Coincidentally, the first destination for me ends up being the same as team CRDL's: Junior's Club. Most of the civilians have been relocated out, but there's still some there in makeshift shelters; people who'd rather wait until their homes are cleared of Grimm than find new ones, and family members that have come to the city to help. The Huntsmen, too, have spent long enough setting it up as a mission hub that they're apparently loath to leave it.
CRDL arrive and each greet their family, friends, fans, whatever, leaving me to surreptitiously slide over to the bar, manned by the owner himself.
Junior's always refused to hire a bartender, instead doing the job himself for reasons known only to him, but ones that I do have my suspicions about.
"Junior, you dog, still abusing the bar to pick up chicks?"
"Holy shit- Dragon!?" Junior drops the glass he was holding, looks down at the floor as it shatters, and curses. "Son of a- you're reimbursing me for that."
I grin. It's good to be back. "Not a fucking chance. Now, where the hell are Neo and Roman?"
Junior frowns. "Nobody's seen Roman since the Fall, but Neo… well, I'd normally charge you for this kind of information, but since you're Syndicate brass and all that, I'd consider maybe giving you a discount…"
I have to physically restrain myself from jumping the bar and throttling him for information via that stupid necktie. "And I'd normally waterboard you with your own shitty fucking beer for giving me this bullshit, but I'm sure we can meet halfway. Call it professional courtesy."
Junior just raises an eyebrow. "Yikes, Dragon, who stepped on your tail."
"You're a bold fucking man to make a Faunus joke to me right now," I snarl, putting two palms down on the counter in preparation to jump it-
Only to feel two pointed stiletto heels pressed up against my shoulder blades.
"You should, like, chill out," one of the twins says.
"Ohmygod, totally," the other agrees.
I narrow my eyes, briefly considering the merits of picking a fight with all three of them before remembering that the place is crawling with Huntsmen. Son of a bitch.
I look back towards Junior and sigh, raising my hands in a gesture of peace. "Sorry, Junior. I just fucking walked back from god damn Vacuo through the desert, the Dust Wastes, and Armstrong's entire territory, so forgive me if I'm a little bit impatient."
Junior shakes his head slowly, grinning ear to ear. "No fuckin' shit? You really walked most of Sanus? What, not enough money for a boat?"
The blades drop away from my back, and then the clicking sounds of heels against the tile trail away, leaving me safe for the moment. "Shit got… complicated. Turns out the contract was on a real big shot, so my transportation plans got messed up."
"I'm flattered," Arnaut grins, stepping back behind the counter and looking around at Junior's liquor supply.
Junior leans back on his heels, crossing his arms. "Well, what I said earlier was a joke, okay? I'm not enough of a dick to charge you for information on your own girlfriend-"
"Not my girlfriend," I mutter, a pang of something I've long decided isn't worth thinking about shooting through me. It's complicated enough without everyone I meet thinking we're a couple.
He gives me a 'sure, whatever you say' look, but moves on. "Whatever. You should-"
"Shit!" I blurt out, whipping back around to look behind me. "Son of a bitch!"
"What?"
"One of those Huntsmen has a fucking hearing Semblance!" I immediately start scanning the room, checking the easiest possible exit and noting the locations of Huntsmen-
"Relax, Dragon," Junior sighs, leaning his elbows on the bar counter. "I got a layer of sound cancellers installed around the bar. Fuckin' unbelievably expensive, but it's kind of necessary to keep the Syndicate stuff running while the place is crawling with Huntsmen. Not that business is exactly booming, anyway."
"At least you can hit on girls half your age without the entire club knowing now," I snark.
Junior's grin goes unexpectedly dreamy. "Those days are behind me now, Dragon. I've found love."
I snort, crossing my arms. "No way. Am I hearing right? Junior, Master of a Thousand Pickup Lines, Chaser of a Thousand Skirts, is actually settling down?"
"Well…" he scratches under his chin. "She hasn't exactly been, ah… receptive of my advances."
"Who's the lucky lady?" I ask. "Maybe I can give you some advi-"
"Glynda Goodwitch."
I break down into a coughing fit even more vicious than the one I had when I found out Russel was sleeping with the Malachite Twins. "You have… got to… be… kidding me," I wheeze out.
"It's no joke," Junior says, too enraptured by the image in his head to be offended. "She's perfect. Strong, intelligent, knows how to get what she wants… tall, blonde, and that rack is just-"
"If he wants advice, he should try stocking some alchohol that costs more than two Lien a bottle," Arnaut says, looking around at the options with distaste. "And also, not being a criminal."
I ignore the first part, but the second is worth asking. "So, do you have a long-term plan, or…?"
Junior remains in his haze, taking a second to respond. "Huh?"
"Are you planning on quitting the Syndicate? Because I seriously doubt you're gonna be able to maintain a relationship with her while also keeping your job a secret."
"I'll figure it out," he grins dopily, and that's about all I can take.
"Look, you were saying about Neo?"
"Right, right." Junior finally seems to get serious. "A day after the Fall, she shows up for two minutes to ask about getting to the Atlas flagship wreck in the middle of the Grimm-infested zone, so I tell her what I know. She disappears, and then an hour later, some of the Huntsmen start bitching about an intruder breaking out through the defensive cordon, and that's the last I hear about her."
I mull over what I've been told. "So, she wanted to get onto the wreck for-" My blood runs cold. She'd only do that if Roman… if…
Junior's eyes go wide as he notices the black tracing up my arm, the red starting to glow in my eyes. I don't tell anybody what my Semblance is, but when you work in an organization as wide and interconnected as the Syndicate, people tend to be able to put two and two together. Armstrong heard a rumor about my Semblance, so I suppose it makes sense that Junior'd have heard something as well.
"Dragon, uh… shit, you sure you want to be doing that in the middle of Huntsman City?"
So he doesn't know I can't fully control it. I force a smile and desperately turn my thoughts to something simpler, anything that can take my mind off of the mountain of fear, and seize upon the first thing that comes to mind.
"I'll be back in a bit," I mutter to Junior, striding away from the bar towards the common area of sorts set up on what used to be the dance floor. The club's balcony-like overhanging second and third floors seem to have been commandeered for Huntsman business, but the first floor has all the civilian housing and apparently the dining hall.
There's a wide spread of tables set up, with dinner seeming to have just been served. It's mostly civilians eating, but the Huntsmen are scattered in and around the area, too. There's fewer of them than I'd expect, although several of them could be out on patrol.
Russel is on his own off to the side, sitting with the Twins. When I found out that they'd been ordered to hang out around him to relax him and to make him heroic to the civilians, I nearly passed out laughing.
Dove and Sky appear to be sitting together, and are sharing a quick kiss when I notice them. So that's the relationship, I think, before going back to my real search:
Gotcha. My eyes finally settle on Cardin's distinctive burnt-orange hair. He's sitting in a place of honor at the head of the largest table, near the center of it all- but I don't care, and cut a beeline straight for him.
I drop a hand onto his shoulder, and the civilians sitting around him turn to look at me like some sort of pond scum.
"Russel, you're gonna have to-" Cardin pauses when his turn brings me into his line of sight. His expression goes from confusion, to disappointment, to annoyance, to realization. "Dreki."
"Cardin." I slam a fist into my other palm in front of me, grinning wide enough to show my fangs. "Guess what city we're in?"
"Oh, Dreki, this is a terrible idea," Arnaut complains. I tune him out.
Cardin just ignores me- the fucking asshole- and goes back to eating. A civilian girl sitting a few seats down from him asks "Who are you?", but I don't give any response.
Right now, my focus is on Cardin, who would appear- to my untrained eye, at least- to be bitching out. "So, that's it," I sigh, disappointed. "No fight? You're just gonna pussy out on me?"
The silence spreads down the tables. I gather more and more eyes by the second, but it doesn't matter- I just need something to distract me from the fear right now. I hear the mutters-
"This chick is bad-mouthing Cardin."
"I think CRDL might've picked up some feral girl on their mission."
"Dude, she's got horns and a tail. What a freak."
It remains mostly whispers, until someone a bit further down gathers the bravery to shout "Shut up and leave Cardin alone, scalie!"
That one's harder to ignore, but I manage, although I can't stop my cheeks from going red. Whatever. Shame doesn't bring the Grimm. "Cardin? What, did I scare you off during the Ursa fight? Didn't take you for a coward."
Someone off to my left with a heavy South Vale accent shouts "Go crawl back under your rock, lizard!"
"Bite me, boonie," I spit back without even looking.
It's a mistake, as it breaks whatever unspoken agreement of silence there was, and everyone starts to take their own potshot. All the old names are tossed at me: 'half-breed', 'freak', 'scalie'… as well as some new ones. I stand shock-still, arms crossed and face frozen in a cocky grin- I don't trust myself to move without either killing someone or running off and letting the fuckers win.
Russel drops down from the second level and puts a hand on my shoulder. "Dreki, now's not the time… you two can settle it later, okay?" At least he speaks to me like another sentient being.
On that thought, a new suspicion blazes to life in my head as Cardin continues ignoring me, and my tone gets even darker. "Or is it that you won't fucking lower yourself to fight a Faunus," I hiss, yanking my shoulder away from Russel. "What, am I not good enough for-"
Cardini finally takes the very last bite of his chicken, gingerly places the now-clean plate down on the table in front of him, and then surges to his feet so fast that his chair is sent skittering along the floor back behind him. He turns to face me with a dark grin. "You being a Faunus has nothing to do with you not being good enough to give me a decent fight, but if you really want your ass served to you that bad, I'll give you what you want."
The surrounding people start cheering him on. I'm seriously going to enjoy beating his ass bloody in front of all these fans of his.
It turns out Junior already had a fighting ring installed underneath the center of the dance floor- I don't miss the suspicious look he gets from Goodwitch when he brings that up- but it takes his goons half an hour to get the thing working. In the meantime, Junior himself even gives me a brand-new Scroll just for the fight so that they can keep track of my Aura for the audience.
Russel finds me up on the second-floor balcony overlooking the dance floor, three minutes before the fight's supposed to start. "Look, Dreki, uh…"
"Come to wish me luck?" I ask, watching as Junior takes a page from Lilah's book and has one of his men set up a betting booth.
"No." Russel says harshly. I don't turn to meet his eyes, but he doesn't seem to mind. "Dreki, you… it's not too late to back out."
Somehow, his lack of faith in me stabs deeper than any of the strangers' racist comments did. Their insults I could ignore, retreating further into my impassive shell, but something about the words coming from him…
I realize now that two months with Arnaut made me drop my defenses just a crack, and that I let this Huntsman worm his way in too far. There's only one route to fix that: "Why don't you go drop a bunch of money on Cardin if you're so confident he's going to kick my ass?"
"That's not…" Russel trails off. There seems to be something he can't quite make himself say, but I'm sure as hell not going to help him spit it out. "Cardin is…"
"Go on, use your big-boy words," I encourage sarcastically.
When he does speak, his voice has lost any positivity- it's like he's ashamed of the words as they leave his mouth. "Cardin is a symbol for these people, like… like how Arnaut was a symbol for Vacuo. They think he's invincible, and it makes them feel safe, but… if you hurt him, it'll shatter that image."
He actually wants me to pretend to lose to Cardin, just to make a bunch of racist wastes of oxygen feel safer, like I owe them anything.
"He's right," Arnaut chides. I don't look at him either.
"Am I hearing this, Russel?" I hiss. "Cardin dug his own grave, and you expect me to fucking lie in it?"
"It's what Arnaut would've wanted, I'm sure of-"
It actually is, but that only adds to my mounting anger. "And Arnaut's rotting in the middle of the fucking desert right now. Don't fucking speak to me about what he would've wanted, Russel. You want these people to feel safe so bad? Go talk to them, then."
Russel's more sad than shocked. "You don't mean that-"
"Yes I fucking do." I finally whirl on him, eyes burning. "I've spent a week putting up with you and your faggoty teammates' bullshit just to get to this moment. You think we're friends? I'm only here until I finish scraping the fragments of Cardin's teeth off of my hands, and then I'm leaving."
Russel is silent for a stretch, and then turns and walks off wordlessly. There's nothing else to say.
I feel a tight sensation in my chest and a burning in my eyes, but I don't allow myself to show weakness, not in front of these people.
"Dreki, it's-"
"Arnaut, shut the fuck up," I hiss. "Every time you talk, you-"
Sky is staring directly at me from the floor below, and his expression lets me know he heard everything. Fucking wonderful. I shoot him a fierce smile, stretching my mouth wide as if I can force the careless glee to be genuine.
Russel steps up beside him and Dove, and the three exchange words. None of them look back up at me again. I don't let myself care.
Apparently Junior's also the club announcer on top of being the owner, resident informant, and bartender, because he steps up about a meter onto the upraised circular ring and starts speaking into a microphone: "Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you've all been waiting for… let's give a big ol' cheer for our resident defender stepping through the southern gate, Cardin Winchester! Cardin stands six feet and eight inches high, two hundred and forty pounds, and wields his signature weapon, The Executioner!"
Cardin proudly strides up through the gap in the Hardlight wall, spinning the mace in his hand. Were I not as pissed off as I am now, I might have appreciated his blunt choice in weapon naming.
"And from the northern gate, a newcomer to the area, let's give a round of applause for Dreki!"
Not one person in the room claps. A few even boo. I couldn't care less; it'll only make beating Cardin even more satisfying.
"Dreki stands five feet six inches tall, weighing in at a hundred and forty pounds, and uses her sword, Aurora." More boos. I just grin wider and vault the gap up into the arena.
"Father always told me never to hit a girl, but I'll make an exception for you," Cardin says.
"That's it, use those teeth while you still can," I reply, settling a hand on Aurora's hilt. Obviously this is met with even more booing, but I'm not about to start giving a shit now.
"The fight is until Aura drops below ten percent into the critical level," Junior announces as he steps out of the ring and the gaps in the walls are filled up. "Full use of Aura and Semblances is allowed. Don't be afraid to give it all you've got; the ravishing Miss Goodwitch is here on standby to undo any property damage."
I lower myself in preparation, legs and arm tensed up. The crowd, Russel, Dove and Sky, all the bullshit emotions, the fear, the rage, it all melts away into a blur of meaningless garbage. For a few blessed minutes, until the fight is over, everything outside the ring may as well not exist.
"Three! Two! One! Fight!"
I whip Aurora out of the scabbard and swing it down to my side, planting an extended foot out in front of me while coiling the other down behind me as I lower myself into Spring Cloud stance. Only now, in the peace of the fight, does it occur to me that it's so named because, like the blank, unreadable clouds, it masks my intentions even as I prepare to unleash a storm of violence.
Cardin drops into a prepared stance of his own, centered and stable. With his strength and the armor, it'll be a challenge to even make him flinch.
Good.
"Well?" He raises an eyebrow at me. "What are you waiti- ngh!"
The Aura training I've been doing pays off as I only discharge maybe three percent of my Aura out through my back leg and still blitz him like I've been fired from a cannon. He manages to get an arm up in time for my thrust, even placing it right in the central gap of Aurora so that the blunt barrel slams into his armor, effectively halting it with the two sharper prongs on either side of his forearm.
"What, is that-"
I click the first button on Aurora's hilt and the Hardlight tip snaps into existence around his arm, steaming furiously against his armor as it attempts to form itself inside space that's already occupied. He lets out a strangled growl even as I smoothly turn my back to him, lever the flat of Aurora's blade against my shoulder, and pull down on the hilt with a surge of Aura reinforcement.
The Hardlight traps his arm, so he gets yanked over my shoulder along with the sword and slammed head-first against the ground on the other side of me. No armor on his skull, so it takes full damage.
Before he can recover from it, I turn again and bring Aurora swinging around my body with a surge of Aura, yanking Cardin along with it. I even decide to do him a favor and deactivate the Hardlight just in time for him to be launched with the maximum momentum.
He flies ten meters before slamming into the far wall, already down ten percent of his Aura in the first twenty seconds.
"Talk more shit, please," I growl through a smile wide enough that my cheeks are getting sore.
I vaguely register the boos of the crowd, but don't give them any thought. Right now, there's only one person that exists to me, and he's rising to his feet slightly shaken but still very much unbroken.
"Same trick won't work twice," Cardin growls, stalking forward confidently, powerfully.
I don't bother with a retort, dropping into Spring Storm. I haven't mastered it yet, but a few weeks of practice was enough for me to get down the basics.
Cardin snorts. "En garde, I guess?"
My response comes in the form of Lightning Strike, a quick forward lunging strike. By pushing off fully with my back leg while simultaneously uncoiling my front arm, my blade shoots forward nearly three meters in the blink of an eye.
Cardin, faster than I gave him credit for, bats the strike aside with his mace… but this is the technique of Alorn Rihfaris, and it has accounted for that possibility with its second half: Thunderclap. As Aurora is knocked to the side I simply spin into the movement and whip the sword all the way around me, ducking Cardin's own followup swing in the process as I drop low for a slash towards his feet. He can't jump in time and I catch his ankle, knocking him airborne long enough for me to slam a side kick right into his midsection.
He's sent flying back into the same wall again, down another five percent of his Aura.
"You really shouldn't talk so much while you're fighting," I sigh, twirling Aurora back up into Spring Storm. "Usually you only want to do it when you're… you know, winning."
This time he doesn't have anything to growl at me, just rising to his feet with a determined glare.
We stare each other down for a moment, and then he surges forward with an Aura-empowered leap, slamming Executioner down into the ground at my feet hard enough to shatter it. Unfortunately for him, Storm stance is actually at its strongest when it comes to minute forwards and backwards movements, and I've already flickered back a step out of the way of his blow.
I grin and unleash another Lightning Strike down at his head-
Then something clicks and the head of Executioner explodes in a wave of heat and force, launching me backwards. I stab Aurora into the ground to slow myself, eyes narrowing at the rapidly clearing cloud of dust, and the dark form standing within it. That was an idiotic move. He was closer to the epicenter than I was, right? So shouldn't he…
I look over at the scoreboard and see that the explosion took my Aura down from around ninety-six percent to eighty-six, while it only lowered his from eighty-three to eighty.
It's the armor, I realize. He can afford to trade damage with people because he's got a shitload of Aura and the armor drops the damage he takes even further. I can't win in an even war of attrition. My grin goes from wavering back to intense: Good. That makes things slightly more interesting.
"Come on, Cardin! Kick her ass!" An especially loud shout sneaks through my focus, but I just grin and shake my head.
"Yeah, Cardin," I grin, stalking forward in the slow, steady gait of Spring Storms. "Aren't you gonna teach me my place!?" The last word is hissed through clenched teeth as I surge forward with another Lightning Strike, closing the three meter gap near-instantly.
He blocks with his forearm, held horizontal to the blade this time to prevent the Hardlight trick, and steps forward to return a blow of his own-
But I've already skipped a step backwards without even breaking form. This is why Spring Storm is so good at fighting heavily armored targets; I can close in and dart out almost at will and he doesn't have the mobility to punish me.
I repeat the same strike, this time glancing off his arm and landing it solidly into his chest, but immediately retreating nonetheless. My strikes aren't enough to stagger him, so I can't chain any longer attack strings together, but it doesn't matter- unless he figures something out, I can simply rinse and repeat the same attack over and over again until the fight is won. Boring, but predictable.
With the way he's getting angrier and angrier, I somehow doubt that he'll have a clear enough head to come up with any new strategies-
Shit. I'm immediately proven wrong when he manages to spot a way out of the cycle and takes it on my next strike- he sidesteps the blade. I'm not practiced enough in Storm stance to track him on the stab, or even to correct back quick enough to avoid him snatching my overextended arm and, with a flash of white teeth, swinging me over his head and slamming my back down against the floor.
I cough at the impact, breath driven out of my lungs and Aura massively down. Fuck.
Executioner comes sailing down towards my face, but I maintain enough wits about me to roll aside, twisting my wrist out of Cardin's grip, and dart back to a safe distance.
I only grin harder, realizing my mistake in committing to the same strike over and over. The entire point of the Way of Wind is to be aggressive, be unpredictable. To sit back and gradually chip someone down using a reach advantage is the antithesis to Alorn's style. "Nice catch," I say once I get my breath all the way back.
Cardin responds not with the confusion I expected, but with a satisfied grin that matches my own. "Nice recovery."
Then I give myself over to the battle instinct that lurks within. I surge forward still in Storm stance, skipping forward with long leaping advances, and open as always with a Lightning Strike, which Cardin blocks, but withdraw and thrust again slightly lower almost immediately.
I might not be able to stagger him, but by keeping him fully occupied in blocking my flurry of blows, I achieve the next best thing.
I land four hits to his vambrace and three to his chest in quick succession, sword tip flickering against him rapidly, but my gaze is trained on his face, searching for… there it is.
He realizes the futility in trying to beat me in a speed game and flares the Aura in his chest, willingly taking a head-on stab as he brings Executioner arcing down in an overhead smash-
But I've already backstepped once again, only this time I immediately fire out Aura through my back leg the moment it makes contact with the ground and surge right back towards him in a riposte move called Return Stroke, named for the secondary surge found in every lightning bolt. It's too fast for him to react and detonate the dust in Executioner like he did earlier.
I land the downwards thrust squarely on his arm and break his grip on the mace, step forward along the inside of my blade to knee him in the face, and then follow the move with an upwards slash of Aurora that catches his chin and knocks him flying backwards.
He falls to the ground, bounces once, then catches my projected golden five percent Aura Slash right to the midsection and is carried back along its path to slam against the Hardlight wall for the third time so far, absent another fifteen percent of his Aura.
When he rises once more to his feet, the grin remains, but hints of fury trace along the edges of his eyes and mouth. I kick Executioner up into my hand, consider it for a moment, and then toss it over to him- "Wouldn't want to make it too easy, right?"
"Shut up, you bitch!"
"Yeah, Cardin could beat you with his bare hands!"
"You don't belong here. Get out of Vale!"
I don't even dignify the crowd's words with a response, keeping my eyes trained firmly on Cardin. He stands just as impressive as he did when the fight began, and yet… with nearly half of his Aura gone, there's a slight waver in his confidence, in his stride.
He doesn't reply to my banter, just stalking forward in a mirror to me until the gap closes down to about five meters-
Then he flicks his wrist, and a searing projectile comes arcing out of Executioner's head. I abandon Spring Storm to roll to the side, unwilling to test the limits of my defenses, and am immediately glad I did so when it detonates against the ground with enough force to create a small crater.
Of course, I realize taking my eyes off of Cardin was a mistake when Executioner slams into my chest hard enough to launch me flying backwards. Fuck does that thing ever hurt. It seems like the sharp-edged mace shape means that despite it having all the weight of a larger blunt weapon, all the force is still concentrated down onto the small point of impact, which takes a heavy toll on my Aura.
However, I've learned from when Cardin launched me earlier, and this time I slam Aurora's tip down into the floor much harder, then spin myself around the hilt to conserve momentum and land already running towards him in the low-to-the-ground Spring Rain stance.
He sees my approach and tightens his grip on Executioner, but it's misdirection- an attempt to distract me from his foot, which he raises and then stomps into the ground with a flash of black Aura, shattering the floor in a wide area.
I hurdle the shockwave with a lunge, stabbing Aurora towards his torso, but he somehow maintains footing despite the ground being ravaged and parries my strike with Executioner. I roll past him instead of landing normally, come up in Cloud stance for the barest moment, and then stab with Aurora towards his leg-
But he again exceeds my expectations for recovery time and manages to stomp his foot down on the blade, ripping it out of my hand.
He then exceeds my expectations for a third time- but this time it's with his stupidity when he completely throws away his advantage by bending over to grab the blade. I give him a knee to the skull for his trouble. Before he can reorient himself I slam two more right jabs into his face, duck beneath his half-blinded defensive swing, and roundhouse kick him in the gap between his chestplate and faulds. He wheezes and stumbles a step backwards.
I take my opportunity to bend over and reach for Aurora, but it's a ruse- I know my unarmed blows don't have the firepower to actually injure Cardin, and sure enough I can feel through a tremor in the rubble that he's stepping forward to attack me in the back.
Before he can do it, I swipe my tail across the ground behind me, running a surge of Aura through it as it impacts Cardin's leading boot. With the ground broken and unstable, even my fairly weak tail swipe can knock him off his feet.
I turn on the spot, bringing a fist arcing around in front of and then over my body down towards Cardin's airborne form, and hit him with a Jackhammer- a punching technique I came up with before I'd even heard of the Way of Wind.
My fist slams directly into Cardin's chest for an initial impact, but then I discharge the Aura in it for a secondary blast, knocking him down towards the ground hard enough that he crunches into it for a third impact, bouncing up slightly-
Then I continue my downwards blow with even more Aura, slamming it into his chest yet again with a fourth impact, driving it right down into the ground for a fifth impact, and then blasting the second wave of Aura down into his chestplate for a sixth impact in the space of half a second.
There's something viscerally satisfying in seeing the Aura bar on the screens in the corners of my vision drop so much after one attack. Even with the armor protecting him, he drops from fifty-three down to thirty-one percent near-instantly.
I don't overextend on my advantage and risk getting caught in a grappling match with him, instead darting backwards yet again and closing my hand over Aurora.
"Crazy bitch even fights like a feral animal…"
"Did you see her use her tail? She's like some kind of monster."
"That's cheating! Junior, she should forfeit!"
I stand and watch as Cardin rises to his feet. He only has another twenty or so percent of his Aura to spare before he drops below ten percent and loses, while I'm sitting on seventy percent of mine. "Told you I one-handed Aurora, didn't I?"
He grimaces, obviously having failed to stop all of the damage from making it through. Aura can only block what you direct it to, and not sending enough of it to a spot where you take damage means suffering some of the force to your actual body. "Fight's not over yet."
The crowd cheers, but it's quieter now, and there's an edge of desperation to it. I look out at the faces and see the hints of worry, of fear…
Fear. I whip my eyes back over to Cardin. His Semblance is fear, right? He could use it to force me back into a corner of the arena and beat on me, but he hasn't. "Why aren't you…" I trail off, not sure what answer I'm expecting.
Arnaut speaks for the first time since the fight started. Normally he'd have corrected me on my form at least ten times already, but so far today he's just held the same silent, disappointed scowl pinned to his face. "If he were to use his Semblance, it would hurt his reputation among these people."
I hesitate, my stance wavering, for the moment unwilling to attack, and reply to Arnaut in a whisper that I don't much care if Sky can hear. "But who cares if his Semblance is fear? He can tell the crowd afterward and they'll get over it, right?"
"Look around you, Dreki."
I turn and really look at the people surrounding the ring, looking at them not as an angry mass but as individuals, and it's then that I see the genuine hurt in many of their eyes. In some there's the blank, impersonal disgust that I've seen a hundred times before in racists, yet… they make up a minority of the crowd. Most of the people are simply worried, scared that their champion might fall. They actually care for him, are grateful for his protection…
They hate me not because of my horns, of my tail, of my claws or my eyes, but because I'm disgracing and harming someone important to them.
"If he were to use his Semblance, regardless of logic, they would see him differently. One's Semblance is said to reflect one's soul, and to have a Semblance that attracts Grimm and brings harm to the minds of those around them?" Arnaut's tone is soft, restrained, almost sympathetic. "I never allowed my own Semblance to be publicized because those who knew what it was, even against their own better judgement, began to see me differently. The power to read minds is something for a villain- it is an invasion of a person's sanctity. A Semblance fit for a manipulator, a liar, a cheater, for my ancestors who used it to root out rebellious Faunus slaves for torture, so I hid it away lest it overshadow my actions.
"Cardin's Semblance is a power fit for his Winchester ancestors, the nobility of Central Vale. They had the power to warp the minds of all who stood around them, to bend the wills of others to suit their whims. How can you see someone as a shining hero when their power is to rule through fear? When their legacy is built on the subjugation of any who opposed them?
"I'd imagine he's risked his life countless times to protect these people, walked off injuries to reinforce his own invulnerable facade, rescued many of them from death at the hands of the Grimm, all while keeping his own Semblance a secret. He's working to undo the legacy of tyranny that his forebears left him, just as I did… he's a true Huntsman."
Arnaut looks at Cardin with more respect than he ever had for me, and it makes my heart hurt in a new way.
I look away from his face, tighten my grip, and plaster that forced gleeful grin back onto my face. "I guess it's just too bad, then. He spent too much fucking time fixing his legacy and protecting the fucking innocent, and he forgot to actually get strong!"
I blitz back towards him with a series of consecutive thrusts, discharging enough Aura from each one that they rattle Executioner in his grip, forcing his guard up bit by bit…
There. He has to twist his wrist in order to shift the handle back into a more solid grip, and the split-second that costs him means I land a direct stab straight into his chest, shaving off just a little bit more of his dwindling Aura.
Cardin tries to retaliate with a swipe of Executioner, but I notice the flicker of Burn Dust and slam Aurora back into Planted Roots just in time. The mace hits the flat of the blade and explodes, but Aurora, anchored against the ground and held firm by me, doesn't budge- so the blast redirects towards Cardin, enveloping him in flame.
I snap the blade ninety degrees horizontally and swing it upwards before the smoke even clears, landing a brutal uppercut against the bottom of his chin, following it up with two steps of Lashing Branches that each find their mark against his chest before darting backwards once again as he seems to regain poise.
My eyes flicker over to the scoreboard. I'm sitting on a little under sixty percent of my Aura, while he's down to fifteen. One more solid hit on him should do it.
The Aura loss has clearly taken its toll on him, too- he sags ever so slightly, Executioner just barely trembling in his grip in a way that only I could spot. However, he still has that smile on his face, and his voice is firm when he speaks: "Well? Come on, what are you waiting for?"
"Knock her back to Menagerie, Cardin!"
"Kick her ass!"
"Don't give up, Cardin! You can still beat her!"
This… this is wrong.
I hesitate, wondering why I'm so fucking reluctant to finish this fight that I picked. I've been hated before by so many people- why is this suddenly getting to me?
I shake my head and drop into Spring Clouds, sword held slightly out and behind me, low to the ground, preparing for what will likely be the final strike. For some reason, my traitorous eyes sneak a glance out past the crowd and settle on Cardin's three teammates- Dove and Sky wearing equal expressions of worried horror as they gaze at Cardin, and Russel staring directly at me, more resigned than anything else.
His blue eyes meet my grey, and he shrugs his acceptance of my choice.
My choice.
I realize in a flash why I can't shake the disgusting feeling- it's because right now, these people didn't hate me on sight. Most of them didn't judge me for my appearance, for my class, for my background- they hate me because I'm bloodying their golden boy with a fucking lunatic smile on my face.
For once, it's my own fault, and that somehow makes it so much harder to shake it off.
Fucking hell, Arnaut. I shake the thoughts from my head, renewing my grin. You really are making me go soft, aren't you? Cardin's a cocky semi-racist douchebag of a Huntsman who dug his own fucking grave when he agreed to fight me, and somehow I'm the asshole here?
Fuck it. I blitz forward towards Cardin, who decides to commit to meeting my strike with one of his own rather than blocking, taking a two-handed overhead downwards blow. Typically I would play it safe and try to avoid the attack entirely, but I know his Aura is low enough that he probably can't afford to risk triggering the detonation point-blank-
So I shift to the side, pouring my Aura into Aurora's blade and keeping it back behind me, taking the blow from Executioner straight to my upraised forearm. It ravages my Aura, but with the advantage I have in that department it's a non-issue.
Then I spin around his planted form, snapping back into Spring Cloud behind him, still pouring Aura into the sword. By this point I could just strike, but… whether it's simple competitiveness driving me to see just how far below ten percent I can knock his Aura, or something else… I continue charging the blade far longer than I need to.
Cardin stumbles, turns, far too slowly, sees me ready to unleash a massive strike. His eyes flare in determination, unwilling to accept the loss, and he brings a desperate blow from Executioner arcing around towards me. The tip glows black both with Aura reinforcement and with what seems like Gravity Dust.
Regardless, it'll never make it in time. I start my strike, sword blurring as it streaks forward, glowing with the ridiculous amount of Aura I've charged up within it, and-
"You can't lose, Cardin!"
'You can't lose, Karina…'
I falter.
The Aura in Aurora's blade- nearly thirty percent of everything I have- dissipates impotently into thin air, and my strike barely even clinks against Cardin's faulds.
Why did I-
Then Cardin's Gravity Dust enhanced, Aura-empowered mace slams against my face.
I feel my Aura, overextended and improperly braced to take the hit, shatter near-immediately, and the bladed edge of Executioner crunches into my cheekbone before launching me flying backwards, landing in a sprawling heap.
I don't allow the scream to exit my lungs, not in front of these people, but fuck, the pain… on top of the general aching fatigue and nausea that comes from Aura depletion, the left side of my face is in searing agony.
My senses return slowly, one at a time. First comes touch, as the pain tightens, localizes down to a line stretching from above my left eye down through my cheekbone.
Next comes hearing, as the ringing in my ears slowly fades to hear the chants of "Cardin! Cardin! Cardin!", each one sending a searing surge of pain through my head.
After that is taste and smell. There's blood all over my face, beneath my nose, and in my mouth- a lot of it.
And finally, sight returns-
No…
I can't open my left eye. My right eye slowly clears, blinking away the tears, but the left one gives me no response other than more pain. All I want to do is curl up and wait for blood loss to knock me unconscious, but…
Hearing the crowd cheering for Cardin makes me reckless. I use Aurora as a cane of sorts, slamming it into the ground and using it to pull me to my feet, finally standing in a shaky, bloodied mess.
Cardin turns to look at me. The instant his eyes meet mine, the triumph vanishes from his expression, replaced by an overwhelming curiosity. The question is unspoken but clear: Why did you let me win?
The screen says Cardin ended the fight with eleven percent of his Aura left, one percent away from being knocked out.
The crowd hushes slightly when they see me rise. I hear someone mutter "Is she gonna try to hurt Cardin now?" and grimace- even now, they just see me as some villain.
Fuck these people. I sheathe Aurora and stalk off- not running, unwilling to give them the satisfaction, but simply walking with long, purposeful strides out of the ring and across the club. It's only when I reach the stairwell that I partially give in and start sprinting upwards. Without Aura, and without depth perception, I trip several times, but the upside of the pain searing through my skull at the moment is that things like stubbed toes and bruised knees don't really register.
And finally, it's only after I reach the very top, recklessly fire off a Burn/Blast round from Aurora that annihilates the locked door, and stumble out onto the roof of the club alone that I allow a sob of pain to escape me.
I'm terrified that my Semblance will come, but… it doesn't, and I realize why.
Despite myself, I can't hate Cardin, or those people. His only sin was fighting to win, and they only cheered on their protector. I resent him for failing to recognize my Aura loss and not pulling that last blow, and I resent the crowd for their stupidity, their blind faith in him… but I can't hate any of them.
I lean forward a bit from my resting position and peer down through the skylight at the top of the club, seeing the slowly dispersing crowd mostly celebrating, while Sky, Dove, and a few other Huntsmen seem to be searching the various levels for me, probably worried about my injury.
I should probably go get checked out, I think, but… as much as I act like I don't have any pride, something about going to receive medical treatment from the same dicks who cheered when half my face got cut open is repulsive to me.
I don't want to show weakness in front of them, don't want to acknowledge how badly Cardin has hurt me, don't want to need anything from them.
A few droplets of blood drip from my chin and patter against the glass of the skylight. In the faint reflection I can see, I look bad- the entire left half of my face is a bloody mess.
Unwilling to look at it any longer, I turn my eye back towards the ring and see that Cardin is still standing shock-still in the middle of it, looking down at his bloodied mace. I can't read his face from all the way up here, but I wonder what's going through his head.
Arnaut has been quiet for a long time. When I turn to look at him, he's just silently gazing at me, expression unreadable.
"There you are." Russel's voice trails out from the stairwell and I glance up to see him gingerly step over the burnt, twisted remnants of the door.
When he sees my face he winces. "Holy shit. Here, let me-"
He reaches towards me and I shy away instinctively.
"No, it's- look, my Semblance is, uh, healing," he explains.
I hesitate, a glimmer of hope entering me, and then step back over to him.
He grimaces, reaches out a hand that glows with a lime-green Aura, and touches my shoulder.
When he activates his Semblance, it's unlike anything I've ever felt- waves of pure, warm life radiating from the point of contact and spreading through my body. The pain in my face subsides with each pulse, and when it drops down to nothing, I blink away the blood and open my left eye.
"…Wow." I can even feel my own Aura reserves brought back up to around twenty percent. "Holy fuck, thank y-"
I stop talking when I see the blood streaming down his own face. Like hell his Semblance is healing! Lost, unsure what to do, I hover anxiously- Do I go get help? But I don't think I should leave him alone…
He notices my indecision and grunts out "It's… fine. I can… suppress the injury, just… give me a little bit."
It's true. After thirty seconds, we're both left unharmed except for the blood that we're wiping off of our faces, but… I still don't have a clue what to say to him. Half of me desperately wants to take back the things I said earlier, to mend bridges, and the other half knows all too well what a mistake getting close to people- especially Huntsmen- is.
Russel eventually leans back against the wall, then slides down into a sitting position with his knees out in front of him. "Look, Dreki, those people… I'm sorry about-"
"Don't." I grunt.
"But-"
"No." I turn to meet his eyes so he can see that I'm dead serious. "There's no fucking point. Nothing you say is going to make them start tolerating me, so don't waste empty breath." To my surprise, Russel just nods. Huh. I wouldn't have taken him for a cynic. We lapse back into silence, but there's still a question gnawing at me: "How'd you know I was up here?"
"In my first year at Beacon, when I wanted to be alone, I always ran off to those cliffs," he says, pointing towards the oddly steep, sharp dropoff at the edge of the forest near the abandoned Academy. "I don't know, probably some bullshit about being above it all helping me think. Honestly, it was just because everywhere else had people."
I can't help but smile at that.
"Dreki…" Russel visibly searches for the right words. "Why let Cardin win?"
"What are you talking about?" I ask without meeting his eyes.
"Come on, I'm not retarded," he says. "You had sixty percent Aura when you charged him, lost maybe fifteen percent taking that hit right to your forearm, but that doesn't explain how you dropped from forty-five percent to zero in Cardin's last hit, or why your sword's Aura Strike didn't even tickle him."
Fuck. Huntsmen are annoying to be around in part because quite a few of them can spot bullshit. Suddenly, I feel so tired- tired of all the lying, of having to keep up a front, of having to constantly overthink every word that leaves my mouth in case I contradict some other falsehood from earlier. "I… honestly don't know."
Russel responds with a grim chuckle. "Fair enough."
"So…" I turn to face him. "You aren't still pissed that I picked a fight with Cardin like that?"
"Even if I was, seeing you get mauled like that… well, I don't know. I've done dumber shit when someone I loved died." Russel produces a faded old photograph from his spaulder and looks down at it. In it, a younger version of him is standing side-by-side with a Faunus girl, both smiling. "Her name was Violet, and after she passed, I… didn't exactly deal with it well. I cancelled my application to Shade, swapped over to Beacon, because I figured Vale wouldn't remind me of her."
I stay silent, unwilling to shatter the moment by interrupting.
"I would do dumb shit, pick fights, act like a real asshole all the time. It was like… I saw her die, I knew she was dead, but I couldn't accept it. If I became a new person in a new place, I could just pretend that she was still alive back in Vacuo."
The bit about knowing she was dead, but being unwilling to accept it, strikes home far harder than I expected it to, but I violently crush that train of thought before it can even leave the station.
"What ended up helping me get through it was my friends- after I let down my walls enough to make any, of course. I guess what I'm saying is…" Russel looks up towards a sky lit orange by the sunset, his soul seeming so much older in this moment than his body. "Don't make the same mistakes I did, running off and isolating myself. The people you care about might remind you of the people you've lost, but you can't run forever. The only way to get over a death is to accept it and move forward, and that's a thousand times easier if you have friends there to help you through it."
Right now, the value in what he's saying is lost to me. My fear of actually thinking about the unthinkable means I don't truly internalize his words, only the care he puts behind them. It's almost a tragedy of sorts that his advice is made without knowing the truth of my Semblance, and the fact that I've been running from deaths for most of my life. However, I still feel a simple sort of gratitude for the genuine care in his words: "Russel, you're a pretty good person."
Even after only a week, he knows me well enough to see through that, giving me a discerning look and a heavy sigh. "Look, just… think about it, okay?"
"…Okay."
After that, there's a long but peaceful silence that I honestly couldn't guess the length of, eventually cut short by Russel's Scroll getting pinged.
He pulls it up and sighs. "I gotta go tell them you aren't bleeding out up here. Come down whenever you're ready."
I nod, but he pauses again at the edge of the stairs and looks back towards me. "Remember, Dreki… open up. You can't run forever."
The words hang in the air even after he's gone, refusing to leave my mind and always threatening to make me think about-
Fuck. "Arnaut, you remember what you said about Cardin's Semblance? Where it was a reflection of his legacy, or whatever?"
"Yes," Arnaut replies, sounding slightly ashamed.
"Well, if a Semblance really is a reflection of your soul…" I grow awkward suddenly, halting on the words. "What… why is…" 'Open up. You can't run forever.' Russel's words echo in my head, clashing against the walls I've built up over a lifetime. "What does… what does it say about me, that my Semblance is to become a monster?" I immediately start regretting the words only seconds after speaking them. "I- nevermind, forget about it. It's-"
"I don't know," Arnaut responds simply. "But… I don't think that your Semblance is simply becoming a Grimm. Spectre claimed you had many souls within you, many different Grimm and people alike, and whatever happened to me is likely also related to it."
I feel a slight weight lift off my back. "You really think so?"
"Yes. If I had to guess, I'd say it's more likely that your Semblance is to entrap souls, and the Grimm that you absorb are the reason you transform- your negative emotions draw them out from wherever it is they're kept within you."
"But Grimm don't have souls," I mutter.
Arnaut pauses. "You're right. In that case… I genuinely don't know. If you're truly curious, I've heard about some labs in Atlas doing research on-"
"No." The single word comes out of a deeper part of me, one drawn out by flashes of things that I thought I'd buried a long time ago. The barriers come back up instantly, and I shake off the strange new feelings, reverting to good old reliable apathy. "Look, that's enough nail-painting and hair-braiding for today, alright? I'm hungry."
It turns out that when they aren't eating or having fights in the middle of the dance floor, the residents of Junior's Club do in fact occasionally use it for its intended purpose. As I exit the stairwell onto the third floor, I'm so distracted by the thumping music and lights that I run right into Glynda Goodwitch with a jolt of quickly suppressed panic.
She's another person on Roman's 'Run The Fuck Away On Sight' list. Not in the same league of terror-inducing as Qrow, but let's just say that for every five nightmares he showed up in, she'd also pop in as a secondary villain in one or two. She's Ozpin's right-hand woman, with one of the most powerful publicly known Semblances and a career pedigree to give Arnaut a run for his money.
Seeing her up close now, I can almost see where Junior's coming from. She radiates strong dominatrix energy, especially in those heels and the too-tight schoolteacher outfit- I mean, she has to know that blouse isn't-
"My eyes are up here," she says in a perfect deadpan, not a flicker of amusement or annoyance to be found. I look up see her staring down at a large Scrollpad, flicking through some data with her shockingly green eyes. She's tall, I realize, almost as tall as Cardin, probably 6'5" in her heels.
"Uhm… hi," I squeak, doing my best to keep my eyes trained upwards on her face and not on her chest, which is unfortunately directly in front of my eyes. "I, uh… sorry I started a fight."
"You aren't a licensed Vale Huntress," she responds, bulldozing right over my awkwardness. "Neither are you a Beacon student, nor a primary combat school student at Revere, Signal, or Marker."
I swallow. "Uhm…"
She lowers the Scrollpad a touch and meets my gaze with an intense solemnity. "I must ask, who taught you to fight at the level of a Beacon graduate?"
"I… uh, I'm from Vacuo," I manage.
"Hmm." She digs through some more files and I realize with a touch of dismay that she might have access to the data of the combat schools there. "Which school did you attend?"
"I…" I blink once, twice, and then steel my resolve. Enough with this shit. After dealing with Armstrong, I'm pretty sure I can handle talking to a too-serious vice principal. "I didn't attend any schools, ma'am. I underwent a special apprenticeship underneath the Golden Guardian."
She hesitates and allows a flicker of remorse to slip through. "Then, you are aware-"
"Yeah, I was there," I state. It doesn't take much acting skill to maintain the businesslike attitude that seems to be working with Goodwitch. "He got taken by surprise by a Terrawyrm. Managed to kill it, but not before it did fatal damage to him." I finger Aurora's hilt over my shoulder: "He left his blade to me, as well as quite a few tasks- speaking of which, are you familiar with the Path?"
She tilts her head, as if recalculating her image of me. "Yes, to a certain extent."
"I'm Arnaut's Mortal Heir. One of his Anchors was to help in the retaking of Vale, which is why I'm in the city- I'd like to aid in your efforts." I offer a hand for her to shake: "My name is Dreki, by the way."
Goodwitch gives me a firm handshake, and I could swear I see a hint of respect in her firm features. "You've shown up at an excellent time. We're gathering our forces tonight to finish claiming the city grounds tomorrow, and we could use every capable pair of hands that we can get."
I nod, and then realize my opportunity: "The part of the city that you're reclaiming… does that include the wreck of the Atlesian Flagship?"
"Yes. Why?"
I play it off. "I, uh… was just wondering if I'd have to prep for dealing with military tech, or just Grimm."
"No, the ship suffered enough damage in its crash that the military robots powered down absent a control center," Goodwitch clarifies. "Now, would you like a temporary Vale Huntress license for use during the raid tomorrow? It should allow you to receive full compensation for your actions."
"Thank you for the offer, but no," I reply, bowing my head a little bit. "Arnaut wouldn't have sought compensation for helping a kingdom in need, so neither will I."
Arnaut snorts. "You must be kidding. I would absolutely have taken the money."
Goodwitch nods. "I'll give you your assignment tomorrow, then." She notes something else down, and then walks off, leaving me to…
My stomach growls. Ah, right. I vault the railing, snag the floor with an Aura-enhanced claw, and swing myself in on the second floor, landing only a few meters away from the Malachite Twins.
"Ugh, such a showoff.
"Like, totally."
Honestly, it's purely to decrease the amount of distance I'll have to travel in order to get to the food, but they can think whatever they want. Either way, I give them a nod and stalk off towards the bar, sliding back into the end seat.
Junior gives me an extremely dirty look. "Well, well, look who came crawling back."
"Really? Another Faunus joke?" I shake my head.
"Huh. That green brat must've healed you. Hooray." He isn't even trying to hide his annoyance with me.
"What's the issue?" I ask.
Junior wheels on me. "The issue is that you fucking threw that fight! I was giving two to one odds on Cardin to bait people into betting on him because I knew you could kick his ass, and then you just let him win! I'm out ten thousand Lien!"
I sigh, reach into my coat, and pull out ten thousand-Lien bills. I'm still sitting on a dragon's hoard from the contract payoff and Arnaut's personal account, and… I do genuinely feel at least a little bad for screwing Junior on his betting venture. "How about I reimburse you, and in return, you do two things for me: stop moaning about money, and set me up with a meeting with Vixie."
"Vixie?" Junior frowns. "She's in the middle of a turf war, I don't-" I start to pull the money away, and he immediately folds. "No, no, wait, I'll… see what I can do. She trusts me enough."
"Deal," I announce, dropping the cash on the counter in front of him, and then hesitate. "Uh, where's the food?"
Junior sighs. "They serve meals at set times, kid. You're shit out of luck on that one."
"Junior, I know for a fact that you have food hidden somewhere," I deadpan.
"I'm serious," he insists. "They seized fucking eminent domain over my kitchen supplies."
"Junior."
He spreads his hands helplessly. "If I had any extra food, I'd've already eaten it, Dragon. All they left me with was the alcohol, and I've even seen the medical team eyeing that. I never thought keeping a woman around would be this expensive…"
I work my jaw. He doesn't seem to be kidding. Arnaut sighs as he looks over Junior's alchohol supply: "Can't be too expensive, considering that most of this is practically bottled urine."
Junior's eyes go dreamy again. "Not that I wouldn't do it all over again for you, Glynda…"
And on that note, I turn and walk off, but not without venting one last little bit of my annoyance back over my shoulder: "Junior, I genuinely hope for your sake that you haven't been trying to woo Glynda fucking Goodwitch with the sewage water that you call wine."
Grinning, I step over the edge of the Sound dampeners before he can get in a retort and turn back to look towards the club-
Shit. My field of view is mostly occupied by a massive golden bird with wings outstretched, set in a wide grey chestplate. I track my eyes back up to see Cardin Winchester, looking down with a faint sneer that I am beginning to suspect may be his normal resting expression.
"What?" I ask, unwilling to admit defeat by taking a step backwards.
"Come with me," he grunts, starting to walk up the stairs off to the right.
I peer after him, more confused than anything, and then shrug and walk off to my left-
"The food's this way," he says.
Son of a bitch. I wheel around in place and trail after him as he strides up to the third floor, past several operations centers and makeshift beds, and finally reaches what appears to be a rations stockpile.
He reaches for the nearest ration bar and I growl "Don't even think about it," stalking past him. There has to be something else in-
Ah, there we go, I think, triumphantly stepping over to a table full of meal packs. The sealed containers of sterilized, extremely processed 'meat', 'cheese', and 'crackers' might taste like plastic, but I'll take plastic over the rotting cardboard of the ration bars any day of the week.
"Thanks," I grunt, then drop down onto an unoccupied bench and start to eat-
Only to freeze when Cardin sits down on another bench facing me, arms on his knees and hands clasped firmly. I pan my gaze up and see that he remains as impassive and superior as always. "…Cardin? What are you-"
"Why'd you pull your last hit?" he asks bluntly.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
I finally get a reaction- just a glimmer of annoyance sneaking out past the mask. "That's bullshit. Why'd you let me win?"
I bite my lip again, not quite hard enough to reopen the cut. "Look, I fucked up and lost my Aura charge, okay? I got cocky and lost control."
"Bullshit."
I slowly shake my head, setting the food tray down beside me. "Fine. You landed your backhand on me before I could fire off the Aura Strike, alright? I didn't expect you to move that fast-"
"Bullshit." Cardin crosses his arms and leans back.
"I…" What does he want from me? "I got distracted by-"
"Bullshit."
At this point I'm pissed. "Fine. It's because Russel asked me to throw the match."
Cardin narrows his eyes, pausing for a second, and then shakes his head. "Bullshit."
I surge up onto my feet to look down on him for once. "You know what? Fuck you."
He doesn't even bother rising. "If you hate me so much, why throw your chance to beat me?"
"I didn't-" I bite my lip again, piercing the skin right where it's been starting to scar. Fuck. "I…" He raises one eyebrow at me, and I drop back down onto the bench. "You fucking know why, dick."
"Bullshit."
I let out a long hiss of frustration out through my teeth, yet… something about allowing myself to be pissed off like this for once is nice. Rage, hatred, depression, grief, and fear can all bring the Grimm out, but shame and frustration do not, because they're both built on a core expectation of good behavior. You can't be frustrated with someone you don't have at least a flicker of respect for.
And, as much as I hate to admit it, I do have respect for Cardin.
"It's because you matter to all those people down there," I finally say. "I wouldn't want to ruin their-"
"Bullshit."
I just start laughing. "That's the truth, idiot."
"No it isn't," Cardin says. His personality is like a sledgehammer- blunt, lacking any finesse, and only able to slam at the same thing repeatedly until it gives him what he wants.
I realize, with no small surprise, that it's something I like about him. It might make him come off as oppressive and overbearing, but it's nice to hear someone say something and earnestly mean it. In fact, it's what finally breaks through the mental image of Armstrong stuck in my head when I look at him.
When I glance back at his face, he doesn't seem like as much of an asshole- just like someone without patience for bullshit.
He shakes his head. "That's why someone else would do it. I want to know why you did it."
"You don't know me," I say calmly.
Cardin just grunts again. "I know you better than you think."
"Oh yeah?"
"I know you worked for Roman Torchwick."
My next retort dies on my lips. In my panic at being outed sitting right in the middle of Vale Huntsmen HQ, it doesn't even occur to me to deny it. "Dude, Sky-"
"Already knows," he finishes. "So do Russel and Dove. I told them right after we left the bar in Hildenshire."
I open and close my mouth without any words. "How… did you find out?"
"You don't remember, huh?" I give him a blank look, and he narrows his eyes. "You worked for my dad a couple of years back."
"Your dad… oh."
In a flash, it returns to me- the memory that kept dancing at the edges of my mind whenever the name Winchester came up. It was only a year after I met Roman; we got hired to clean out a department store chain by some rival mogul. After the job, we got the payment in person. I remember pulling up to a massive mansion, walking past statues and portraits and an army of butlers and maids… one thing I can't remember, though, is the face of the master of the house himself. I was only twelve then, and vaguely remember a dark silhouette and the Winchester plaque.
A detail that never stood out to me then but does now is the other kid that was in the room- standing back behind his father, probably fourteen or fifteen, with a head of burnt orange hair and indigo eyes lidded in a sullen sort of superiority.
"Your dad… owns stores, right? He hired us to bankrupt his competitors." My reservations have fled now that the cat's out of the bag about my allegiances. They must have assumed I've stopped working for Torchwick by now, or else I wouldn't have made it this far.
"Yes." Cardin tilts his head. "Why work for Torchwick?"
"Money."
"Bullshit," he snorts. "I saw you give Junior ten thousand Lien out of pity."
"Fine. It's because I… owed Roman," I admit. "He helped me out of the gutter, so I felt like I had to help him."
"And now?"
"I paid my debts," I lie through my teeth. "I worked two years for him, and then went looking for something better in Vacuo. I found it in Arnaut."
Cardin grunts, but seems to accept the story. "You still haven't told me why."
"I told you, I didn't want to hurt those people."
"Bull. Shit." Cardin shakes his head. "I've seen you look at those people. You don't give a crap about them- honestly, I don't blame you. If I were a Faunus and had to take all their shit, I would've snapped a long time ago."
I let out a long sigh, buying time to think of a convincing lie. "Arnaut always taught me to forgive-"
"Bullshit. I've seen you talk about Arnaut, too. You don't admire him as much as you pretend."
Fuck. For someone so blunt in his language, he's too fucking good at seeing through me. "I…"
"Dreki." Cardin meets my eyes, expression solemn. "I'm gonna be honest- I wanted to turn you in right away. Russel convinced me to give you a chance. After that, you helped us fight Grimm multiple times without pay, so I'm starting to think that you deserve that chance. But if you're in a mental state where you damn near let yourself be killed and then can't even remember doing it, I'm gonna ask Goodwitch to run a psych evaluation on you."
I laugh again, slowly shaking my head. Fuck it, let's give honesty a try. "Fine. You're right. I don't give a shit about those people. I don't care about saving them. I can't see them as anything more than shortsighted, greedy animals that can't think or plan past their next meal. But… you're also wrong about one thing."
"Oh?"
"I don't hate you." I force my eyes, which have strayed off to look out over the balcony, back to meet his as I continue: "I respect you as a fighter, as a leader, but more importantly, as someone else like me who can see all the bullshit for what it really is.
"It's the same way I respected Arnaut. You two look at normal, everyday people and see the same pathetic animals I do, but… you still protect them, even if that means manipulating them and tricking them into feeling safe.
"I guess… I could never do that. I can't get past the shittiness of humanity long enough to start caring about it. But I can respect the hell out of you and Arnaut for managing what I can't." I give him a wry half-smile. "You want to know why I couldn't finish that last attack? Because even if I can't do what you do, can't build up a fake hero persona and convince people that I care about them, I'll be damned if I fuck it up for you. I refuse to shatter that kind of legend again."
Cardin nods, finally seeming satisfied, but then frowns. "Again?"
I pale, but my salvation comes in the form of Russel, who approaches with a muted smile and sits down on a third bench to my left and Cardin's right. "Well, well, did you two kiss and make up?"
Cardin and I both reply "Not my type" at the same time, then give each other the same quizzical look.
"What, you put off by the Faunus thing?" I ask, mildly offended.
"Yes," he says plainly, and then shrugs. "But even if you weren't… eh."
"Eh?" I repeat. When he doesn't reply, I press the issue: "Mind elaborating on that?"
Cardin looks away, but Russel does it for him. "Cardin's more into princess types. You know, graceful, elegant, refined." He says the last bit in an exaggerated Atlesian accent.
"I'm plenty fucking graceful," I retort.
"No," Cardin says, speaking slower now as if choosing each word carefully. "You're… agile. You're skilled, but you don't have… finesse. You're…" he pauses for a long stretch, clearly out of his element trying to voice these thoughts. "You're like that sword of yours. Fast, deadly, technically pretty, but underneath it all, still an instrument of brute violence."
I glance over at Russel quizzically, but he just shrugs, so I turn back to Cardin and raise an eyebrow. "This from a human sledgehammer?"
Russel snorts. "Ooh, if we're all doing weapon comparisons, do me next."
Dove responds as he walks up and drops down on the fourth bench to fill out the square. "You're not a weapon, Russel, you're a human first aid kit."
Russel glares. "Who gave the sonar system permission to talk?"
"Cardin's a mace, not a sledgehammer," Sky says as he takes a seat beside Dove, and I feel a sudden rush of shame for what I called them earlier when speaking to Russel.
I'm caught between two equally strong urges, one to flee and the other to stay and try to fix things. Russel catches my eye and gives me a slight nod, which is all the push I need to tip over to one side: "Uh, guys, I'm… sorry. That I lied to you."
Dove grins. "We all have our secrets that we aren't proud of."
Sky tilts his head a bit, as if considering something. "But… I would recommend not telling anyone about Torchwick. There exists a lot of residual rage surrounding the Fall of Beacon, and while you've likely already felt some of it, if people knew you were connected to him things would only get worse."
"Already felt some of it?" I ask, frowning.
Sky shares a glance with Russel, who coughs and takes over. "Yeah, the White Fang being involved so much with the Fall caused a lot of, uh… regressing of attitudes towards Faunus."
I pause, but before I can give that subject any thought, Sky interjects a question of his own:
"Dreki, what are you?"
"Huh?"
He looks at me like some unexpected experiment results. "You aren't a Faunus- at least, not a normal one."
"What are you talking about?" I have no clue what he's getting at, but it worries me.
Sky shares another glance with Russel before proceeding. "I had a gut feeling about this, so I did some research, and everything I came across stated the same thing: Almost all Faunus have a single animal trait, and in some rare cases, two from the same animal. There were mentions of historical Faunus figures with three traits, but those are unreliable given historical depictions of Faunus being typically skewed towards animalistic, even Grimm-like in appearance in order to maintain the social-"
"Sky," Dove reminds him.
"Oh, right. So, what I'm driving at is that you don't seem to follow the normal rules. You have… well, with the claws, the scaled patches, the eyes, the fangs, the horns, and the tail, you're pushing six different traits. On top of that, even if some mutation happened to allow that many, you have horns, which don't come from the same types of animals that the other traits originate from."
When he finishes, I sit back a bit and just frown. It's true, I've never run into anyone with this many animal traits before, but… I never received any actual formal schooling. Most of the academic stuff I know I either picked up from general osmosis, or learned from Roman. Nobody ever told me that Faunus had such strict rules surrounding animal parts. "I… don't know. It might be a side effect of my Semblance."
That is true, although I could have also said that resurrection might be a side effect of my Semblance and not technically be lying. I'm beginning to realize just how little I understand myself, but at the same time, I'm extremely not keen on digging through the cordoned-off memories to try to find answers to these questions.
"Which is?" Cardin asks.
"Not… right now," I say.
Mercifully, they all respect my decision and don't pry, but there's a slightly uncomfortable silence afterwards that I feel the instinct to break:
"I agree with Sky, Cardin. You're more of a mace."
Cardin just half-grins, but Dove asks "How so?"
Suddenly, I feel as awkward as Cardin seemed earlier, talking just as erratically as he did. It's strange- we can both see things through the same lense, but actually putting words to the thoughts is surprisingly difficult. "I… because… I don't know, a sledgehammer is too… mundane."
I try to ignore that I'm talking to four other people, to just give voice to the thoughts as they enter my mind. "You're more like a mace… refined. Like a weapon of war. You're both covered in carved metal. Designed to break people, not walls."
Even as I speak, I feel… strange. As if it wasn't me that said those things. It's almost like the instincts that I've inherited from Arnaut- did I inherit a bit of his shitty theatricality as well?
Arnaut lets out a laugh and slowly shakes his head. "You look down on Alorn for his poetry, and then say something like that?"
Russel grins, the first one of the four to speak. "Don't inflate his ego any more than it already is."
Cardin meets my eyes and just gives me a tiny, almost imperceptible nod- his way of recognizing a kindred spirit. I nod back, and then a thought occurs: "So if you say I'm not your type because I'm like a greatsword, when what weapon would be your type?"
"A rapier," he answers quickly enough that he has to have already given thought to the subject.
I can't help it; I start laughing. Neo's weapon, Hush, is a rapier hidden within a parasol, and I only now realize how well it characterizes her. "I see what you mean, now. It's like… being strong without needing raw force."
Cardin nods, a slow smile emerging on his face. "Noble, almost…"
"Like they make everything seem effortless?" I add. "Graceful, not like an animal, but like… I don't know, a painting?"
For the first time since I've met him, Cardin grins wide. "Exactly."
I just start laughing again. Who the hell would've thought that we'd have the same taste in girls? The other three seem mildly confused by our back and forth, but the subject soon swings back to topics everyone can contribute to.
Although my instincts don't ever stop telling me that it's a mistake, I start to join in- laughing with their jokes, telling a few of my own, and sitting there with them for hours and hours. I stop scoping out the Huntsmen that trail into the building, stop worrying about how I'll deal with Vixie and Roach… I even lose the instinct to rank them by threat, forgetting all about the emergency plans and the order in which I'd need to deal with them.
It's surprisingly nice, in a dangerous sort of way. Several times I have to bite my tongue before accidentally saying too much, and yet… like a moth fluttering in circles around a flame, I feel compelled to stay anyway.
Just for tonight, I let go of myself a little. Not all the way, not the way I can around Roman and Neo, but… a single step in that direction. There's something about these people- Russel's empathy, his understanding, the conditionless acceptance of Sky and Dove, and even the strange sort of bond I've discovered with Cardin- that makes me want to open up in ways that I know I can't allow myself to. And yet…
I might not be able to drop the walls, but for one night, I let myself lower them.
(A/N) I'm reworking the chapter title system to make the arcs clearer. My original plan was to just have five chapters per arc, but then the last behemoth of a chapter would've had to have been 26k words, so I decided to split it in two. That also opens the way for other arcs in the future to be more or less than five chapters.
Aura is both a really good power system and a really awkward one. I think that's partially because of how much it's changed over the duration of the show. I'm nailing it down like this: you must have your Aura active to block a hit, and you must direct Aura to the location of a hit to effectively no-sell it. If you fail to direct your Aura skillfully, then some of the force will slip through and your Aura will take more damage. If you don't activate your Aura in time, then you take the full hit as normal, which allows for sneak attacks and assassinations to still be a thing.
Honestly, the more I wrote the more I was blown away by how well the Redemption CRDL worked in my story- Russel being Vacuese, having a healing Semblance, and being empathetic about loss are all extremely useful for this plot. Dove's weapons fascination and general outgoing attitude helps break Dreki out of her shell. Sky's Semblance is an actual perfect fit for picking up on the whispered conversations with Arnaut, which helps make Russel figuring out the Path thing more natural. Even Cardin's nascent traces of racism and the exaggerated persona mentioned in the epilogue of the story both help with plot beats. Them setting up in Junior's Club is phenomenally helpful for keeping Dreki from just splitting off from them as soon as she reaches the city. I could go on and on...
I do worry about the racism subplot being a bit too exaggerated; more so than it was in the show for sure. However, I feel like team RWBY never really encountered the shittiest parts of humanity- the volume system keeps them from doing much besides running in a straight line along plot beats, and the occasional diversion is most often used for upbeat comedic moments. The people saying these things to Dreki are, as mentioned, simply pissed at her for coming in and- to their eyes- shitting all over their hero. Plus, there's also some nascent rage towards the Faunus because of the White Fang's role in the Fall of Beacon.