Ren moved like a ghost through the city. This was what he did—rarely this fast, but Ren was the Temple's best covert agent because he could move through shadows like water. None saw his passing, and he left no traces other than those he chose to leave. A damaging document. A bomb. A body. Whatever it was, he was always in control of every variable of his presence or absence. The Temple demanded no less.

But this… this was not what Ren was used to. There was no forethought, no preparation, no going over the plan with Jaune as they looked for flaws and came up with counterfactuals they might not have anticipated. All that mattered was speed. Pyrrha was strong. But not, as they had presented her to the world, Invincible. Nora would bring the numbers to back her up and with those numbers, they could challenge everything in this city short of the Constabulary showing all of its force. But that took time, which they didn't have enough of, not nearly, so it was Ren's job to try and buy Nora that time she needed to get in position and try to do it all with a minimal amount of crisis.

A crisis made much worse by the fact that Pyrrha had taken off like a shot. He had thought for a moment he might have been able to catch her before she reached Belladonna's hideout, but now… he was wondering what, exactly, he'd find when he arrived.

Ren's concerns went deeper than his duties. This was a matter of Faith, and more so… Ren was in the grips of the worst anxiety he'd ever felt. He could feel it. His past, the voice of the Fallen World, whispering in his ears, reminding him of what the world was like. Reminding him of being only a boy, vulnerable and powerless, those moments where his heart caught in his throat as terror seized him. The men, men of the law, of war bands, of worse, leering at him and Nora, every inch of his skin crawling as he thought of what might happen. And that voice told him that nothing could escape that fear. Certainly not him. Not Jaune, either. Not even Pyrrha.

This was a broken and Fallen world. It was not real, and yet, in order for it to assert itself as reality, it clung tightly to all those who dwelt under its illusions. Until the New World was born, they were all subject to the lies of the Fallen World. Would that Ren's faith alone might be able to overcome the feeling of pain or doubt, but his Enlightenment only enabled him to perceive the lie that surrounded him. It had power over… over all of them. And Ren could only imagine the the wicked tendrils of this maggot-infested reality wrapping tightly around Pyrrha as she-

Such doubts were not to be entertained, they were the crack by which disbelief broke in. But Ren was a rational man, and he knew that there were greater threats that he had the highest duty to counter. Threats to Pyrrha. She was the Vessel, not the New World itself. She was born of the Fallen World as they all were, and was as subject to the powers of the tawdry reality they were all caught up in. The depth of her compassion could move mountains, but tied to… tied to Jaune, it could lead her to her own destruction. To all of their destruction. Literally… or worse.

Bracing himself on a chimney, Ren scanned the path towards where Belladonna's suspected hideout was. Or, he should say, "the Ruby Masque's" hideout. They'd been so blindsided in their arrogance… but no gunfire. Still no sound of-

Spoke too soon. Ren heard the crack of a rifle, and not the makeshift kind that most gangs carried. Something quality, which might have meant the Constabulary or the Army, but Ren knew it was from the Masque. Throwing himself forward, Ren sprinted down the roof tiles, hearing them clatter beneath his footsteps, as he did everything in his power to get there fast.

He could feel his lungs burning, the rooftop path was far more exhausting than on the ground, but there was far less that could stop him. He couldn't afford to lose a moment, couldn't afford to let Pyrrha fall to this false, physical world. He could not fail his Vessel, could not permit her to be felled by a sniper's bullet. But… in truth, Ren knew no bullet could fell Pyrrha. No force of arms could truly defeat her. But spiritually, the greatest weakness she had… was in the hands of the Unenlightened, and they wouldn't hesitate to slit his throat if it gave them advantage.

Thinking about Jaune made Ren's stomach churn. Should he fail in his mission, it would not only mean the death or injury of his brother, not even his failure in upholding his highest duty as a Sacristan, but he might… he might see the corruption of the Key of Virtue and… and the Vessel herself. He could already feel his hope, his one connection to a future world that did not produce war orphans and devour them like the one did, slipping away as he thought of what might happen should Pyrrha succumb to her fear, her anger, even her love for Jaune! Ren had lost so much, had sacrificed so very, very much because he believed the world could become better. The Temple showed him how it could become better, and Ren had lived his life relieved that there was a way to be saved. To lose it now...

Dashing across the rooftops, he prayed he would be fast enough. For the sake of the New World, for the sake of Jaune and Pyrrha and… and Nora, he couldn't fail them, couldn't fail her, couldn't ever fail Nora again, couldn't slip back into that world of helplessness and terror and couldn't- couldn't- couldn't-

He had to go faster.

This was not a good crew.

It had been sufficient for the assault on Winchester's warehouses because they had only really been there as witnesses. But this demanded fighters, and for that, Nora needed Sacristans, more than just Nadir and Bolin who were more literally Sacristans, in their role of keeping the Temple maintained. She needed experienced killers who not only had what it took to face off against hardened criminals, but people theologically experienced enough to understand the ramifications of what they might be seeing. Or at least, disciplined enough that they could be contained for a proper debrief.

Because that was the real problem. If these were the forces Nora had to rescue Pyrrha, they would be witnesses to whatever Pyrrha did, or whatever was done to Pyrrha. If they saw the Vessel bleed, what would they think of their faith? And what would Nora have to do with them if they became a liability?

But those were background concerns. At the moment, she was constrained by time. Any problems with these men and women would be nothing compared to the crisis if Pyrrha didn't have backup. Nora would beat herself up for it later, borrow Ren's cilice or take a flog to her backside, but no penance would take the shame and guilt away for not stopping Pyrrha, for not just… blocking her, physically if necessary. She might have been sentenced to death for Blasphemy if she had done so, but Pyrrha would be safe! And she was only in this mess in the first place because she could see the feelings that burned behind Pyrrha's mask, but she had been too afraid to say anything, too timid in her fears for what was the right option and now- and now-

She could almost scream!

Her frustrations at herself broke loose on her soldiers. "Brother Shoko!" she snapped, "You're a Sacristan, so act like it! Stand up straight, weapon high, this is a mission, so show the acolytes what it means to be of the Faith Militant!"

Nadir shot back to attention. It was stupid of her to be so aggressive towards him, especially considering Nora would need him to help manage… whatever situation this rabble of acolytes would come across. But she was pissed and she meant business, and the force of her authority cracked like a whip over their heads.

"Listen up!" she barked, and all eyes turned to her. She had given these speeches before, rallying the believers for what they were about to witness or what they would be called to do. Jaune had taught her that a booming voice was a blessing, that she just had to project confidence and let the words come second. Ren had been the first person to ever care for Nora, who felt that she mattered, but Jaune had been the first to tell her she was valuable. That she wasn't simply noisy, but a natural magnet of authority. But this felt so very different from any time before.

"The Vessel is in grave danger," she said to her troops, "The treason of Cardin Winchester and the depravities he committed against the Faith has filled her with a most holy wrath. His allies, the Ruby Masque, are unenlightened, but their ignorance does not forgive their blasphemy! They have breached the sanctuary of the Temple, have committed grave sins against the Truth! And they have taken by force one of our own, a Sacristan of our Faith. The Vessel marched off at once to meet evil with wroth, to bring justice upon the world as she is to bring Truth to it! But she will not face this evil alone! She will face it with the full glory and might of the Temple!" The Enlightened roared with zealous agreement. Buoyed by their faith, Nora continued, "The Juniper Bough is strong, and you are the fruit of that plant, sprouting forth, tall and proud, from where no other tree can survive!"

She could see the belief flashing in the eyes of the Acolytes. They were Enlightened, they knew the language of the Temple, the metaphor of the Juniper, the hardy, stubborn plant that defied its environment to grow and thrive. And in their belief, their resistance to the corruption of this world, she saw the anger that burned and boiled within. The anger at the lie that trapped them in this Fallen reality. She felt that anger within herself. Every injustice, every tragic, unnecessary cruelty in the world… she rejected it as she turned their anger forward and set her forces to save Pyrrha.

"For the Truth, for the salvation of all the world, in defiance of all that is False and Untrue that seeks dominion over us all… Let us go forth!"

Raising her warhammer high, Nora felt the roar of the crowd behind her, booming with the Faith that could shatter mountains if they had to. She could feel it inside her, crackling like lighting in a thunderhead, ready to unleash the fiery bolt from the heavens and lay waste to all before her. They had the strength of Faith and an unmatched will that no petty gang of criminals could match. They would flatten all resistance, and…

And they would save Pyrrha and Jaune. They would save the both of them, just as the faith had saved her and Ren so many years ago. She just… she just had to believe.

She was above the world, even as she was in it. The Vessel of the New World, something pure and perfect and serene, removed from the Fallen World's pain and corruption and misery. And yet, right now, as Pyrrha felt the grip of the fallen world clutch tightly at her with every throbbing pulse of her concussion as she sought to plunge herself deeper and deeper and still yet deeper into it, because at the heart of all that was fallen… was Jaune.

This was madness. The three who'd tried to stop Pyrrha outside the building might have been only part of the security the Ruby Masque had. Maybe there would be ten times their number once she went inside, maybe there'd be a whole platoon of soldiers, maybe they'd have bound a demon to set against her…

But it didn't matter.

Whatever there was standing between Pyrrha and Jaune, she would tear it apart. The door before her splintered from a kick. Right building or wrong, she wasn't sure, but it seemed to be the one the thugs she'd punched through were putting themselves between her and it. And if he wasn't here… she'd just keep pushing forward until she found him!

Vision assaulted her everywhere she turned, a dizzying array of light and color and depth. She ought to close her eyes, to try and control how much of the world came upon her, but she couldn't deny herself anything that might lead her faster to Jaune. Even if it overwhelmed her, she let her eyes roll about, soaking in every piece of visual detail even as they screamed at her to shut out the light! But years of blindness hadn't yet rendered them useless. She would find Jaune, no matter-

Jaune.

She had thrown open a door and he was there. Jaune. Her Jaune! He looked… he looked so much of himself that Pyrrha hardly noticed the other women, human and Faunus, one with a knife, standing over him until she heard the knife tumble to the ground. Both women froze as Pyrrha's eyes met theirs—one raised her hands in surrender the other simply fled. Pyrrha didn't care. The girl didn't matter. Neither of them mattered. Jaune was okay.

Sweeping forward to his side, feeling her heart nearly burst as she put a hand to his shoulder, feeling his warmth beneath her touch. But now, she could see him, see him for the first time in years, could see the way he gasped to see her, to feel so much more of a bond, so much more intimate than anything they ever had before. The other woman, one last guard of the Ruby Masque, sprinted from the room when she shook off her paralyzing fear and realized Pyrrha wasn't going to attack her, but Pyrrha didn't care. Maybe she'd get backup, but they couldn't possibly matter as Pyrrha cradled Jaune in her arms.

"Pyrrha..." he rasped, gazing into her eyes for the first time since they were children. She knew she was a mess, her face bloodied and bruised, but she saw those blue eyes again and they were still… he was still beautiful. In all that the Temple had changed him, had molded him into her Sacristan, Pyrrha feared that the darkness that had overtaken him, had tried to smother the boy she had known and all his kindness.

But no. He was still her…

He was still Jaune.

She kissed him. Kissed him passionately and deeply and with abandon because nothing was forbidden now. There were no rules and no Temple and no Vessel and no Sacristans. The world was nothing, Fallen or otherwise, all there was… was the boy who had seen a refugee girl with nothing and offered her a connection to life that was worth living for. And all she was was a girl who loved that boy more dearly than she was ever allowed to love.

Then he kissed her back, and Pyrrha felt the whole world explode into light, all the darkness of their duties and their masks cast aside as their lips met each other and spoke the words Pyrrha dared not dream. He loved her. He loved her as she loved him and their love was brought upon the world

This was forbidden, in ten thousand ways this was forbidden, but Pyrrha did not care. She knew that this was an attachment to the Fallen World. That her love for Jaune was a lie, that their physical forms, their individuality, all of this was a lie that she was tasked with undoing. That this moment was a perversion of the sacred ritual they were both tasked with, that Jaune was to be the Key of Virtue who unlocked the truth that lay beneath the Fallen World. She was to birth reality itself, holy and pure, and yet, she cast it all aside for the boy in her arms right now. It was a betrayal of everything she'd been raised to believe, a betrayal of everyone in the Temple, a betrayal of herself...

But as her lips broke from Jaune's, she simply didn't care.

For a moment, they just… stared. Gazed into each other's eyes, marveled at the incredible moment they shared, just… just stared. And that was enough. Jaune laughed, a short, awkward laugh, but Pyrrha joined him, the carefree moment they shared soon becoming an infectious peal of laughter as Pyrrha kissed him again, and again, and again! Until she-

"You..."

Pyrrha slowly turned, knowing the voice and knowing what it meant, and yet, she was unprepared to see Ren staring at them with undisguised horror. Horror and guilt and grief and dismay and every broken emotion the Temple had put in him, and yet, Pyrrha could also see how dearly he loved them, believed in them… and despaired of them.

A single was all he said, its syllables trembling in the air, a rasp of recognition… and accusation.

"Blasphemy."

END ACT 2

Staggering up onto her feet, Blake marveled that she was still alive. She almost would have doubted it, except her head hurt like a mother, and Blake had always assumed the dead were free of such bodily pains. Be a real hell of an introduction to the afterlife if you retained your bruises and concussions. Holy hell did the boot of a goddess leave her seeing stars… and, hell, maybe she was a goddess. After all the things Blake had seen her shrug off like it was nothing… no one, not human, not Faunus, fought like that.

"Hey! You!"

Fuck.

She sluggishly turned her head to the source of the voice and wouldn't you know it. An acolyte, one of the Temple's believers in their ridiculous robes, and insult to injury, he barely looked old enough to grow a beard. All while Blake was in no state to fight him.

"We have strict instructions not to let any members of the Ruby Masque go- AWWWGHHHK!"

He crumpled like a stone as Yang's fist collided with the side of his head. It was an artless punch, but Yang, bloody and bruised and beaten, looked more like a bear than a woman, mauling the side of his head with a heavy blow from a meaty paw. Her head swiveled to look at Blake before gruffly forcing out, "Can't talk. Head. But they- they didn't leave much. To secure."

Blake nodded. Thank the gods Yang was still breathing. Blake had been dropped before she saw what happened with Yang, but she had had a terrible feeling Yang wouldn't let herself get knocked out. That she'd fight till she was dead, something Pyrrha wouldn't likely blink at. She certainly looked bad, but Blake had seen Yang take worse from her recreational fighting, and she was still alive. That was what mattered. Ruby seemed to be stirring as well, clutching her head as she woozily tried to rise, but the three of them were alright. Bruised, beaten, and decidedly handed their asses, but the were-

Oh gods.

Weiss.

Taking off like a shot, Blake made no explanation, even as Ruby made a faint squeak of surprise. Weiss had been the last person between a killing machine and her target, and Blake… Blake wasn't thinking about anything more than that, about anything further than that, but as she raced into what was once her safehouse, tried not to see how the door, the reinforced door, had been nearly taken off its hinges. But as soon as she did that, she realized how stupid she was being. Yang said they hadn't left much force to secure the place—evidently just grabbed their missing Sacristan and left—but for all either of them knew, there was more than just the one boy left behind. But still… even as she felt woozy on her feet, Blake had to find Weiss and make sure… make sure she was okay.

The first floor was clear. Wasn't even ransacked, like Blake expected such a force would attempt. Gave her some hope, but until she had eyes on Weiss, Blake wasn't going to trust it. Running upstairs, her eyes darted around in a wild pattern, trying to make sense of things. Things were damaged here, furniture overturned and-

"Blake?"

Her voice had never sounded so terrified. So small and weak and… and helpless. Blake's eyes shot to the sound, seeing Weiss crouched behind an overturned armoire. Blake had never seen Weiss anything like this, but… but hearing her voice, knowing she was alright… even as she crawled out from behind her makeshift shelter, looking unnaturally pale, even for her. She was… she was alright.

And it was such a relief!

"Weiss!" she cried, impulsively throwing her arms around her, heedless to any thoughts of propriety or appropriateness in the moment as she just held her tight. "Thank… thank the saints and the ancestors and thank the- the- the- I'm just so glad you're alright!"

If there was anything else she could thank, she'd have done it. Her father, university educated in Atlas, had raised her with stories of the Saints, while her mother, who had only ever lived within Faunus culture, shared the old folklore with her as she went to bed. Caught between the two faiths, Blake had grown skeptical of any truth to be found within religion, organized or otherwise, but having just narrowly survived an attack by a cult… whatever Pyrrha was, who fought like… like nothing Blake had ever seen before, her mind raced back to the beliefs of her girlhood in her gratitude towards seeing Weiss alive.

"And- and Ruby and Yang?" Weiss asked, her voice fearfully breaking the silence, "Are- are they-"

"They're alright," Blake assured her, breaking from the hug, "They're- they both… took a beating, but they're alright. We're… we're alright..."

Blake laughed, the kind of wild, uncontrolled emotion that came from someplace unknown and yet seized up whoever was in its path. The four of them had fought something inhuman and had escaped with their lives. If there were saints or ancestor spirits or the Cat watching them from someplace far above, they had saved them. Because Blake couldn't think of any rational reason she and Weiss were still alive.

"Ilia's okay too," Weiss said, suddenly jolting Blake back to reality. A momentary guilt came over her that she hadn't even thought of her comrade who, less than a month before, had put her in the grip of such emotion at the thought of losing her. Not now that Weiss was in danger… "She… she saved my life. Jaune got away and almost… but she got away when Pyrrha arrived. She… she should be alright, and I know you… worry about her."

"I… I worry about you, too," Blake softly replied, unable to speak her true meaning in more than allusion, but now wasn't the time. "And… and the rest of the Masque. But… but Weiss! We're okay, we're okay! We live to fight another day!"

"We have to get out of here," Weiss murmured, reminding Blake that they were still in the fire. The both of them helped each other to their feet, both of them still shaky and unsteady, whether from injury or fear. But bracing on each other, Weiss gave Blake a weak smile and asked, "Any fight you can walk away from..."

"Isn't a fight you lost," Blake finished, remembering a line from… was it Yang? Or one of the bouncers they'd hired for the Snowflake? Maybe Sun, or even Blake herself had been the one to first say it, it didn't matter. But she remembered the good times in the Snowflake's back room, teasing her employer, their mastermind, about her inexperience with learning firsthand that your face isn't made of glass. It was good to remember those times, now that they'd all been brought down a peg and, by luck alone, escaped with their lives.

With shuffling step, the two of them exited the building to where Ruby and Yang were, Ruby rubbing the ugly bump on her head left by Pyrrha's shield and pouting, probably related to the fact that Blake didn't see her rifle anywhere, and Yang, her arms crossed and face stormy, thinking thoughts they'd all hear later. But for now, the four of them, beaten, but alive, could retreat, lick their wounds, and…

And whatever was next, they'd figure it out later. Much, much later.

Thanks to Renarde, Six, and Danish for feedback on this chapter!

Act 2 ends with both groups battered in very different ways—the Masque slinks off, beaten, but alive, while the triumphant Pyrrha finds herself caught by the terrestrial desires a sacred vessel should not be feeling. Gonna take another Act break before going in to Act 3, but it'll feature both groups reckoning with the consequences of this battle, as Pyrrha and Jaune face what happens to those in high office who fail their sacred charge (Ren gave a hint of it back in Chapter 3) while the Ruby Masque consider what their place is on the board. And we return to a line from an older fic of mine, "Exit, Stage Left": "Ren had told him, in those heady days, that the price of love was death. That freedom only came to those willing to die."

Faith and love, purpose and freedom, it all comes down in the final act.