glenn had been a clusterfuck for all involved, but it had hit him especially hard. He sighed, before dismissing the line of thought. Best not to open that can of worms now.

In the midst of his reminiscing, he barely heard the blonde try to... flirt? With Junior? Noctis snorted under his breath.

Didn't she know that Junior was married? What kind of a rock was she living under? She had a scroll, presumably with an internet connection, and still seemed unaware. Well, the joke was on her.

And now she was asking to 'kiss and make up'? How shameless was she? Was she some kind of hooker? Well, she was probably one of almost a hundred he had seen at work today.

Junior, understandably, was both surprised and offended. However, his fear of the blonde before him override any sense of shame he might have felt, and he leaned in to comply with the violent blonde's demand.

And then the blonde punched him in the face, her bracers transforming into yellow combat gauntlets that covered her entire upper arm, causing Junior to rag doll across his own club. Luckily, he saw Junior's aura flare before the older man took an impromptu trip across his own club.

"What the fuck?" Noctis muttered under his breath, finding that he could currently only stare in disbelief. What kind of lunatic was this blonde? He had witnessed her commit assault, battery, sexual harassment and criminal intimidation in a span of less than ten minutes.

The Troupe Master himself would have applauded at such a blatant display of disrespect of the law. At least, before incinerating everything in a five kilometre radius with naught but a snap of his fingers... the murderous bastard.

He got up from the bar stool, his greatcoat billowing at his feet. Damn it all, Noctis thought angrily, this crazy woman was going to kill Junior. How was he supposed to negotiate with a dead man?

Seeing Noctis get up, and thinking that he was about to attack her, she pointed her gauntlet at him. A shotgun barrel springs out of its top, pointing at his chest. Without missing a beat, she opened fire, letting loose a single Foster slug and sending Noctis flying into a wall with the sheer force of the solid projectile slamming into his armour. The problem was that he had not had enough time to raise his aura, thus forcing his armour to crumple inwards to stop the slug.

Well, shit. Good job at rushing in blind, just like what happened in Argus!

To put it simply, it hurt. Pain upon pain. His ribs burned with it. He had probably broken a few of them from the impact. Every breath brought it. The metallic taste in his mouth only made it worse. His armour had been so badly dented that it was crushing his torso.

For some reason, he had expected his blood to taste sweet, almost cloyingly so. The familiar taste of iron had surprised him somewhat, but in retrospect maybe it was his brain playing tricks on him.

Noctis vaguely remembered reading how, in the past, blunt weapons were used to dent the plate armour worn by knights, crushing the man within with his own armour plating. Now a similar situation had befallen him.

As he tried to stand and extricate himself from the rubble of the ruined wall, the lead pipe he was using to steady himself suddenly snapped, sending him sprawling onto the jagged pieces of concrete. He tore off his dented and pretty much ruined breastplate, throwing it aside where it landed on the ground with a clatter.

Noctis had landed on his shattered rib cage, making the pain even worse somehow. He had activated his aura, which was already working to repair any damage it could, but the pain was almost too much to bear as-is.

He could barely stay conscious, what with the sudden sharp pain in his chest cavity, and not to mention that his neglecting to wear his helmet had given him one hell of a concussion from the impact with the wall.

He slowly pulled himself up once again, falling down once again, this time onto his knees.

There were laws in place to protect normal civilians from becoming collateral damage in fights between those gifted with aura and semblances. If a Huntsman or someone with the same abilities, ie. aura and a semblance, was found to hurt or kill an innocent person without aura, the punishments were dire indeed. If one were injured while engaged in criminal activities, say if a gang member had been injured by a Huntsman, the law was usually in favour of the Huntsman, but if an innocent civilian whom had just been at the wrong place and the wrong time had been injured or killed by a Huntsman?

The law was even more condemning on the Huntsman than usual.

The punishment for murdering a civilian, or in worse cases multiple, in cold blood if you were a Huntsman? In the past, it was the death penalty. In modern terms, a kill order. Execution by Huntsman, usually carried out by the leader of the local branch of the Huntsman's Guild or one of the more senior Huntsmen.

In short, that shot had killed the woman along with himself. Hardly a consolation, but still.

Noctis gripped the lead pipe in his right hand. It wasn't much, barely counting as an improvised weapon, but it was his only melee option at this point. At least the broken end was sharp.

He barely noticed the blonde striding towards him, extending a hand in his direction. She said something that he barely heard.

"... you ….?"

She was going to finish him off.

Just like usual, then. But I will not go quietly into that good night.

Noctis did not smile; he bared his teeth. Then, reaching into his greatcoat with his free hand, he pulled out a hand grenade.

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Yang could only stare in horror as the solid lead slug slammed into the heavily garbed man, denting the breastplate of his armour as he flew into the wall, his impact causing the wall to practically collapse onto him. She had thought that he was another one of Junior's thugs, but in retrospect maybe he was just an innocent bystander - albeit a suspiciously-dressed one - who was trying to defuse a fight that he felt obligated to stop.

Oh God. Oh God indeed. She had just killed an innocent man.

Or she hadn't, as he saw the man stumble around the rubble, trying to right himself before falling back down into the rubble. She rushed towards him, exclaiming "Oh god, are you okay?"

Junior's thugs, as well as the Malachite sisters, had backed off. Melanie was helping Junior up from the ground, while Militia stared at her in shock.

Rightly so, because this was a serious matter.

This could warrant an Excommunicate Tratoris - Yang's worst nightmare, especially if she were to be permanently separated from her sister in the process.

The highest punishment possible, barring the aforementioned sentence, was a kill order. It was essentially the same as what it was even a few centuries ago; a death sentence being carried out by Huntsmen or the military. Such a sentence was only carried out for the worst of crimes; such as treason or mass murder.

Currently, that was not a concern. Thank god,

So she rushed over to assist the injured man, whom was kneeling on the ground, slumped forward in a clear sign of pain.

"Are you okay?" Yang asked. The smirk that had adorned her features until recently had been utterly wiped away, replaced by a look of concern.

She noticed neither the lead pipe he gripped in his right hand, nor the fact that he was reaching into his coat with his other one, until it was much too late.

She only found out when the man raised his head, meeting her lilac eyes with the most empty gaze she had ever seen. His black eyes, or at least what of them she saw through the lenses of his gas mask, seemed to be lightless pits, lifeless yet seeming to bore a hole into her skull with the intensity of his stare.

For the first time since entering the club, she felt afraid. Not for the man in front of her, but of him.

Then, three things happened.

Firstly, the figure before her stood up and strode towards her, seemingly fiddling with something in his left hand as he did so. Then, his figure proceeded to disintegrate into ash.

Secondly, Junior's henchmen, with Militia at the helm, started to advance towards her again. Since the other guy turned out to possess aura after all, all bets were off and now it looked like the gloves were off as well. Melanie was still helping Junior steady himself, but Junior was already hefting a massive club onto his right shoulder.

Thirdly, and most importantly, as the figure before her fell away fully into ash, the thing the figure was holding clattered to the floor. Yang, noticing that the situation from before was going to return with a vengeance, only allowed herself a second to notice the fallen object.

She ended up staring at the previously unknown object for much longer than that.

Militia, seeing that Yang was staring at something, turned to look at the objects, and started staring as well. Melanie forced Junior back onto the ground again, before taking cover herself.

Because what she, and everyone else, saw, was a fragmentation grenade. Standard military-issue, common enough to be found in the usage of almost every armed force in the world. Minus the pin, of course.

Yang could only shout one precious word, before she, along with everyone else in the immediate vicinity, dove to the ground in the opposite direction.

"Fuck!"

The grenade went off, knocking everyone off their feet indiscriminately.

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Sometimes, Noctis hated his semblance. It looked edgy as all hell, it tended to make people incontinent with sufficient exposure when combined with grenades, and the option of teleporting for short distances while leaving behind short-lived clones that he had to literally leave fragments of himself behind to use just seemed not as effective in combat as say, magnetism.

His body distintergating into ash was definitely not as friendly as say, magnetism. Some people had all the luck with semblances.

He was pretty sure that his empathy died a little every time he split himself, but he would deal with the repercussions later. But other times? He absolutely loved it. Being a teleporting, nigh-impervious reusable suicide bomber was just fun. Well, for him at least.

Did it matter, then, that his consciousness was spread across all of his clones? Did it matter now that it feels like he dies every time a clone dies, that every clone's death was his death, repeated ad nauseum? Did it matter, even in this very moment, that he was starting to lose track between what was a clone and what was him?

No, no and no!

"Few hunters can resist the intoxication of the hunt! Look at you, just the same as all the rest!" He yelled, before bursting out into manic laughter.

Technically speaking, his semblance abided by three simple rules. Firstly, he could only teleport within a one hundred metre radius of himself. Secondly, said teleportation was reliant on line-of-sight. Thirdly, he could only teleport to points that can support his weight - though he could teleport in mid-air, he couldn't teleport into mid-air. Coupled with some more restrictions, like the fact that the time between teleports was inversely proportional to the distance covered by the teleports - in short, he could either prioritise manoeuvrability or distance, but not both - and considering the tradeoffs... perhaps the unparalleled mobility it granted wasn't worth the mental fragmentation it caused in turn.

In any case, it was currently working just fine. He teleported behind the blonde, the stray ash coalescing into his form. He then swung the lead pipe at her, catching her on the head with a savage blow.

Her aura absorbed the hit, of course, but it still disoriented her enough for him to prime another grenade and teleport away, leaving her to experience the detonation of the fragmentation grenade up close and personal.

She spun around, driving her fist into the face of the facsimile but only managing to smash its facsimile of its skull, displacing the ash that made up its head with a loud crack before the grenade exploded, sending her flying back from the shockwave and leaving her with a face full of shrapnel.

He teleported behind her again, this time doing a leg sweep that knocked the blonde off her feet. He caught the blonde on her way down with the jagged broken end of the pipe, driving it into her aura. The flames that had sprung up on her hair and the rapidly growing heat coming from her threatened to rip apart his form into ash floating in the breeze, but his aura soaked up the damage.

He kicked her between the legs, and when she crouched down to defend her crotch, she was met with a knee to the face. Of course he got backhanded in the unhelmeted head for his trouble, taking a chunk out of his already strained aura and making his concussion worse.

You've faced harder odds before. This girl is nothing compared to Gascoigne!

"The beasts cannot be stopped! What good are hunters now?" He shouted, continuing to laugh madly as he did so. The words seemed to be spilling out of his mouth of their own accord, rather like a repressed memory to be honest. It didn't matter, anyway... not really.

The procedure was simple, if only for a while. Whack her with the pipe to disorient her, then teleport away while leaving the resulting facsimile and the accompanying grenade to deal the real damage. Either that or find an opening for the sharp broken end of the pipe to snake in past her defences and cut into her aura. Taking a few glancing hits chipped away at his aura, but it ultimately did not matter.

However, she soon caught on to the pattern, dodging the pipe and punching Noctis in the solar plexus with a right hook before he had the chance to teleport away.

"Fuck," Noctis muttered, feeling the warm rush of blood filling his mouth. The gas mask over his face stopped him from spitting it out, forcing him to swallow the oddly sweet substance. It was cloyingly sweet, and cling to his tongue rather like some kind of disgusting medicine.

The beast blood, what else? Why, you practically bathed in it as a Hunter!

Shit. That was most probably not a glancing hit.

She then swung her left fist in a wild haymaker towards his face, which he deflected with his metal left hand that he had brought up to block the attack. He then grabbed the blonde's head with his right hand, before stabbing at the aura protecting the blonde's throat with the sharp end of his pipe.

He then teleported away again, farther from the blonde than the last few times. He needed to plan another tactic, and fast.

His injured ribs were draining his aura for their own recovery, and right now his willpower was almost gone.

Almost.

He tried to teleport again, but as his body started to disintegrate into ash, two glowing orange projectiles that seemed to home in on him slammed into his chest, stripping off his aura and exacerbating the already grevious injury to his ribs. He only had enough strength to not fall onto his chest and impale his vital organs on his shattered ribs before he dropped to the floor in a heap on his back.

He raised his right hand, the lead pipe having clattered out of his reach, and gave the blonde bitch the finger.

"Fuck you..."

He took a breath, forced it out through gritted teeth. The blonde glanced at him before leaving.

"You got lucky..."

Having said his piece, he then proceeded to black out entirely.

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Yang was, to put it simply, terrified.

One moment, the man was in front of her, a grenade about to explode in his hands and his figure already dissipating into shadow. The grenade would detonate, and Yang would be flung back by the force of the explosion. The next moment, he was behind her, swinging a lead pipe at her head to disorientate her enough to repeat the cycle. Being beaten, stabbed and kicked in a very sensitive area probably wasn't helping as well.

And every time it completed itself, her aura became that much closer to being depleted. If it depleted...she didn't even want to think about it. A grenade going off point blank in her face wouldn't really leave much to bury, would it?

And then she wouldn't be able to be there for Ruby.

That terrified her even more, if that was possible, but at least it drove her to find a way to break away from the rapidly worsening shitstorm that she had started.

Whatever he was saying, they somehow struck at something deep inside her. It was weird, but honestly terrifying. Those statements seemed to apply personally, down to her very soul. That scared her, more than she'd be normally willing to admit.

Luckily - or unluckily - everyone else that wanted her blood had backed off, obviously afraid of getting caught in the crossfire of the seemingly immortal duplicating suicide bomber teleporting all over the place. So it seemed that nobody wanted to intervene, whether to save her or to spite her? So be it.

With that lack of assistance... it was only God whom she could thank for still having around fifteen percent of her aura when she finally hit the terrifying assailant, breaking the deadly cycle, and the man teleported away again.

This time, she saw him from afar, and realised something.

"Holy crap, I actually have a chance at surviving this..." she muttered.

She primed the shotguns of her gauntlets, and pointed them towards the crazy teleporting man. Fire Dust rounds, with their minor homing capabilities, would be perfect for this.

She fired, the projectiles racing towards him in a graceful arc, exploding when they slammed into his aura and launching him further away from her. He was also knocked to the ground by the blast. Even better.

"This is my chance..." she muttered to herself.

The Malachite twins, the henchmen, and Junior himself were staying well back from the bar area of the club, which had been reduced to a state remarkably similar to a smoking battlefield - a few grenades tended to do that.

With that in mind, she dashed out of the front door, no one bothering to stop her.

She neither Junior sigh in relief nor heard what he said to himself.

"Lucky bitch. Looks like he got rusty, then."

She would come to regret that, in time. But enough for now.

It honestly surprised her that Ruby was right outside, but she honestly had no time to respond.

"Yang? Is that you? What are you doing here?" Ruby asked, her surprise evident both on her face and in her voice.

"No time to explain, sis! We need to go!"

Ruby looked even more surprised, both from Yang's curtness and the very obvious quaver in her voice.

"What happened?" Ruby asked as she jumped onto Bumblebee, riding pillion as they gathered speed.

"It's a long story, Rubes. And I'll need to change my pants before I tell you."

They then sped off into the frosty Vale night.

What she didn't stay to notice was that the man she had fought didn't get up.

Neither did she see Junior personally bring the man to a nearby hospital - certainly a very unusual activity for him, if one didn't really consider who precisely was the recipient of his goodwill - and see him into a ward. The hospital had contacted his family, and everything was as it should be.

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Noctis woke up in a hospital bed, with Junior of all people sitting beside his sister at his bedside.

"Oh, you're finally awake!" His sister remarked. "I was thinking that your shattered ribs would have finally put you down for good."

"You know what'll finally put me down? You settling down for once," he snarked. Pyrrha rolled her eyes in response.

Junior then finally opened his mouth, saying, "You never told me your sister was Pyrrha Nikos of all people."

"I got interrupted," Noctis drawled.

"That's a major understatement, and you know it," the older man deadpanned. "I hope you'll be alright. That blonde bitch put you down, but you still put up one hell of a fight. You very nearly got the better of her, but I'd say she got lucky. Very lucky, with that semblance of yours. If both of you had been trying to kill each other, I'll have had to put my money on you..."

"Those days are over," Noctis said harshly. "You know that."

Matador? Retirement doesn't suit you, I'm afraid...

With modernisation came civility. Now that people tended to take offence at summary execution, whether on the basis of morality or mere propriety, the second highest punishment before a kill order for a rogue Huntsman was being declared Excommunicate Tratoris.

Huntsmen declared as such essentially became persona non grata, forbidden from working for governments or with official Huntsman organisations such as the Academies under pain of death. Since Huntsmen usually hadn't pursued any sort of formal education barring attending Huntsman academies, those declared as Excommunicate Tratoris essentially because jobless vagrants.

Some found work in the criminal underworld, like Roman Torchwick as one notable example, while yet others became mercenaries. However, all of them were basically social outcasts.

If his former life under a non de guerre caught up with him, that was the fate that laid in store.

"Where did you learn to fight like that?"

"Bodyguard classes," Noctis replied coolly. "That and sessions with the same instructors my sister had. I never joined a tournament because my semblance would be overpowered enough for the judges to disqualify me on the spot."

It was a lie, and both he and his sister knew it. She looked disapprovingly at him. What? Did she honestly expect him to confess his secrets to a total stranger?

"What were you going to tell me before hurricane blondie came in and fucked everything up?" Junior asked.

"If my sister goes into your club with her teammates or friends..." Noctis mused. "If she looks like she's had enough alcohol, could you stop giving her alcohol before she gets too drunk for her own good?"

"You wanted to ask me that?" Junior looked at him curiously. "Sure, I'll follow through with that, it's club policy that Beacon students musn't become drunk in our premises anyway because they tend to smash up shit when drunk. However, it seems some just skip the getting drunk part."

"And some skip straight assault and go straight to attempted murder."

Junior sighed, before continuing. "True, true. Tell you what, I'll look out for her anyway, and I'll tell my men and anyone else I can get to listen to me to keep their hands off of her."

"Ahem," Pyrrha cleared her throat. "I'm still here, guys. And of course I won't get drunk, don't be silly."

"But... but if your friends or teammates challenge you to a drinking competition or something…?" He stammered.

"I'm competitive, but not that competitive," she said, rolling her eyes. "Oh, I forgot to tell you that Headmaster Ozpin called your scroll earlier, but you were sleeping."

"Who? Ozpin, of all people?" Noctis surprisedly exclaimed. "What the fuck?"

"Language, dumbass," Pyrrha swatted his arm. "Headmaster Ozpin to both of us. He called to notify us that you've been accepted into Beacon with me."

"What?" Noctis practically shouted, still careful to mind his language.

"Yeah, something about... well, to quote him, if you were a Beacon student, that fight you got into could simply be passed off as a scuffle between two students and be dealt with internally as a result. On the other hand, if you weren't, the other Huntress-in-training will legally be in some really hot water. He then asked if you'd like to be enrolled as a student. I accepted on your behalf, of course."

Noctis just stared in shock. Happy shock, but still.

"Well, I'd have had to get new armour soon anyways. Always wanted to test out that new composite carapace I made that one time, but I have't found an excuse to break it out yet," he said, accompanied by a shrug. "By the way, where's my weapon?"

Put up again thy sword into his place: for all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword.

"I have it with me," Junior announced, and produced a heavy-looking rifle, its barrel shrouded with what Noctis knew was a coolant tank. "I got Melanie to open your locker with the master key, and it's been with me ever since. It's a weird looking weapon if I've ever seen one. Could you show me how it works?"

"Sorry, I can't. It isn't charged anyway, so I can't show you the coolest part. All I can tell you is that the rifle can transform into a rapier."

"What's the coolest part then?" Junior asked.

"It shoots lasers," both Noctis and Pyrrha replied, the former in excitement and the latter in exasperation.

"Damn. Must be near impossible to dodge. Remind me to never get on your bad side, alright? Anyway..." He paused. "You kind of blew up a lot of my club. I'm not gonna chase you for compensation or anything, since I know that shit kinda hit the fan there, but you still broke a lot of bottles and spilled a lot of booze."

Noctis chucked. "We both know that you keep the good stuff in the back. You run a bar for Huntsmen, Junior. Those bottles out in the front were probably filled with coloured water."

"You're actually spot on." Junior admitted. "Now, your sister actually told me that my club was actually the last stop before you were done, so I feel like I should apologise for the shitstorm I accidentally pulled you into."

"It's alright." Noctis shrugged. "It's about par for the course anyway. My luck with stuff like this is generally horrible."

"I kinda to go now, sorry. The club isn't going to manage itself, and I need to make sure that the repair crew aren't gonna pilfer the place."

"See you around, Junior!" Noctis chuckled, waving as he did. "Don't worry one damn bit about what the blonde one said, your name fits you perfectly!"

"See you around, kiddo," the larger older man said, smiling as he did, as he walked out of the ward door.

If one could have followed Junior, they would have seen his smile and cheerful demeanour fall off of his face like a mask, replaced by the expression of one whom had glimpsed the personification of death itself and lived to tell the tale.

Only a few were privy to the tale of the Matador and his one-man purge of the Crown, after all. Usually those who had their ear to the ground, and who had fled before the largest and most enigmatic criminal enterprise in Remnant came crashing down around their ears as everything they had - every single asset, right down to the smallest stash - was coldly and mercilessly dissected.

An impossible task, but yet one in which he had proved himself very admirably indeed. It could be said that the things he burned that day... laid the foundations for what there is today.

But that was enough for now.

"Now, what to do with the Beacon situation…?" Noctis asked quietly to himself. Now he could scout out the place itself as well, perhaps put down defences once he found out where his sister's dorm room was. A few carefully placed claymore mines wouldn't be amiss, after all.

"No. Don't even think about it," Pyrrha said adamantly, evidently putting her foot down. She looked even more exasperated, if it was possible to be in such a state. "Firstly, you need to recover. Secondly, that's just plain creepy."

"Aww…" Noctis whined.

Still, there were worse things than not getting to place a surveillance system. He decided to let the matter rest. After all, what could go wrong?

The first move of the great game? A pawn, moved forward two spaces. Queen's Gambit.

And what a game it was.

(Author's notes: Well, hello! This is my first fanfic, and a crossover at that, so at the moment I've only got a basic outline - based on a few years' worth of daydreaming up a storyline in class - as to where this story will go. You might notice that this has been labelled as a Bloodborne crossover, but the AU stuff should come in soon enough. You'll eventually notice it, trust me. Updates will be sporadic at best, but I pledge to do my utmost best to finish this thing.)

(If you're looking for Bloodborne/Lovecraft content, that's found in Ch.4 and from Ch.6 onwards. The first five chapters are character intros and an informational codex.)