Bait
0830
Ilia's apartment, Atlas
The sudden blaring from her scroll nearly made Ilia skewer it with her weapon.
It took a few seconds for her sleep-addled mind to process that she was not under attack, and it was simply an alert from her scroll. She grumbled in annoyance, as she slid her weapon back on the edge of her bed.
Damned technology.
It must have been an alarm she had accidentally set, after all, working night security for Whitley's school had her flip her sleeping schedule on its head. Rolling in her bed, her long messy hair tangling her vibrating scroll, she blindly searched for the device, wincing at the constant loud and ear grating noise.
The damn thing won't shut up.
Finally, she wrestled it out of her hair. Squinting her bleary eyes at the bright screen, she frowned. A government warning, an order for everyone to stay indoors due to…Grimm activity?
She bolted upright.
"Shit."
She needed to get to the Schnee Manor. Most likely, other security huntsmen were making their way there. Just her luck, for something on this scale to happen within a few days of being hired.
Ilia rolled out of her bed, cursing under her breath at the shocking cold Atlas air.
Throwing on some warm clothes, she drew back the curtains, and paused.
In the distance, warships and bullheads dotted the skies like flies over a corpse. In that moment, the true number and might of the Atlesian Air Force on display. Distant sirens wailed as law enforcement vehicles raced through the streets. As she looked down, she could see confused drivers and pedestrians looking into the skies and pointing. They were anxious too.
The fear in the city must be palpable, to warrant such a show of force.
Something was off. Ilia studied the flight patterns for a moment. Some warships were heading out of the city, while some seem to circle aimlessly in the skies at a very low altitude. If it were a simple guard against a Grimm attack, there would be no airships circling that low. The entire formation would be more static to counter a Grimm horde.
Why was there also law enforcement? If this was truly a Grimm invasion, surely it would just be the Huntsmen and their particular military branch being activated to deal with the threat. Perhaps it was a large enough force to warrant some control? Or perhaps there was another protest?
A Bullhead passed over her apartment complex, and Ilia felt her Aura spike. Someone had been aiming at her. Ilia squinted, noticing that the side hatches for most of the bullheads were open. Soldiers with long-barrelled sniper rifles were scanning the streets and windows, as if hunting for a target.
Why were they...
"Oh…oh no." Realization dawned upon her, and she felt her stomach clench.
The Atlesians must have detected something, and were using the Grimm as a cover-up for mass mobilization. The flight patterns were not that to hunt Grimm, but to hunt men.
That could only mean one thing.
Someone, or a group must have slipped the net and gotten into Atlas. Ilia could only think of one group that has ever done so before and warranted a similar response.
The White Fang.
They must have come for her. Ilia knew she couldn't run from the White Fang, but this soon?
It had barely been a month.
Her heart hammered in her chest, and the familiar rush of adrenaline flooded her veins. She needed to get out, to find Winter or...no. She couldn't bother Winter again. Maybe-
The doorbell rang.
Loud, clear, and sonorous.
Ilia froze, her mind going blank.
They had found her.
"Fuck!" Ilia hissed.
Snatching Lightning Lash, she searched her room for an escape route.
She was on the tenth floor of this apartment complex, and while it was possible to scale down, the icy conditions made it very risky. Most of her missions were not carried out in such harsh cold conditions.
She might be able to hide from the Atlesian eyes in the sky, but if they had any thermal imaging...The snipers might suspect her and open fire. She did not want to die to Atlas guns, nor White Fang blades.
Ilia's heartbeat was all over the place, and her breathing was ragged. Just when she had the slightest hope of living a normal life, it was snuffed out. It was unfair, it was...it was retribution for her betrayal. Ilia swallowed. Perhaps she deserved this. Her team had put their trust in her, and she led them to their graves.
Just the other day, she had dreamed about Dandee. Perhaps this was karma, perhaps this was fate.
The doorbell rang again, followed by an incessant knock.
Ilia weighed her choices. They knew she was here. They must have been studying her this whole time. If she tried to climb out, she would be gunned down by the snipers in the sky. If she waited, they were going to breach the door and kill her anyway.
The door banged, forcefully this time.
Or she could take the fuckers by surprise. Initiative and violence of action, that was what won fights.
Maybe it is retribution. But she won't run away anymore.
Blake ran in the beginning, but in the end, she stood her ground. Look where that got her, though.
Thankfully, no one was obsessed with Ilia enough to turn her into a Grimm.
Ilia crept up to the door, Lightning Lash tight in her hands.
The smell hit her, so strong she could smell it even through the door.
Blood.
With a cry, she flung open the door as she flew out.
Winter recoiled in surprise, her hands already up in combat stance. At the last second, Ilia redirected her weapon to the ground, but she couldn't stop her own momentum.
They crashed into each other, and Ilia was almost immediately spun around and pinned to the wall as Winter's training kicked in.
"For fuck sake!" Winter yelled, "It's me!"
Ilia let the group at the door in. She recognized Ozpin and Ren, frowning slightly at a rather large crow perched on top of Winter's shoulder. It cawed, as if in greeting.
Ren was being helped along by Ozpin, and to Ilia's shock, the man's black uniform was matted with ash and blood. Ren and Winter stank of burnt dust, adrenaline sweat, and iron. Ilia's sharp smell amplified the familiar smell tenfold. The blood she had smelled was Ren's.
Winter looked at Ilia's humble new lodgings. The room was cozy, and still had the smell of a new house. The only furniture seen was a small bed, a small plain carpet, a wooden table, and two chairs. It was evident Ilia didn't have the time nor resources to fully decorate the place yet.
All of a sudden, Winter felt a little guilty for barging in, stained in blood, sweat, and burnt Dust, leaving dirty snowmelt footprints on the pristine wooden floor.
Winter made a mental note to take a mop to it as soon as they were secure.
Winter cleared her throat, "Try not to bleed on the carpet, Ren,"
"I'll stay off it," Ren grunted, wincing with each step as he hobbled on Ozpin.
"Brothers," Ilia hissed, "what's going on out there? What happened to you?"
"Got shot," Ren muttered, causing Ilia to roll her eyes, "your old friends are a cheerful bunch."
Without much ceremony, he handed her his rifle, and ripped off his armored vest. He looked around, looking for a suitably dirty spot to dump his blood-soaked gear. Giving up, he just dropped it in a corner. "Sorry bout your new place." He muttered.
"Don't worry about it," Ilia sheepishly rolled the rifle over in her hands, "where were you hit? Do you need anything?"
"Leg. Bullet went through, missed the bone. Leave me for a few hours. Just focusing and letting Aura do its thing," Ren grunted, stripping off the rest of his gear. Pistol holsters, magazine pouches, everything came off and was unceremoniously dumped into a pile. Ilia was sure her apartment was going to be stinking of blood for days to come.
Finally, Ren took his rifle back and plopped himself on the floor, folding his legs together. Ilia watched in fascination as the man simply closed his eyes, and started meditating. The rifle sat on the floor in front of him, placed in an almost ceremonial manner.
Ilia could feel the air around the man slightly heat up, as he focused on channeling his Aura.
"It is an unfortunate turn of events, Miss Amit-" Ozpin started.
Ilia whirled around to the man, "Catalina Ivo,"
"I beg your pardon?"
"My name is Catalina Ivo," Ilia said, though truthfully she still wasn't used to the name. She pointed to her ears, and at the walls.
Ozpin nodded, understanding her paranoia.
"Well, Ms. Ivo," Ozpin said, and somehow that still made Ilia cringe internally, "rest assured, your old acquaintances are not here for you."
"Then why-" Ilia started, fury bubbling inside her stomach. For all she knew, they might just lead the White Fang to her.
"Oz-," Winter coughed, catching herself, "Oscar, needs a place to stay until I can get the unpleasantness between him and those friends of yours sorted out." She gave Ilia a hard look, "They might be anywhere. They have already found him at home, and I am unsure if they know our other...dwellings. So for now at least, Oscar needs to stay with you."
The crow cawed, then said in a very unnervingly human tone, "Stay! Stay!". It flapped its wings and hopped onto Ozpin's shoulder. "Boy stay!
Ilia almost jumped at that. She looked at the bird, "Did it just talk?"
"Yes," Winter confirmed, giving the bird a little ruffle in the neck. It splayed out its feathers as if in pride. "Oscar's little pet. Just don't feed him alcohol."
The crow cawed in protest.
Cardin and Russel sat in the car, parked in an underground parking lot. They were a good distance away from the attack site. The trouble right now is the very real possibility of being tracked. A car that is filled with bullet holes was going to stick out like a sore thumb. The priority right now is the remain low profile.
"Man, I wonder how Winter is going to talk to insurance about the car," Russel said absentmindedly, taking a long drag from his cigarette, "I think they are going to be pissed."
"I don't think any insurance covers "shot up by terrorists"," Cardin mumbled.
"Even if they did, most of the damage was from you."
"They don't need to know that, of course," Cardin grinned, taking a puff out of his cigarette.
They sat in silence in the car, feeling the cold air blow in from the bullet holes. Normally Winter would have them strung by their scalps if they smoked in her vehicle, but the damn thing was so shot up it was going to be scrapped anyway. It was amazing that the damn thing was still able to run at all.
"Shit man," Russel mumbled.
"Yeah," Cardin agreed, "shit."
"And I thought we had it rough," Russel snorted, "no wonder Ren doesn't want to talk about it."
"We did have it rough, Rus,"
"But I still got you, man. You and little Miya."
Cardin snorted, "Don't make it weird, dude. Makes it sound like we're married."
Russel laughed, but then stopped. "Oh shit, Ren is right. We do sound like an old married couple."
"Fuck that," Cardin chuckled, "as if he knows what married couples sound like."
Russel frowned, "Why wouldn't he?"
"Orphan, remember?" Cardin scoffed. He took another buff and sighed, smoke blowing out his nose and mouth, "Shit, you're right though. At least we know what happened to Dove and Sky."
"I'm not sure if how they went out is any better."
"Sure as hell beats guessing for all these years," Cardin said, stubbing out his cigarette and lighting another, "at least we know Dove and Sky had it quick."
"Relatively," Russel grimaced.
"Shut up."
"I mean compared to Nora? Sure," Russel shuddered, "Fucking hell. No wonder he's fucked up."
"He's dedicated," Cardin shot back, "of course he wasn't going to leave her in the middle of nowhere."
"And that fucked him up, can't you see?" Russel said, "To have your girl, someone who had stuck with you since you were a child, slowly die of poison, then dragging her dead body all the way to Mistral? That's gotta fuck anyone up."
"And we are any different?" Cardin countered, "Are we any less fucked up, Rus? Truly?"
"Point," Russel conceded, "but I guess it doesn't change anything. We're all brothers now."
Cardin grunted in agreement. "I guess we're all a little fucked up there. That's why we're here, I guess."
"Have you tried being a recruiter? Rousing speech there. Would have signed up on the spot."
"Naw," Cardin flicked his cigarette onto the car floor and stamped it out, "I'm not a lying bastard."
Their scrolls chimed, and Cardin nodded to Russel. Cardin drew out his sidearm and pulled the slide back slightly in one to check the chamber. It was loaded. Satisfied, he let the slide snap back and tapped it lightly at the back to ensure the bullet was properly seated in the chamber.
Russel had commandeered one of Ren's pistols, his having been destroyed by that Grimm assassin. Slinging his rifle on his back, he got out of the car. With a nod, vanished from Cardin's view. There were not a lot of places to hide in a parking lot, but Russel was creative enough.
The stink of cigarette was thick in the air, and the harsh underground lights cast thick beams through the smoke. The enclosed underground parking offered less than ideal ventilation.
There was a distant machine purr as the gates opened. A car rumbled in, grey and unassuming. Cardin squinted against the headlights, seeing one shadowed figure in the car.
The headlights snapped off. Cardin's hand itched, his subconscious already pulling his hands to his concealed pistol. A figure stepped out, small and petite, she held a shopping bag over her chest, and Cardin had no doubt that she had a pistol tucked and hidden behind. He knew her, but he had to be sure.
"Say it now and say it right," Cardin called out.
"Myrtenaster," she said,
"Mirror," Cardin replied. They both dropped their guard. Cardin smiled, "Hello Ciel,"
"Winchester," Ciel Soleil nodded, "did you really have to bring the war back home? The roadblocks alone made me think of Menagerie."
"Home field advantage, girl," Cardin let out a short laugh, but Ciel's expression remained neutral. Cardin turned the laugh into an awkward cough. She's still the same, humourless, stick up her arse has a stick up its arse, woman.
"Anyway," Cardin cleared his throat, "We appreciate you helping. The situation right now calls for trust."
"I haven't been with the unit for a year, Winchester," Ciel pointed out, "I am just a humble instructor now."
"A legionnaire instructor," Cardin corrected, "Once a legionnaire, always a legionnaire."
"Always a legionnaire," Ciel echoed, smiling faintly. It was genuine. Her blue eyes softened for a brief moment. Without much ceremony, she held out an unassuming bag she carried. As Cardin took the package, his eyes fell on the scarred hands of Ciel. They were shaking. "The items you requested. Rest in the back of the car."
Cardin knew, under the long sleeves she wore, both her arms were badly scarred. A parting gift from a White Fang interrogator. She never recovered physically. The designated marksman of the unit, could not hold her aim steady anymore.
"Thanks, Ciel."
"Any time," she nodded. She tilted her head, as if sensing something, "you can tell Thrush to stop snooping around now."
"Dammit!" Russel's distant voice echoed through the parking lot. Russel dropped down from the ceiling, catching himself on the pipes and lowering himself down. He looked her Ciel, grinning, "How did you know?"
"Smelled you," She tapped her nose, "Only you smoke the Dusty Strikes brand."
"You and your sense of smell," Russel grumbled. He nodded to the car, "You coming with us?"
Ciel nodded. She looked at Winter's car, and looked back her the civilian car she drove in. She sighed, "I do not wish for my car to get shot. Insurance would have a fit."
"No promises," Cardin eyed Winter's damaged vehicle sheepishly, "you sure you okay with this? "
"I could hear the gunshots from my place, Winchester," Ciel said, "for you to contact me, it must be bad enough to want to stay low profile on our own turf. So yes, I am okay with this. Just come out alive."
"We will," Russel promised.
"Please," Ciel said again, a hard edge to her voice, "not one more. There's only so many of us left."
"You know we don't get to decide that," Cardin sighed.
"Yes, I know," Ciel said bitterly. She jabbed her thumb to the vehicle, "come on, enough talking. Let's move."
Tyrian was examining the car the target had used to escape. Vajo and three others stood watch around, huddled down low. The enhanced Black Claws, were not draped in a thermal reflective coat. Their Grimm physiology meant they couldn't show up on thermal imaging at all.
While Vajo did not need to breath anymore, his body's muscles still had the action ingrained. His black heart hammered with unease, and in turn, he breathed harder. The bullheads buzzed in the distance, and he was glad the car was underground instead of abandoned on the side of the road.
There were multiple tire tracks in the snow outside before they came. They couldn't have gotten far. The smell of smoke was still thick in the air as well as the smell of exhaust. Missed them by just a few minutes, it seems.
"Alright boys," Tyrian finally spoke up, "we're done here."
"We can keep tracking them," Vajo said, "I'm certain there is another vehicle, if we-"
"Hush now," Tyrian drew his finger up to his lips, "not to fret. I have everything I need right here."
"What do you mean?"
Tyrian laughed, "Oh, sometimes I forget. Not everyone knows the powers and knowledge granted to me by Her majesty."
"Tyrian?" Vajo asked, his skin crawling. Even the other Black Claws looked at each other, shifting uncomfortably in their boots, "If we want to catch up to them, we need to move now."
"Do not bother," Tyrian grinned. He ran his fingers across the frozen blood pool in the backseat and licked it. He closed his eyes, savouring the rich metallic tang. "I've got their blood. With Her blessings, that is all we need."
Twenty-seven men. That was all that was left. Almost half of their platoon was gone, but Adam never imagined assaulting a military base on Atlas's home turf would be easy.
Their assassination of General Ironwood five years ago had the entire unit wiped. The few survivors were living out the rest of lives in the deepest cells in Solitas prison.
Adam and his unit had failed, that much was obvious. The target, Oscar, had gotten away, and Adam had nothing to show for it other than the deaths of twenty-three Black Claws. Twenty-three good men and women, now lying cold and decaying in the flying city of Atlas. He knew all their names, and before the mission made an effort to get to know them on a personal level.
While some other of his White Fang compatriots would have boasted about the body count they left behind, Adam took no joy or pride in the destruction they wrought.
After all, he did not forget. The man that shot the bitch overseer that branded him was an Atlas military defector, not to mention a good number of faunus that signed up for the promise of a better life.
The burden of command was always the knowledge that he was directly involved in all manners of death, be it his side or the enemy. However, such was the price to pay, to keep Blake at his side.
They were hiding in a safehouse, one of the many designated locations scattered throughout Atlas, mapped and marked by Fang agents. Where they got the funding and access, Adam did not know. But he knew the politics of Atlas was as cutthroat as that in Menagerie, only outclassed by Mistral.
He nursed his bruised cheeks and broken nose with a bag of snow. The dull pain reminded him that he was alive, that he still had fight left in him. Of course, it paled in comparison to the slave branding. Blake sat at his side, as still and lifeless as a statue. Her wounds had already healed, faster than any Black Claw. Yet, tears ran down her face. She was weeping silently, but Adam did not know why.
She weeps because of all the lives she has ended. She weeps because she must obey your will. She weeps because of you. Adam blinked, reeling at the sudden barrage of thoughts. Suddenly, it was hard to breath, and Adam floundered as he tried to wrest control of his flailing mind. This throat tightened, his heart hammered. Brothers! What's going on?
"Adam?"
Adam snapped around, dropping the snowpack and halfway drawing out his sword. Yuma blinked, confused. He raised his hands.
"Adam, it's just me."
"Shit, sorry," Adam relaxed, shaking his head, "still on edge." He licked his dry lips and leaned back into his chair. "What is it?"
"I'm certain the military have lost our trace," Yuma said, "the Bullheads are circling around like headless flies."
"They would be on us if they detected anything," Adam nodded, "As long as we keep ourselves hidden, we should be fine."
"Another one of the good doctor's tricks?"
"Dr Watts did promise we won't be detected by any automated system in Atlas," Adam shrugged, "they rely too much on machines. That was their greatest strength and their greatest weakness. We exploited that during our attack on Beacon, and we are exploiting it now when we are right under their noses."
"Can we exploit it enough to get out of here alive?"
They sat in silence, listening to the distant buzz of engines. Seconds ticked by, and Adam's breathing slowed.
Finally, Adam lowered his head, "I don't know, Yuma. I don't like this at all, sacrificing our men for…whatever this is."
"Then why are we here?"
"We needed the strength and edge over the humans," Adam began, "the people that back our revolution hav-"
Yuma snorted, "You wanted her," he cut in, pointing at Blake, "that's why you went along with the orders of this...questionable group."
"Yes," Adam admitted, "but believe me when I say negotiations had begun long before Blake was-"
"-killed," Yuma said cast the Grimm thing a wary look.
"-reborn," Adam corrected.
"Do you really believe that, Adam?" Yuma asked, "Tell me, as a friend that has stuck with you since the Dust mines. As a friend that has fought alongside you since the beginning. Do you?"
Adam was silent.
"You knew this was rotten from the beginning," Yuma sighed, "else you would have become a Black Claw the first chance you got."
"Yuma-"
There was a rhythmic knock on the door.
The trackers were back.
"Any luck?" Adam asked Vajo. The Black Claw shrugged and gestured with his head towards Tyrian.
"He called it off. I don't know what he's doing. But I don't like it."
Adam nodded. As he made to move to Tyrian, Vajo caught his arm. He leaned in whispering softly, "Adam. Are you sure about this guy?"
"What do you mean?"
"He took some blood samples from the car. Not sure what he plans to do with it, but it stinks of crazy."
"He is crazy, Vajo." Adam said.
The faunus rolled his eyes, "You know what I mean."
Adam stiffened, then nodded. "I'll talk to him."
As he walked away, his mind raced. Blood samples. Unknown to most of the population of Remnant, blood was the most potent component when it came to sorcery and magic. He glanced at Blake, who say silently in the corner of the room.
Adam had seen the potency of blood with his very own eyes, after all.
To the layman, Tyrian's actions were that of a madman, a superstitious zealot, and a fool. But Adam knew better.
Tyrian was ready doing preparations when Adam gathered the mental will to deal with the man. Intricate symbols, runes, and writing were being etched painstakingly into the floor, one stroke at a time with his own tail stinger. It was almost artistic and scholarly, but they made Adam's head hurt if he tried to look too hard.
The mad glint in Tyrian's eyes were not there, and his face was uncharacteristically focused and peaceful. His movements were practiced and confident, like a Mistrili calligraphy artist.
A thought surfaced into Adam's mind. Perhaps Tyrian was the only sane man on Remnant, it was the rest of the world that was insane. Or perhaps he had reached a sort of enlightenment, for no madman could possibly render such intricate works, with such intense concentration, without some revelation of a sort.
The rest of the Black Claws had, for good reason, kept their distance from the outsider. Despite being similarly enhanced, only Tyrian knew the true nature of their "gifts".
Adam did too, and that made it all the worse.
"Tyrian," Adam called out.
The scorpion faunus held up a hand for patience. Adam waited.
He watched as the man unfold a roll of bloodstained leather cut from the vehicle. Tyrian started to chant. Adam tuned the voices out and looked away. He knew what was coming next, if Blake's resurrection was anything to go by.
Black blood began to seep from the corners of Tyrian's mouth, his eyes, and his nose. Yet the man didn't seem to take notice. He spat on the leather piece, and Adam finally looked back. The runes were glowing red. Black Grimm substances seemed to ooze out of the floor, the walls, the ceiling.
Adam blinked, and realized it was his imagination.
Black smoke hissed, dissolving the piece of bloodstained leather.
"I see him," Tyrian hissed, "I feel him."
Tyrian tilted his head, eyes closed, as if deep in thought. "The boy with pink eyes. This is his blood. Our paths have crossed twice now. Our destinies are tied."
"Can you feel where he is? There is a good chance our target is with him."
Tyrian nodded, and opened his eyes. "Give me a map. I will tell you the exact location."
Adam flicked out his scroll, and Tyrian pinpointed an apartment complex not far from where they had found the abandoned vehicle. Getting there undetected would be a challenge, but doable.
Adam nodded, satisfied, "and the man you are…sensing. Can you get rid of him? It will make our job easier."
A wicked smile split Tyrian's lips, "I can. In fact, I know what was precious to him. I remember that kill. I remember all too well…"
"Ren?"
Someone was calling for him, but Ren was not entirely sure if it was real. He had been meditating, the throbbing pain in his leg had ebbed away, only to be replaced by a dull ache that pulsed like a broken heart.
But somehow, when he opened his eyes, he was…where was he?
The scorpion faunus was gone. Ruby's screams had long faded, although it still echoed in his mind. Where did he take them? How was he still alive? Last he remembered was….oh.
Nora…She had taken the strike meant for him. Why did she do that?
He knew the answer, he always knew.
"Ren?"
Who the fuck keeps calling his name?
"Ren. Your name is Ren, right?"
Ren opened his eyes. Ilia was kneeling in front of him, her face lined with worry.
"You are sick, Ren," She stated, "I could feel your body heat from here. Brothers, were you running a fever before?"
"I…." Ren blinked. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.
He stood up, but his footing was unsteady. He was sweating buckets. His gut heaved and somersaulted, but what hit him most of all was the ache in his heart. It was like someone had stabbed a rod of hot iron through his chest, yet he knew the turmoil was emotional.
Ren swallowed again. He could feel buried emotions threaten to break through the iron mental gate he had built. He hasn't felt this sadness, this amount of despair since…since…
"Where is Winter? And…Oscar? And the others? Where are they?" Ren asked. He just wanted to say something, anything. The information itself didn't matter.
"Oscar's in my room with Winter. Russel is outside, I think keeping a lookout, I think. Your other friend, Cardin, I think, he's using the shower."
"Russel? Cardin? Shower? How long was…"
"They arrived a while ago with normal clothes and ammunition," Ilia looked at him worriedly, "Ren, you should let Winter know that you aren't feeling well."
Qrow cawed, flapping over to him and landing on his shoulder. Ren resisted the terrible urge to take a swipe at the bird.
"I think your friend's pet is telling you to sit down," Ilia said, "should I call for Winter? Or Cardin? That's his name, right?"
Ren shook his head. His hands were wet. He was shaking.
"We need to move, Ilia."
"Ren? Have you sensed something?"
He didn't respond. Ilia's voice did not sound like her own. It sounded like-
"Renny?"
"Don't call me that!" Ren snapped, he looked up, his eyes widening.
Nora looked at him, stunned. She looked pale, her skin had an unhealthy shade of purple to it. Black veins of poisoned blood could be seen, and her eyes were red. She looked at him, her eyes accusingly soft and sad. Her cheeks were gaunt, and she looked weak, frail.
She looked like that the day she died.
"Renny?"
"Nora?
"Why did you let me die?"
He opened his mouth, to try to speak, to say anything. His legs buckled.
Ren collapsed to his knees, "I…I'm sorry. I couldn't save you. I was too slow! I was-"
He choked, unable to form any words, unable to process the sudden torrent of emotion.
He felt her touch, her soft warm hands cupping his face. They lifted his gaze up, into her sorrowful gaze.
"Liar," she said, "you said you'll stay with me, forever. But I left this world alone, Ren."
"I…."
"I'm still waiting for you, you know? How long do I have to keep on waiting? I thought you loved me."
"I do!" Ren shouted, grabbing hold of her hands. He wanted to drag her into his embrace, to hold her so tight she will never leave again, "There hasn't been a day gone by when I didn't think of you. I…I just wish…"
Nora knelt down in front of him. Her eyes were sad, brimming with tears of betrayal and hurt. There was something in her hand, and she pushed it into his chest. It was cold and heavy. The weight was familiar.
"We could be together, Ren," Nora whispered, "but it will hurt you. It will hurt others. But I just miss you so, so much."
"Nora?"
"Please?" She looked at him in the eyes, "I know it's selfish. But please? I just want to be with you."
Ren looked down at the object. It was his pistol.
He blinked, steeling his heart. He knew what to do.
Without flinching, he put the gun to the bottom of his chin, and-
Ilia barrelled, into Ren, the shot went wide and skimmed into Ilia. She shrieked as her Aura deflected the bullet. She pinned his pistol arm to the ground, but the man's strength was monstrous.
"Ren!" She screamed, "what the fuck are you doing?"
Cardin came barrelling out of the showers, naked and still covered in soap foam. He held a pistol in one hand. Winter leaned out of Ilia's room, rifling sweeping. They paused for a heartbeat, before realizing what is happening.
"Help!" Ilia yelled, "Help me over here!"
Ren howled. His eyes were rolled over and white. He was frothing at the mouth, like a sick wild animal. He threw Ilia off, and raised his pistol to-
His teammates piled into him. Cardin picked up the man and slammed him into the ground. Winter followed up and lashed out with her boot, catching Ren in the side of the head.
He went limp, knocked out cold. Winter realized he didn't even have his Aura up.
Russel's voice crackled through the radio, demanding to know what happened.
"What the fuck happened, Ilia?" Cardin demanded, "Why did he try to shoot you?"
"He didn't!" Ilia said, "He was going to shoot himself. He just fell to his knees and tried to shoot himself!"
"What the fuck?" Cardin growled, "That doesn't sound like him!"
"But he did!"
"Shut up!" Winter roared. Silence filled the apartment. Winter snapped a finger at Cardin, "Winchester. Put on some pants and tie Ren up. Ilia, pack what you need. We are moving to a new location."
"Yes ma'am," Cardin said, making his way back to the showers with no attempt to cover up, bubbles and foam trailed in his wake.
Ilia swallowed and nodded.
Winter turned to Ozpin, shaking her head. "He's cracked. Shit. That Tyrian man must have pushed him over the edge."
"Unlikely," Ozpin said.
"With all due respect, sir," Winter sighed, "he's not the first and he won't be the last."
Ozpin shook his head, "You do not feel it. But I do. There is a buzz of magic in the air. It's powerful, I can almost taste it."
"Magic?"
"They must have found your vehicle," Ozpin concluded. He nodded to Ren, "they must have found his blood. I do not know how they have access to such knowledge and power, but I suspect Salem had taught Tyrian a few tricks. It is inconceivable, but the evidence is there."
"Blood magic?" Winter asked, skeptical.
"Exactly." Ozpin said, kneeling down next to Ren.
He placed a palm on Ren's wet clammy forehead. Ozpin started to chant, and Winter felt her skin crawl. She couldn't make out the words, but she felt the power. Ozpin's hands started to glow green, and suddenly Winter felt nauseous.
A stink of charred flesh filled the air, but there was no fire, no smoke.
Then, as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.
"Fuck!" Tyrian hissed, "Shit!"
That was all Tyrian managed to say before he started screaming.
Adam recoiled. Tyrian kept screaming. The symbols and words carved onto the floor began to smoke and char. The smell of burnt flesh filled the air.
"Tyrian!"
"The old man! The farm hand! The wizard!" Tyrian screeched, "He knows! He sees me! He-"
He screamed again, but not in pain this time. It was the howl of frustration, of a plan foiled.
A handprint, burning red and hot, sizzled onto the skin of Tyrian's pale face. The stench of burnt blood intensified. The air was abuzz with energies, and green light pulsed and flashed from the carved runes.
The Black Claws burst into the room, weapons drawn. The sight and smell gave them pause.
Then, as soon as it started, Tyrian stopped screaming. His howls of anger and frustration softened and became giggles. Giggles turned to full-blown laughter as if this was all one big joke. "Oh blessed am I!" He cackled, "To bleed and suffer for Her! Witness me, my Mistress! For this marks my devotion to you!"
"Adam?" Yuma called out. He was hesitant, unsure what to do.
"He's fine," Adam said ignoring the madman, "Signal the men. We don't have much time."
They hit a bump in the road, and that shook Ren awake.
He took in his surroundings. He was on the floor of a car, that much he could tell. He looked down, to see a pair of combat boots resting on his chest. Looking up, he sees Russel glaring down at him. Ozpin, and Ilia sat beside him, and Qrow – in bird form- was on Ozpin's knee, looking down at him like he was a corpse. Cardin was squeezed off to the side, the larger man looking very uncomfortable crammed in the back.
"Ah…" Ren hissed.
"Rise and shine, asshat," Russel growled.
"Get your fucking boots off me, asshole," Ren winced. He frowned, "Hey Russel. Why are my hands tied? Why does everything hurt? Brothers! My head feels like someone kicked it!"
"You don't remember what happened?" Russel asked, his expression softening.
"What the fuck do you mean?" Ren hissed, "Did someone actually kick my head?"
"Yes, Lie," Winter's voice floated in from the front seat, "I did."
Ren blinked, his head still swimming. "You did?"
"She did." Came a voice Ren had not heard for a very long time.
"Is that you, Ciel?" Ren called up from below.
"It is. Now stop struggling. You are shaking the car."
Groaning, Ren relaxed his body. "So, someone want to tell me what happened?"
"You were possessed, Mr Lie," Ozpin explained, "blood magic, it would seem. Don't worry, I severed the connection."
"Fuck me," Ren let his head drop back onto the ground, "things just keep getting weirder."
The door flew open with a kick. The Black Claws stormed in, guns up. Fast, violent, and deadly.
Adam led the way, always leading by example.
No gunfire met them. He signalled to the team, and they cleared out every corner, every nook, every cranny. But it was clear that the target had left.
Tyrian hissed a curse as he crawled along the floor, his nose working like a hunting animal. What made Tyrian so feared during his murdering sprees were his eyes for detail. He was a hunter of men, and what separated the hunter from the hunted were details.
Details such as the dried residue of wet boot prints on the floor, like the faint reek of body sweat, like the damp carpet in front of the showers.
"There's no one here, Tyrian." Adam sighed.
"They were here," Tyrian whispered, drinking in more details.
A warm stovetop. A damp cloth that had faint stains of red. A black feather on the table. He picked up the feather and sniffed it. It didn't smell like a wild bird, and birds usually did not fly this high up.
"Branwen," Tyrian's eyes widened, "so he's here too."
"Who?" Adam asked.
"An acquaintance."
Adam waved the squad in and shut the door. He sighed, putting down his weapon. "They escaped, then."
"It would seem so."
"Or your little ritual failed."
Tyrian scoffed, "Impossible. My mistress would never mislead me like this."
Adam didn't bother to respond. He studied the apartment, looking for clues. If Oscar had been here before, then surely they left some clues, some hints for their whereabouts.
"Adam!" Yuma called out. Yuma tossed him something and Adam caught it without looking. He examined the object, turning it around in his hands, and did a double-take.
"Where did you find this?" Adam asked, holding a lightning Dust cartridge. It was custom, a Huntsmen's weapon. He recognized the design, for he had helped every elite fighter under his command procure their own custom reloads.
"Next to the bed," Yuma said, "she was here. The little traitor was here."
"Ilia," Adam growled.
"Did she know anything about the boy?" Yuma asked.
"No," Adam shook his head, "his location, yes. But his purpose and significance? No."
In truth, not even Adam knew. But he was not about to admit that in front of his men.
One of the reasons why Adam had felt this mission was doomed from the start was the lack of information. Usually, when hunting a target, assassinations, kidnapping, he would spend a good amount of time gathering information about the target. But for this target, Oscar, he knew nothing. He found nothing. He didn't even know why he was being kept in the blacksite to begin with. As far as he was concerned, the man was a farmboy that went in over his head.
Yet he still had to follow through with this mission, unless…
"It's a lost cause," Adam growled, "we wasted the lives of our men for nothing."
Tyrian whirled around, eyes narrowed, "Tread carefully, boy."
Adam sneered, "No, you listen. If this keeps up, none of us will leave Atlas alive. No target is important enough to warrant the sacrifice of an entire platoon of elite fighters."
"Don't you dare, boy," Tyrian hissed, his Grimm red eyes almost popping out of his skull as he sneered at Adam. "you either pull this off or die trying. I will not come crawling back, snivelling like a worm in front of Her Majesty."
"We do not know where this Oscar person is," Adam growled, "now that he's moved, I will not go on a wild goose chase and lose more men."
Tyrian laughed, throwing back his head and cackling so loudly it made Adam cringe. But as suddenly as he had started, he stopped. He looked Adam in the eye, not smiling anymore.
"You forget, Adam Taurus," Tyrian said, unusually calm and collected, "that your beloved toy lives due to Her Majesty's will alone."
With that, Tyrian started chanting. He did not say anything that Adam recognized, but he felt the power behind the words.
A scream.
Adam spun around, recognizing Blake's voice. It had been years since he had heard her talk or even remotely make a sound. But instinctively, he recognized her scream.
Blake was writhing on the ground, black and red eyes wide with horror. She gasped, drawing in a deep ragged breath. Black blood oozed from her mouth, her ears, her eyes, smoking, and billowing, blistering her pure white skin. She reached out her hands to Adam, as if for help. She let out a gurgle, a choking sound of a person drowning in their own blood.
The other Black Claws raised their weapons, unsure whether to be aiming at Blake or at Tyrian. They looked at Adam, their eyes wide with surprise and horror.
Tyrian clicked his fingers.
There was a sickening crack, as one of Blake's fingers deformed and fractured, folding in upon itself. She screamed again, loud and too human to be a Grimm. The men flinched.
"Stop!" Adam yelled, drawing out his sword, "Stop! Tyrian!"
"What are you going to do, kill me?" Tyrian arched an eyebrow. There was no gleeful glint of sadism in his eyes. He looked as if he was bored, as the suffering of Blake brought him no joy at all. As if Blake wasn't human, and was just a...a thing. "Your little pet's blood will keep boiling unless I stop it. You kill me and she burns to ash from within."
"I-" Adam backed away, not turning his back to Tyrian as he went to Blake's side. She clutched onto him, and Adam bit back a hiss as his Aura fluctuated from the extreme heat.
"Adam? Adam!" One of his men called.
"Put the guns down! Down, dammit!"
"And-" Tyrian snapped his fingers again. Blake howled as another one of her fingers broke, "-I can break-" Tyrian clicked his fingers again.
Another sickening crack. Blake was holding onto Adam so hard he started to bleed, but he squeezed his hands back. He panicked, the sight of Blake suffering blanketing his mind with terror.
A sharp snap!
Blake's ankle twisted and cracked.
"-any part-"
A grinding sound, like gravel upon gravel.
Her wrist folded back onto itself and fell limp. She wasn't even screaming now, the human part of her mind so overwhelmed by agony she was simply opening and closing her mouth, unable to make a sound.
"-of her body."
Adam looked at Tyrian, and Tyrian smiled when he saw the wild eyes of desperation. It was fitting on Adam's face, a branded slave. Tyrian knew he had cornered him.
"Please, Tyrian! Stop! I'll do it!"
Tyrian's smile widened. "Get on your knees, dog."
"I-"
Tyrian clicked his fingers again. There was a loud pop, and Blake's gasping turned into a whimper as her entire arm twisted, breaking in a dozen places at once.
Adam fell on his knees and slammed his head to the ground, so hard it splintered the wooden floor. "Please, Tyrian. Please forgive me, please stop it. Please stop please just stop!"
Somehow, the burning humiliation hurt a lot more than any physical pain he had endured.
Adam was there again, all those years ago. He was back in the Dust mines, on his knees begging. Begging for the life of someone else, like an animal, like a slave. The overseers knew they couldn't break him, so they broke his mother. Dragged her into open and battered her as they forced him to watch. He remembered. The entire time, his mother looked at him, forcing a smile on her face, even as she cried in pain and terror.
A shadow loomed over him. Adam looked up, knowing it was Tyrian, but seeing that human overseer leering down at him, the same cruel smile plastered on their faces.
In that moment, Adam swore to kill Tyrian.
"Get up, Adam,"
He obeyed, casting a glance at Blake. She was sitting on the floor, upright. Her expression was back to its blank nature. Her wounds were already healing, and her limbs were slowly setting themselves back. Soon, even the black blood pooling around her will smoke and dissipate, leaving no evidence of the events that transpired.
The other men did not look at Adam. They looked away, biting their lips. Their weapons were not lowered entirely, and there was a look of disgust and terror on their faces. Some of them were shaking. Adam knew it was unbecoming of him to show such a display of weakness and humiliation in front of them, but…
But he needed to save Blake.
Tyrian slide beside Adam, and put his arms around his shoulders. Adam's gorge rose.
"You see, I would let your men go. We can complete the mission, just you, me, and your little Blake over there," Tyrian began, his face uncomfortably close to Adam's. He didn't turn to look, but kept his eyes straight forward, "I am not Cinder. I understand the difficulty of tracking down a target in a large city filled with armed guards. I understand the bond and responsibility you have towards you and your men. But remember, She transcends all."
Adam swallowed. Sometimes, he forgot that the Ripper of Anima was right beside him. The man was now a zealot of the worst kind, and wielded powers and knowledge unknown to most of Remnant.
"But lucky for you, Uncle Tyrian here knows a thing or two about hunting prey," He sniggered, "you see, sometimes it is not about hunting your prey. If the prey is alert enough, they will run. If the prey has friends, it will hide behind them. Do you know what we do then?"
"Then…" Adam lowered his head, wracking his brains, "are you suggesting we let him come to us?"
Tyrian clapped Adam on the back, "Now you are thinking! To an extent, yes! Lay a trap, a bait, something so irresistible that the prey could not help but come to you, to fold to your will!"
"Like? I don't know this Oscar kid. I do not know anything about your target. I don't even know why you want him dead! All he was to us was a high-value prisoner we kept at our blacksite."
"Think!" Tyrian hissed, "Your mind is addled. Clouded due to what I did. But there is a lesson in that! Look at the bigger picture, and you will see it!"
"I…." Adam paused. He looked at Blake, and she looked back at him. She was pristine, like her little torture session had never occurred. Why would Tyrian…
"She was the bait," Adam swallowed, "my irresistible bait."
"Correct!" Tyrian clicked his fingers in affirmation, and Adam winced, "Now I also know nothing about Oscar. But you do know who took Oscar from Menagerie. They were guarding him after all."
"Winter Schnee," Adam straightened, "wherever she is now, the target must be with her."
"And to bait out Winter Schnee, is to bait out Oscar," Tyrian smiled like a proud teacher witnessing their student solve a particularly hard problem, "now tell me, Adam Taurus. Do you know how to lure out our prey now?"
Looking out of the window, Adam set his sights on a particular building looming in the distance.
Schnee Manor.
"Yes," Adam nodded, "Yes I do."
AN: Admittedly, I had a bit of trouble writing this chapter, and have rewritten a few parts a few times, but I'm still unsure as to the flow. As you guys probably could tell, I enjoy writing action a lot more. Post a review and let me know what you guys think, thanks!