Chapter 36: Memento Mori
"Victoria, non praeda. Memento mori..."
Nex sighed, wounding his tongue over the Valean chill.
There was something poetic about the stones twinkling in the night sky, blinking as they chased after the black cat.
Something poetic his brain could admittedly wax. But he had to focus on the task at hand.
Both of them had to.
His cheap, mass-produced earpiece crackled.
"This is Bard to Artificer, do you copy?" Nora said, giggling. "Oh! Please say you copy."
Weiss shot him a look, her brisk strides matching his pace. Artificer, she mouthed, smiling as she arched an eyebrow—like she was looking at a cute little kid. Again. A black earpiece sat in her ear, similar to the one in his.
Why Nora had spy equipment lying around was a mystery.
And none of them even wanted to find out.
He shrugged, peering through the darkness. The dusty, lamp-lit sidewalk led to the industrial district and eventually crossed into the adjoined docks.
"I copy," Nex said. Far be it from him to be a stick in the mud. "What's your status, Bard?"
"Rotten, bad luck," Nora said, her voice shrinking into a whisper. "No trace of Black Cat."
Ren sighed, the breathy bass booming over the line. "We've found no signs of Blak—ahem, the Black Cat in the agricultural district."
The poor man. No escape from Nora the Bard. Not even in the darkness of Vale.
"That's unfortunate, friend Monk and friend Bard!" Penny said. "But friend Reaper and I have found leads as to the whereabouts of the Black Cat."
Ruby hummed over the static. "Yep. There's a bookstore that's seen the Black Cat."
Typical of their ghost-ninja, visiting a bookstore first.
Nex took a left, slipping into the rows of rundown warehouses. The industrial district spewed out smoke, the bitter-black rising into the grey clouds. His nose wrinkled, even as he fingered the mask in his pocket.
Weiss coughed, covering her nose with her scarf. Her left hand remained on Myrtenaster, her eyes darting between the garbage bins and the steel chimneys pumping out smog.
His left hand gripped Hrunting and Vigilance, his extra pair of ears straining.
There was something strange going on.
The industrial district was too quiet—save for the thumping of pistons and the whirring of machinery.
Where was the crowd of poor and underpaid faunus workers pulling overtime?
The ones who assembled lien for the rich in their soulless, money-sucking factories.
And the ones probably behind the White Fang's revolution.
"Where?" Weiss said, cracking another cough. "When did they see Blake?"
"The Black Cat was seen almost an hour ago, friend Mage," Penny said. "According to the shopkeeper, the Black Cat was heading south. I hypothesize that the Black Cat passed through the commercial district."
The ghost-ninja passed through the commercial district. No trace of her in agricultural. That narrowed down the search to the residential district, the industrial district, and the docks. Assuming Blake did not just up and leave for Forever Fall or hitched on a bullhead or something. That would make bringing her back much more difficult.
Time to ask the last pair.
"Artificer to Knight," Nex said, crushing a ball of foil under his boot. "What's your status?"
"Berserker may have diplomatically asked," Jaune said, grunting over the line. EDM boomed in the background, along with bones snapping and shotguns roaring over static. "We're having a bit of trouble. But we—"
Blades skittered off metal.
Crocea Mors, probably.
Good thing all those bruises paid off.
And, well, without his presence, there was really nothing to stop the pair of blondes from rioting in what seemed to be a bar in the commercial district.
Oh, well, oh well.
At least they could have some drinks after. And as long as they kept him out of the actual drinking, then it would be perfectly fine.
"Yep. We got this," Yang said, the smirk on her face practically audible. "What did you say again? It's rude to keep a girl waiting."
A man croaked, the dying sound mingling with the static.
Weiss shot him another look. They loped through the darkness, breaking past the shadow of the warehouse.
A lamp fizzled off, spilling sparks all over the sidewalk.
Yep. Not foreboding at all.
"Blake was asking about the docks," Yang said. "Isn't that right, Junior?"
The informant whimpered.
Ho Lee Sheet.
They actually caused a scene in The Club—the reputable haunt for irreputables like Roman Torchwick.
And him.
Also him.
"I guess you're telling the truth," Yang said. "Well, how about you give us a couple of drinks? On the house of course."
His earpiece clicked silent.
Weiss heaved a sigh, rubbing her forehead. "I can't believe they just assaulted someone."
Nex shrugged. "Can't believe, Miss Schnee?"
Weiss smiled. "I guess I can believe it, Mr Shade. Let's go to the docks then."
The Weiss trapped at the water's edge walked beside him, the fishy depths shimmering silver. He reached for his earpiece, pushing down on that one button, even as he glanced at the moon. How the thing broke was a mystery. And it was a question for another time.
"This is Artificer to all channels," Nex said. "Proceed to the docks immediately—"
The world shook.
His earpiece cracked.
He flinched, his extra pair of ears flattening.
A shockwave tore through the air, just as a flash of light overtook the warehouse.
Just across the bridge.
One of the ships bobbed, sinking as fire swallowed its deck.
Gunfire rattled in the darkness, the sound floating through the hot, humid breeze.
Dust.
Only a massive amount of dust could have caused an explosion that size. And there was only one active criminal in Vale ballsy enough to rob dust straight from the shipment—probably a desperate attempt to go big or go home in one night.
Roman Torchwick.
Well, fuck.
Fate had an odd sense of humour.
And there really was no way around it.
"What was that?" Weiss said, turning towards him.
His partner pulled out her earpiece, throwing the sparkling metal into the water. He did the same to the now-useless implement.
Nex shrugged, bending his knees. "I'm guessing that's Blake."
The catwalks blurred as he sprinted across the long bridge.
Weiss followed him, her boots rasping over the stone.
Nex dived towards a nearby crate, pressing his back into the piece of cover. The cold metal bit into his palm, just as his partner landed beside him.
He shifted, peeking into the rattling darkness.
Ceramic masks.
And a black cat.
Amber eyes met his.
Along with a familiar cane.
Roman smirked, aiming his weapon straight at the black cat. She was stuck in the air—in the middle of an aerial flip.
No way she could dodge that shot.
Pareidolia buzzed between the walls of his skull, crystallizing everything there was.
Nex tumbled out of his cover, longsword in his left and scabbard in his right. "Watch out!"
He charged into the circle.
Hrunting gnawed into a mass-produced gun, slicing it in half. The broken pieces clattered. Vigilance expanded. He spun, bashing the woman's chest. She flew over the railing, the splash drowned out by the rattle of gunfire.
Fuck.
His eyes widened, hips twisting as he angled his shield, even as the storm pelted his sides. Sparks of blue crackled over his sleeves. The fabric of his coat loosened around his arms.
Shit.
Nikos.
He really had to thank her for the inspiration.
The cane howled.
Vigilance whizzed, closing the gap.
Nex smirked. Hrunting's hilt extended. He spun his spear against the storm, the bullets clanging off the shaft.
The flare exploded, tongues of orange and red licking gold and midnight-blue. His trusty shield bounced over the cement, screeching to a stop before it smashed into a crate.
The ghost-ninja landed on her feet.
Panting.
Holding a hand to her singed, bleeding shoulder.
A black glyph spun, whisking her away from a salvo of gunfire. The bullets kicked up dust and nothing else as the ghost-ninja flew behind a metal crate. Big enough to cover both of them.
The White Fang goons circled the crate, holding out their crappy weapons. Some of them flanked Roman, bone-white masks flashing in the dark.
"Well, what do we have here," Roman said, lowering his cane. His eyes narrowed. "More huntsmen straight out of the woodwork."
Nex shrugged, Hrunting's shaft retracting. He eased his longsword into a two-handed grip. "What can I possibly say? We run a cute cloning factory in Beacon."
An unfavorable fight. Surrounded by at least a dozen goons. His teammates pinned behind a crate, one of them probably injured. Vigilance ten feet away, the shield flat on the ground. No access to his weapon's complete form.
Pareidolia buzzed, nudging him to turn around. Close his eyes. Leave everything behind.
And survive.
Live another day.
It was its purpose, after all.
But there was no way he could do that.
His friends were relying on him.
Weiss was relying on him.
"Well. That would've been a sight to see," Roman said, rolling his eyes. He flipped his cane and held it by the tip, even as he lowered his voice. "Nothing personal about this. Your friend got in the way—"
"Definitely nothing personal," Nex muttered, angling his legs for a lunge. His friends. Fifteen meters behind. His adversaries. Five meters ahead. Close. "I'm her team leader. Just try not to die."
Roman chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm not stupid enough to fight you, team leader. Get him!"
The guns rattled.
Pareidolia shrieked.
His wolf ears flattened. Smoke scorched his lungs.
Nex weaved past the stuttering gunfire. Bullets punched into his shoulders, bouncing off his aura. His teeth clattered, even as he forced the bones shut.
The roaring stopped.
A goon yelled, raising his sword. An overhead cut.
Predictable.
Hrunting's blade flashed, cleaving into the goon's bicep.
The goon screamed, the sound tearing into his extra pair of ears.
Blood pounded in his temples, fire raging in his stomach.
This was it.
This was a fight.
Far beyond just friendly matches or half-assed spars.
Nex grinned, his trusty longsword breaking past the goon's sloppy guard.
The mass-produced sword flew from the man's grip.
Nex ducked, sheathing his blade into the taller man's ribs. Red gushed over silver, the thick liquid coating his sword and wetting his fringe.
The familiar warmth raced down his forehead, steel wafting up his nose.
But the fight was not over.
Never over.
Not until his prey was incapacitated. Not until the hunt was complete. And victory—achieved.
He unsheathed Hrunting.
The blade squelched, spraying red all over his sleeves.
The man fell at his feet, lips locked into a silent scream.
Scarlet waves spilled from his mouth—the irony of choking on a lifesaver.
His boot smashed into the man's mask, shattering the ceramic into itty bitty pieces.
The man stilled, lying on his stomach, crimson spreading over grey.
Three seconds.
Not good enough.
He could have done it in one. School was making him rusty.
Neo would have smirked in his face.
And maybe—just maybe, Roman Torchwick was right.
"Damn it. Useless animals," Roman muttered, stepping back into his posse of goons. Their eyes met. The thief's eyes seemed to bulge, his legs flying into a mad sprint. "Shit! Retreat! Fucking retreat!"
Nex smirked, the red dripping all over.
Like vines twisting around his eyes.
Rust smothered his nose.
Hrunting slashed.
Three arcs of midnight-blue tore through the darkness. Crossed over each other. A prison of light. Slashing at three points at the same time.
Dust, swordsmanship, and his semblance.
Something that took years to perfect.
The goons leapt. Scrambling for cover.
An unlucky goon took the blades of light. Straight to her chest. She flinched, her jacket tearing.
A fatal mistake.
His feet closed the gap, his blade flashing.
Silver bit into the woman's thigh.
Nex twisted, his hips propelling his arms.
Hrunting carved a gorge straight up woman's throat, trailing sinew over the blade.
Red and white splattered, the fountain drenching his shirt.
Sweet, sweet iron marched into his nostrils.
His boots strolled towards more of his prey, even as the woman's body slumped by his feet.
"Weiss!"
A scream.
The woman seemed familiar.
"No!"
Shit.
Not again.
Nex spun. His breath hitched.
Roman squeezed the trigger, a flare bursting from the cane's tip.
Straight at Weiss.
Locked in a duel with a swarm of goons.
Straight at her exposed back.
No Vigilance to shield her.
Only one thing could.
Nex lunged. Limbs spread-eagled. His semblance tore its throat out. A banshee wailed between the walls of his skull.
Roman's flare crashed into his chest.
The world shattered into fire and smoke. A million needles stabbed his skin, even as Pareidolia's voice shrunk into a mewl. Bitter heat pressed into his nose, searing his throat until his lungs were going to burst like a fucking piñata.
The world spun. A bang exploded, howling in his extra pair of ears.
And he was spinning—until something very hard and very, very solid slammed into his back.
Metal crunched, his butt sinking into stone.
"Fuckity fuck..." Nex said, coughing as his longsword clattered from his grip. It bounced off his shield, skipping over the pavement. His throat itched, his chest constricting. Almost as if someone just poured rapier wasps into his lungs and doused it in oil. "Did you get the number on the ship?"
Weiss flinched, shooting him a glance. Her eyes lingered on his chest. She snarled, her legs shifting as she lunged at a goon.
Myrtenaster speared the man's shoulder.
A black glyph tinkled.
The man smashed into a crate.
Just like him, actually.
A familiar whirring crashed into his extra pair of ears.
Nex looked up.
Roman stared at him, already on a bullhead. He tipped his hat, waving the cane. Probably to say goodbye.
Nothing personal.
Nex rolled his eyes, squinting them shut as another cough wracked his chest. Something wet slid over the daggers in his throat. A foul, cloying liquid. Smoke and rust. The same stuff coating his hair and face.
"They're getting away!" Ruby said, her scythe clicking as it folded into a rifle. "Soldier, don't let Roman get away!"
"Affirmative, friend Reaper!" Penny said, raising her arms. "I am combat-ready!"
Since when did they get here?
And could they not have arrived sooner?
Green swords gnashed in the wind, rendering gravity useless as they carved a path straight towards Roman's bullhead. Near-invisible wires connected them to Penny's backpack, the black steel glinting under the stars.
They weaved around the bullhead's tail like a knot.
The quirky girl growled, digging her shoes into the cement.
Just how strong was she?
The bullhead squirmed, its creaking audible even if it was probably twenty feet up.
What the fuck?
Just how durable were those thin wires?
Pareidolia hummed, providing no answers to his questions. His semblance hypothesized Penny had a strength or durability semblance, and she could somehow imbue her weapon with those properties.
The blades buzzed, crunching through the dreadfully frail metal.
Nothing stopped the bullhead from swerving under the clouds, smoke rising from its chassis.
Roman placed a hand on the bullhead's frame, his other hand gripping his hat and cane.
Not a very good time for a wardrobe malfunction, considering the thief's lifeline was wobbling, sinking into spirals of smoke on the water.
Nex smirked, offering his middle finger to the thief. "Physics' a bitch and a half, Roman."
Doubtful the thief saw it, seeing as his bullhead was currently hot flotsam—embers lighting up the dark depths with no hope of resurfacing.
But it was the thought that counted.
"Nex!" Weiss said, scowling as she clipped Myrtenaster to her belt. She knelt, grabbing his shoulders. Her hands shook as she fidgeted with the strap on his chest. "You stupid dolt!"
Nex smiled, licking his chapped lips. It tasted like steak. The rare, smoky kind. Like the one at Angus Mcbeef. "I'm your stupid dolt, Miss Schnee."
The strap clicked.
His emblem dangled over his thigh.
Nex took a long drag, his lungs freed from his coat's embrace. The needles pricked the insides of his throat, gnawing a path down his chest and to his stomach.
Weiss collapsed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. She sobbed, nuzzling his neck. Tremors raced through her body even as he looped an arm around her waist. The red stuck to the white of her coat, rust mingling with vanilla and sweat. Her warmth seeped through his ruined shirt.
"Hey..." Nex said, resting his chin on her scalp. He smiled. "I'm fine. Don't cry."
Not the waterworks.
Nexus Shade was terrible with those. Terrible with squishy little feelings, really. He was an edge lord, not a therapist.
"You're not fine," Weiss murmured, her soprano vibrating in his clavicle. She stifled a moist hiccup. "You're hurt."
Hurt.
Yes.
But at least he was not dead. There was a stark difference between almost dying and actually dying. The first meant he was alive and the second meant he could probably sleep forever. Not that he was particularly eager to throw his life away.
He still had to find his purpose.
But then again, maybe he already found it.
He was a team leader after all.
Just like his mom.
Amariss Shade would be proud, right?
Rose petals swarmed. A pair of blondes smashed into the line of goons—the one fleeing from their scene of crime.
Apparently, everyone was already here. A bit late, but still acceptable.
"Artificer!" Ruby said, frowning as she tucked her rifle. "What happened?"
Nex grinned, rubbing the small of his partner's back. "A bullhead hit me. Where's the Black Cat?"
The ghost-ninja sat against the crate across them. She stared at them, amber eyes glowing in the darkness. Little fireflies fixed on his partner.
Blake Belladonna frowned and turned away.
Well, at least she did not take the chance to run away. Again. Hopefully, it was because she decided to stay. Not because one of her ankles was twisted, stopping her from pulling a tactical retreat.
They could wait for the bullhead.
The one on the horizon, bearing two axes crossed over a wreath.
Fuck.
Was it too late to die?