All The King's Men

by backwardsaile

Long has the Fifth Kingdom, the Britannian Empire, been an isolationist among its peers. Long have the Kingdoms tried to establish contact. Now, in lieu of the Vytal Festival, Britannia sends a team of its best to compete as a show of cooperation. But how will the story of RWBY be affected by the new players? Are their motives as pure as they seem?

7. Just another normal day

Hey everyone! Backwardsaile here!

So, a new chapter is finally out! Sound the horns! Tell the good people! Raise the banners! There will be bread and circuses and feasts and tourneys and org-

Okay I'll stop now. Seriously though, I'm happy to say that I've finally finished the new chapter. I hope you all enjoy it and if there's any crucial grammatical or spelling mistakes or even some criticisms you want to share, feel free to! Just be courteous (thanks).

I'm sorry for taking so long to upload! Life outside has been taking up most of my time! Serving your mandatory term occupies a HUGEASS portion of your time in a day and studying to retake an exam does too. Combine that with trying to get an ample(ish) amount of sleep and vóila!

You get me.

So I just want to thank you all for sticking by despite my terribly erratic schedule. I won't take up much more time. Just gonna answer some reviews and give some personal words.

Werwolffr: Glad to see you're enthusiastic with "Macavity"! Also, I'm not sure whether you're referring to the Nemean in the previous chapter (which is very clearly stated to be a GRIMM) or whether it's your own imagination. Short answer, no. Very unlikely for me to include such archaic units (sorry to disappoint). I already mentioned how KMFs are a thing in this universe. Though you have given me some ideas.

Dragon Lord Syed 101 (cool name!): Can't really say because spoilers. And no. I'm sorry but C.C (who is best girl) will not be appearing. I already said it in the previous chapter but to reiterate, I don't see how she would fit in the world of RWBY without basically making her an OC, which I don't want.

Now onto personal talks. I hope you're all keeping safe, no matter where you are. We have been hit by tragedies left-right and centre, from the Beirut explosion and California wildfires to the Wisconsin incident and even the chaos that is the upcoming elections among other things. I just want to say that no matter who you are, where you are, you can always be thankful for what you have. Confide in friends and family if you're feeling scared or frightened. It is easier to get through these things as a group than as an individual (insert the kinda cheesy African quote on friendship and bonds that applies aptly here).

With that out of the way, I've said my piece. So onto the fic!

Chapter 6 (Uploaded 27/08/20) (Last updated: 09/09/20, some grammar corrections + some minor content that somehow did not upload the first time. Also please take part in the polls thx!)

The world was young, the mountains green. No fractures on the moon were seen. No words were laid on stream or stone when Durin woke and walked alone.

-"Song Of Durin", Old Britannian Hymn, origin unknown

The city of Vale was quiet, lulled to sleep by the sound of rain that had gently washed away all the wounds it had suffered in the morn. Nowhere were the fears of being attacked by the Grimm. Instead, there was joy and appreciation for life, with the denizens going out with friends, celebrating their lives and their survival. While the morning was a time of destruction and chaos, now was the time for recovery. A time of peace and tranquility. The city was at peace.

The same could not be said for a few unfortunate residents, namely one Macquar "Mac" Vanetti. As he lay dazed on the cold concrete of an alleyway, deep in the seedy belly of Vale's industrial district, his mind went back to replay the events leading up to this moment, faintly aware of the shouts of pain in the background.

-Flashback-

Mac was feeling lucky. Very lucky.

After the shock to the underworld that was Torchwick's arrest, the Alpinista Family, otherwise known as the 'Pioneers' (for some contrived reason), had met up and quickly drew plans to swoop in on the power vacuum. To bring the family back to its glory days before the heavyweight that was Roman Torchwick came in and hogged everything.

And to his fortune, Mac was one of several placed in charge of this endeavour. Which meant that he would get a lion's share of the rewards! He could almost taste the glory, which tasted like caviar and champagne. No more scrounging around the family. No more licking the boots of other members. Soon, they would bow to him!

And so, as he made his way back from the long meeting to his little plot of territory, he shared his joy with his muscle. And he was happy to see them feel the same way, regardless of the light drizzle overhead.

"Man boss! Can't believe you're finally moving up!" congratulated Tommaso Rosso Huey.

"It's about time really. You deserve it!" chimed in Harold Azu Huey.

"Yeah boss! We's gotta drink and celebrate!" happily snorted Richard Zelen Huey. Behind the trio, the rest of Mac's posse cheered in approval.

"Hah! You guys…" Mac laughed dismissively, shaking his head. As they continued to make their way down the alley, the sound of laughter and… jazz? could be faintly heard in the distance, seeming to come from the end of the pathway. Sandwiched between two factories was a rusted and green metal door, illuminated by pink neon lights that almost glaringly blasted the name "The Three Brothers" into the face of its patrons. But he didn't mind.

There was no place like home after all.

"You know what?" he asked, nearing the door. Turning around, he continued speaking to them. "I'm feeling generous tonight! Drinks on me boys!"

Loud whoops and raucous cheers erupted from the men, anticipating a good time. Letting out a small chuckle, Mac turned back to the door and knocked on it with a little knocker affixed to its centre.

*THUD THUD THUD*

"Yo Gatey! Open up!" he called out. Now usually, standard entry procedure was to knock, wait for the maître d' to open up the speakeasy grille, say the password and then you were let in. But he was the boss. He owned the place damnit! Besides, they knew him. He could come and go as he pleased.

So it was really weird that no one came to answer after a minute. "Maybe he's on his break?" suggested Azu.

"Nah. I bet he's drinking himself blind again!" japed Tommaso.

"I think he's chasing one of the girls again," chortled Zelen. While the other chuckled, MAC was more annoyed than anything. C'mon! His night was just getting good! Don't ruin it now!

He knocked on the door again, harder this time. "Gatey! You there!?"

Still no answer.

Sensing their boss's growing irritation, the chuckles and giggles died down. "Maybe we should call him..?" asked Tommaso uncertainly.

"Tsk!"

But it seemed that Mac did not hear his henchman's suggestion. Instead, he neglected the knocker and pounded on the door with his fist.

"Yo what the fuck! Gatey! Open up!" he hollered out.

"You know, if that's what he has to go through every night, I can see why he pursues such vices."

Whipping around in surprise, Mac's simmering rage was redirected to the idiot that decided to poke his nose in his business.

The dead man stood facing them, blocking the path out to the street. From the pink lighting, they could make out a dark trenchcoat, fine black gloves, a purple suit with gold trim, a white cravat and a black belt. They couldn't quite see his head, seeming to be covered by some reflective or light-emitting material, shining a garish pink glare into their eyes. But their focus was drawn to what was beside the intruder. It was human in shape, slumped and nearly collapsing on the ground if not for being held up by the back of its collar. Short hair and a fine suit indicated it to be a man and as the intruder shifted his arm back, the figure's head lolled to the side. Mac's eyes widened in shock. That wasn't just anybody. That looked like…

"Gatey! You bastard! What'd you do to 'im?!" cried out Azu. The maître d' of the Three Brothers looked worse for wear. Drool, snot and blood trickled out of his mouth and nose, staining his white collar. His left eye was all black and swollen, his nose looked like it took a beating and from his loud, laboured breathing, he looked to be in pain and missing a few teeth.

"Oh, the worm? Nothing much. Just had a little talk with him is all," the dead man replied nonchalantly. Just then, when Mac was about to sic his goons on the man, Gatey mumbled out a few unintelligible words.

"Sorry what was that?" asked the aggressor, bending down while pulling Gatey up. With his focus entirely on the man in front of him, Mac took notice of the metallic tinge he had to his voice. Not that he cared really. He was too angry and focused on tearing the idiot a new one.

Unfortunately for him, that meant he failed to notice the faint sound of footsteps on the rooftops above.

"T-to hell wid yoo, thaunus threak!" he slurred out. If that garnered a reaction from his assailant, he revealed nothing. Instead, he let out an exaggerated sigh.

"Aww! You ruined the surprise! Where's the fun in that?!" the man asked in an unsettlingly chipper manner. Then in a blur of motion, he threw Gatey to the ground. Hard. "Pathetic," he coldly said.

A dull *crack* was heard upon impact. Combined with a new moan of pain from Gatey and a loud *thud* as the man's black shoe stomped onto his head, some of the more apprehensive members began to think twice about charging in.

"That does it! Tear him a new one boys!" cried out Mac as he reached for the pistol in his suit. With a furious cry, Zelen charged forward, ready to splatter some faunus brains in the pavement with his knuckle dusters.

"Take this you freak!"

A black figure slammed into Zelen from above, the dull sound of metal hitting flesh ringing out as the Huey brother was brutally slammed face first into the concrete.

"Well? Aren't you going to attack me?" taunted the man.

"Get him!" ordered Mac, drawing his revolver. Then, he felt his feet leave himself just as he fired off a shot, making it go wide. A sharp crack rammed into his temple, his head jerking to the side. He painfully bounced off a nearby wall, dropped his pistol and the next thing he knew, he was staring at the sky.

-Flashback end-

The cold and sharp feeling of rain on his skin brought him back to the present as he felt two pairs of arms grab his own and force him to his feet. All around he could see his muscle strewn about the alley. Some lay on the floor, others slumped against the wall. Tommaso's rear end was hanging out of a dumpster, Zelen was still unconscious in the ground and Azu was thrown through the brick wall of one of the buildings. Some were knocked out, others were groaning in pain and not getting up in some time. Not that he could really hear them now that the gentle drizzle that started earlier had now ramped itself up into a downpour. The icy droplets beat themselves into the ground and men alike, roaring out in a torrential orchestra and ruining expensive suits.

Yet, somehow, he could hear his assailants' conversation. Though his head swam and their words came out muffled. He was probably concussed.

"Wakey wakey, Mr Vanetti!" A splash of cold water crashed into his face, making him gasp for air out of surprise and turning his attention to the man in front of him. Or not.

With water pouring down his face, it took him all his might to glare at the cunt that taunted him. So imagine his surprise when he found his reflection glaring right back at him.

Now that he was up close, he could see his opponent's visage or lack thereof. What he saw was a full-faced mask with a violet, reflective visor in the centre, probably for seeing. The mask, which looked more like a helmet to him, was black and spiky, with prongs sticking up and out the back and a golden line running along what would be the chin.

Oum, he looked pathetic. In the curved, reflective surface of the visor, he could see himself. His dusty blonde-hair was caked in blood, from a cut on his temple, and alleyway muck. His fine suit was soiled and bloodied and his face was marred by a bleeding trail.

"Are we awake now?" came a sickly sweet voice. With all the spite he could muster, he hacked out a great wallop of spit and expectorated, right smack in the middle of the taunting reflection.

'Heh! That'll show him!' Mac thought impishly, waiting for an outburst. As his opponent's hand reached over to him, he braced for an impact.

Instead, the hand made a beeline for Mac's chest pocket, where it fished out a slightly soiled but otherwise relatively clean and expensive looking handkerchief. Dabbing away at the trail the spit had left, the man wiped off the offending fluid, all the while making nary a sound.

"Is this yours?" his metallic voice asked rhetorically. Not giving Mac a chance to answer, the assailant tucked it away in his coat. "I think I'll keep it. As a memo."

A loud cry sounded out behind him. Turning around, he lashed out a kick and sent a charging Zelen careening into a window. Taking the opportunity, Mac shook himself loose of his captors' grasp and swung a wild haymaker at the back of the masked man's neck.

Only for a gloved hand to wrap around his fist and stop it dead in its metaphorical tracks. A sharp blow to his inside knee saw Mac's footing crumble, leaning all his weight on the support of the two figures, who had quickly reaffirmed their grip on his arms, even tighter than before.

"Is that all?" taunted the man. Mac, still reeling from the pain, could not bring himself to answer. Suddenly, his eyes bulged out and spittle shot out of his mouth as a black gloved fist rocketed into his gut. As he gasped for air, he heard his attacker say to an unseen person, "Go ahead and prepare her, Mr Gris."

Turning back to Mac, the masked man then looked to his two other companions and ordered "Drop him."

In a moment, Mac found himself kissing the wet, wet concrete. As he struggled to his feet, he heard the sound of fine leather shoes striking concrete move to the side, then back to his center. And just as he got to his knees, he felt the chilly touch of steel placed against his forehead. Glancing up, he found his still unknown attacker staring him down the barrel of a gun.

His gun.

"I must say! Very intricate engravings Mackie boy!" appraised the man. As he did so, he removed the barrel from Mac's forehead and began to look it over, admiring the details. Mac breathed a sigh of relief.

"Unfortunately,"

Only to blanch when he saw the barrel being gripped in a very familiar way.

Oh no.

"NO TACTICAL ADVANTAGE WHATSOEVER!"

The pistol's butt smashed into the gangster's jaw, sending him onto the floor again. As he landed, he could taste iron and felt a tooth come loose.

"Pick him up Mr Blau."

Just as quickly as he was brought down, he was hoisted back up by his right arm.

"Pop him."

The man holding him wrenched his arm upward, painfully yanking it from his socket and making a wet *pop* squelch out. Mac cried out and clutched his arm as it was released, sinking to his knees and sobbing in pain.

As he collected himself, he looked up to his assailant and to the two men flanking him, who wore black slacks, black boots and black, zipped up leather jackets with silver lining and hoods pulled up, brandishing heavy-looking lead pipes in gloved hands. What caught his eye though were the masks they wore. Those markings were iconic of one group and one group only.

The White Fang.

Except not quite. These were full-faced masks, separated into two plates that overlapped at the nose level. Instead of it being a matte alabaster white, these jet black variants were given a shiny, polished, almost crystalline finish, which seemed to accentuate the glowing, dark crimson lines that ran all over the mask. Combined with how they towered over him, the situation was one that would've vowed lesser men.

"The fuck you White Fang freaks want with me?!"

That seemed to trigger something in the man as the next moment, a loud *CRACK* rang out. Mac clutched his right ear with his good hand and cried out in pain, futilely trying to block out a sharp, pitchy ringing in his ear.

The man passed Mac's smoking pistol over to the yet unnamed henchman and strode towards Mac, who was too focused on the pain to notice.

"Now listen here," hissed the metal voice as he painfully gripped Mac's sore jaw. He pulled the mobster closer, so close that his breath began to fog up the visor. "You don't ever lump us together with those fools, understand?" whispered the voice into his ear. As he did, his grasp on Mac's jaw tightened, earning a squeezed out whimper as some form of acknowledgement. Despite the thunderous sound of the rain beating the city into submission, the man's words were crystal clear to Mac. They may as well have been screamed at him.

"Good." Then, he released Mac and let him fall to the ground, moving back to his men. Mac meanwhile took a few deep breaths, pushing back the pain enough to rationalise thought.

"What do you want?" he asked tiredly, becoming desperate.

"What do I want?" repeated the man. "Hah! Personally, I want nothing from scum like you." As he said that, he retrieved the revolver and began to play with the revolver's cylinder. "If I had my way," he said thumbing the revolver, eliciting a series of foreboding *clicks*, "I would put you down right here like the savage beast you are!" He spun the cylinder with the proclamation, the loud *whizzz* startling the now on-edge Mac.

"I know what you've done, Vanetti!" accused the man. "Selling faunus girls as whores, sending the vulnerable to mines for favours, extortion. Even your fighting pits." He hissed out the examples, the man's voice clearly now one of anger. "Fortunately for you, it's not my job to try you for those crimes." In an unnerving 180 of his mood, the man had gone from quiet seething to seeming serenity in a snap.

"You see, I am working together with a very close friend of mine," he began, pacing back and forth. Meanwhile, one of his henchmen, Mr Blau from what he remembered, had moved behind Mac and began steadily tapping his weapon, a blunt steel pipe, against his palm. Audibly.

"While he is held back by unforeseen circumstances, he needs my help," he continued. "I am to be his extension as he takes a break with Atlas."

"What would Torchwick want with you guys?" asked Mac, figuring out the man's 'friend'.

"Quality muscle and enforcement," the man answered factually. "Regardless, we are responsible for maintaining his share of the underworld at all costs. Even if a few major heads rolled."

"Are you insane?! Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?! There's no way you'll take down all of us!" cried out Mac.

"Hey! Quiet!" gruffly reminded Mr Blau, tapping the base of his skull with the pipe.

"No, no. It's fine," assured the man. "And to answer your question, of course I do! And I'm gonna do my job regardless."

"That's some confidence coming from a loony in a Halloween costume," quipped Mac in false security.

"Oh, I assure you. I am not confident in my chances of success. I know that I will succeed," he boldly proclaimed.

The loud and stifled grunts of someone struggling could be heard around the corner, drawing the men's attention.

"Let go of me!" cried a woman's voice. Mac's eyes widened.

The door of Mac's little club swung open and out stumbled a pretty brunette woman in a midnight blue cocktail dress amidst a cacophony of blaring jazz. Behind was a third henchman, dressed in the same getup as the other two. He looked to be a little shorter than the other two. A bit skinnier too. And while the two goons with him had pipes, this guy had a leather shoulder holster, which was currently empty.

Probably pointed at the woman.

"Mackie!" she cried upon seeing his battered state. She rushed towards him, forgetting about the danger of the situation, and cradled his head in her chest, uncaring about the mess. "Are you alright? What did you do to him?!" she demanded, glaring at the aggressors. 'Lapis,' Mac sighed gratefully.

"Ooh feisty!" the man commented as he bent down to taunt them. Her arm whipped to slap him and he effortlessly caught it in his hand. "A slap? Really?" he dryly noted.

"Fat lot that would do you!" his voice increased in volume as his grip tightened on her wrist, eliciting a whimper from her. "Hey! Stay away from her!"

"I don't think I will. In fact, I'll need her!" As he said that, he yanked her to her feet and slung her to the brick wall behind him. At the same time, the yet-to-be-named thug moved behind Mac. "Mr Gris. If you would."

Any angry demand either would have made was quelled with the heart-stopping *click* of a safety disengaging. Lapis stood frozen, her back to the wall, face pale and hands in the air as she looked down the barrel towards the crystalline black mask in a silent plea.

"Please. Don't do this," she choked out, lip quivering in fear.

"Lapis! It's okay baby! I'll get you out of this!" A dismissive snort of "doubt it" came from behind him. But that only steeled Mac's resolve. Nobody hurts his girl!

"Please, sir. Please let us go!" she begged.

"With what he's done? Not a chance," he flatly answered, turning to her.

"You must understand! He was forced into this position! He did not have full control!"

"Yeah right."

"Take me instead!"

"Now that," he paused, turning back to Mac, "is not a bad idea actually."

"Really?!"

"No way! I ain't letting you!"

"That's not up to you to decide now is it?" remarked the man. He stood back up to full height and looked to Lapis.

"Lovely idea, Miss Lapis. But I'm afraid I must decline."

"Now, 'Mackie'," he started without looking at him, "I will give you three chances to guess what I want. Guess correctly, and you both keep your lives. Fail-"

Mr Gris, one hand on his pistol, drew another from his shoulder holster and trained it one Lapis, another *click* sounding out like a death knell.

"-,she loses hers. And to show I'm completely serious," he gestured to Mr Gris, who raised a gun and fired at a nearby window, the sound of shattering glass confirming its lethality and startling an "eep!" out of Lapis.

"we have our kind demonstration there," he finished. "Any questions?"

Mac grit his teeth, his rage at a boiling point from his useless position and seeing his girl in mortal danger. "You can go suck a big fat-"

A shot rang out and a chunk of wall a foot away from Lapis' face was blasted away, making her shrink from fear.

"Ah ah ah," the man scolded condescendingly, wagging a finger at the mobster. "Language, Mr Macquar. That was your final warning. One more time and all three chances are spent. Surely you don't want that, do you?"

"Mac. Please…" whimpered Lapis.

"Fine! I'll play your stupid game," he ground out begrudgingly.

"Splendid! Now, what do you think I and my client want?"

"Money!"

A brick to the left of Lapis was shot to pieces and she cried out in terror. "Mmm," mused the man, "not a bad addition Mac. But not what I'm looking for. Try again."

In fear of Lapis' mortal peril, Mac started to lose focus, his heart pounding in his head. What kind of big shot criminal didn't want money?! As he racked his brain for answers, only one other obvious answer came to mind.

"T-Territory! Turf!" he threw out in desperation. Please be correct please be correct please be correct.

"Ouch," winced the man, "no spice there Mackie boy. Not our primary objective. One more chance." As he said that, another shot was loosed, shattering another brick right above and to the right of Lapis' head. So struck with terror was she that her body refused to shrink in fear nor did her mouth make a move to cry out. Her terror was only let out by a whimper.

"Make it count."

Mac thought long and hard, as much as he could given the circumstances anyway. What was Torchwick doing the past few weeks. Was there anything that he targeted? Anything at all? After deliberating on the answer, he settled on one.

"Dust! You guys are looking for dust right?!"

A silence hung in the air, Lapis and Mac holding their breaths, hoping it was correct.

"Very wise answer Mackie," the man began. Hope swelled in Mac's chest. Maybe they could get out of this.

Only for it to all come crashing down right after. "But alas, not what we're looking for. You were not even close. Mr Gris! If you would." He turned to Lapis and a look of horrified realisation came upon her face.

"No!"

She surged forward, trying to escape, only to be shoved back against the wall and have two pistols pointed at her face.

"Lapis!"

He made a desperate attempt to leap to her defence and took a hard pipe to the ribs for his effort. He doubled over and groaned in pain, all the while trying to get back up.

"Pick him up. I want him to see this."

Two pairs of familiar arms latched onto him and yanked him upright and he hissed in pain as his shoulder was aggravated. But as he looked at Lapis and the sheer terror she felt, anything else he felt was shoved to the back of his mind.

"Please! Don't do this!" he cried out as he strained against his binds.

"I'm afraid it's too late for that," came a cold reply. Looking at Lapis, the man crossed his arms and watched as Mr Gris flicked the safeties of his guns with a *click*.

"You don't need to involve her in this! She's innocent!" protested Mac. But to no avail.

"The time for pleading and bargaining is past, Mr Vanetti. Now, suffer the pain you brought upon so many innocents!"

"Mac, I'm sorry," sobbed out Lapis.

"Please just tell me what you want?! Money?! Drugs?!"

He was met with stony silence, the rain being the only noise he heard.

"Territory?! Women?!"

Still more rain.

"Mr Gris! Ready!"

"No!"

"Aim!"

"I'll give you anything! Everything!" he cried out desperately.

"...stand down, Mr Gris."

As said henchman holstered his weapons, Lapis collapsed to her knees, trembling yet thankful to whoever was watching for sparing her.

"Anything you say?", repeated the man. "Well, not what we're looking for but a great opportunity. I suppose you can start by telling us about your WAREHOUSES!" As he said that, he dug his heel into Mac's shoulder and ground it in, making him whine out in poorly-held pain. Quickly, he blubbered out the locations of the family's stores around the Kingdom of Vale, mostly in the capital. Once done, to Mac's relief, the pressure on his shoulder was relieved.

He turned to look back at the still trembling Lapis, who held her shoulders as she quivered in the pouring rain.

"Congratulations, Miss Lazuli. Your boyfriend here, and you, get to keep your lives."

She nervously pulled a smile upon hearing the news, one which quickly turned to confusion when she saw a scroll being tossed at her.

"Now call the police."

"Why?"

"Because," he started turning to the kneeling Mac, "Macquar here still has to suffer retribution."

"Hold him up."

As he was hoisted to his feet, Mac saw Lapis begin to dial the number under the man's watchful… eye.

"Now, Mr Vanetti, witness the pain you brought to so many. Mr Gris!"

What were they gonna do to him?!

"Hello, police?!"

"Cap him, would you kindly?"

Oh no.

Two shots rang out with a thunderclap and Mac cried in pain, his knees now bloodied and sporting 2 holes in them. Meanwhile, Lapis had cried out in terror before managing to stutter out her location. Just then, she felt a hand grab the back of her neck and sling her over to Mac, who was now similarly held from the back of his collar. She rushed to his side and held him closer and tighter as if he would slip away.

"Did she say all that was needed?" asked the man to one of his goons.

"Yes," the henchman replied curtly.

"Perfect."Looking towards the couple, the man spoke. "So we've come to an agreement, Mr Vanetti. Any questions?"

"Who are you?" slurred out Mac, pain beginning to numb his mind.

"Hmm. I suppose I could tell you that after all that's happened. But first," he bent down towards them and thunder roared overhead, barely blocking out the wail of sirens in the distance. A section of the mask popped out and slid away, revealing a pair of eyes. Eyes that were so...so… entrancing.

"Look into my eyes and heed me."

"We heed you, my lord," the two mumbled out in unison.

"Good," the silky metallic voice praised.

"And please, call me Zero."

---

The canteen of Beacon Academy was rife with activity, the muted hustle and bustle filled the air as half-awake students gathered for breakfast.

"Did you sleep well last night?" Yang asked Ruby with a mouthful of eggs.

"Yep!" her sister chirped. She looked to team JNPR, who were in their own conversation and asked their leader, "So Jaune. Did you guys end up shadowing that sheriff in Dune?"

"Oh yeah! That," said Jaune. "Unfortunately, no. The sheriff postponed the mission. We're due to leave in a few days' time."

"Speaking of which," spoke up Yang, "what exactly were you guys meant to do?"

"If I'm remembering the job description correctly, desert survival and basic law enforcement," recalled Pyrrha.

The group of 8 descended into small talk, swapping stories on what they did yesterday.

"You know what's something I just realised?" asked Jaune. "We haven't seen Port all morning. He's usually here earlier than us right?"

Come to think of it, he was right. The students paused to think back. About how he was usually there every breakfast, greeting them and chatting them up with an energy waaayy beyond his years. So where was he?

"You know, I overheard him talking to Dr Oobleck yesterday. He mentioned something about 'going on a crawl' with the Britannians. Later in the evening, I spotted him taking a bullhead to town," noted Weiss.

"Sounds like you were following him, Weisscream." remarked Yang with a mouthful of cereal. "Why? Trying to stalk him and the newcomers now? Got a crush? Geez, it's only been a day!"

"W-what?! No!" denied Weiss. Her face burned with flustered outrage. "For your information, I wanted to gather information on the competition!"

"Like with Sun?" asked Ruby.

"Exactly!"

"Rrrrright."

"Oh shut up you. "

"Now that you mention it, where is LRGS?" pointed out Blake. If they were here, it would've been obvious with all the curious stares and whispers. Not everyday you get to see so-called 'Warmongers'.

"No idea," shrugged Yang, "Though now that you said it, I think what Port said sounds like a p-"

The doors to the cafeteria unceremoniously slammed open with a loud *BANG*, bringing all conversation to a grinding halt. All attention turned to the entrance, most of the students couldn't make heads nor tails of the sight before them.

Shambling in and groaning like the living dead were five men, one in a recognisable maroon jacket and four in sleek black uniforms with gold trim and a silver left shoulder.

Port trudged his way to an empty table, one hand on an ice pack pressed against his head. Gino, Suzaku and Rolo were leaning on each other, barely hanging as they trailed behind him.

Meanwhile, Lelouch looked the worse for wear. He had broken off from the group toward the counter, only to be redirected by Dr Oobleck, with dark bags under his eyes, somehow even worse than the previous days'. To his credit, he only had a mild look of pain on his face.

As the four plonked down onto the benches with a *thump*, the black-haired leader came to the table with a tray, carrying five steaming mugs of coffee. With accompanying additions.

For some odd reason, the vacant table they chose to sit at, if you could call 'barely-upright/slumped-on-the-table-face-first' that, was right next to the eight students.

"Good morning Professor! Good morning Team LRGS!" chirped Ruby. For some reason, all ability to read body language left her mind at that moment and Yang cringed in embarrassment.

Her sister was so dense at time.

A collective groan and cries of "Stop!", "Shuddup!" and "Not right now Ruby!" sprang from the quintet, all cringing and covering their ears in pain.

"Please," groaned Gino, "not until we've had our coffee."

"Oh," she shrank dejectedly. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright Rubes," comforted Yang. "They're just hungover."

"Coooofffffeeeee," moaned out Gino, weakly grasping hold of a mug.

"Yeah what's up?" asked a passing Coco.

"Noooot youuuuuu," responded Lelouch half-dead.

"Thank you Barty," muttered Port as he took a gulp of the steaming black liquid.

"Bottoms up."

"Down the hatch."

"Thank Oum."

"Cafffeeeiiinne."

The quintet downed their black ambrosia in one go and slammed down the empty mugs onto the table.

"Much better," sighed Suzaku. Somehow, they miraculously looked as good as new, glowing with newfound energy, barring those eyebags.

"So, hows everyone?" asked Rolo in a too-cheery tone.

"Umm, we're fine. Thanks," answered Jaune, unnerved by the 180.

"I think I need another one," grumbled out Lelouch, his head planted on the table.

"Okay, I take it back. Not much better," rectified Suzaku. "You alright Lelouch?"

"You come back to me after you do 20 rounds at 3 separate pubs and tell me how you feel," groaned out his leader.

"Geez, no need to be so crabby brother. No one asked you, Gino AND professor to go nuts," chimed in Rolo.

"Speak for yourself, lightweight," jabbed Gino. "Sides, our honour was on the line."

"Oh really? What honour could you possibly be referring to?" wondered Weiss.

"The honour of the iron liver," the two teammates chanted in unison. They then took a swig from another set of mugs that were brought to them by a sympathetic Dr Oobleck, only to come to the dismayed realisation that they still felt crappy. Slightly.

"Welp," remarked a slightly disappointed Gino, "The coffee's already done as much as it could. You up for sparring later Lelouch?"

"I guess so," resigned the leader.

"I'm sorry but what were you doing last night?" asked Ruby innocently.

"Oh you sweet summer child," smiled Gino, "we went for a pub crawl. A fun time wouldn't you say Prof?"

"Yes! Very youthful indeed!"

"Wait. What's a pub crawl and how do you know my mom?!"

"... it's an expression Ruby," responded Blake.

"Oh. Sorry," deflated the girl.

"And to answer your question, a pub crawl is when a bunch of friends go on drinking spree to several pubs. As you can see we ended up shitfaced. Some more quickly than others."

"Hey I heard that!"

As the recent arrivals bickered and bantered with their newfound friends, a few tables over, a quartet with less than honourable intentions was eavesdropping.

"A pub crawl eh? Sounds like something daddy dearest used to do. Disgusting," spat Mercury. Though the prospect did sound fun.

"Merc! Focus! We need to know more about them without revealing ourselves!" hissed Emerald. With how they humiliated her and Cinder yesterday, she was more than eager to pursue their downfall.

"Don't be such a stick in the mud Emerald," soothed Cinder with her usual condescending cadence. "We are meant to be students after all." She didn't bother looking at them, only sparing a quick glance before going back to the article on her scroll. Something about one of the local gang lieutenants getting assaulted and found in an alley, his posse defeated as well. Eh, probably Torchwick's rivals vying for the top seat now that he was put away.

"Y-yes ma'am!"

A quiet snicker drew their attention to their fourth teammate, a short, black-haired girl with pigtails and green eyes. She silently ate her meal and had a mischievous yet slightly psychotic look to her face.

"You have something to say Ne- I mean Noire?" asked Mercury.

She pulled out her scroll and fingers flew across the virtual keyboard. She slid over her medium of speech, allowing Cinder to be her voice.

"I just think it's funny how you guys are fretting over this way too much. Why not just enjoy ourselves and keep a low profile?"

"I suppose we could," began Cinder as she sipped her tea, draped against the table. "However, if you were around yesterday, you would realise just how formidable they are." She threw a thumb over at their mighty quarries and they looked over...

...only to see Lelouch down a glass filled with a raw egg, dashed with hot sauce, pepper and some clear fluid from a flask which he produced from...somewhere. Much to the disgust of the other students

"Gross," deadpanned Emerald.

"Prairie Oyster. Not bad," appraised her silver partner.

'Formidable. Riggght,' remarked Noire doubtfully.

"Oh hush you," lightly admonished their leader. "There's more to them than meets the eye." She looked back at the oblivious students and zeroed in on the black-haired leader.

'Definitely more,' she mentally reaffirmed with a hungry lick of her lips.

"There it is again!"

"What?" whispered Emerald to her partner.

"That look! I saw that same expression yesterday when she was watching the news!"

"So? What's that got to do with anything?"

"That was the look she had when she saw him," clarified Mercury.

"Oookaay," replied Emerald, unsure of where this was headed.

"You don't suppose that Cinder..." he leaned in to whisper in her ear. "..has a crush do you?"

"What's this about a crush?"

The two jumped in their seats, their leader's sudden intrusion greatly startling them to Noire's silent amusement.

"I assure you I have no such sentiments for our prey. Especially one so childish," stated Cinder. "I merely find him... amusing to play against. A worthy opponent if you would."

"Righto boss lady," backed off Mercury. Yeah he wasn't having any of that explanation. The other two may not have seen it but there was definitely a blush there, no matter how tiny.

"Now I don't want to hear these conspiracies again. Otherwise, I'd have to make you know your place. Again. We wouldn't want that now would we?" Cinder asked threateningly.

"No ma'am!"

"Nope."

Noire just gestured zipping her mouth shut.

"Good. Now let's investigate this so-called sparring session they mentioned. And while we're at it go and research their homeland."

---

"Impressive."

That was all Glynda had to say about the performance she saw before her. But given the professor's stoic and strict nature, that was some high praise.

Currently, she was in Beacon's training room. Right now, Beacon was having one of its dedicated days of "mission rest", a policy that Ozpin implemented a few years back for the students' benefit. After taking and completing a mission, or in the case of yesterday a great defence, they'd be allowed up to three days' excuse from class. Or at the very least physical activity. Dependent on the mission provider.

Usually, pupils would spend this time to go out, catch up on work or just sleep the day away. So imagine her surprise when she was walking down the hall only to hear animalistic grunts and the iconic sound of flesh impacting flesh. While not something that fazed her, it certainly affected a curious team RWBY, sans the leader.

The cries and shouts of "Harder!", "I want you to do it!" and other dialogues of the like left the three oldest members steaming in their ears.

'There's no way they're doing that right?' Blake denied to herself. Her imagination was running wild! The mental image of sweaty bodies wrapped in embrace, moisture tricking down toned muscles as they writhed in passion, the heat being unbearable as one slowly slid themselves into the othe-

NO! BAD BLAKE! Down girl!

A sharp shout of "C'MON GIVE IT TO ME" and the chorus of pummeled flesh afterward snapped her out of her thoughts and pushed her patience to the limit.

That's it!

With finality she barged past Professor Goodwitch and into the arena, her team close behind her and the blond teacher coming just after.

And she saw a boy's legs wrapped around another's head.

...Okay that was too much. Imagination.. pushed...beyond...limits! Can't.. comprehend! Too hot! Too hot! ERROR ERROR ERRO-

Blake Belladonna promptly fainted, her brain overloaded and a gleeful look on her face as she slammed onto the tiled floor.

"Blake! Are you alright!?" asked Weiss, who did not look too better herself. Still much better than the unconscious, twitching faunus passed out on the floor. Was that blood coming out of her nose?

"Miss Rose, please get some ice water. Buckets are in the corner."

"Yes Miss Goodwitch!"

She then walked up to the boundary of the arena, where the team's blonde brawler stood with an appreciative (read: predatory) look on her face.

Glynda turned her focus to what her pupil saw and gave her judgment.

Which brings us to the present, where the ladies were watching one Rolo Lamperouge, who sat atop an opponent's shoulders, driving a hammer fist down onto his head and hooking his heels together behind said opponent's head.

A scene that left much to the imagination. Glynda could see why Blake passed out. Not that she could blame her student. But still.

'Ugh teenagers,' she internally scoffed.

And given who she saw on the sidelines, she had to hazard a guess that the one being assailed was Rolo's brother.

"GET OFF!"

With a heave, Rolo was thrown from his brother's shoulders and rolled along the floor. He got up, only to just barely duck to the side to avoid a heel to his temple. He was forced onto the defensive, ducking and slapping away punches and swipes, each one a closer miss than the last. Finally, desperation got the better of him and he threw a wild haymaker when the opportunity presented itself.

Only for that hopeful strike to be stopped by Lelouch, whose arm wrapped around his own, locking it in place. With his torso exposed, he could do nothing to guard against the claw that went for his throat. It seized his neck and for a moment, he felt weightless.

Then he was brought back down to earth. Well, slammed is more of the correct term. He blinked the stars from his eyes and tried to push off his brother but it was too late. Lelouch was atop him, one knee on his chest and his right hand poised above his throat, curled into a claw and ready to strike in a flash.

"Yield," he demanded icily.

With a sigh of resignation, Rolo slapped the floor twice, calling an end to the fight. Immediately, Lelouch's face warmed up and he stepped off his brother. Rubbing his chest, Rolo accepted a helping hand and pulled himself up.

"You're getting better," remarked Lelouch.

"Not good enough though," sighed Rolo dejectedly.

"All I'm good time dear brother. Go drink up." Lelouch pat his sibling on the shoulder and sent his to go refresh himself. He picked up a pair of wooden training weapons, a sword and a tonfa to be exact, from nearby before turning to the spectators.

"Professor. Ladies. How can I help you?" He then peered over Goodwitch's shoulder and frowned. "Is Blake alright?"

"Eh she'll be fine," dismissed Yang, too busy with what was in front of her.

She said it yesterday and she'll say it again.

Mama likes.

Toned, strong arms. Face flushed with exertion. A grey tank top that was drenched with sweat and black gym shorts. And were those abs underneath the shirt?

Mama definitely likes.

Oh, all the forbidden things she'd let those arms do. Lik-

A blur of red trailing petals with a loud *whoosh* broke her out of her fantasy. 'Really? Really?!'

"I've got the water! Stand back! Clear!"

Blake was resuscitated with an ice-cold *splash* which left her leaping in the air with shock, a yowl leaving her lips.

"What's going on?!" she demanded. Dripping wet, she was more than annoyed about being woken up. Then she took stock of the situation and almost passed out a second time had Ruby not dumped a second bucket over her head.

"To answer your question, we walked in on LRGS training and your mind made you see things," answered Weiss. "Pervert," she muttered.

"Hey!"

"ORA!"

The loud thump of a pad, the tumble and squeak of a body sliding on the floor rang throughout the room. As if the universe had no idea how to read the situation, Suzaku was sent awkwardly and audibly sliding over on his back, coming to a halt on Lelouch's right with a padded training shield clutched in his hands.

"You alright?!"

"I'm fine Gino," answered the boy from Nihon.

"Hello Suzaku."

"Hey Lelouch."

Then he tilted his head up and noticed the others. "Oh! Good morning professor! Good morning team RWBY!" he greeted.

"Good morning Suzaku!" chirped Ruby.

"Nice to see you all chipper today. Sorry for earlier at breakfast. We woke up terribly."

"Oh it's fine! Yang explained it to me."

"You mean Yang-splained it. Amirite?!"

Her awaiting hand was met by another from Lelouch, who did so with an amused roll of the eyes.

"Yeah!" she cheered. Then her eyes travelled downward.

"Oooh," she muttered, entranced by the sight. "Cleavage..."

"Please don't," chuckled Lelouch nervously.

Her other hand crept forward and latched onto his upper arm, giving it an appraising squeeze before creeping up slowly.

She wanted MORE.

WHAP!

"Ow!"

"Miss Xiao Long! That is highly inappropriate!" reprimanded Glynda. "We! Do! Not! Fondle! Other! Students!" She punctuated each word with another smack on the head with her riding crop, leaving the blonde trainee cradling her head.

"Especially foreign students. And dignitaries at that," she huffed.

"I-It's quite alright professor," placated Lelouch. "Not the worst I've experienced. Far too common back home I'm afraid. Besides I'm flattered."

"I see," she replied. "Nonetheless it's my duty to keep you all in line and prevent such incidents."

'Teenagers,' she mentally rolled her eyes.

"I suppose so," he conceded.

"So what are you guys doing here?" asked a now standing Suzaku. Clad in a black shirt and sweatpants, he was nowhere near as sweaty as his partner.

"I heard noise coming from here and decided to investigate."

"We overheard about your sparring, Yang insisted to go and see and we had nothing better to do."

"Other than homework!" piped in Weiss.

"Shut up Weiss."

"Why didn't you go out to town?" asked Gino who approached them from the other end of the arena. He was dressed in a fitting green t-shirt and black shorts.

"We already did that yesterday afternoon. Not that much to do anyway with all the repairs," answered Yang, who now silently appreciated what she saw.

'Thank you Oum!' she mentally proclaimed.

"Well I suppose we shouldn't disappoint," conceded Lelouch. "What do you think Gino? You up for it?"

"Yeah sure, why not?" shrugged the blond.

"Cool. Melee or with weapons?"

"Melee. I need the practice."

"Fine then," he agreed, tossing his weapons to the side. "A pity really."

"There's always next time buddy."

"That's true," Lelouch conceded. "Professor, since you're here could you ref the match for us?"

"Sure. It's a closer view anyway," she allowed.

"Now if the others would kindly step away from the ring, we can begin," briefed Glynda.

"Way ahead of you Miss Goodwitch!" called Ruby from the stands. True to her word, all of team RWBY was already seated, with Suzaku making his way up the stairs after clearing the training equipment and drying himself.

"What about Rolo?" asked Ruby.

"He's helping clean up." Suzaku nodded over to the far end of the room, where true enough, a now refreshed and fresh-out-of-the-shower Rolo was picking up training equipment.

"Hey Rolo!" Ruby waved vigorously as she hollered at her Britannian friend.

"Hi Ruby!" he called back.

"Bring some snacks will you?! G and Lu are about to fight!" asked Suzaku.

"Will do!"

"I've got a question," inserted Weiss. "Why are you training in barehand combat? I saw your weapons. None of you really need to."

"Fitness. Proficiency. Self-defence. In case we don't have our weapons with us," briefly reasoned Suzaku.

"I suppose those are good reasons," she conceded.

"Why do you ask? You feel like joining us next time?" asked Rolo out of nowhere.

"GAH! Where did you come from?!"

"...from the arena. Why?"

"You were on the other side seconds ago!"

"So?"

"How did you get here?"

"I'm fast. And I climbed," shrugged Rolo. In his arms were an assortment of snacks.

"No way. Did any of you see that?" asked Weiss to the rest of her team. Unfortunately, they were all so drawn into the conversation that the only response she got was a solid "no".

"Like I said, I'm fast."

Weiss sighed, annoyed and pinching the bridge of her nose, muttering something about "idiots".

"Whatever. Let's just enjoy the match," drawled Yang, lounging back and stretching out.

"Righto," grunted our Rolo as he plopped himself next to Ruby.

"Cookie?"

"YES!"

Ruby snatched the snack from him and took a big bite out of it. Then her silver eyes bulged and she started coughing.

"Blegh! What kind of cookie is this?!" she squawked. "It's all mushy!"

"Sorry, sorry. Protein cookie. That's for me," apologised Rolo as he took it from her hands and replaced it with a harder, normal chocolate chip cookie, which Ruby bit into with joy.

"Wait a minute, shouldn't you guys be like resting?" asked Blake. "I clearly remember you guys looking way worse yesterday."

"Our aura helped out a bit. That and we were cleared for physical activity and training. No missions yet, unfortunately. No real combat either. And some of us are still on meds," replied Suzaku, gesturing to the pink, youthful skin that lay exposed on his arms in sporadic patches.

Meanwhile, Gino and Lelouch had prepared themselves, with Goodwitch entering their details into the ring's gauge system, now brightly displayed on the huge screen for all to see.

"And we're good to go," assures Glynda as she with a few final keystrokes. Putting away her scroll, she looked up, adjusted her glasses and cleared her throat.

"Now gentlemen, this sparring match will be an unarmed, unarmoured affair. So no weapons and no semblances. We will follow standard sparring rules. Victory is dictated by knockout, aura level depletion, voluntary surrender or at my own discretion. My word is final. Any questions?"

"No ma'am/No Professor," the combatants replied.

"Good," she nodded. "If nothing else, fighters take your positions!"

"Hey Gino," interjected Lelouch, "Let's show them a good one." He held out his bandaged fist, knuckles toward his teammate.

Looking back, the Weinberg caught on and gave a small smile. "Alright, to a good one it is." With that, he stretched out his own fist, now covered in gloves, and the two bumped in a silent agreement. After that, they retreated to their positions, stripping off their shirts and kicking off their shoes in the process.

That got a wolf whistle from Yang, rolled eyes from Goodwitch, Suzaku and Rolo and a weird mix of admiration, shock and embarrassment from the other members of RWBY.

"Fighters, on guard!"

They settled into their stances. Gino took up an orthodox stance, his right fist guarding his cheek and the left one outstretched. He relaxed his shoulders, slowed his breathing and waited for the "bell".

Lelouch's was a bit more exotic. He was crouched low and wide, his right leg nearly fully extended. As his arms settled in their position, his fists unclenched and curled into claws, the right hand stretched to about half his arm's length and the left kept closer to his face. His eyes narrowed, he took a deep breath and waited.

Focus.

"Ready!" She raised her riding crop into the air. Breathing slowed further, muscles coiled and tightened and the two seemed to glare daggers at each other. The tension was thick and the arena was silent with anticipation, the only sound being the steady heartbeats of those present. Oddly enough, it sounded like a drum.

BongBongBongBongBongBong.

Wait a minute.

"Stop doing that!"

Weiss snatched a small drum that Rolo got from Oum-knows-where and glared at him. To the youngest member's credit, he had the decency to look embarrassed, if him rubbing the back of his head and the folded feline ears were anything.

"Sorry," he chuckled good-naturedly. With an amused dismissal, the rest turned back to the bout about to happen.

A riding crop whipped through the air with a sharp *swish*. "Begin!"

If the spectators were expecting some bombastic, blood rushing first attack, then they were sorely disappointed. The distance was too great for any purely physical rush to be feasible. So the two fighters instead slowly took slow, tentative steps to one another.

"Come onnnn. Faster!" whined Ruby.

"Shhh! Quiet you dolt!" hissed Weiss. "Try learning instead of complaining."

"Miss Schnee does have a good point, young Rose."

"Eep!" Ruby squeaked. That was the second time they were snuck up on already! "Headmaster?!"

"Pardon the intrusion students," apologised the principal, "but I heard from Miss Goodwitch of a match that may prove to be very entertaining. With the Vytal Festival so far away I find myself brimming with excitement."

"Really?" asked Blake cynically.

"Yes, Miss Belladonna. Oh, may I?" He gestured to a seat next to Yang.

"Of course Prof! Sit!"

"Thank you kindly Yang," accepted the headmaster. He took a seat with a satisfied hum and rested his hands on his cane, his gaze now fixed on the brewing fight below.

"So, who do you think is going to win?" he asked out of nowhere.

"I say Lelouch," staked Yang almost immediately.

"Bull! Gino looks way stronger," contested Weiss. Ruby hummed along in agreement and they shared a high five. To be fair, he was taller than his leader by at least an inch and was stockier and more muscular.

"Why? I never took you for a betting man, headmaster," pointed out Blake.

"I'm not usually. But I occasionally take exception to bouts like these," he responded. "Besides every choice we make is a gamble in some form no?"

"...I guess?" replied Ruby.

Ozpin chuckled. "Never mind that. How about I lay a proposition that you can bet on if you choose to? Let's start with..."

"...Who do you think will land the first hit?"

"10 Lien on Lelouch!" proclaimed Yang.

"20 on Gino!" opposed Weiss and Ruby.

"I'll sit this out," spoke Blake with her regular monotone.

"We shall see."

By now, the fighters had closed into about a meter from each other. Then Lelouch's back leg tensed up and Gino braced himself. The ravenette's leg sprung forward and went in for a chop, looking to smash the blonde's calf. Gino took a step back to avoid the kick and skirted forward with a quick jab, which Lelouch dodged with a tilt of his head.

He slapped aside Gino's fist and bound his wrist. Pulling him forward, he closed the distance with an elbow aimed at the blond's throat. With as much manoeuvrability he could muster, Gino slipped under the strike and burst upwards while pulling his extended arm back, bringing a knee surging into his leader's gut, barely blocked with a free hand. In a surprise move, Gino felt his planted foot get kicked out from under him. As he landed on his back, he spied an incoming foot. He rolled away from the stomp and tried to sweep Lelouch off his feet with a kick.

His leader backed away and resettled into his guard, giving Gino time to get back up.

With a nod, Lelouch lunged forward, this time trying for a kick to the ribs, which Gino moved to block. Or so he thought.

Halfway through its travel, Lelouch slammed his foot down and pivoted on it. He took a gamble and it paid off. Too fixated on stopping the kick was he that Gino could not raise his guard in time for the real strike. And for his mistake, he took a crushing backhand to the jaw.

"WOOHOO!" whooped Yang. She jumped up in joy and celebrated in front of her team. "10 lien! Mine!"

With a grumble, the two formed over their losses. "Next bet!" demanded Yang.

"Alright," chuckled Ozpin. "Since Yang's bet won, we'll build on that. How would you describe Lelouch's fighting style for the next minute?"

"10 to say he's fluid!"

"No way! He's a grappler!"

"Strong strikes."

"Ummm... a mix I guess?"

"Very well then. Let's see," accepted Ozpin.

"First blood," gloated Lelouch. Gino rubbed his jaw to soothe an ache and scowled at his leader. "Ready to go again?"

"Always am," answered Gino, curling up and eager to continue.

"LET'S GO!" With a determined look and a confident call, Lelouch surged forward again, sending a telegraphed push kick to Gino's chest. He blocked it easily, of course, but took a step back from the impact.

"Nice try! But too easy!" Gino took hold of Lelouch's ankle and with a heave, chucked Lelouch away and into the floor. Landing in an agile roll, Lelouch sprang away from an axe kick aimed at his face and buried his shoulder into Gino's gut. As he fought to ground the larger blond, Gino hammered fists and elbows into the exposed back and spread his legs wider. He learned his lesson and even with Lelouch trying to pick up his thigh, Gino put more weight onto the limb as he continued his assault. Finally, the grip around his waist loosened and Gino dug his palms into his leader's inner elbows, pushed down then pulled up. With an off-balance Lelouch, he had a field day as he clapped his opponent's ears and threw an uppercut. Square into the plexus.

His bent over, deafened and breathless opponent had little to do against the knee right after, only able to protect himself from a bloody nose with his hands, padding one atop the other. The force pushed his head up and his chin met a rising elbow, pushing it further. A cross straight into his chest pushed Lelouch back and a side kick into his midsection threw him back, a pained grunt escaping his lips.

"OOOH!" winced team RWBY in unison. Ozpin just chuckled and continued to watch the fight with a keen eye.

"Oh! Are we intruding on something professor?" asked an unfamiliar voice. A silver-haired boy dressed in the Haven uniform and who Ozpin assumed was his teammate behind him. A girl with black hair and brilliant orange eyes.

"No young man, nothing at all," replied the professor with well-hidden caution. Scratch that. These were familiar faces. These were the people Qrow warned him about. The ones that left Amber as she was. He had half the mind to slay them now but the cumulative experience of time nigh eternal and some naive notion of compassion stayed his hand. "Please, don't prostrate yourselves on my account. Sit," he welcomed, gesturing to the empty seats around them.

"Thank you kindly, professor," purred the girl. Ozpin, while acknowledging her, was close to snapping. He could feel the fractured power of Fall within her. Power she gained unrightfully, stolen. He calmed himself and willed his nerves to let him stay cordial. "What exactly are we watching?" she asked.

"A sparring match between two students."

"Unarmed? How unorthodox," she noted, eyeing each fighter analytically.

"For us perhaps, but maybe for Britannia, there is a meaning to this training. Right Rolo?"

The mentioned pupil perked up when he heard his name and turned to face the professor. "Summarily, yes headmaster."

"I see," nodded the girl. "Oh, where are my manners? My name is Cinder Fall and this is Mercury Black," she introduced. The silver haired boy nodded in greeting.

"Nice to meet you two!" jovially greeted Ruby, cookie crumbs flying out of her mouth. "I saw your fight with Pyrrha, Mercury. Loved to see it! It was awesome!"

"I know right?!" joined in Yang, eyes still on the fight. "I've never seen Pyrrha fight that hard before!"

"Why thank you," he accepted. Then he turned to the fight and his eyes widened. Down below, Lelouch had just grasped Gino's elbow and rained claws and palm strikes on his chest before pushing him back with a kick to the knee and a palm heel to the temple.

"No way, Tiger fist?!" he baulked.

"Wuh?"

"Wait, no. Not exactly," Mercury muttered to himself. Turning to the others, he realised that they stared at him owlishly with nary an idea of what he just said.

"It's an old Mistrali fighting style," he summarised. The collection of "ohhhh"s displayed the others' comprehension of the subject. "Never mind then."

"Speaking of which, I do believe Miss Rose won the bet," spoke up Ozpin. "Lelouch has shown no distinct preferences in the past minute, is that right boys?"

"You are correct Headmaster," affirmed Suzaku.

"Yay! 10 lien! Gimme!" demanded Ruby with an outstretched hand. While the other gamblers reluctantly paid up, Cinder scoffed at the immaturity and the weakness she saw. 'Pathetic.'

The two fighters continued to rain blows on each other, neither intending to relent any time soon. While Gino focused on crushing blows, Lelouch did his best to grapple and counter when he could. A particularly nasty shin to his right thigh left it sore and unable to bear much weight at the present, leaving him with an odd limp in his stance.

Looking to capitalise, Gino charged in, aiming to finish the fight in the next few moments. He was strong, visibly stronger than his leader. But the man had a fuck-off-huge amount of endurance and stamina. An edge he did not have.

'It's time,' he said to himself. He flew in with a knee which was just barely dodged. Then he willed his admittedly tired arms to keep going, not giving Lelouch the chance to make a better defence, much less counter. He couldn't afford to.

Jab. Jab. Cross. Elbow. Hook. Uppercut. Knee. Backfist. Push kick. Hawkeye. Slip. Slip. Sucker punch. Elbow. Superman. Palm strike. Jab. Cross. Jab. Cross. Hook. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left-Right-Left-Right-Left-Right-left-right-left-right-left-right-left-right!

As the beat down continued, the spectators watched with a mix of trepidation and excitement. "Um, shouldn't Goodwitch call it off?" asked Blake. Taking that many hits with only a few blocks could not be healthy.

"I trust the vice headmistress's judgement enough," replied Ozpin. His eyes narrowed. "Besides, I think the elder Lamperouge is not out yet."

"What do you mean Professor?" asked Weiss.

"Call it intuition. You'll see soon."

'Indeed we will, Ozpin,' Cinder silently added.

Gino was pummelling Lelouch like a man possessed. And if one could hear his thoughts, they'd think he was. For in a mind clouded with determination and focus, as he whaled on his teammate, only one thing could be heard. Don't get caught. Don't get caught. Don't get caught. Don't get caught. Don't get-

His tunnel vision proved to be his downfall. A cross went wide and he overextended himself. His mind snapped out of its mantra as all motion came to a halt. Looking up, he saw Lelouch standing to the side of his arm, holding his wrist in a vice-like grip.

He got caught.

"Gotcha," sneered Lelouch. As he felt his opponent's claw snake up to his elbow and the jerky pull on his arm, Gino only had three words as he lurched forward.

'Well. Fuck me.'

His forward leg was kicked back from under him, making him stumble and bend over. Just right for a nonchalant knee to rocket into his sternum, all the while his arm was still being locked in place, his shoulder joint shrieking from all the stress and contortions. A palm heel slammed into his chin and a knife-hand struck his throat.

As Gino coughed and gasped for air, Lelouch released his arm and threw an elbow into the blond's chest, driving him back. If Gino hoped for a short breather, he was sorely disappointed and blanched when Lelouch leaned down to the right and levered his left leg up, the limb curling at the knee with its heel ramming into the blond's jaw. A jumping back kick finished off Lelouch's counter-attack and it left Gino stumbling back and into his ass.

Mercury pursed his lips in approval. "Not bad," he nodded.

"Not bad?! NOT BAD?! That's was awesome!" cheered Yang. "C'mon Lulu! I want my money!" The two Britannians in the stands chuckled at the nickname while Lelouch, down in the ring, sighed in resignation. Not again.

"I bet the pot!" proudly proclaimed Yang. "Lelouch wins by depletion!"

"Oh damn."

"Language, Miss Rose."

As he struggled to get up, Gino felt his body defy him in fatigue. The parts that were hit ached and felt tender. He winced as he stood up and put up his guard again. Across the arena, Lelouch had once more resettled into his crouched stance. His controlled expression turned into a smug smirk and his right hand turned, the wrist rotating until the palm faced him. The smirk only seemed to grow as his fingers began to curl inwards.

Oh hell no.

Suzuki left out a good laugh at Lelouch's antics. Gino was very obviously ticked off with the "come-hither" he just got. "Classic Lelouch," he sighed as he collected himself.

Gino's face curled into a snarl and he charged forward, ignoring pained, protesting muscles. But with that his form became sloppy and previously formidable, controlled attacks turned wild, going wide and more often than not being parried or dodged. It certainly didn't help that Lelouch still had the smug, shit-eating grin on his face.

"My, my, Gino. You're losing your touch," the black-haired boy taunted.

"Fuck off!"

"LANGUAGE!"

He loosed a rampant haymaker, aiming to not so much punch as clothesline him. A bandaged hand shot out and struck the crook of his elbow, pain surging up his arm from the struck tendons. A quick upward wrench fully exposed his torso to a barrage of clawed palms, swipes and punches, Gino wincing in pain at the impact of fingers jabbing into his skin. A rising claw intercepted an exhausted hook while another smashed into his ribs. Pushing Lelouch off, Gino's hackles rose at how little he managed to do to his leader. With an enraged cry, he sent another salvo of strikes to Lelouch and to his elation, he managed to score a few!

Maybe he could do this.

"Come on Gino!" cheered Weiss all of a sudden. Realising what she just did, she sank back into her seat and tried to shrink as much as possible. Her image was ruined!

"Now, now Miss Schnee," jokingly cautioned Ozpin. "I wouldn't get too excited."

Meanwhile, Gino reared himself for the final blow, putting his weight into it. A handlebar. A crushing blow from the top and onto his teammate's shoulder should be enough. But to his dismay, just as his arm began to descend, it was halted by a claw on his tricep.

Oh shit.

Another surged up and seized his wrist, pulling down and bending Gino's elbow. And just as Gino felt his feet get kicked away the ground for yet another time, he thought he heard his leader mutter something.

"Checkmate."

'...Well. I'm screwed.'

The audience watched in awe as the Britannia team leader almost seamlessly lifted his larger blond teammate of his feet, over his shoulder and slammed him into the floor.

Did the tiles just crack?

By this point, Gino lay flat in his back, dazed and nearly out of the fight. Lelouch decided to change that 'nearly' to a strong 'definitely'. And so he did.

Some may call it excessive. Others overkill. But an axe kick to the gut was damn effective.

With a final grunt, Gino lost the energy to get back up. As he lay there, he heard Miss Goodwitch speak up.

"By aura depletion, Lelouch Lamperouge wins!"

A polite applause (and raucous celebration from Yang) brought a small smile to his face. He looked back and gave a small frown at Gino's condition. 'Damn. Went overboard again.'

Ignoring Goodwitch's worried fluttering ("how did they crack the tiles?!") about the nearly unconscious blond, he fetched a bundle of towels from some duffle bags off to the side along with another bucket of water. Limping over to Gino, he dumped the water onto his teammate and woke him, a gasp on his lips.

"I was having a good dream you know," grumbled Gino.

"Dream later. We need to get patched up," retorted Lelouch, extending a hand. He pulled Gino up and helped steady him when he stumbled.

"You look like Nightmare trailings," quipped Gino. Lelouch, in contrast to the virtually flawless skin he usually had, was be-speckled with bruises and scrapes. He took a moment and looked up and down at Gino, who was in the exact same condition.

"Says you. Besides, at least I'm sticking to my colour," chuckled Lelouch.

"Ha! You're right there," roared Gino. Then his laughter cut short as he winced, grabbing his ribs. "Owowowowowow."

"Let's get you two washed up and to the nurse's office shall we?" asked Goodwitch. Even if they didn't comply, she could just drag them there herself.

Thankfully that would not be the case. "Right then, let's go. Aura should handle the worse of this." Lelouch took a step forward, Gino trailing behind and Glynda at the rear.

Then he fell forward.

"MY LEG! CRAMPING! SCHEIßE!"

This would take a while.

---

In a nondescript room in Beacon's dormitories, Team CMNE were gathered around a spiffy, new office scroll, expanded to the size of a small television. On it was a recording of Gino and Lelouch's sparring match that was occasionally paused, rewound and examined, with each "student" holding a scroll of their own.

"Pause."

With a keystroke, Cinder paused the video and let Mercury take a closer look.

"Whoo! That's some good form," commented the assassin. At the moment, they were looking at a frame that showed Lelouch driving a claw into Gino's ribs.

"I still don't see the point of seeing this Cinder," protested Emerald. They should still be researching, trying to find as many points to strike as possible. She was almost there but noooo, Mercury had to call everyone together just so he could fanboy in front of all of them.

And she was just getting to the Grimm texts too!

"It may seem pointless Emerald. But every edge over them is an advantage," reminded Cinder.

"Ooooh! Big hit!" cheered Mercury in the background.

"Even if the research is more entertainment than work to some of us," she finished. Emerald just sighed, shook her head in resignation and looked back at her two other teammates.

Research. Right. A bucket of popcorn just screamed professionalism. And Neo was sat right there, leaning her little frame onto Mercury, the two glued to the big screen.

"Whatever. How're the translations from Watts coming along?" asked Emerald, eager to actually do something. Though the small scowl on Cinder's face did make her regret saying that.

"He sent them over. Though he was an ass while doing so." The call she had him just made her want to wring his neck. "Oh, what's this? The mighty Cinder Fall can't understand the old Mantlian dialect? Is Mordian that difficult? A child could do this," she mockingly imitated. Emerald just watched with confused stupor. Wow. How badly did this Watts guy have to be to make the cool-headed Cinder Fall act this way?!

Honestly, she didn't really want to know.

"I'm sorry. I got off track there for a moment." Cinder collected herself from her slightly frazzled state and continued. "The translations just about confirmed that the boys, or at least their leader, knew that they were being spied on. So we need to exercise caution. We can't afford to be compromised."

"Should I update their profiles then?"

"By all means."

Emerald nodded and opened the file on her scroll. Scrolling (pun intended, Yang approved) through all the dossiers of students they made throughout their stay, she made it to the bottom of the list, where four relatively empty profiles presented themselves to her.

All they had filled in was school, name, age and an adequate picture. Cinder had tried to dig into the CCT system and see if it had anything. But alas, no.

Just as she was about to start, a slender arm crept up her shoulder from behind. Emerald spun around, startled, and came face to face with Noire. The girl's fingers plucked the scroll and tapped onto one of the profiles and Emerald watched in curiosity as the name "ROLO LAMPEROUGE" came up on the screen.

"What is it Neo?" asked Cinder. Was there new intel?

The short girl passed back the scroll when she finished typing. Looking for any changes, Emerald and Cinder saw some script under 'notable characteristics'.

"...Has cute ears?" read Emerald incredulously. She looked at the incognito criminal, who just shrugged. "Cute," she repeated, in a rare use of her voice.

"You know you could've just said that or added that into the profile on your own scroll right?" stated Emerald, crossing her arms in irritation.

"Too lazy. Fun to see you annoyed anyway," signed Neo indifferently.

"While it's fun to watch you bicker, I should remind you that I will not allow our plan to fail from petty infighting." Cinder conjured a fireball that burned bright and twisted about in her palm. "Is that understood?" she warned.

"Yes, Cinder."

"Yeah yeah," signed Neo with a roll of her eyes.

"Good. Mercury," she called, turning to Emerald's partner. "I need you to do something."

"Yeah what's up?"

"As much as possible, tail the Britannians for the next few days when you can. If you think you'll be compromised, disengage immediately. Any piece of knowledge, even the most trivial, is still useful but I don't want you captured. Understood?"

"Aye aye," he replied. He paused the video, stood up and stretched. "Excuse me, ladies. I'm gonna take a whizz."

"I'll head off too," signed Neo. "Going to explore the school."

"Why?" asked Cinder.

"Curious," shrugged Neo. "You need me for anything?" she signed.

"No, we'll be fine. I'll call if anything," waved Cinder. "Have fun."

With a nod, Neo spun around and skipped out the door and down the hall, intent on sating her curiosity. There was nothing stopping her and there was no way she could be interrupted or caught off guard.

Nope.

Nadda.

Definitely no way whatsoever.

Zilch.

---

Turns out the universe has an ironic and twisted sense of humour, especially those who overstepped themselves.

And Neo, under the guise of Noire Spumoni, was no exception.

So imagine her surprise as she rounded a corner towards the rear of the school, overlooking the Emerald forest, only to slam into a brown and black mass mid skip and fall on her ass.

'Owieee,' she mentally whined, rubbing her rear. What did she hit?

"Oh man, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?" asked a concerned voice. "Here, let me help you up!"

She accepted the fingerless, leather-gloved hand with little hesitation and let herself be pulled up. Once standing, she dusted herself off and checked to see that her guise was still in place. Then she looked up and froze up.

Man. The universe really loves its irony.

For standing in front of her, in what was probably his field outfit, was Rolo Lamperouge, a look of concern directed at her.

The one with the cute ears. And they were curled forward in apology. "I'm so sorry. I should have seen where I was going!"

Did she say cute? She meant adorable.

He wore a very...interesting getup. Slate grey cargo pants and an umber brown shirt, covered by an unzipped navy blue hoodie, initially thought black, with silver stripes on its sleeves that twisted, turned and wove around one another. His back was mottled with dark silver splotches and his trousers were held by a black belt with what looked to be pouches on both of his hips. Dark brown, leather straps looked to criss-cross over his body, with some strapping his thighs, others over his arms and even three across his chest, one with a shiny little iron buckle on his shirt and the other two above his jacket, threaded through built-in loops and held together with a single, more conventional plastic buckle, forming an "X" on his chest. On his feet, he wore a pair of unassuming, dark brown trainers with white soles.

After his clothes, she took notice of his arms. On his shoulders were a pair of plated, silvery-grey pauldrons, with a rail(?) and a thin cable that protruded from them and ran down the length of his triceps, stopping at his elbow, which had metal bands before and after it with little notched landings that seemed to fit the rail. On the outside of his elbows, fixed onto the bands, were sheaves about half the size of his palm, with one laying just before the elbow while the other was found just after, the two connected by a segmented guide rail with a flexible middle that ran diagonally from the bottom of the first wheel to the top of the second.

His forearms were covered by a pair of bracers, above which were a trio of yet more leather straps, these with little, outward-facing metallic strips on them. The bracers had more lustre than his pauldrons and were one solid piece of a shiny, obsidian black metal, attached to his forearms by a series of straps with padding on its interior. The underside of the bracers held yet another guiding track, the end just barely poking out of the armour plating. Though she couldn't see the underside, there was a sneaking feeling that there was more to his equipment than what she saw. At most, she spotted a small black cable running on the inside of his arm and the hexagonal end of the rail jutting out from the bottom of his forearm.

Attached to his thigh straps were yet another pair of pouches, though larger than those on his hip. Just above those were a pair of belts, with little loops that carried small metal baubles. And on his hands, on his middle, ring and pinkie fingers were thin silver rings, attached to thin silver wires and that ran up the back of his hand and disappearing under the bracers.

Finishing his outfit was a simple black beanie, with his feline ears poking out on top, a black and grey camouflage neck gaiter and a flash of his emblem affixed above his left eye. Speaking of which.

Displayed in a dull white on his left breast, pauldrons, shirt and thigh pouches was an hourglass, wrapped and constrained by a bramble of thorns. What was interesting though was that the so-called "thorns" were crescent-shaped rather than just conventionally tapering to a point.

Almost as if they were claws.

Such a menacing appearance did not do its owner any justice, who was still rambling apologies to her.

She waved off his apologies and pat down her rear. And paled when she heard the crunch of metal.

Oh no. Ohnonononononono.

She pulled out what was supposed to be her scroll and dejectedly stared at a twisted hunk of metal.

'Crapbaskets. Why did I have to back pocket it?' she groaned. 'You know what. It's fine. I'll just have to get a new one,

Unbeknownst to her, she started "talking" to herself at some point. And Rolo, who was still fixated on helping her as an apology, lit up with understanding, spotting a chance.

"Um, excuse me." He tapped her shoulder. Turning to the boy, Noire looked at him expectantly, a miffed glare on her face.

"Look, I'm sorry that I made you break your scroll? How about I get you a new one?"

Her expression lightened, much to his delight. Then he felt confused when she started dragging one finger across an open palm. Seeing said confusion, Noire made more frantic gestures until he caught on.

"Oh! Sure just a sec," he replied, taking out his scroll. Passing it to her, he waited patiently for her response, which she quickly tapped out before passing it back to him.

"Only if you get me ice cream too?" he read aloud. With a sigh of relief, he chuckled. 'At least it's reasonable.'

"Are you free this Saturday?" he signed. "We could go then."

That caught Noire by surprise. "Wait, you can understand me?!" she typed excitedly.

"More or less," he verbally replied.

"Wow okay. I'm sorry this is a lot to process."

"Eh take your time," placated Rolo.

"Sooooo, this Saturday then?" confirmed Noire.

"Yeah sure. Meet me at the Beacon docks around 1130?"

"That works for me," nodded Noire.

"Alright!" clapped Rolo. "See you then. Oh, uhh, can I have my scroll back? Hope you don't mind holding on till then."

"I'll be fine. See you then!" Noire typed. She passed back the device and skipped off, humming a silent tune, happy to have made a new "friend". As she passed him, she turned her head toward the boy.

"Bye~!" And she was off.

Rolo looked on at the retreating silhouette, scroll still in his hand. 'Another situation defused Rolo! Good job!' he congratulated himself.

As he watched her make her merry way, his gaze softened. 'Cute..' he mused.

Then all thought came to a grinding halt of realisation. His serene expression shattered, his eyes bugged out wide and his jaw dropped in shock.

"Wait, she talks?!"

---

After a good workout and a satisfying meal, Lelouch would argue that few things would compare to just relaxing in bed, enjoying the blessings of the unburdened. Even if only for a little while.

So that was where Suzaku found him in the early afternoon. In their room. On his bed. In what was basically his sleepwear. With a book, headphones and a bag of chips.

Never mind the fact that he looked like an oil spill.

"Lelouch?"

No answer.

"Hellooo? Lelouch?" he asked with a rising tone.

Still nothing.

Suzaku let out a sigh of annoyance and reared back.

"Lelouch!"

His fist sailed towards the tender bruised flesh of his leader. Only to be blocked by the book's hardcover.

"Yes Suzaku what is it?" drawled Lelouch with a big yawn. A band reached down and tapped his purple scroll, pausing whatever he was listening to and taking off his headphones.

Taking a few deep breaths to calm himself, because his partner could be so damned infuriating at times, Suzaku continued. "Our bikes arrived."

"Oh goody, we can take them for a ride in the evening against the Valian sunset. Maybe excessively braid our hair like Gino and go prancing in the fields," Lelouch sarcastically deadpanned.

"Hey I heard that!" called Gino from across the room.

"Seriously man, you wouldn't be going through the effort just for the multibikes. What is it?" he asked.

"Nago is due to be shipped off tonight. Also, a reminder that so is our... debut."

"Right. Well then," grunted Lelouch as he got off the bed. "I suppose I've rested enough. I'll settle the bikes' paperwork and get Jeremiah to assemble the others. You let the other two know about tonight. By the way, how goes the research?"

"Oh, you know. Same old same old," answered his partner disinterested. "Boring. Slow. Pain in the ass. By the way..."

His fist struck true and sunk deep into the leader's purple spotted skin.

"Ah! What the fuck?!" he hissed, rubbing his sore arm.

"That's for being an ass just now."

"Yeah I deserve that," groaned Lelouch.

"Get on with it."

---

A fire raged in the heart of Vale's industrial district, its baleful, orange glow casting deep shadows amongst ruined and damaged buildings as the flames greedily devoured the previously unscathed line of warehouses. The devilish tongues rose high into the air, becoming a Beacon of worry for miles around, the heat blasting its surroundings ruthlessly.

One Verne Braithwaite couldn't care less as he stared, stunned at the sight of his work going up in literal flames. Slack-jawed in shock, he was unable to comprehend how his life came crashing down in just over 15 minutes. At this point, he felt numb, uncaring of the blistering heat that blasted him in the face, of the hot air that whipped his hair and dried his eyes. Of the defiant screams and cries of pain that rang out in the night. All around him, figures in black were training guns on men, his men, who were prone on the baking pavement, their ankles and wrists tightly bound by zipties. Some shouted in defiance, others quietly accepted their fates with stifled sobs and prayers to the powers that be. One foolishly brave soul even tried to get the jump on one of their attackers. Maybe even steal their guns.

He got a bullet between the eyes for his efforts and Verne saw two of the mercenaries (too well trained to be street thugs) come over and toss his corpse into the flames, joining a few others.

Verne clearly remembered everything that happened up till the present. He was taking a walk around the warehouse, inspecting the new shipment of Snow he received from Don Monty. They were to be hidden in bags of fertiliser and delivered to the family's covers, florists spread all over the Kingdom, with even a few setting up shop in Mistral and Vacuo last he heard. Then, they would be used to lure in dumb Faunus who would be captured, "hired" and shipped off to work the mines. Of course, a small commission found its way into his pockets for every sale they made. He was having a little chat with Bertie, his bodyguard, when the warehouse was plunged into pitch black, illuminated only by the light of the shattered moon.

He heard them coming before he saw them. A truck barreled through the shutters with a loud crunch of metal and shocked exclamations were silenced by the staccato of automatic fire as black clad assailants flooded into the warehouse and cut down his men, illuminated only by a pair of green lights. He remembered being pushed aside before seeing Bertie get shredded apart by a salvo, the blinding flash and deafening ring of a flashbang going off and the dull yet sharp impact of a rifle butt smashing the back of his head. After that, he could see nothing, a burlap sack thrown over his head as he got frogwalked out of the building with a warm barrel between his shoulders. He heard some of his goons return fire in defence but by the looks of things, they had no hope.

When he was allowed to see again, he was left kneeling to watch in awe as his warehouses burst into flames with a magnificent chain of explosions. Unbeknownst to him, crates full of his product were being loaded up into a line of trucks behind him. Not that he would care about that at the moment. He was too busy crapping his pants (figuratively).

'The Don's gonna kill me!'

The *clack* of leather shoes on concrete brought him back to the present. That and the cold water splashed on his kneeling figure. As he sputtered in surprise, he heard a voice.

"...we'll see to the transport and storage of the Snow. Now if you would excuse me."

A pair of shiny leather shoes entered his field of vision and a shadow towered over him. "Good evening, I am Zero. What's your name?"

In his fear-and-shock-addled mind, Verne just barely managed to mutter out an answer, one muted by the furious roar of flames. "Come on man! Speak up!" playfully urged the newcomer. Before he could though, Verne was interrupted. "You know what? It'll be easier standing. On your feet."

Arms wrapped around his and yanked him up, his attention drawn to the figure that now stood between him and the flames. "So who are you again?" this "Zero" asked.

"V-verne. Verne Brai-."

"Braithwaite right? Yeah I knew that already," the man interrupted dismissively. His long black trench-coat whipped in the rising winds like a cape, thrown about by the blasts of air from the inferno. From where he stood, Zero was shrouded in shadow, his silhouette a menacing, horned splotch against the bright orange behind him. As he paced around Verne, Zero spoke again. "You know, you're handling this well. Way better than Mr Macquar did last night."

Wait a minute. Mac?

"That was you?! Do you have any idea what you're doing?!"

Zero stopped and turned to look at him. "Of course it was me. Who else could have?" he snorted. "Also yes I know exactly what I'm doing."

"When the boss finds out about this, you'll wish you were dead!" roared Verne. Any trace of numbed shock had given way and transformed into focused anger.

"Ha!" chortled Zero. "As if. Now here's what's gonna happen Verney. Can I call you Verney? I'll call you Verney." At this point, Zero stood opposite where he started, the light of the flames reflecting off his spiked helm and the wind now throwing his open coat back to reveal a dark purple suit., his figure now bathed in the amber glow.

As he stalked forward, Zero continued. "You're gonna agree to pass on a message to your boss. Then you're gonna feel immense pain and then you're gonna get arrested. Not necessarily in that order. How's that sound?"

"Now wait just a-"

"Great! Glad we settled. Gentlemen, if you would kindly."

Verne futilely struggled and bargained as he was put in an uncomfortable half-squat position. As he did, Zero came closer and unsheathed a silver and black blade from under his coat. "Now be grateful Mr Braithwaite," he chided playfully, brandishing the knife in front of him, "Mackie boy underwent a lot more than you did. This'll only take 5 minutes. Or 5 hours. Psshht, I dunno."

He seized Verne's jaw and kept an iron grip, forcing him to stare into his reflection as the blade menacingly slid down his cheek, drawing a thin red line, making him wince in pain.

"Now Braithwaite," Zero spoke, uncharacteristically seriously (to Verne that is), "It is said that there was a God who punished the evil and wicked by exposing their sins to the world through hideous deformations, the light of day laying them bare. While most would interpret this as an idiom or metaphor for inner beauty and morality,"

The clip point tip of the dagger lifted off Verne's cheek and came to rest on his forehead.

"I think it also inspired a real punishment. And I think you're smart enough to know where this is going, right?"

A wave of realisation and fear rammed into Verne and he turned pale as a sheet, his jaw slackening aghast. From his reflection, he could see the terror in his eyes, wild and desperate despite his constraints and the mask's fish eye effect.

"Ah good," purred the metallic baritone, "you do. You feel the fear and pain you've caused and spread to the good people. And you understand what's due for you. Good. Very good indeed."

He pressed the tip of the blade and a drop of blood trickled from Braithwaite's forehead, the pain, sight and anticipation making the gangster hyperventilate.

"P-p-please! There must be a way to-"

"The time to plead has long past," intoned Zero sinisterly. "Now, let your sins be laid bare by Daybreak for all to see. Suffer as they suffered."

"Please!" begged Verne, snot dripping out his nostrils.

"What's that phrase they use?" Zero asked suddenly. "You know. The one in all the bad pornos?"

"H-huh?"

"Ah, yes. Bite the pillow."

With an air of finality, Zero pressed down on the dagger and Verne wailed out in pain. The blade's tip carved terrible, gory gorges on his brow, its wielder being deliberately as slow and ham-fisted as possible, drawing out screams as skin parted to form text cut out without any surgical precision. All the while, Verne could feel himself blacking out from the burning agony. As crimson ichor came down his face, first as rivulets then as a flood, his throat became sore and hoarse from his wails. Towards the end, his cries had been reduced to mere mewls and whimpers, his eyes dull and streaming with tears and his head held tightly by three different hands. Meanwhile, Braithwaite's goons looked on horrified, some losing their meals at the sight of such brutality and others soiling themselves. To Zero's credit, his own forces did not look to be affected bar the occasional aversion of gaze.

When he had finished, Zero took a step back to examine his handiwork. With a nod, two of his men dropped Verne, leaving him splayed out on the pavement, eyes wide in shock and mouth muttering something unintelligible. The inferno continued to dance in front of them, making Zero's knife glow crimson as blood dripped off its tip and illuminating the new 'tag' he had given Braithwaite in a hellish glow, "SLAVER" carved in big, bold, messy red script that flowed all over his expressionless face.

"I think you broke him boss," chuckled Mr Blau.

"So it may seem," muttered Zero. Wiping his blade with a tissue, he tossed the waste into the flaming building and looked to the assembled henchmen. "No matter, some just break more than others. Mr Shiro, kindly find us another messenger would you?" The aforementioned man gave a silent nod and headed off, coming back moments later with a cowering man -no, boy- who tried to make himself as small as possible.

"That was quick! Well done," praised Zero. Turning to the adolescent, he bent down low, making him crawl back in fear, only to be stopped when he felt a pair of legs blocking him. "What's your name boy?"

"F-Finn," he answered timidly.

"Well Finn, I need you to do something for me. Can you deliver a message for the rest of your organisation?" he whispered.

"I-I will!" hastily complied Finn.

"Good. Mr Blau," he called, snapping his gloved fingers. "The envelope please." The man took out a midnight black envelope from his jacket and passed it to his leader, who passed it onto Finn, who accepted it with shaky hands.

"Tell your master, DON MONTY," announced Zero bombastically, heard well even amongst the roar of burning buildings and the cry of sirens, "that there is a new player in town!" He spread out his arms, bathing in the fire's light. As though he willed it to, the building crumbled and the flames burst up in height with new ferocity. Meanwhile, the other gunmen began knocking out the other tied up men and binding them together, the thuds of their rifle butts echoing out despite the roar of the flames.

"Tell the decrepit old man that," he pointed to the earth, "this is our turf now! Vale is our town now! We rule this city now!"

"Tell him that Zero sent you! Tell him that the Pioneers' time is over" he roared. He looked at Finn and a section in his mask opened, letting a violet eye shine through and pierce Finn with its gaze.

"Tell him that the Midnight Fang is taking over!"

---

"And so with a mighty cry, the great king Artorias charged forth and did battle with the great beast that ravaged his people and their lives.

The monster stood tall as the forests and as strong as the mountains. Fur, black as sin yet grey as wisdom and bone pale as the dead howled a mighty challenge, the tributes left behind by challengers past rattling on its back.

The demonic wolf, strider of the forest, bore down on the king, its claws furiously swiping, it's great blade, hewed from the mountain and trees of its home, bore down and split the earth asunder.

Such was the power of the great and terrible Sif."

-Excerpt from The Gallant Tales of Ser Artorias, New Emperor Oswald Translation, Published 1890 ATB, loaning-fiction, Serial No. 110345T, Beacon Academy Library

---

Hey guys, me again. I hope you've all enjoyed this chapter! I hope the dialogue wasn't too stilted and that it was to your liking and that the fight scene was fun and (hopefully) exciting to read! I'm trying to brush up on my skills :)

So, polls. I should have seen this coming. Lelouch's semblance is gonna be called "Obedience", as cliche as that is. But never mind. It was the people's choice and I'll accept it. Next up is Rolo's. It's already up on my profile so have at it. (Any new suggestions are welcome in the reviews.)

I'll try to get another chapter up when I can but sadly no guarantees. Nonetheless, I'll try my best.

See you till next time! TTFN