The Requiem of Remnant

by The Black Mage of Phantasm

He was not aware of how he got to this new world. He could not see a way to return home. Some might say he had nothing...but they would be wrong. He had his wits, his skills, and most of all, his ambitions. And even in a new world, there was still an underworld of crime he could rise to the top of. A golden wind is about to sweep through Remnant.

8. The Unknown

Chapter 7: The Unknown

On the screen, bold white letters appear on a pitch-black background. The letters quickly spell out "VNN" before they, and the background, disappear with a bright flash. A woman with light-purple hair was suddenly on-screen, staring at the camera from her seat at a large, crescent-shaped deck, a stack of papers in her hand. The woman's lips were in a grim frown, and after the camera zoomed in to get a closer shot, she spoke.

"Welcome back to VNN, I'm Lisa Lavender. For those of you just tuning in, our main story for the morning is the destruction of the Blue Bishop Expressway."

In the lower-right hand corner of the screen, a photo of a highway appeared. The photo seemed to have been taken from a high altitude, giving whoever viewed it a bird's eye perspective of the flames that covered the highway and the large chunks of concrete that were missing from the roads. Underneath the photo, there was a caption written in the same font as the logo from before that read, "Blue Bishop Brawl."

"At around 10:30 pm, a fight took place on this once pristine highway between Roman Torchwick, the infamous 'Gentleman Theif of Vale,' and an unknown criminal."

Grainy footage of the highway was suddenly the only thing on the screen. Piles of wrecked cars were visible in almost every inch of the frame, fire and smoke billowing into the night sky. The footage was taken from a news camera within the interior of an open door helicopter, the sounds of the main rotor blade whirring clearly audible. The camera suddenly zoomed in below, and while at first all that could be seen was smoke from the fires, as the helicopter slowly descended and the camera focused, a man slowly came into view as the smoke was slightly blown away.

His eyes narrowed.

It wasn't the best picture, the man wasn't even looking up and the camera was too far away to get a detailed appearance of him, but he could make out some of the man's features. He was tall, but not quite as tall as other men he had seen, probably around five foot eight. Across from the man, he could just make out a woman with pink—or was that brown? Maybe both?—hair, something long and sharp gleaming in her hands. With the spotlight, he could see that the man had on a blue suit and that his hair was some shade of yellow.

He was also wearing some kind of bowler hat.

"As you can see," Lavender said, her voice playing alongside the footage of the blond man. "The criminal was engaging with one of Roman Torchwick's followers, and after fighting for an unknown amount of time—" From seemingly nowhere, a Bullhead appeared in mid-air, the spotlight immediately moving towards the open cargo bay and landing right on Torchwick. "—Torchwick appears, and seems to converse with the unknown criminal."

He couldn't see Torchwick's lips moving, but going by the way the criminal was gesticulating, it was safe to say that he was talking to the blond man. Most likely about the stolen Paladin, and he would give anything to hear the unknown criminal's response. But the footage couldn't pick up any sounds besides the blazing flames.

"Our brave colleagues tried to get closer for a better image, but unfortunately, the situation became too dangerous for them to stay."

He could just make out the man lifting his head as Torchwick pointed his cane at him. He was sure that Torchwick was about to order his men to fire, but the man never got a chance.

Because a storm of missiles hit the Bullhead, and it fell towards the highway like a fiery comet. The camera suddenly jerked, pointing away from the battle, and the helicopter flew as fast as it could, the highway slowly fading from view as the cameraman struggled to hold onto his seat.

Lisa Lavender once again took up the screen.

"Currently, we have little information on just who faced off against Vale's most notorious thief," Lavender said, leaning forward just a touch. "But we do know what led up to the fight, and the subsequent destruction of the expressway. I warn viewers, the next few images are graphic."

Lavender once again disappeared as the screen changed. And then he saw corpses of the White Fang.

Some were in black body bags, their bloody limbs just peaking out, and others were in clear view as they lay in the streets in a pool of their own blood. While a majority of the now-dead Fangs' faces, and the especially grisly wounds some had most likely died from, had been censored, it did little to stop anyone from realizing how many corpses there were on just one street.

He grimaced.

The screen split in half, one part still showing image after image of the dead, and the other showing Lavendar back at her desk. "Investigations from the VPD revealed that a rally for the White Fang had been held in a warehouse that had once belonged to the Cobalt Shipping Company before the company went out of business and was bought out just last year." Lisa turned slightly to point at the images behind her. "The criminal engaged the fang, killing dozens of known and incredibly dangerous terrorists, and then attempted to make his escape on the expressway, killing more criminals and terrorists as he did so. Roman Torchwick—who has been working alongside the human-hating terrorist for reasons still not known at this time—pursued him with his henchman. But—"

There was a glint in Lavendar's eyes. The glint he had seen in over dozens of reporters when they knew they had a "juicy" story in their hands.

"—apparently, Torchwick wasn't the only one to pursue this criminal. No, in fact, several Huntsmen and Huntresses attempted to apprehend the criminal. While fighting on an expressway full of civilians."

He grimaced harder.

"Several eye-witnesses have said that the group of Huntsmen opened fire on the expressway in an attempt to stop the criminal's vehicle. And when they engaged him in close combat, the criminal won soundly and heavily injured at least one of the Huntsmen." Lavender's tone was professional, but she subtly emphasized certain words like "open fire" and "won." Words that she carefully picked to construct her narrative. "Our sources have confirmed that the Huntsmen in question were students at Beacon Academy; or, in some of their cases, visiting teams for the upcoming Vytal Festival. We won't reveal their identities to protect their privacy, but it should be noted that this is not the first time Beacon Academy students have taken the law into their own hands."

The images of the Fang's corpses were suddenly replaced by the images of a dockyard. A heavily burnt and destroyed dockyard, specifically.

"Those of you might remember the fight that occurred barely even a month ago at the Crystal Docks. The White Fang and Torchwick attempted to steal a large shipment of Dust imported from the Schnee Dust Company before being engaged by Beacon's students, who were not authorized to be there. While most of the shipments remained unstolen, and both Torchwick and the Fang were fended off, there was still a very significant amount of property damage done. Most of which was caused not by the terrorist, but by the students."

He sighed, looked away from the tv, and searched.

"Headmaster Ozpin seems to have trouble regulating his still-in-training Huntsman and Huntresses. This is the second time, that we know of, where his own students have gone off their own with seemingly no cooperation from the proper authorities, and once again, immense property damage was caused. Though, this time, it was not just the terrorist who perished in the battle, but also innocent civilians caught in the crossfire of gang warfare."

He finally found the object he needed. Metallic fingers clenched around a flat, rectangular surface.

"But just how many people died? How go the rescue efforts trying to free those trapped by flaming debris? And most importantly, who exactly was the man that fought with Roman Torchwick, and what happened to him? We here at VNN will do our best to answer all of your questions. Right after the break—"

He clicked the center button on the remote, and the tv shut off. Placing the remote back on the long, wooden desk a few feet away from him, he stared at the man sitting in his high-back chair behind the desk right in the eyes.

Then, General James Ironwood spoke.

"53."

It was amazing just how much weight one number can hold. Amazing how a man could agonize over just a single set of numbers wishing they were different.

He should know, after all.

"That is the current number of civilians that died, and it's expected to go up," Ironwood said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "I don't need to say how disastrous that is, nor do I do need to say how it will affect all of us and the Vytal Festival." He had no doubts the Council would do so once they finished dealing with the fallout and got a chance to "talk" with them. "The only thing I have to say is this."

Ironwood glared, and the man across from him still had on the same blank face Ironwood saw since he first walked into the room.

"Did you know about this?" He asked.

Ozpin gave no reply, lips a thin line as he stared, unblinking. But someone else did.

"Are you truly asking that?" Turning towards the thoroughly outraged voice, Ironwood saw Glynda, appearance a bit disheveled, parts of her clothes burnt and a few strands of her hair out of place, glaring at him. The grip on her riding crop tightened ever so slightly. "If you think we would ever giving a group of first-years any sort of mission like this—"

"I'm not asking if you gave them a mission," Ironwood said, not at all missing the way Glynda's glare grew harsher. But he needed to know, especially now. Without taking even a moment to breathe, he turned back to face Ozpin.

"I'm asking," he said, speaking slowly but with a deliberate sharpness to every word. "If you had a suspicion to believe that Ms. Rose and her friends would try to pull a stunt like this. If you could honestly imagine them circumventing their superiors to take on a group of terrorists and a highly dangerous criminal in a location full of civilians, then continue to fight said criminal and terrorists despite things rapidly spiraling out of their control. And if you did know, did you purposefully take no actions that would prevent them from ever making such an awful decision?"

"James—"Glynda took a few steps towards him, rage in her eyes, but stopped when Ozpin raised his hand.

"It's fine, Glynda," Ozpin said, still not looking away from Ironwood. "It's a fair question, given the circumstances."

"And the answer to that question?" Ironwood asked, his frown deepening.

For a moment, Ozpin didn't respond. He sighed, broke eye-contact from Ironwood, and reached for his cup before taking a quick sip from his mug—hot cocoa, Ironwood could smell it from here.

And as Ozpin lowered the mug from his lips, he spoke.

"I am not surprised that team RWBY did what they did."

James slammed his fist, the non-metal one, on the wooden desk. It cracked, splinters of wood falling to the pristine floor.

"Damn it, Oz!" He shouted, trying his best to keep his anger in check. It was a losing battle. "I've constantly warned you about being so blasè with your students, and now over fifty civilians have died!"

"I would like to remind you, James," Ozpin said, eyes narrowing as his voice became just a touch colder. "That despite what Ms. Lavendar would have you believe, not one civilian death was directly caused by any of my Huntsman. Or, visiting Huntsman, as fate would have it."

Ironwood shook his head. "That doesn't excuse their actions, Ozpin; not even remotely. Infiltrating a White Fang rally without consulting any of their superiors, engaging them in a highly-populated area without any support, continuing to fight when an unknown Huntsman-level enemy appears." Ironwood leaned forward, the anger in his voice reaching its peak. "And still not calling any form of reinforcements or letting anyone else know that a highly dangerous criminal was at large after one of their teammates was injured enough to require medical aid."

With some effort, he leaned back, let out a long, calming breath, and continued. "I checked the reports, Ozpin. Ms. Rose only called for help for her teammate and did not inform anyone else about the situation at hand. But despite that, the dispatcher on duty followed protocol and informed the police about a Hunstman battle on the expressway, and when the police called Beacon to ask for more information, it was only then that anyone here learned about this. Had Glynda not been close by at the time, there would have been no Huntsman at the scene capable of handling the wreckage and explosions on that highway."

Ozpin's expression hadn't once changed as Ironwood spoke. He simply sat at his desk, one hand on his cane, the other holding his drink, and never once looked away from Ironwood.

"Ms. Rose was worried about one of her teammate's health after she had engaged with a man that could pierce Aura," Ozpin said. "She was unsure at the time just how extensive the damage done was—as is the case with many victims of similar Semblances—and wanted to ensure that no further complications arose so she stayed with her teammate. By the time her friends arrived not even two minutes later, Glynda had called Ms. Rose on her scroll and ordered her and the rest of her team the vacate the scene. And when they did, they encountered your men, who helped escort Ms. Belladonna to the hospital when the paramedics arrived."

The words left Ozpin's mouth like a cool breeze in autumn. After a moment, he continued, leaning forward just a tad in his seat. "Ms. Rose barely had any time at all to call anyone while she made sure Ms. Belladonna's health remained stable. You seem to forget, old friend, that even the most experienced of men can make mistakes in the midst of combat due to their emotions. And a fifteen-year-old girl wondering if she is about to watch her friend die is far from an exception to this."

"That doesn't excuse the fact that Ms. Rose never once contacted you or any of the staff about the White Fang rally, nor does it excuse the poor decisions she made when engaging Torchwick and an unknown criminal without contacting anyone save her own teammates."

"I do not deny Ms. Rose made mistakes, but she is not the incompetent fool you seem to paint her as. She took the time to construct a battle plan on the fly that would ensure the least amount of dangers to civilians as possible, while still attempting to arrest an unknown criminal who had stolen your tech and could have done untold damage with it. Would you rather she had waited and let the man escape, and possibly have an even bigger disaster on our doorstep?"

"I would rather she had constructed a plan with the police and fully-trained Huntsman before any of her team even entered that warehouse." Ironwood held back the growl in his throat, if barely. "That way this disaster would have far fewer casualties."

"Even if she did, the rally the White Fang held had far more members in attendance than any one of us could have predicted," Ozpin said, voice cool and collected. "I suspect it has something to do with the man we just saw blow up Torchwick with a high-class rocket launcher."

"Oz, that still doesn't change the fact that Ms. Rose has, apparently repeatedly, gone off on her own with only her team as backup," Ironwood said, not letting his friend change the topic so easily. "You've always allowed students you see with 'potential' to skirt around the rules, and while I won't argue that it has led to some good in the past, that doesn't mean you should ignore the severe issues this causes."

Ironwood turned towards Glynda, who had been glaring at him in silence for quite some time. "Glynda, you sent Team RWBY and the members of Team SSSN away. Why?"

"Because the moment I saw the destruction caused by the fighting, I realized that first-year students who were not trained at all to handle disaster situations such as that would be more of a hindrance than help, regardless of their Semblances," Glynda said, as if she was reading from a report right in front of her. "And..."

"And?" Ironwood prompted.

Glynda's lips moved into a tiny frown. "And I didn't trust that they wouldn't go off on their own the moment they saw fit, regardless of how dangerous it would be for them or whatever commands I might give them."

Ironwood nodded. "Understandable," he said, turning back to face Ozpin. "This is what I'm talking about. Allowing your students to do what they see fit regardless of the rules or their superiors, it can cause hesitance and complications at critical moments. Would you truly expect a leader to trust those he or she was leading if their subordinates constantly undermined their authority by ignoring orders and going off on their own?"

Ozpin closed his eyes and sighed. "I admit that I have not been as strict as others might have been when it comes to enforcing certain rules of my academy, and that this might have had a hand in making team RWBY think that only they and they alone could fight the criminals of Vale. But to say they tried to undermine anyone's authority is a touch of an overstatement. They saw a criminal and wanted to prevent him from inflicting harm on others, as they have successfully done so in the past. They were trying to do good and help."

"And sometimes, that mindset can lead countless people to a horrible death." Ironwood's voice was like steel, unyielding in the face of any challenge. "Letting people who are supposed to follow you think for themselves is fine. Letting them try and solve difficult situations on their own could help save their lives one day. But allowing them to think that they know what's best, that they don't need to report to the people who are far more experienced than they are even when they take actions that are dangerous to themselves and other people, is unacceptable."

Ozpin never did agree with Iroonwod in how they viewed their future Huntsman. He viewed them as soldiers to fight a long, gruesome war, trying to protect all they could. Ozpin viewed them as brave souls always trying to make the world a better place than it was yesterday, no matter what monsters they faced. He saw subordinates, those who held loyalty to their comrades, their superiors, and their Kingdom, and Ozpin as students, those who were always learning and always fighting to protect the innocent as they grew stronger.

And Ozpin thought that by giving them more freedom, he would be encouraging more growth. He did it with Team STRQ, and he was doing it again with Team RWBY. Though, he had a feeling that Ms. Rose's lineage had at least a small hand to play in that decision.

Another sigh left Ozpin's lips. "While I don't agree entirely, I will admit that this type of situation can't ever happen again."

"So you will punish Team RWBY and SSSN for their actions?" Ironwood asked, raising a single eyebrow.

"They have already been punished."

"Really?" Ironwood said, blinking once. "What did you do to them?"

"Nothing."

Ironwood scowled. "Ozpin—"

"They've already punished themselves more harshly than I could ever hope to match."

Ironwood paused. He stared at Ozpin, and the man took that as a sign to continue.

"The media has been covering the fight at the Bishop Expressway non-stop, and not only do they have fully functioning TV's at Grayson's Hospital, but Team RWBY and SSSN have Scrolls. Considering they would not leave the hospital until they knew Blake would recover, with nothing else to do, they had plenty of time to check the news." Ozpin frowned. It was a frown Ironwood had seen many times before; the kind of frown Ozpin wore when he knew something truly concerning had happened. "I had sent Bart to check on the students and try to learn what exactly happened, and do you know what the first thing he noticed was?"

Ironwood shook his head, and Ozpin took a sip from his mug. Then, he spoke.

"He said that Ruby Rose had the look of a woman who had just walked away from a village ravaged by the Grimm."

Ah. Of course.

Ironwood frowned. He knew little about Ms. Rose, but he did know Summer before she died. She was the type of woman that always, no matter what, tried to save everyone. Even when everyone else thought it was impossible to save every person who was suffering, Summer refused to believe that. She'd risk her own life if she thought there was even a small, invisible chance that she could help someone. And if Ms. Rose was anything like her mother...

"If I had to guess, she thinks this tragedy falls entirely on her shoulders," Ozpin said, expression grim. "Ms. Rose has always been the spitting image of Summer Rose; both in her appearance, and her beliefs. She thinks of Huntsman as heroes, those who never fail to save the day and those in need. And this marks the first time that her team, that she, has failed to do so."

Ozpin took another sip of his cocoa, this one longer than his last. He must've been truly concerned about Ms. Rose.

"Her other teammates also feel guilt about what has happened, though not nearly as much as Ms. Rose. Mr. Wukong and Mr. Vasillias seem to feel the same; and in Mr. Wukong's case, he seems to have seen some rather gruesome things before the destruction of the expressway, and it has shaken him. So, James, I don't believe there is any form of punishment I can give that would be worse than feeling responsible for causing the deaths of so many innocents."

Ironwood knew just how heavy the death of another could be. It was the weight that every Huntsman carried, no matter how skilled. The feelings of doubt and guilt, the whispers in your ear telling you, "you could have done better; they wouldn't have died if anyone else had been where you stood." And as the days pass, as the weight gets heavier and the ice chilling your blood gets colder, you start to feel less like a man and more like a corpse going through the motions of what was once a good life.

Having to console those who weren't even adults about how to deal with that awful weight was something every headmaster had to know.

"Have you scheduled them to see the therapists here?" Ironwood asked.

"Based on Bart's recommendations, some of them already have scheduled meetings, and some I'd like to talk to one-on-one first to get a better idea if they need to," Ozpin answered, gaze lowering to the desk. "It's always quite saddening that those so young have to experience horrors worse than the Grimm."

Yes. It was.

For a moment, there was silence. With a glance, Ironwood saw Glynda's normally stern face had softened, her eyes gazing at the floor remorsefully. Despite what others might think, Glynda Goodwitch cared for her students more than almost any other teacher in Beacon. Maybe even more than Ozpin.

Ironwood let out a small sigh, and then spoke.

"I still think you need to change your teaching methods, Oz. Especially to those who have repeatedly demonstrated troubling behavior." His words were still stern, but they lacked the sharpness from before; now more of a gentle reprimand than anything else.

"Again with that word, repeatedly." Ozpin shook his head, a bit of exasperation entering his voice. "The only other time Team RWBY has gone off on their own is during the incident at the docks, and even then, circumstances at the time made them believe it would best not to contact any of their teachers and investigate on their own."

Ironwood thought back to the docks incident. Thought of how Penny somehow got involved in it and made a friend along the way; again, somehow. He remembered how many White Fang members had died that night and tried to figure out why they would work with Roman Torchwick of all people.

And then he thought about one girl who was, according to Penny, at the center of that incident. The same girl that was now and the hospital. Whose name was rather familiar.

"They didn't go off with the intention of starting a fight or—"

"Would those circumstances have to do with Ms. Belladonna?"

Ozpin stopped talking. He stared at Ironwood, eyes slowly narrowing.

"I don't believe that's relevant right now."

"Really?" Ironwood asked. "Because I believe it is."

"And why is that?"

"Her last name is Belladonna," Ironwood said, stepping just a bit closer to the desk. "When Penny first told me what it was, I thought perhaps there would be some difference in the spelling, but recently I've learned that no, it was spelled exactly like I thought it was."

"James, I believe there are other things we should be discussing now rather than my currently hospitalized student," Ozpin said, tone placating but his eyes gaining a hardened glint. "For example, the man that put her in the hospital and made off with a rather dangerous Paladin that belongs to Atlas. And how we should deal with a new element and figure out who exactly he is."

"We can and will talk about that later, Ozpin," Ironwood said. "I just feel like this issue should be addressed now."

"James—"

"Oz." Ironwood stared right into his old friend's brown eyes. "Is Ms. Belladonna a fugitive of the law?"

There was silence. The only thing he could hear was the ticking of the clocks behind him and the ever-so-slow grinding of gears just above. Ozpin's expression was still perfectly calm, but Glynda's left hand twitched; a nervous habit of hers. After a few moments, Ironwood decided to be the one to break the quiet hush around them.

"When she was admitted to Grayson's hospital, some rather strange things came up about her records, and the hospital staff tried to contact Beacon with questions about her. But not before one of the men I sent, one Crystal Williams, happened to overhear the staff and so reported it when I asked her for a status update on Ms. Belladonna. The exact words the staff used were apparently 'purposefully inaccurate,' and 'forgery.' Because apparently, her 'records' didn't state that she was a Faunus."

Ozpin said nothing. He simply waited, because he knew Ironwood did not want an answer at this moment.

"So I decided to investigate the matter personally, and after a few quick calls to my men and certain members of your staff, I see the same thing that the hospital saw: forgeries. I haven't begun to truly examine all of her documents, both out of respect to you and her, but there are some things that I've found that are, to put it lightly, worrying."

Ozpin's eyes narrowed. "And did what you find out make up for not simply asking me to my face about Ms. Belladonna, and instead go behind my back to do so?"

"The only thing I did was make calls and look into a potential crime that an Atlas solider reported in, Ozpin. I did not try to hide anything I was doing. Besides, we both know that you have a habit of being vague and misleading when it comes to the truth; especially when it involves your students."

"I believe not wishing to share a young girl's past with a man who isn't even her headmaster is a perfectly sensible choice."

"Ozpin," Ironwood said, anger leaking into his voice. "When that girl is directly tied to the White Fang, is most likely a high-ranking member, and said girl attends one of the most prestigious Huntsman academies in the world, as the general of Atlas and your friend, I believe that I deserve to know that!"

With that shout, the silence returned; far more ominous than before. Glynda stood perfectly still, her eyes locked on Ozpin who had yet to respond. And for just a moment, one of the most powerful Huntsman in the world glared at Ironwood, and he matched the look with ease.

But as quick as it came, the glared faded, a sigh left his lips, and Ozpin spoke.

"You have found evidence that says so? Definitively?"

"No," Ironwood admitted. "But I've found enough that makes me think of a masked girl who attacked several Schnee owned businesses and who was confirmed to be Adam Taurus' partner. That makes me think of Ghira Belladonna, the original leader of the White Fang, and his daughter, Blake, who hasn't been seen in the public eye for quite some time."

Ironwood pulled out his Scroll from his breast pocket, and on it was a news article of an attack on one of the Schnee Dust Mines from a little over a year ago. Right at the top of the article was a picture of a somewhat blurry girl in a mask. A girl with cat-ears and long, dark hair.

"Just about the same amount of time as Taurus' partner has been active. Who looks strikingly like Blake, wouldn't you say?"

Ozpin slowly moved his eyes away from Ironwood's scroll and looked him in the eyes.

"So, let me ask you, old friend: do you have a wanted terrorist in your school?"

When Ironwood finished, placing his Scroll back in his pocket, Ozpin did not react right away. Then, with slow, deliberate movements, he placed his mug on his desk and stood up, his can held in one hand and by his side.

"If I had someone attending the school with the past in you are describing," Ozpin said, walking around his desk towards Ironwood, cane clicking against the tiles. "Then I can assure you that I have taken precaution with her, and have made sure that not only will she not harm any of the other students here, but that she also has the potential to be a splendid Huntress one day."

"If?" The disbelief in Iroonwood's voice was immense as his eyebrows rose. "Ozpin, her full name is Blake Belladonna."

"I know. And it's truly surprising just how many people have that last name." Ozpin looked up at the ceiling, expression contemplative. "I believe I have a Kelsey Belladonna, a second-year transfer student from Haven, a Marianne Belladonna, a first-year here that makes lovely paintings, and A David Belladonna, who loves cocoa almost as much as I do. That's not even mentioning all the Blakes here; black and all its variants seems to be a popular color name nowadays."

"Ozpin, she has pale skin, long black hair, and cat-ears."

"Yes," Ozpin said, nodding his head. "She does."

Ironwood stared, expression blank.

Ozpin stared back.

"You're really doing this?" Ironwood asked. He felt the anger rising in his face as he glared. "You're protecting a known fugitive and a terrorist."

"Alleged terrorist," Glynda said, speaking up for the first time in a while. Ironwood turned and saw her glaring at him, eyes harsher than usual, just a bit of anger visible within them. "And I don't quite appreciate listening to you slander one of my students."

He was just about to respond to that, but Ozpin spoke before he got the chance.

"James, please." Ironwood turned back and saw his old friend's expression had softened significantly. "Ms. Belladonna is not who you think she is. She has fought against the White Fang time and time again since she's been a student here and would sooner put her own life at risk than risk those she cares about getting hurt. I ask you to trust me when I tell you that the Blake Belladonna I know would never harm an innocent."

"And the Blake Belladonna I'm talking about is someone who is wanted for crimes that range from grand larceny to manslaughter and murder." Ironwood took a few steps closer to Ozpin. "This is beyond not enforcing Beacon's rules on your favorite students, Ozpin. This is you hosting a criminal and helping her avoid the consequences of her actions."

"Who said anything about avoiding consequences?" Ozpin asked, tilting his head. "The point of a prison is to rehabilitate its occupants so that they can one day rejoin society. I don't see why you couldn't do the same in a school that trains those to be valiant and brave no matter the adversary; provided one is careful and ensures the safety of everyone around them. Of her own free will, Ms. Belladonna chose to pursue a career with a devastatingly high mortality rate, pushes her body to the breaking point every day to improve, and is willing to face those she once called kin to protect those who might hate her because of her race."

Ozpin placed both his hands on top of his cane, stood his full height, and stared right at Ironwood. "She essentially has, and continues, to repent each day without any one of my staff pushing her to do so. So considering all of this, considering her willingness to change and the progress she has already made, I believe that she had a far better chance of making amends for her crimes here than she does wallowing in a prison cell."

Ozpin paused, expression contemplative as he looked to the ceiling. "Of course, this is all in a hypothetical situation where Ms. Belladonna does have some form of criminal past with the White Fang and was someone trying to make up for all the mistakes she made."

Ironwood stared. He said nothing, lips in a deep frown, as he stared at his oldest friend. His best friend. Who always thought he knew best. Most of the time he did, but there were times he made mistakes.

Like with STRQ.

With Raven.

"I'm not okay with this," Ironwood said, "you can't possibly expect me to be fine with you protecting someone that has most likely killed some of my men."

"I did not expect you too," Ozpin said, eyes moving away from the ceiling and back to Ironwood. "And I suppose asking you to trust only my word on a matter so personal to you would be foolish. So instead, I ask that you do what I did for her."

"And that is?"

"Give her a chance. Observe her actions, see how dedicated she is to doing the right thing; how much she cares for her team and they her. See for yourself if you believe she should be in jail."

"If I decide that she does?" Ironwood asked.

"Then you may try to arrest her," Ozping said before taking a few steps closer to Ironwood. He frowned, and yet again, Ironwood saw the man that had been fighting an enemy as old as the world itself, more powerful than most could ever imagine, and yet still refused to surrender. "But I will not lie, if you do try, I will fight you tooth and nail to keep her in this school."

It sometimes surprised Ironwood how Ozpin just how threatening he could be at times. The man exuded a presence that demanded all eyes on him. Because if they weren't, if his attention wavered even for a moment, then that would be all it would take for the ancient man across from him to take Ironwood down.

There was silence. The gears turned, and two men stared at the other, eyes unblinking. Neither so much as twitched.

Then, Ironwood sighed and brought a hand up to rub his forehead.

"This isn't the end of this conversation Oz," Ironwood said, removing his hand from his face before he crossed his arms, expression now stern. "And I will be observing Ms. Belladonna from now on. In fact, I may wish to talk to her one day and ask her some questions regarding her past."

"If you decide to do so, then all I ask is that you ask me to schedule a talk first." Ozpin walked back to his desk. When he sat back down at his chair, the tension in his body left him. "Now, may we please move on to the other important matters."

Ozpin pulled out his Scroll, and with a few taps, a blue hologram emitted from the top of the Scroll. It was the same blurry image of the man he had just seen on TV. He stepped a bit closer to get a better look, as did Glynda.

"Only Mr. Wukong and Ms. Belladonna got a good look at the man, and with Ms. Belladonna unconscious, it fell to Mr. Wukong to describe the man. However, given how distressed he was at the time, he could only give us a cursory description at best."

"It's better than nothing," Glynda said, letting out a long sigh. "Do you believe we have enough for a sketch?"

"For a truly accurate one? I cannot say," Ozpin said. "Though, I have already asked for one to be done as soon as possible."

"Did Mr. Wukong say anything about the man that might help us find out any additional information about him?" Ironwood asked. Because he knew that right now, they had very little to go off of. That was truly worrying, considering what the man did. The skills alone needed to pull off something like this should have made it easy to find out information about him, even without knowing his face, yet no one in this room knew anything about him.

Just who are you? And how have you been able to hide until now?

"The only thing Mr. Wukong could say for sure was that the man had blonde hair, "disturbing" blue eyes, and that he heard Torchwick say his name was...Goldie."

Ironwood almost shouted when Ozpin said he knew the criminal's name and hadn't mentioned it until now, but held himself back once he heard what it was. He blinked once, then stared.

"...That is what Torchwick called him?" He asked.

"Apparently, yes," Ozpin said, a frown on his face. "I suspect it's most likely just a nickname—Roman always did love those—but just in case, we should search for any criminals that use that name."

"What about his Semblance?" Glynda asked, glaring slightly at the hologram. "Team RWBY and SSSN all confirmed this...Goldie had some kind of Aura piercing Semblance. Searching for criminals who have a Semblance like that should help."

"Perhaps," Ozpin said, reaching for his mug. "But while Semblances that can pierce Aura are rare, they are not so rare that I can't think of at least a few dozen criminals, mercenaries, and even some students who have similar ones. So while we should check, I don't think we'll find out anything."

Ironwood's brows drew together, contemplating. "I haven't had the chance to thoroughly review each of the students' statements, but didn't most say they were attacked by animals? Falcons, I believe."

"You would be correct," Glynda said. "Apparently, they were well trained enough to attack the eyes and face repeatedly. Perfect for blinding any Huntsman even if one can't get through their Aura." She grabbed her chin with her thumb and pointer fingers. "If he were able to train animals to such a degree, then perhaps he had some sort of past as a professional trainer of some sort? Criminals have had stranger pasts, after all."

"Or he works with someone that was a trainer," Ironwood replied. "Didn't Ms. Schnee say she was attacked by an unknown assailant?"

"Yes, she did," Ozpin said, taking a quick sip from his drink before continuing. "Apparently, someone was able to catch her completely by surprise and strike her from behind; she didn't even get a chance to properly defend herself with her Aura. The wounds were consistent with that of a rapier, so it would be best to look into criminals or mercenaries who use such a weapon." He placed his mug back on his desk, lips moving into a frown. "Though, the fact that someone was able to sneak up on Ms. Schnee and attack without her realizing it means either they were very skilled or that their Semblance is one that specializes in stealth."

Perfect. That meant that they were looking for at least two criminals with near Huntsman level skills. As if it wasn't bad enough having to deal with just one criminal they knew nothing about. And that wasn't even getting into all the resources and allies they might have or—

"But there is something that has been bothering me about the one who attacked Ms. Schnee."

Ironwood saw that Ozpin now had a contemplative look on his face.

"Bothering you in what way, Ozpin?" Glynda asked.

"Ms. Schnee was attacked fast enough that she didn't have the time to properly defend herself..."Ozpins eyes narrowed, frown getting deeper. "But only once. By all accounts, whoever the assailant had the perfect opportunity to inflict further harm on Ms. Schnee, but they only struck her once and seemingly fled. Why?"

Ironwood grimaced. That was suspicious, yes. Whoever this group was, they obviously had no qualms about killing, so what exactly made them not even attempt to do the same to Ms. Schnee? A multitude of reasons ran through his head, from them not wanting to deal with the complications killing the Schnee heiress would bring to the assailant needing to take care of other important tasks that could not wait, but in the end...

"We need more concrete information before we can say for certain," Ironwood said, turning to look at both Glynda and Ozpin. "There are too many things we don't know, so trying to guess why they avoided harming Ms. Schnee any further would be unwise at this stage."

"I agree," Ozpin said, slowly turning to stare at the image of Goldie. "We can't say anything about the help this man might have had. All we can say for certain right now is that Goldie is bold. He went into a White Fang rally full of hundreds of enemies with a plan of attack and came out of it unscratched. He escaped from not only my own students, but also fought against some of the deadliest criminals in Vale's underworld that have defeated fully trained Huntsmen."

Ozpin grimaced. "I'm not sure how exactly it ended, but considering that we found only civilian bodies, and the last scene of that video, Goldie either managed to escape from Roman and his ally, or forced them to retreat."

Ozpin didn't need to elaborate on how bad that would be. If Goldie was someone with the skills and strength to fight and win against someone like Roman Torchwick and his allies, that would mean the underworld had gained a powerful new player. That wasn't even getting into how the other criminals might react to a strong newcomer like Goldie.

And then there was the fact that the man might have allegiances to her.

"And..."

Ozpin's expression changed. It was subtle, but Ironwood saw the ways his brows furrowed together ever so slightly. How he shifted in his chair, and the way his eyes gained a strange glint to them; almost like he was troubled by something.

It was rare that anything could make his old friend worry, and he suddenly felt uneasy as Ozpin continued.

"I can't say what exactly, but there is something about this man, about his skills and Semblance, that, to me, feels..."

"That feels?" Glynda prompted.

Ozpin's eyes, hard as diamonds, never left Goldie's picture. And after a moment, he spoke one word.

"Bizarre."

Hearing an ancient wizard call anything bizarre made a chill rush through Ironwood's blood. But only for a moment.

Because he had work to do, and instincts forged from years of combat told him that Vale was about to be the center of something big.

---

There were some who called her cruel. Some who cried she was merciless. Malice incarnate.

They were right.

"One chance."

But, what she was not, was unreasonable. Not truly. Unreasonable was killing a man for no other reason than amusement. It was expecting the impossible from those inferior to her. One could not tell a fish to breathe on land, a mouse to fight a lion, or a man to stand up to a goddess. It was simply the laws of nature that every man, creature, or insect, had limits they could never exceed.

"That is all I'm giving you."

However, that did not mean the weak did not have their uses. While they would never reach the same heights she would, they could still help in their own ways. Especially when the help she required from them never asked them to go beyond the roles they had perfected throughout their pathetic lives. Really, she did not ask, nor expect, much from those around her.

"A chance to explain just why I should keep you."

So when they failed to even meet those basic standards, she became a tad furious.

"And why I shouldn't turn you to ash."

Cinder Fall glared at her scroll, never once raising her voice.

Roman Torchwick looked back, pale. And not just because of his injuries.

First it had been Emerald and Mercury. Those two had been bested, beaten by some nobody so badly that she had to delay their infiltration of Beacon. Had it not been for the fact that she successfully misled Ozpin and that their identities were still secure, she might have killed those two the next time she saw them in person. And she was still tempted to do so, considering the fact that there was someone out there who may know that two members of an upcoming team participating in the Vytal Festival were attempted murderers. But she reminded herself that with Neo Politan's Semblance and even conventional disguise tricks, it would be easy to make Emerald and Mercury look just different enough that the man shouldn't recognize them.

Provided he didn't know their names. Which he had an honest chance of knowing, by this point.

Then, the man struck again. Even here, the only news Cinder had seen was the "massacre" of White Fang gangers that had happened just last night after a failed rally. Learning about that had made her gnash her teeth in her frustration. That White Fang rally was meant to show off their power, and now all it did was make them look like incompetent fools who couldn't even keep their own men alive from one man.

And then there was the fact they lost one of their Paladins. While they had already stolen more, she did not like that powerful tech like that was in someone else's hands. Someone who now knew she had Atlas tech as a resource. Someone who she knew absolutely nothing about.

She should've kept that card up her sleeve. Or, at the very least, show off the Paladin to just those who were already loyal to the White Fang, and not to the recruits. That way, the chances of the man infiltrating and stealing one of her weapons would've been zero. But Taurus' had been insistent on showing off their power to both recruits and current members—"prevent any possible deserters," he had said, "Let the new blood see out strength first hand"—and she had agreed then. Not anymore, especially since they didn't need any new recruit; she already had plenty of fodder for her plans.

But what truly made her so enraged right now was the fact that Torchwick and his mute assistant had faced the man, knew what his skills and Semblance were, but still lost so badly that Torchwick had lost his foot and Neo was currently comatose after overusing her powers. The two people who were needed for the later stages of bringing Vale to its knees might have just been rendered useless because of one man.

Bit by bit, her carefully calculated plans were starting to show cracks.

All because of the mistakes of the worms that surrounded her.

And that wasn't even taking in the developments here in Mistral—

"You can't possibly blame me for this!" Torchwick shouted, abruptly ending her thoughts. "Neo and I at the very least fought Goldie, but those worthless animals did jack-shit to him! They didn't even see the damn flashbangs he set up in their warehouse before he set them off right in their faces!"

"And more than half of them died for their carelessness," Cinder said, her voice holding no emotion. "You, on the other hand, are still among the living."

For now.

She didn't even have to say it. Torchwick was already sweating, the fear in his one visible eye oh-so-clear for her to see. He knew just how much danger his life was in right now for failing her.

From his seat on the hospital bed, Torchwick brought up a broken hand and gestured at the bandages covering one side of his face. "In case you missed it, I got blown up fighting to prevent your plan from falling apart because of your lackeys fuck up."

"And I truly appreciate your sacrifices, Roman." The deserts in Vacuo weren't as dry as her voice. "But as you said, I'm dealing with quite a troublesome pest right now. So why, exactly, should I keep someone that has failed to get rid of said nuisance, and who is currently crippled?"

The fear slithering in Torchwick's face grew. "Y-you would seriously get rid of me for the same mistake those two idiots made?"

"Mercury and Emerald at the very least had the excuse they didn't know his Semblance and that they didn't expect to meet someone with the strength of a Huntsman protecting a runaway terrorist." And Tukson was just another matter that needed to be taken care of soon before he got a chance to tell her what he knew. "You knew what he was capable of, formed a plan to take him down with Neo's assistance, brought in some of your own men to help, and all you accomplished was crashing your own Bullhead on national TV."

Cinder's lips moved into a deeper frown. "What exactly about that performance of yours tells me I shouldn't let you go?"

Torchwick bit his lower lip. She saw him trying to rise up from his bed, but before he even moved an inch, he winced in pain and fell back down with a grunt. He then started to cough violently, grabbing his chest with his hand—the one that wasn't broken—and almost knocking over the small table on his bed that he had placed his Scroll on. A few more seconds of coughing later, and Torchwick looked back at the Scroll with a petulant glare.

She couldn't remember a time Torchwick looked so pathetic as he did now.

"For the last two damn years I've been doing the job you gave me without any setbacks." Torchwick was growling now, like a dog that had its teeth knocked out. "I've stolen enough Dust to supply an entire army, helped you ship it out to the highest bidder, and helped move it to your "secure location" for you to do God knows what with. You really think any other kingpin can do even half of what I've done? That can match my skills and resources?"

"Roman, we both know "kingpin" is a title that does not fit a man such as you," Cinder said, sounding almost exasperated.

She was well aware how most of the public saw Roman Torchwick: a thief with skills above most Huntsman and that put every other criminal to shame. They saw him as one of the most dangerous people in Vale. Someone with the resources that made it impossible for him to ever truly be taken down. A Kingpin, through and through.

Paper tiger would be more accurate.

Oh, Torchwick had far more fighting prowess than every other criminal in Vale. He had defeated not just the police and Huntsman, but also rival gangs for years. He had made a name of himself in the criminal underworld barely a year after his debut, and his name alone was enough to make his enemies cautious.

Cautious, but not afraid. The fact was, Torchwick was nothing more than an above-average criminal. A man who had to use every iota of skill he possessed to get where he was today. It was why he made deals with people like Hei Xiong—brokers who could supply any criminal with whatever needs they might have—and either rented or bought as many men as he could because he needed that much manpower to maintain his meager status. The other criminals of Vale knew that incurring the wrath of someone who was on the same level as Huntsman and had access to a plethora of men would be foolish. So, even though some of them had connections and resources that Torchwick lacked, they rarely caused Torchwick's "empire" any trouble.

But they could wait. They had been waiting for a moment where Torchwick himself and his little helper would be indisposed. And with how public Torchwick's battle had been with "Goldie"—of all the ridiculous names—she had no doubts that they would be all but salivating at this chance to strike back.

So perhaps it was time to cut ties with the "gentleman thief."

Rage rose in Torchwick's face as he glared. But just as he opened his mouth, Cinder spoke.

"Right now, the only title that I think can properly describe you, is 'unemployed.'"

The finality in her voice could not have been clearer.

The anger was gone as Torchwick's eye went wide. "Wa-wait, let's not get hasty." She saw him swallow. "I can still do my job, Cinder. No problem."

"Really?" She asked. "Because unless I'm mistaken, you're currently immobile, Neo is comatose, and the rest of the criminals in Vale are most likely going to capitalize on your injured state." She brought the Scroll closer to her face as she crossed her legs. "And I don't see why I can't hire them to do the same job you've done. They might not have your training, but given you currently can't get out bed, I believe any help they could provide would be far better than yours."

"I'll be back in action before you know it," Torchwick insisted. "I've already got someone working on a new foot for me, and Neo..." His voice cracked, and he swallowed again. It was far more noticeable than before. "Neo will wake up any day now, ready to kick that blonde bastard's ass."

"Even if that were true, that still does not change the fact that I still need Dust."

"My men can do that easily while I recover," Torchwick quickly said, one visible eye wide.

"While they struggle to fight off your rivals without your help? As they have to deal with the Huntsman and soldiers called in to find the man who now has his hands on an Atlas Paladin?" She knew both Ozpin and Ironwood would pull in as many resources as they could do deal with this new "threat," and that would only make it harder to get any Dust or advance her other plots. "It seems to me that the sensible decision to make would be to solicit help from someone not about to be in the center of a gang war. Don't you agree?"

"Wa-wait—"

"The fact of the matter is, for the foreseeable future, neither you nor Neo are able to aide me personally in my plans. You are about to deal with increased attacks from both the authorities and the other criminals in Vale. You will have to devote a plethora of time and resources just to fight them back, and if I were to support you, that would mean having to take away valuable time from achieving my goals." An emotionless eye glared down at Torchwick. "So I will ask you this one more time, Roman."

When she continued, there was no emotion in her voice, only a deadly chill. "Why, exactly, should I keep you?"

Torchwick did not respond. In the room Cinder was in, the only sounds she could hear was the dull humming of the cheap fluorescent lights above. Torchwick stared at her, and she stared back, an immaculate eyebrow raised in question.

Then, she broke the silence with a dismissive sigh.

"As I expected." She shook her head, and then brought a finger up to her Scroll to end the call. It would be troublesome dealing with Torchwick when she wasn't even in Vale, but it wasn't like he could do much right now. She had other ways of harming him than just Mercury and Emerald, such as through the White Fang. But it would have to be done incredibly quickly, that way he wouldn't have the chance to tell anyone about her plans. While he still had warehouses full of Dust he yet to deliver, at this point, it might be best to adjust certain aspects of her plan. And perhaps find some hep that could actually deal with one measly interloper and—

"Because it would take time."

Just as her finger was an inch away from her Scroll, she stopped. Slowly, she looked back and saw Torchwick, mouth set in a frim line.

"Excuse you?"

"It would take time," he repeated, expression completely devoid of emotion. Torchwick gave her none of his irritating smiles or unintelligent quips; he only stared at her with a cold, calculating eye.

Cinder frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"I know everything there is to know about the criminals here." Cinder doubted that since he didn't know anything about Goldie until just now, but she let him continue. "The only ones that can give you anywhere near the same amount of help I've been giving you won't exactly be jumping at the chance to help someone they have never heard of before. Even if you tell them that you're essentially in charge of the White Fang, they're less likely to work with you. Most people, even criminals, don't like terrorists."

"I am aware," Cinder said. "But I can make them an offer they can't refuse, as you well know."

"Oh sure, you do your usual "serve me or die" schtick, maybe charbroil a few people in the process, they'll cave. Probably. But even if they do, it would take a lot of time and effort to get them to obey you, and even more time to get for them to set up the resources needed to handle all the Dust you need."

Torchwick frowned, ever-so-slowly leaning closer to the Scroll. "Time you really don't have."

"Oh?" Cinder tilted her head. "The Vtyal Festival is still more than a month away." She was well aware that Torchwick knew that her plans revolved around that event. "I believe that's more than enough time to find some new help—"

"I'm not talking about the festival," Torchwick interrupted, and she frowned, eyes narrowing as he continued. "I'm talking about Goldie."

Cinder rolled her eyes. "Really, Torchwick? I would have thought you were smart enough to know that I can handle one man."

"He's not just one man."

That made her pause.

Cinder stared at Torchwick, not saying a word.

"Do you know that, just before he could kill me, he bragged about having plans?" Torchwick asked. "He made it sound like he had them for a while now. And then he told me that my 'ilk' aren't welcome in 'his' city." Torchwick gave her an even, emotionless gaze. "I don't think I have to say just who he was referring to with that comment."

She remained silent.

"Ever since the brats were beaten, we've all looked for him, yet we couldn't find Goldie until he came to us." Torchwick's mouth was in a deep frown, as if considering something bothersome. "There's no way he should've been able to hide for so long if he were by himself. No way he could do what he's been doing on his own. He's got help—good help. The kind that can only come from a big, organized group. A group that's been coming up with plans for who knows how long."

Torchwick pointed at her with a single finger, pressing it against the screen. "Plans that revolve around taking you down."

Cinder continued to stare at Torchwick, the silence growing.

Then, she let out a single, derisive, laugh. "He would not be the first to try."

"I'm not surprised," Torchwick said. "But I'm willing to bet he's gotten closer than anyone else to making you sweat."

The small grin on her lips died as she frowned.

"What, exactly," Cinder said, voice low; dangerous. "Do you mean by that."

"Depends. Why exactly are you in Mistral?"

For a second, she froze. And then she glared.

"How do you know where I am?" There was anger in her voice. Anger that could, and would, grow quickly if she didn't get an answer.

"I recognize the painting," Torchwick said, nodding his head to something behind her. Turning, she saw a painting hanging above the headboard of her bed. It was some kind of canvas depicting a Grimm. Specifically, a Beowolf with its head chopped off, as well as several other of its body parts, resting on a grassy plain covered in shadows. And where its torso once was there was a large hole. A hole that had flowers coming out of it, just like how portions of its dead, black, "skin" also had plants of all varieties growing from it.

She found it ugly.

"You're at Erin's Inn right?" Torchwick asked, and she turned back to look at him. "I stayed there a few times when I had some business to take care of in Mistral and needed to lay low. It's one of the few cheap and discreet inns that aren't owned by a drug cartel and has sheets that aren't covered in semen." That last part really shouldn't have been so rare in this town. "Erin likes to buy pantings from random artists on the street and hang 'em in her guests' rooms. Apparently, that one is supposed to represent 'life blooming even in the darkest of shadows.'"

How asinine. "Life" couldn't be born from darkness. Only death; the Grimm.

Monsters.

"But enough about paintings. Why don't we talk about why you're in Mistral when everything in Vale is going to hell," Roman said, raising a somewhat singed eyebrow at her from behind his messy locks of hair. "I doubt you're going there because of the culture or its 'nightlife.' You strike me more as a woman who never takes time off no matter what. So, you're there on business. Important business that you had to take care of personally, and not your brats."

"How astute." Cinder's voice held no emotion.

Roman continued. "Now this little trip wasn't expected. No, this was sudden. So sudden that not even your lackeys knew how long you would be gone; by the way, you really should teach Emerald how to lie better, or maybe to not shout at Mercury so loudly that anyone can hear her. But anyway, something important came up, you now had to deal with said something and deal with it fast."

"Roman—"

"I'm not sure what is exactly, but the fact that you didn't give your 'disciples' more instructions in case you couldn't make it to Vale anytime soon means that whatever your doing is taking longer than you thought it would. It's something that you refuse to leave unfinished. Something you can't leave unfinished. And the only reason I can think of is that whatever's going on in Mistral, it has an honest chance of messing with your plans if you don't take care of it soon. In other words..." He trailed off. Then, he smiled that infuriating smile of his. "This is something—."

"Torchwick—"

"—that has you spooked."

A held out palm.

A swift and flawless channeling of her Aura.

And then there was fire.

A great column of orange and red erupted from her palm, sizzling the air. It burned bright, almost touched the ceiling, but with her perfect control, she not only made it stop just before it could incinerate anything, but that no embers from the flames would scatter. A concentrated pillar of heat was in her hands, hers to command and set loose as she pleased.

After a moment, she let the flames die, slowly shrinking until it became a small ball of fire that fit neatly in her palm. She stared at Torchwick, who had gone pale. She was fairly certain he might have stopped breathing. Without even being on the same continent, she could inspire so much terror.

Power. That is what he and so many others lack. Power they will never reach. That's why they'll never be anything more than followers.

"Roman," Cinder said slowly, never raising her voice. She didn't have to, the cold hatred in her eyes was far more threatening than any shout. "You're playing with fire." With deceitfully gentle motions, her fingers began to clench around the flames. Her gloves did not get even the smallest scorch mark as her fingers gripped the fireball like it was a tangible thing. Then, she clenched her fingers into a tight fist, and the flame was extinguished.

"And I would just hate it if you were to get burned."

She smiled. A gentle, terrifying smile. Was that line cliché? Yes. But it did its job of reminding this worm his place.

Torchwick stared at her from his hospital bed, and she could see his fear all but strangling him. But surprisingly, he pushed it away, let out a shaky breath, and met her gaze.

"My point still stands," he said. "You're dealing with someone that's probably leading a big, organized group, and you can't spare a moment if you want to meet the deadline for your plans."

"And remind me, why exactly should I be worried about this group?" Cinder asked, voice as sweet as cyanide. "Why should I beware of one man? Because he beat you and my disciples?"

"No." Roman shook his head. "Because he got you out of Vale and on another continent."

Cinder's smile all but vanished off her face.

"What?"

"You don't think it's strange that this guy just so happens to make his public debut while you're not around? That something so urgent came up that it required you to be in another Kingdom while your plans start to crumble?"

"They have not crumbled." Cinder glared at Torchwick with just a hint of the rage his words had caused her. "I have just experienced minor setbacks because of your incompetence."

"Fine. Fair enough." Roman tilted his head, inquiring. "But do you honestly think there's no connection between whatever you're doing in Mistral and all the mayhem Goldie's been cause here?" Torchick's one visible eye narrowed at her. "We both been in this business long enough to know that 'coincidences' like these are all but impossible. I can safely say that Goldie knows about your existence—for how long, who knows really—so what's to say he doesn't know about the finer details of your plan? Or that he doesn't know enough about you that he can trick you into leaving Vale to those brats and me?"

A... not unsettling—because she had mastered her fear long ago—but more upsetting realization began to rise in Cinder's mind. Torchwick was right that these events were far to close to be a coincidence, but could there really be someone out there who knew not only about her, but somehow, her plans as well? And not just the ones for Vale? Save for Ozpin's group, she never thought anyone, least of all some random criminal she never heard nor seen before, could know she existed. And for this someone to know her well enough to deceive her?

That should have been laughable. It shouldn't be something she should even consider.

And yet...

Cinder said nothing, but her lips had moved into a deep frown.

"So, if you want to get on top of this problem now before it gets even bigger, you need to move fast. And you can't waste time dealing with the riffraff of Vale. I'm already on your side, and like I said before, I can still provide plenty of aid."

She turned, and Roman's face held an intensity she hadn't ever seen before. A look that seemed to say he was more than ready for the upcoming battles ahead.

"And how exactly can you do that from a hospital bed?" Cinder asked, eyes narrowing.

"You really think I never set up contingencies in case something happened to me? I got plenty of favors I can call in and even know a few rogue Huntsman I can ask to come on down and help. This is ain't the first time the odds have been against me, Cinder. And like every other time, I'll steal a win when everybody least expects it."

Torchwick leaned back in his bed, smirking. "Though I will admit, I could probably deal with the upcoming shit-storm a lot easier if you gave me a little help. Not from Mercury and Emerald of course, since they're not even close to a hundred percent."

Cinder did not miss the "subtle" message in Torchwick's words as he reminded her that her disciples were still too injured to properly aide her. "I take it you mean the White Fang then?"

"Yep."

"And what orders would you suggest I give them?"

"Just send a few of 'em to sick some humans. They don't have to do much, just enough crimes that make it seem like the White Fang is out and about and is taking no prisoners. Even hardened criminals think twice about doing any sort of crime while terrorist are active. It's bad for business, you see."

"You truly think that is enough?" Cinder asked, crossing one arm across her waist as she stared. "That with your backup and the White Fang, you can handle the other gangs in the city, continue what you've been doing, and locate and kill Goldie?"

Torchwick gave her a wide, toothy smile; somehow, the man had avoided getting any of his perfectly white teeth knocked out.

"You bet your ass I can."

There was silence. She stared at Roman, his own gaze never once wavering.

After a moment, she sighed.

"Fine. You will still work for me."

She was able to hear the almost inaudible sigh of relief that left Torchwick's lips. "Thank you, boss."

"But know that if you experience another failer as catastrophic as this, there will be no second chances." Cinder was not threatening Torchwick. She was simply stating facts.

"Same deal your brats got. Understood."

"Good. Then this is goodbye, Roman." Cinder brought up a finger to her Scroll. "Expect my arrival within the week."

She hung up, and then stood up from her bed. It was time to leave Mistral.

Even if she hadn't found whoever she was looking for.

With a scowl, she brought up her contacts list, found the one marked "L. Lionheart" and then press "Dial."

After she informed Lionheart that she was leaving, she would have to call Hazel. With her no longer able to stay in Mistral, Hazel was the only other member of her group that could arrive quickly and continue to search in her place. She knew he had made little to no progress in finding the Winter Maiden, so he should have no objections to his new task.

Especially when it was this important.

As Cinder's Scroll rang, she waited, and remembered. She could hear a frantic Lionheart shouting in her ear that twelve of his students had just been killed. Killed in some of the most "horrific" and "barbarous" ways he had ever seen, with blood and guts everywhere and holes in their bodies the size of dinner plates.

That his students had been killed by someone who had gone there. Who had escaped from there sometime before Lionheart ordered the other students and staff away so he could investigate personally.

Someone had tried to open the Vault of the Spring Maiden.

And no one, not the Huntsman and police that investigated, not the students who had hunted to avenge their fallen comrades, and not even the staff had seen anything. There was only one single piece of evidence that Lionheart had found that proved, unquestionably, someone had been down in the Vault.

Large, fist-shaped dents in the magical metal.

For a moment, a small sample of the ancient power roared within Cinder as her eyes flashed orange.

If this group of unknowns knew about her, about the other members of her group, about her master, then first she would make them pay for ever tricking her into wasting time as they advance their own little schemes.

And when she found their leader, this Goldie, she would break him in ways only a Goddess could do to a mortal, pathetic, man.

To Be Continued~

AN: Hello again my dear readers! I have come with a new chapter, and this time, it didn't take six months. Yay for improved writing speed!

So, I know there wasn't a lot of action in this chapter, as it was more character reacting to the events that happened last time. And setting up plot points for the future. Specifically, with Mistral. After all, whoever said GioGio was the only one to be transported to Remnant?

Also, Cinder and Roman have come to some false conclusions about GioGio and his group, and this may just come back to bite them. Or maybe not them, but a certain mother of Grimm?

And just to clarify in case it wasn't clear to some about the events in this or the last chapter, the only people Giorno killed were either White Fang Terrorist or Roman's men. The people Giorno ran over where those Torchwick had used to try and block off anyone from entering without them knowing or escaping in case things went wrong. He didn't run over random bystanders.

Last thing: to those you who follow The Lazy Painter, I'm gonna do my best to get an update in before Christmas.

Hope the chapter was worth the wait! If any of you guys have any thoughts, criticisms, or theories as to where this story is going, don't hesitate to say so in the reviews. Be sure to check out the A03 and Spacebattles versions of this fic as well if you want to have a more general discussion.

This is the Black Mage of Phantasm signing off. I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving! Peace!