WARNING: GRAPHIC CONTENT IN THIS CHAPTER
-Semblance of Brotherhood-
Chapter 5: Necessary Evils
His history with Roman was a… complicated one. To say the least. It had been a completely chance meeting, just after he'd been drummed out of the Fang. He'd been, quite honestly, an unstable wreck for the first few weeks after, and that led to him lashing out at pretty much anyone who so much as looked at him.
No surprise, then, that his first reaction to some random, entitled looking Human attempting to steal his Lien was to slug the bold bastard in his nose. Roman took it rather well, shrugging his failure off and offering Silva a drink within the same sentence.
It was something that he knew would settle his nerves, at least a little, so he accepted. Not like sharing a drink with a stranger had to lead to any sort of long-lasting acquaintance, right?
Well, that would have been the case, if not for the fact that Roman was one of the most interesting people that Silva had ever met.
They talked, the alcohol doing wonders to loosen Silva's tongue. He'd never had more than a couple of shots before that. A life of dedicated combat training tended to frown on the toxic liquid. By the time the liquor hit him, it was far too late. He said a few words too much, and that led to some of the other patrons taking extreme issue with his continued existence. A fight broke out, and by the end of the night they had fled Mistral.
After that, Roman had decided to tell him about his career. Whether it was his addled, mildly smashed mind, or just swiftly brewed trust, Silva had no idea. He never bothered to question it, and neither did Torchwick.
The criminal mastermind got them into Vale not two days later, at which point they'd parted ways. He learned about Beacon that same day.
And here I am, about to commit murder in the first degree on a school night.
The thought brought a dry smile to his face.
His eyes flicked down to his scroll, noting the time as a quarter to midnight. That meant his target would be coming home any minute now. He ran a whetstone down the edge of Regalis, the reflective white blade glistening in the light of a shattered moon. According to Roman, only two of the crime lords in Vale were known to actually have Aura. That was good. Meant he could do things quickly, and cleanly.
His ears perked at the sound of an engine approaching from the streets below his perch. He looked to the sound, eyes glazing over as he recognised the sleek, black car that he'd been told to look for. His lips set into a blank line, before he slipped out of sight.
He waited another moment, only moving when he heard the doors of the vehicle slam shut. Without making a sound, he fell into the darkness around him as easily as breathing. In the next instant, he was sitting in a dusty attic, the sounds of muffled conversation and laughter doing little to settle his conscience.
Just do it and move on.
Easier said than done, though. But he was committed, now. No backing out.
Another hour went by before he felt the lights in the house cut out. He waited an extra half before he melted back into the shadows, slinking out of the black into what he assumed to be a closet. His ears stood firmly at attention, wary of even the slightest hint that his first mark was still awake. No sign came, just the slow, burdenless sound of a sleeping boy.
With more care than was likely needed, he slid out of the closet and took a brief instant to look around the room. It was messy, covered in clothes and garbage and haphazardly placed posters that Silva didn't recognise.
At first his conviction nearly shattered when he realised how average this kid seemed. Probably had no idea what his father was doing yet. No, he stamped down on the thought. He's been selected, consent or not. This syndicate will bounce right back unless I snuff out the whole thing.
Slowly, he stalked over to the prone form that lay, back facing him, on the bed. Stopping a foot or so away, he lifted his blade, staring at Regalis as he gathered his resolve. No matter what it takes.
Without another thought, his ivory blade sliced through the boy's spinal cord in a flash. There wasn't very much blood, he'd made sure to avoid severing any arteries. Just like the Nevermore at Initiation, the boy was dead before he could even wake. Crimson liquid slid from the wound, staining the sheets. He stood there for a moment, a strange, numb feeling spreading through his arms and chest as he eyed the blood which coated a tiny portion of Regalis' edge.
Killing used to draw such a raw reaction out of him. Now, he just felt empty.
Flicking the blood from his weapon, Silva faded back into the darkness.
A second later he stepped out into a much larger, decorative room. He didn't let himself pay attention to any of it this time, silently striding directly up to the crime lord's bed. Both he and a woman lay there, likely his wife, curled in each other's arms. Silva stood there for a moment, contemplating. After a time, he resolved to reach for his belt, drawing a small blade that he'd picked up before staking this place out. He crouched, delicately sliding the blanket down just enough to have access to the man's back.
He brought the knife close, holding it just above the skin while he settled his aim on the small groove between vertebrae. With a miniscule burst of Aura, he drove the blade into his target's spine, again snuffing the life out of him before he could wake up.
Letting out a heavy breath, he slipped into his Semblance, leaving the home with a weight in his gut.
Never gets easy.
Four hours later…
The next two marks went smoothly, neither having any prospective heir made it much simpler. Just slip inside, do the deed, and move to the next. However, thanks to Roman he had a feeling that these last two were going to be much more involved. He'd specifically saved the two Aura-users for last, so that in the event that things went south, he'd have at least dealt with the rest already.
Standing in the empty street, he leveled his scroll next to his human ear as the thing rang. After a couple seconds the sound ceased, followed by silence for a brief moment.
"Ah, just the man I was hoping to hear from! Everything going well over there?" Roman asked, the slightest slur in his voice cluing Silva in that the bastard had elected to celebrate his soon-to-be debut as 'Vale's King of Thieves!' as he had so humbly put it.
"First three are dealt with. Are you going to tell me what the Aura-users' Semblances are, or am I going in blind?" He asked, earning a hearty cackle from the man. Drunk fucker.
"If I knew, you would too, pal!" Came the short, abrupt reply, followed by a sudden flat tone as the thief hung up on him.
"Fucking prick!" He growled, shoving the scroll into his pocket. Blind it was then, how wonderful. Not like that lack of knowledge could quite possibly get him killed, nooo. He'd be just fucking peachy!
Pushing that frustration aside, Silva looked across the road to a large business building. According to Roman, it was a front for this syndicate's illegal activities, and the man who ran the show behind the scenes lived in a suite on the top floor. No family, no guards, nothing except the building's pre-installed security system stood between him and his target. Silva couldn't bring himself to feel eager for the fight he knew was coming. The first mark of the night had left a sour, guilty feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Focus on the present.
Stepping into an alley, he tapped into his Semblance and crossed the street, shifting through the doors and slipping back into existence at the top floor. His head snapped from side to side, instincts bristling with the knowledge that his prey was not helpless this time. The floor was utterly vacant, not a single whisper of activity, as expected. It was a smart move, living somewhere so obscure and weird. No one would have thought to look here, if someone came looking to start trouble. Sadly, no one expected Roman to give out such information so easily, either.
He looked to the suite, made obvious by the ornate double-door that emitted a light glow from the seams. Sliding Regalis from its sheathe in a whisper of steel, he began to inch toward the room. He listened, closely, noting the sudden pause in the breathing he'd heard as he emerged from the floor.
He knows I'm here.
The thought had barely formed before the doors slammed open, suppressed gunfire peppering the cubicle beside him and pinging off of Regalis as he snapped the blade to deflect the few shots that would have hit him. His second to last mark stood in the doorway, a small automatic pistol and a large machete in either hand. He didn't register anything else. His target's appearance meant absolutely nothing.
As the man opened his mouth to speak, Silva rushed him, his blade slashing at a few different angles. The crime lord met each strike not with a parry or deflection, but with a violent assault of his own that resulted in the two of them almost banging their weapons against each other. He couldn't help but scowl at the thoughtless swordplay, dipping low and feinting a jab before reversing his momentum to knock the pistol from his foe's hands with a kick, which he followed up with another, genuine stab that grated against the man's Aura in a flash of orange.
"Fucki-" The curse was cut off before it could finish, Silva stringing another three blindingly swift slashes that ripped further into his mark's Aura reserves. Already he could tell that while yes, this man did indeed have Aura, he very clearly had no real skill to accompany it.
Fool.
Before he could even recover from the small shower of blows, Silva took his opportunity. He took a long, firm step into the man's space, driving his elbow forcefully into his target's solar plexus with a substantial surge of Aura infused strength.
"Ack-!" The man gasped, saliva flying from his mouth as his diaphragm convulsed. As he began to stumble back, Silva fell into his own shadow, the top half of his body emerging behind the off-balance crime lord, and drove Regalis directly into the small of his back.
The blade snapped through the spine with a wet crack, before erupting from the stomach in a brief spurt of blood. Silva could feel the instant where every muscle in the man's body tensed erratically, before slumping back onto Regalis. He pushed himself the rest of the way out, shoving the body off of his sword.
He looked down at his weapon, and hands, scowl deepening as he realised just how much blood had leaked down onto him. Regalis' blade was almost entirely crimson now. His gloves were soaked.
Least I don't have to keep them.
That had been… rather easy, compared to what he'd expected. He imagined that had he allowed the man to access his Semblance, assuming he had one, things would have been much more complicated. Actually, why was he even entertaining a 'what-if' scenario? The guy was dead, that was all that mattered.
He grabbed a washcloth from the restroom adjacent to the suite, running it down the length of Regalis for several minutes. Turns out a white blade made it very annoying to clean off, but he didn't stop until the sword looked absolutely spotless. He didn't need Ozpin or Goodwitch catching on to his late-night escapade.
In the following half-hour, he went about transferring all of the front-company's finances and shares over to Torchwick's personal cover-account, solidifying him as the undisputable owner of the syndicate's remaining wealth. The desktop didn't have any passwords protecting it, arrogant piece of shit probably thought no one would ever be able to get past him.
After the transfer was confirmed, he smashed the computer against the wall before using his Semblance to leave the building.
The indigo hue painting the city in the early dawn was a reminder that he was still on a timetable. Classes would begin in the next three hours, and he had two before his Team woke up. As long as nothing went wrong, he'd make it back before anyone became suspicious.
His final mark was supposedly scheduled to inspect an underground weapons manufacturing facility within the next fifteen minutes, in the industrial district of the city.
Time to wrap the night up, I suppose.
He gave his neck a roll to the side, air bubbles popping inside the joints with a satisfying crackle, before breaking into a jog that would be mistaken by early-risers as a workout run.
He reached the factory with about three minutes to spare, by his count, and took up a position atop a large silo nearby that gave him a perfect view of the building. The only entrance he couldn't readily monitor was a loading dock near the back of the facility, but he'd easily spot any movement coming from it.
He sat there for another five minutes at least, before a line of non-descript black vans pulled up to the main entrance of the place, several armed men in business attire setting up a perimeter around the vehicles as who could only be his target stepped out of the van closest to the entrance.
Something's off about him.
It wasn't anything Silva could tell with the naked eye, but the way that man carried himself... and the subtle scent of blood that lingered around him...
He's not to be taken lightly.
Best case, this was a byproduct of the violent lifestyle the man probably lived. Worst case? He was lethal combatant who had no qualms killing his foes on the spot. Right now, it was best to assume the latter.
Once the boss made it inside, half of the bodyguards filed in behind him, leaving at least six men patroling the outside of the factory. They each traveled individually, falling into a pattern that Silva knew came from repitition. This was a regular thing for them, no one down there actually expect anything to happen.
Idiots.
He had a couple of options here. Either he could systematically kill off the ones on the outside, making his way into the complex and wiping out the entire group. Or, he could skip them, and slip inside to face the leader first. It all came down to time, really. Could he afford to take the time and kill every single man that was here? It would be more effective and thorough, eliminating the risk of any survivors rising up to challenge Roman in the future. No doubt the dumbass would claim responsibility for tonight.
But, right now he decidedly didn't have that time. He needed to decapitate the snake as quickly and brutally as he could.
So, pulling on his Semblance, he moved from his perch to the rafters of the warehouse section of the building, where he could see a gathering of men, his mark included, discussing something amongst themselves. He didn't care to listen, instead eyeing each and every weapon that the group carried. The crime lord's men carried high-caliber semi-automatic rifles, six in total, while the man himself had a massive six-cylinder revolver fastened to his thigh. The thing looked custom made, had a barrel thicker than any other weapon present and, at second glance, was loaded with explosive fire Dust rounds.
That thing could take an Ursa Major's head clean off. One shot and my Aura'll be completely wiped.
The rest of the gangsters were armed with various low-grade pistols, with a shotgun slung on the back of the one speaking to the boss. It was very clear that he was displeased, snapping his fingers to signal the men behind him to take aim. The others looked horrified, not even having the sense of self-preservation to draw their own guns. The one with the shotgun seemed to almost beg, but by then the crime lord had already given the order.
A firestorm of bullets tore through them all, red mist and screams carrying in the air as the bodyguards unloaded into the gang. It lasted all of three seconds, before the deafening thunder ceased. Blood was literally everywhere, staining the walls and pooling in a two-meter wide puddle around the pile of shredded corpses. The boss flicked his cigarette onto the ringleader's now headless body, the cherry smouldering into exposed flesh. Fucker hadn't even flinched.
"Get this cleaned up. I'm going to the office. We clear out of here by seven sharp, not a second later." He growled, pacing away from the slaughter without a second glance.
Once he was out of sight, Silva took stock of the situation. Six men, all armed to the teeth and prepared to fire without hesitation. Six more, equally armed, just outside the building. To top it all off, a sociopathic Aura user with the single most excessive firearm Silva had ever laid eyes on.
His course of action was determined a moment later, after he spotted the building's primary fuse-box. Without making a sound, he moved via his Semblace to its location, slicing the wires with Regalis and plunging the entire factory into darkness. The windows had been boarded up, meaning that no sunlight would aid their eyesight.
He, on the other hand, couldn't even tell the difference. His lips split into an eager grin when the six of them began to fumble for flashlights. That meant their aim would be off, having to fire with their only source of light held in the off-hand.
How does it feel to be hunted, you sick fucks?
With the slightest tug on his Semblance, he felt himself immerse into the blackness around him. Then, he moved. Rapid, silent strides surged towards his nearest target, Regalis ripping through the man's throat before anyone could stop him. Even as the rest began to exclaim in shock, he moved on the next. His blade buried itself into another's upper back, where he shoved the guy off with his free hand. Beams of light snapped over to their ally, but Silva had fallen into the shadows by then. All they'd likely seen was Regalis' blade sticking out of his chest before it faded into nothingness.
Shifting his focus, Silva erupted from the concrete between two of the men, his ivory blade impaling one's throat before knocking another unconscious with a savage hammer-kick to the temple. The remaining two had backed themselves up against a nearby wall, rifles leveled but slowing the speed at which they could bring their flashlights to bare. He slinked back into the dark.
They're so... fragile.
It was a new thought, honestly. This was the first time he'd been in an actual combat situation with non-Aura users. Back in the Fang, he'd been sent out specifically to deal with high-caliber Grimm and Huntsmen who sided with the SDC.
This isn't even a fight. Just a wolf picking off sheep.
He didn't have a say in that, though. These men knew the risks of their job.
Moving behind them, lurking in the darkness that covered the wall they'd posted up against, he gripped Regalis with both hands. And, just as the crime lord walked back out of the office, he swept the heads from their bodies.
Then things went wrong.
The main entrance of the building exploded inward, the outer patrol all filing in with rifle-mounted flashlights pointed directly at him. His Semblance was rendered useless, throwing him out onto the bloodstained floor before he could catch himself. He threw himself back to his feet, brain firing on all cylinders to figure out what to do.
How!?
He didn't have time to ponder it, however, right now it was just the cards he'd been dealt. Now he had to outplay the dealer.
"Make a single movement, and my men will fire until your Aura shatters." His mark warned, hand resting on his revolver's grip. "Now, care to explain why you've brutalised half of my personal escort?" He asked, scowl morphing into a venomous glare.
"I'm here to kill you." Silva answered. No point lying.
"On who's orders, then?"
"My own." Except for Torchwick. His name needed to be kept out of the situation. The boss's lips curled into a cunning smirk.
"Vigilante, then. Not the first, won't be the last either. Alright, then, that's about all I wanted to hear. You can die, now." He turned his back to him, hand raising to give the order to fire.
But before the command could be given, something strange happened. One after the other, each man's throat began to spew blood from a puncture wound that came from seemingly nowhere. Three bodies hit the concrete before anyone was able to react.
No one batted an eye, though. It was the most bizzare thing he'd ever witnessed. Within the next two seconds all six of the bodyguards were laying in pools of their own blood. The crime lord, still facing his men, followed through with his order as though nothing had changed.
And then, to Silva's utter confusion, a petite girl with ice-cream colored hair appeared in a flash of shattering reality and light. It seemed that the strange hypnosis over the crime lord vanished at that point.
"What the fu-!" Before he could voice his shock, the girl blurred towards him and drove her... umbrella-blade, into his stomach, his crimson Aura flaring as he was thrown back by the strike. As he recoil, the girl's heterchromatic eyes shot over to his own, eyebrows raising in a look that seemed to say 'The hell are you doing? Move!'.
Jerking himself back to the situation at hand, he focused back on the crime lord, who was almost on his feet with his absurd hand-cannon already drawn.
Silva dashed forward, crossing the distance in a flash and slamming a heavy kick into the man's side before he could line up a shot on the girl. Now out of the light, he used his Semblance to appear in the bastard's face, raking Regalis across his target's chest at a rising angle that threw the man's head back.
But, before he could use the opening, what felt like a an artillery shell exploded against his stomach. His Aura shattered like thin glass, the sheer force of the shot sent him flying back until he collided with a suppot beam. Pain blossomed like a raging wildfire throughout his stomach and lower back, and he barely heard another round chamber in time to throw himself aside. The beam he'd landed against was blown to pieces not an instant later.
His free hand shot down to where he'd been hit, thankful when he failed to find any open wounds. It'd been just enough to break his Aura.
And probably give him a major concussion. Hitting that beam hurt.
He shoved himself back to his feet, legs wobbly and his grip on Regalis weak. If he'd just bounced across the floor, that wouldn't have put him out of comission. That sudden and forceful stop had completely fucked up his head without Aura, though. He could barely even think, let alone fight.
Need to... hel..p...
He took a step forward...
And fell face-first onto the ground, unconscious.
"What is it, Adam?" He prodded, his Brother's scowl deepening at the question.
"Nothing, brat." The bull Faunus snapped. Silva wasn't so sure.
"You realise I can see that look in your eyes, right? Something heavy's on your mind. I can tell."
"You see nothing but your own assumptions, Taro." He shot back. Silva just smiled.
"That's always what you say when I notice you getting all broody. Come on, man, how is stewing on your problems going to make it any easier? Just tell me. It can't be that bad." Silva said, taking a seat beside Adam to make it clear he wasn't letting this go. The elder of the two let out a breathy groan.
"You just don't know when to leave me the hell alone, do you kid?" He remarked, sinking deeper into his chair. "Do you ever wonder why we're here?"
"You mean on Remnant? Woah, I never took you for the religious type." Adam gave him a firm, playful shove at that.
"That's not what I meant and you know it, prick!" His gaze softened a bit. "What's the point in all of this?" He gestured to a pile of protest signs that lay next to their tent.
"We go out there, screaming in the face of the Humans to just let us be free, and all we've ever gotten in return are flashbangs or disinterest." His grip on Wilt tightened, knuckles white with exertion. "All we want is to be treated like more than trash. Is that such a foolish thing to ask of them?" His hands shook, but Silva's hand on his shoulder seemed to ease his tension at least a little.
"Not at all. They're just stuck in the past, Adam, that's why we do this the way we do it. To show that we don't care about the War. To show that even when they pelt us with rocks, or blind us with grenades, we're still willing to put our hatred aside and do what's right. Even if we get hurt doing it." His words were gentle, but still they seemed to rile his Brother up.
"But it just doesn't fucking work, Silva! They don't give a shit about doing the right thing, all they care about is maintaining the goddamned status quo!" Adam seethed, turning abruptly to face him. "We tried peace! We tried, and tried, but they spit it back in our fucking faces!" He seemed to sober, for a moment, his body going still and his grip on Wilt falling slack. Silva didn't know what to say.
"I'm done screaming at a wall, Silva. Now, I'm going to tear it down." Panic bubbled in his gut. What was he supposed to say?
"Adam, I-"
"Save it, kid. My mind is made up. I won't just stand by with a sign in my hand. I'm going to do something." Before he could say anything else, Adam rose to his feet and marched out of the tent.
'Adam...'
His eyes snapped open as he jerked awake, a cold sweat glistening against his forehead. He lay there a moment, clasping a hand over his eyes as he shivered.
Why now?
He didn't need this right now, there was too much shit on his plate as it was. Yet still he shook, breaths heavy and ragged.
Damn it, Adam.
It was the first time he'd actually let himself think about him. First time he'd faced it. Anger, grief, nostalgia, it all blurred together in his head as he thought back on it all.
Wait, where am I?
The thought sent a pulse of panic through his chest. His eyes flicked around his surroundings, that fear beginning to settle once he realised he was still in the factory. Alone, but there was a bandage wrapped around his stomach and his face wasn't caked with blood anymore.
Must've been the girl.
He wanted to know who that was. Badly. But, before he could think on it any longer, his scroll's alarm clock began to ring. He pulled it from his pocket, eye bulging when he read the time.
7:30... Fuck my life!
He didn't even have time to make sure his final mark was dead. Well, Roman would probably be letting him later in the day, regardless. That issue dealt with, he fell into his shadow, moving at speeds that drained his Aura reserves faster than he'd have liked. It was worth it, though, when he reformed aboard the Bullhead to Beacon just as the pilot engaged the engine.
When the ship docked at the Academy, he went straight to Team SCRL's dorm via his Semblance. To his relief, nobody was there at the moment. He changed into his uniform as quickly as he could, noticed something important as he slid off his jacket.
His entire left side was stained with blood.
"Fuck," He growled, throwing the reddened clothes into a basket in the bathroom. He picked it up and threw a towel over them to keep it from beeing as obvious.
He flickered over to the laundry room, hurriedly stuffing his clothes into a washer and turned it on. His frame relaxed into the wall beside, letting out a soothing breath.
"Silva?" He froze. He looked to the voice. Golden eyes met his own.
"What the hell's going on?" Blake asked, obviously still not sure what to think. For an instant his brain glitched out, remdering him unable to explain himself. He only managed to break the silence when Blake seemed to assume the worst, slowing inching away from him with wide eyes and a slightly parted mouth.
"I, uh... well... not what it look's like?" I'm fucked. He thought, Utterly doomed.
Her instinctual paranoia seemed to fade a bit. She stopped moving back, her face taking on a look closer to wary confusion than anything. "Then what is it?"
"Um..." God damn it social anxiety, not fucking now! He fumbled to think of something. "I was on the outskirts of Vale and ran into a civilian getting mauled by an Ursa." He lied, "Had to keep pressure on his neck until help got there." It was a shitty lie. His clothes had been half-soaked.
"You alright? That couldn't have been easy." And yet she took the bait. He had half a mind to say she'd done it intentionally.
"I'm... I'm fine. Just don't like blood much." Lie, again, but it was all he could think of to make sense of his behaviour. This was such a bad situation.
"Okay," She seemed to have something on her mind. That look. It was just like Adam. "My Team and I are getting ready to go eat some breakfast. You could join us if you want, your Team doesn't seem very..." She hesitated for a second, so he finished the thought for her.
"They're walking piles of Human garbage." He confirmed, the two sharing a short, awkward laugh.
"Yeah. That."
Silva couldn't help but feel relieved by the change of topic. "Sure, why not?"
Hello again! Back to average chapter size for this story, and boy was this one interesting to write. Now that you've read it, do you think it would be appropriate to up the rating to M, or should I leave it as is? I try to have Silva come across as hellbent on reaching his goals, but not so much so that he doesn't have mixed feelings about it. I still want him to be relatable, but I as the author and creator of his life am biased. That's where you reviewers come in.
I know I said how he knew about Cinder would be explained this chapter, but that's been pushed back a bit. Don't worry, all will be revealed in time.
Now before people ask, no, Silva isn't related to Adam by blood. More of an adopted little brother. As I've heard before, 'some relationships run deeper than blood'.
From this point onward, things are going to calm down a bit. We have a while before any major plot points come up, so expect mostly character development for the next few chapters.
That's all I've got, I guess. Buh-Bye!!!