Warning: Near the end of this chapter, there are graphic depictions of sexual assault, gore, and extreme violence. Viewer discretion is advised.

0554 hours, 6th Axial Rotation of Joo'Lie, Atlesian Time

Headmaster's Office, Atlas Academy

James Ironwood was having a bad morning.

Contrary to popular belief, having the prestigious position of both the General of the Atlas Army and the Headmaster of Atlas Academy did not allow him to live a luxurious life.

Especially not in times like these. Several things tugged at his attention. He remembered being angry at Qrow for his recklessness on the morning of the day before. He remembered the spike of emotion that boiled his blood and reddened his face with rage. Anyhow, Qrow couldn't have been blamed for defending himself, but Ironwood remained angry at him for the fact that he did not escape immediately after destroying the stone.

But it was also good that Qrow had fought with the creature. The council now had an approximation of the creature's strength and speed. Qrow's assessment of the creature's attributes had been very useful, as they would at least have something to prepare for. For starters, it could travel at the speed of a top-tier huntsman and attack at speeds beyond their perception.

Considering the effects of altitude and atmospheric conditions, standard dust rounds, when fired at a person ten meters away, would usually reach him or her in no more than twenty milliseconds. Any half-decent huntsman, let alone Qrow, would be able to react to and dodge a bullet under such conditions. The fact that he could not react to the boy's lunge spoke plenty of the latter's speed.

Of its strength, Ironwood knew that it was strong enough to tear a long bar of iron from a side railing on the road. Considering the outright superior feats of strength that even the weakest of his students could perform several times over, Ironwood was rather unimpressed by the action.

Nevertheless, he was convinced that the creature likely was much stronger than huntsmen. Or rather, would be stronger. After all, there was no reason to suggest that it was fully-grown.

Furthermore, Qrow had reported that the creature's aura was possibly locked. Therefore, it probably wasn't using its aura during the battle. As per Ironwood's understanding of the subject, the creature had only been using its pure physical strength to move at the aforementioned speeds and tear out the iron railing.

In other words, Ironwood's — and the task force's hypothesis — was that it had been relying on pure muscle to move at incredible speeds. The thought frightened him, and so did the reality it corresponded to.

Through this line of reasoning, and with the additional benefit of Alice's research, Ironwood concluded that the creature was almost certainly a few times stronger than huntsmen and huntresses alike. It would've been great if Alice could predict the trajectory of its growth, but she couldn't, and neither could the other researchers he asked. Ironwood was extremely curious as to how strong and fast the creature was in, say, a year or two.

In the present, James Ironwood sat alone in his office. It was deathly silent in here. Winter and Augustus were busy supervising the teams of researchers — if they needed any supervision, that is. Progress on the object had been shaky and slow, but a few grand discoveries had been made. For example, the outer shell of the object had been melted down into sample-sized units and using a state-of-the-art qualitative spectroscopic technique, the material scientists were able to ascertain the elemental composition of the outer shell.

The alloy had been ingeniously designed.

There was no doubt whatsoever about that. Most of the material scientists had admitted that even they could not have come up with such a design for an ablative heat shield. In other words, the implication was that this element was, for all intents and purposes, suitable for the circumstances of the object's arrival on Remnant. This, therefore, implied that it was almost certain that the creature had been sent here on purpose.

So far, only a few pieces of the outer shell had been removed. It had been constructed using a ceramic-type material. What was more disconcerting was the fact that many of the researchers had pointed out that it was practically impossible to manufacture even, even with the latest technology.

James watched the footage of the breach over and over again. The grace and speed of the creature had never ceased to amaze him. It moved so very smoothly; its beautiful legs, arms, feet, torso, all working in perfect conjunction, even in this grainy footage. Ironwood had never seen such beautiful coordination in the past, even amongst the myriad students enrolled in his academy.

It was truly odd. Assuming that its creators had intended it to engage in an act of subterfuge and that they had full or virtually full control over its physical appearance, making it stick out like a sore thumb was a thoroughly illogical decision. Ironwood had been thinking. If its goal wasn't to blend into the population, then what was it? On the other hand, if the creature's purpose was the conquest of the planet, then it appeared that its creators hadn't given the populace's reaction much thought.

After all, would the people of Vale, Atlas, Vacuo, and Mistral really accept a being so far above themselves in strength, speed, and intelligence as their ruler? They would never accept a wolf in sheep's clothing. They would never accept an alien.

They would never accept a monster.

But the opposite could also be true. James knew the various religions practised in the Kingdoms and Menagerie, of the myriad prophets, prognosticators, seers, and prophecies that will never come to pass. But these organizations — cults, as James affectionately termed, were led by…men. The boy was not a god. Was the boy godlike then? Perhaps. They wouldn't see it as a monster. They wouldn't see it as a man. James knew the truth — that the world was created by two brother gods.

The truth didn't matter to the ordinary folk. They would see the creature like an angel, a demon, or whatever mythological beings they believed in. Many would attempt to kill him. Many others will attempt to worship him. There would be civil unrest all over Remnant between the practitioners of the myriad religions. And James knew what that would result in.

James pondered the limits of the creature's strength and speed. The numbers stood at three and four huntsmen respectively, as of now, due to the fact that it seemed almost evenly matched with Qrow, according to the latter's account. There was no reason to assume that it was already full grown. Would it grow to the size of an adult human? Or perhaps, larger still? Would its strength be the equivalent of five, ten, or even fifty huntsmen? The notion terrified James to the core.

He was reminded of something that Qrow said about the creature. James remembered the fact that Qrow had performed the advanced technique of 'reading' one's aura shortly after the duel began. Yes, it had a soul, but there was a different quality to the creature's aura that frightened him. For starters, he couldn't tell whether it was unlocked or locked. It was just…there. In place of an aura, he felt an indescribably voluminous mass of what appeared to be pure, raw energy. It blinded his senses as he gazed upon it, and Qrow recalled the terror that chilled his blood as he felt the creature's immense aura.

If anything, this implied that the creature's soul was far more powerful than that of the average human's. If anything, this was an alternative explanation as to how the creature was so powerful. Perhaps its 'aura' worked according to a similar principle as the auras of humans and the Faunus, allowing the creature to strengthen its body and perform superhuman feats of speed, strength, and stamina, rather than relying on its clearly superior physiology. Or perhaps the two principles worked in conjunction. The two explanations weren't mutually exclusive, after all. The creature could be empowered by its superhuman physiology and its immensely powerful 'aura'.

But Qrow had been explicit in stating that he did not sense any aura being used. More specifically, he did not sense a decrease in the reserves of the mysterious energy he found in the creature. In other words, it could not have possibly been used. But what if that was not the case? What if the creature could use this mystical energy without depleting it? That would be a complete gamechanger - unlimited access to superhuman strength.

He would have to consult Alice and the other biologists in matters pertaining to the material universe. He'd have to press them again on providing predictions of the trajectory of the creature's growth in strength, speed, and stamina. Higher-quality samples of the creature's cells had already been transported to Atlas, and the researchers had already begun work on creating more precise simulations.

In the present, there was a buzzing noise at the blast door that guarded his office. Someone had clicked on the doorbell. It was Winter Schnee.

Ironwood approved her entry with the press of a button. The massive doors parted, and the operative stepped within the third safest place in Atlas Academy.

"Good Morning, General," she greeted, saluting immediately at the door. The Specialist looked tired, as though she had been working all night. Ironwood noticed the relatively slight imperfections in her graceful movements and the sweat stains that sullied her statuesque countenance.

"Morning, Winter," said Ironwood. His gaze flickered to her for a split second before being averted to the video that played for the fifty-sixth time on his scroll. "Any word from the ones responsible for managing the biometric data recognition program?"

"The chief of the Valean Police Department has forwarded me the surveillance footage of the entire Western Sector of the Commercial District beginning on the 2nd of Joo'Lie and ending on 11:59 P.M last night. Processing the information took under a minute, thanks to our technology, and we found dozens of matches in near the site of intrusion. Do you wish for me to forward to you the compiled footage?" asked Winter.

There was a long pause as James gathered his thoughts. What a stupid question that was. Of course he wanted the footage.

"Plot out every single location where the sightings occurred on a map of the Western Sector of the Commercial District. Do that for me, Winter," said Ironwood. "Also, send me the footage, compiled according to chronological order."

"I have already plotted out the locations of the sightings and compiled the footage according to chronological order, General," replied the Specialist.

Ironwood smiled, pleased at what she had done. Winter was delighted to see the expression crease his face.

"Good, Specialist Schnee," said James.

"Thank you, General. There is another thing," said Winter.

"Speak."

"The VPD reported that several cameras had been destroyed by some force. Coincidentally, recovered from the cameras were footage depicting the creature. A pattern was established — the footage of the creature would be immediately cut short if it noticed the camera," said Winter.

"How did it notice the cameras?"

"It saw the cameras," explained Winter. "The footage would be cut by the next frame or the frame after that."

"I'm not going to ask how it even destroyed the cameras at a distance. There's no way we can answer that question unless we're willing to acknowledge the possibility that it has a telekinesis-based semblance, which is the best hypothesis. How many frames per second do the cameras run on?" asked Ironwood.

"Sixty. The cameras here in Atlas run on four times that," added Winter, and her chest puffed out in pride.

Good grief, thought Ironwood. Just when I thought she was different from the other Specialists.

"Sixty frames per second…that makes its reaction time no slower than sixteen-point-seven milliseconds, if the camera was destroyed by the next frame," mused Ironwood, performing a quick mental calculation.

"It is to be expected, General," said Winter. "But to match an elite amongst huntsman, albeit a drunk one, the creature's reaction time is expected to be far lower than that."

He thought for a moment. Qrow had reported witnessing the destruction of a camera during his encounter with the creature. There was no doubt about it now — the boy had learnt of the purpose of surveillance cameras and was somehow responsible for destroying the cameras.

"If we arrange the footage according to chronological order, we can pinpoint the first instance whereupon the camera was destroyed by the creature. With the information I gathered from Qrow, I can then cross-reference the date and time of the first time it destroyed a camera and the time and date it accessed the library. I believe we can learn much from what the result will imply," explained James calmly. He noticed the look of confusion on Winter's face. "Let me explain: The first surveillance camera that the creature encountered, that is, the one at the wall, was not immediately destroyed. The first instance of a camera being destroyed occurred a great distance from the wall, meaning that it must have passed several cameras along the way. Do you see where I'm going with this, Winter?"

The Specialist nodded her head. "Ah, I see, General. So it must have learned, somewhere along the way, the function of a surveillance camera."

"Precisely. Also, the fact that it began to destroy the cameras proves many things. One, that it does not want us to know what it's doing, which means that it knows that whatever is doing will elicit a response that may be detrimental to its goals. And why would we respond in such a manner? Because whatever it's doing is either harmful to us or it conflicts with our goals," said Ironwood.

"But, General, there are other possibilities," said Winter.

"True, but this is probably what's going through its mind," said Ironwood.

"So with these facts, it is proven that the creature was ignorant of Vale's surveillance technology and that it is likely engaging in activities which are not in the interests of humanity," summarized Winter. "We also know that the creature likely gained learned of the surveillance technology from a library. However...as per the anecdote from Qrow's niece, it does seem that the creature knows the language."

"That it does," admitted Ironwood. "Perhaps it somehow learned the language before it arrived on Remnant."

"Indeed, General," said Winter. "That appears to be the most logical explanation. But even so, we have to assume that it had access to learning materials…wherever it was, and that would subsequently imply that its creators had access to the language. I don't know how this conundrum may be resolved, General. Furthermore, if its creators had the ability to teach it the language, why couldn't it have educated it about the surveillance technology here?"

"Yes, Winter. If it knew the language, what prevented it from knowing the history, culture, and contextual information of Remnant prior to its arrival?" said James. "So many valid questions that I cannot answer. But we do not need to answer them. We only need to gather enough information to build a reliable model of the creature's physical and mental characteristics — its anatomy, its motives, desires, wants, needs, goals — so that we may predict its actions. Still, I am rather curious as to what it may have learned at the library. After all, that is how we can ascertain whatever knowledge it did not possess prior to arriving on Remnant."

"Affirmative, General," said Winter. "How are you going to do that?"

"I'll make a request for the VPD to interview the librarians on duty at the time. Finding them will be easy — as far as I'm aware of, there is only a single library in the Western Sector. Please relay my message to the VPD later, Winter," said James.

"Of course, General."

James smiled. Winter was relieved to see the look on her General's face — he looked energetic and full of health. A restful night. But the strain on his brows, however, slight, remained visible. He was always so very deep in thought. A dozen things tugged at his attention, and though the General was one of the greatest who had ever lived, he was still a man.

"One last thing. Would you make me a cup of coffee, Winter?"

"With pleasure."

0803 hours, 6th Axial Rotation of Joo'Lie, Atlesian Time

Interview Room 3A, VPD Headquarters, Western Sector, Commercial District, Vale

"As I've already said, I. Want. My. Lawyer."

"Let me reiterate — you are not under suspicion of breaking the law. We only need to ask you some questions pertaining to your experience as an eyewitness of the entity," said the detective.

Solomon Wong's muscular arms stood like twin tree trunks upon the steel table, firm and unyielding. He was a man of six foot two and towered over Rosa, who remained seated with her wrists cuffed to her chair. She shivered briefly in the cold, dull concrete room, dressed in nothing but casual clothes.

"I'm not a fool, detective. The entity?" mocked the librarian, indignance rising in her voice. She was feisty. "Is that what you call him? And if I'm not under suspicion of breaking the law, why am I cuffed?"

"Ma'am, you have proved to be extremely uncooperative ever since we brought you to this station," said the detective firmly. "Besides, it's protocol."

His teeth gnashed with impatience as he spoke the words for the third time. Right from the start, when the incompetent officers had dragged the librarian into the stations in cuffs from the warmth of her home, he knew that the conversation would turn out to be the unbreakable litany of ignorance and superstition that it was in the present.

"He's not our enemy," said the librarian for the fifth time. "He's our saviour."

Detective Wong groaned in frustration.

"And how would you know that?"

"I just do," mumbled Rosa. "You wouldn't understand. You didn't see what I saw in him..."

The librarian trailed off, and her gaze glazed over with distraction. The detective took a deep breath.

"We need you to co-operate, Miss Rosa. Which books did he read? That is all I need to know."

"What if I can't remember their titles?" teased Rosa.

"You don't have the give the exact title. Just the topic would be fine," sighed detective Wong.

Rosa sighed sadly. Nothing she had said over the past twenty minutes could persuade the detective to give up. Not that she expected such a thing to happen. She was the only one who saw the boy — he had sequestered himself in a far, untrodden corner of the library.

She knew — of course, she knew — at first glance that the boy was not human. There had been no doubt about it. Aside from his finely sculpted physique and his stark beauty, she saw the hidden warmth in his gaze, an air of justice and passion in that instant whereupon she gazed into those black, mirthless eyes.

He was a gift from God. The light against the Grimm. He would be their saviour.

In the present, Rosa gazed blankly at the detective's grey, nondescript shirt.

"Fine. He was reading a book on…the history of the kingdoms, I think. There was also a dictionary, a textbook on biology, Eliezer's Teleologicae, and some other books," said Rosa.

"Te…leolo…gicae?" queried the detective, quickly jotting down everything she had just said in his notebook. The interview was recorded, but it wouldn't hurt to have the information in his pocket at all times.

"T.E.L.E.O.L.O.G.I.C.A.E. It was a book on teleology by Eliezer Teal," stated the librarian impatiently.

"It's a philosophical concept. The explanations of things as functions of their purpose as opposed to the causes by which they arise," elucidated Rosa, not expecting the inspector to follow.

"Interesting," said the inspector.

"Hmm…I think that will do. You're free to go," said detective Wong, unlocking the woman's cuffs. She got up to leave, and Solomon turned to her as she did. "You know, Ma'am, this could have gone much faster if you had cooperated from the start."

Rosa gave a snort of derision as she opened the door and left. Solomon despised the feisty hag. He let out a sigh as she walked out of the interview room, her footsteps chiming in the distance.

There would be much work to do. Solomon Wong groaned in frustration as he rubbed his tired eyes and downed the cup of cold coffee on the steel table.

For one, he hated Atlas' involvement in the investigation. The Specialist who represented the Atlesian Council in their interactions with the VPD was Winter Schnee, daughter of the multi-billionaire Jacques Schnee, CEO of the Schnee Dust Company. There was a long list of people Solomon hated, and she was definitely at the top of the list.

She was the typical Atlas Elite — dressed immaculately and loyal to a fault to her general. To make matters worse, her speech and her use of a flowery vernacular — as is typical of nearly all Atlas Elites — was downright condescending. She never seemed content with the progress he made, always staring daggers at him through the holographic display.

He felt that he deserved much more than her looks of derision.

Secondly, the situation outside wasn't exactly the best. News of the presence of Atlesian airships at Beacon Academy had spread like wildfire, and rumours of the creature's existence in the Western Sector had spread like wildfire through means unknown. Few dared to remain outside after nightfall, and for good reason.

Nevertheless, Solomon could not deny the effectiveness of Atlesian Technology. From what he was allowed to know, their computing technology allowed them to process 72 hours' worth of footage in a matter of seconds. Using their highly advanced biometric identification software, the Atlesians managed to pinpoint the creature's last known location to an area close to a supermarket in the Western District. More specifically, it was surveillance camera 141W, positioned in a manner that allowed it a view of some thirty meters of the alleyway. Imagine all the cases that could have been solved, the justice that could have been carried out.

Solomon had not seen much of the footage. The most he got was a full-body image of the creature captured when it broke into the Western Sector. It immediately became clear to him why Rosa viewed the boy as some sort of…religious figure. The boy's body was, for all intents and purposes, perfect, and Solomon remembered the mystical allure he felt through the screen when he first laid eyes upon the creature. He wondered what it would have been like if he saw it in the flesh. Would he be entranced by the creature's beauty? Or would he be repulsed by the thing's artificiality?

For now, he would be at the beck and call of his superiors, ready to solve any new problems that may appear. Anything else was secondary. That meant that the case he was currently investigating — the case of Roman Torchwick's attempted robbery of a dust store in the Western Sector — had to be put on hold. With the run-down technology in Vale, criminals like Torchwick could spend months as free men and women before the strong arm of the law caught up with them. At least the prevalence of organized crime wasn't as bad as it was in Mistral, where the largest black market in Remnant operated right under the nose of the Mistrali Council. Solomon shuddered at the thought of walking alone at night in the ghettos of Mistral.

Just then, his scroll buzzed in his pocket. Someone was calling him. Better get to work, then.

The Boy Who Would Be King

0804 hours, 6th Axial Rotation of Joo'Lie, Atlesian Time

Western Sector, Commercial District, Vale

The boy who would be king stalked the shadows now. Though it hadn't been officially announced to the public, it was no secret to him that he was being hunted.

No, spied on was the more appropriate expression. They wouldn't dare to fight him, at least not by themselves. He remembered the look on Krow's face the previous night. Not that he believed that 'Krow' was his real name, of course.

This he could forgive. It was only natural for them to be curious. Afraid. They had every right to be afraid of him after what had occurred the night before. He could have ended the huntsman's life there and then by driving the sleek rod of wrought iron straight through his neck. He knew he was faster than him. Much faster. Stronger? Not quite.

Or rather, not yet.

But then again, it was possible that such a blow wouldn't have scratched him due to the protective nature of his aura. The boy knew how powerful aura could be from the books many books he'd read in the library. Sure, the huntsman's aura could have been gravely diminished if he'd landed the blow, but as a being who had not unlocked his aura, the boy was at a much greater risk of death than the huntsman.

Breaking an aura was simple — simply deal a sufficient amount of damage and one's aura will be fully depleted, leaving him or her vulnerable to even the slightest of injuries. Logic dictated that some forms of harm depleted a greater amount of aura than others, and vice versa.

The boy wondered if he could unlock his aura. More fundamentally, did he have an aura? From what he had read in the library, only with the help of aura were huntsmen able to move at incredible speeds and react to arrows and bullets as though they were no more than mere annoyances. They most certainly could not rely purely on their biologically derived strength to move at such speeds.

In the present, the boy looked at his arms and legs. He knew he was growing — his muscles were much broader and well defined than they were when he first stepped out of the smouldering wreckage of his cradle engine. He noticed that his slender frame was also a little taller now, by just an inch or two.

The boy placed a finger on his bicep and flexed casually. It was unnaturally hard, harder than the dirty concrete he now stood on. But they weren't all that large. He had seen men on the street with arms twice as large as his, some larger still. But if there was any view he held with the utmost certainty — it was that he could tear their fleshy forms apart as easily as he could snap a dry twig in two.

What was he then?

Any living organism with a soul can use aura.

X is a living organism and has a soul.

Therefore, X can use aura.

The simple syllogism, however logical, had a limitation in determining the presence of aura in a certain kind of organisms. Firstly, none of this applied to creatures born outside of Remnant. In other words, organisms born outside of Remnant do not fulfil the criteria for having an aura. Was his soul different? Did he even have a soul? How does one know if he has a soul? Did he not have a soul?

It seemed impossible that this was the case. Whatever the case, this was simply a pet curiosity of his. He had other things to worry about apart from souls and spirits and semblances. Besides, if there was anything that proved the existence of his soul, it was probably the fact that the was somehow able to destroy the surveillance cameras with a thought.

The boy jogged down the cold alleyway. His forehead sheened with perspiration and his unwashed body had begun to take on a mild odour. It was nothing unpleasant, just a slight deviation from the smell he was used to. From what he knew, the public toilets had free showers in them. He could visit one anytime he wished.

Suddenly, there was a scream. It forced his train of thought to a screeching halt.

The boy's footsteps died immediately as he stood still, as silent as a shadow. The female's scream came again, accompanied this time by a trio of voices that seemed to have been produced by the male kind of humans. The boy could hear the debauchery in their voices, and the cries of the female had evolved into a soft, agonized bleating.

The boy pinpointed the location of the woman's cries. It was well within the territory of the White Fang, a radical organization under the leadership of Sienna Khan. She was a wanted criminal by Atlas Military for organizing an innumerable number of raids on SDC transport vehicles and assassinations of SDC employees. The boy gnashed his teeth in anger at the injustice as he sprinted down the alleyway, a ragged blur of dirty clothes.

The men had her pinned to the ground. Cynthia screamed as they tore her clothes off. Each of them was stronger and faster than her. She had virtually no chance of escape.

"Didn't they tell ya this place belonged to us Faunus? Guess ya eggheads would never know!" yelled the largest of her assailants as he ripped her pants off. Cynthia kicked at him, screaming, but one of the man's cronies caught her legs and held them down with ease.

"Don't struggle. This will go much easier if ya don't. Maybe you'll even enjoy it…" said the man, grinning lecherously at the woman's nether regions. She screamed some more, much to his delight.

"Maybe I'll enjoy this."

The mirthless voice was a wrong note that broke the fugue of violence. All the shouting and screaming had drowned out the footsteps of the boy. Not that it needed to. The gangsters fell silent as they turned to look at him.

The boy stood a dozen meters from the scene. The woman looked at him through a pair of teary eyes. The boy stared back with all the compassion in the world in those void black orbs. Their eyes met for a brief moment before the boy turned back to her assailants.

"Animals," he said, with disgust and hatred that could kill. His black eyes narrowed into slits. The leader of the gang shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. Instinctually, the hardened criminals could sense something different about the boy, though they couldn't quite put a finger on what it was.

"Boy, why don't you just piss off, yeah?" shouted one of the man's cronies.

"Let her go."

"Are you fucking deaf?" shouted the same man.

"Let her go," whispered the boy.

"Get him, Richard!" shrieked the leader of the trio. The gangsters pulled out their weapons from their sheaths. They were machetes, crude but effective weapons. Cynthia watched helplessly as one of them advanced on the child, who appeared to be no older than a thirteen-year-old.

"Run, boy!" screamed Cynthia. "They'll kill you!"

The boy ignored her pleas and stood his ground until the bull Faunus was a good six meters away from him. Richard charged.

And then, all hell broke loose. The first machete was a dull grey shimmer, its killing edge aimed directly at the boy's neck. It moved faster than the human eye could see, but the boy was no human.

Richard had a fleeting impression of the creature as it weaved underneath his arm.

It was over in a heartbeat.

He felt the force of a sledgehammer smash into his chest. Warm liquid trickled down his abdomen. Frozen in shock, the machete slipped from his moribund fingers and clattered harmlessly onto the dirty concrete floor.

Killing had never been difficult for the boy. He simply lacked the moral hesitation humans did at committing the darkest of deeds.

His creator had made sure of that.

He was a creature bred for war, first and foremost. Everything else was secondary.

This he realized the instant he plunged his fingers into the man's soft, animal flesh. He cupped the man's still-beating heart in his cold white fingers, now sullied with the man's animal blood. His fingers dug deeper, but there was no secondary heart. The boy smiled. He knew that he was truly a breed apart.

Richard saw that smile as weakness paralyzed his body. He dropped down to his knees where his blood pooled, and the boy stared down at him through his cold black eyes, still smiling. The smile disappeared when the boy ripped his heart from his chest in one swift, merciless movement.

Richard slumped onto the floor. The others watched in pure primal terror as the boy placed a sandaled foot on his head and bore down on it with the power of a hydraulic press. It resisted for a second before violently exploding in a swirl of bone, blood, and brain fragments.

Cynthia screamed.

"R-R-R-Richard…" The leader of the trio trailed off wordlessly as the boy rose with the dead heart in his hand. Their grips on their machetes loosened, and fear soiled their clothes. It had all happened so quickly. One moment, their mate appeared as though he had felled the boy with a single blow of his machete. The next, he was dead with his killer looming over his corpse and his heart clutched in the boy's red fingers.

"I'm hungry," complained the boy. "So very hungry. I require sustenance to continue my duty. Why am I even here? Why can't you just obey the law? Why am I surrounded by criminals like you?"

Cynthia and her assailants watched in horror as the boy took a bite out of the heart in his hand. Delicious. It was an animal's heart. A bull's, to be specific. He couldn't fathom eating his own kind.

The boy bent down and retrieved the machete, spinning it in his hand with the elegance of a master. It was as though he had known how to use it all along.

"A death far too merciful for creatures like him. Like the both of you," muttered the boy, gesturing at Cynthia's assailants.

"This animal must be Devon," murmured the boy, looking at the sheep Faunus, the largest of the trio, or rather, duo. Richard's memories flooded his mind. The boy saw snippets of the man's life, from his birth to his recent departure from the mortal plane. He was raised in poverty and joined a Faunus gang on his sixteenth birthday. He was a murderer, a thief, a rapist.

"This animal must be Tom," said the boy, turning to look at the deer Faunus who stood beside him. They were trembling. Good.

"And the animal I just killed was…Richard," said the boy, taking delight in enunciating the word. "Not that I did not already learn it from what Devon said."

In a sporadic bout of rage, he kicked the corpse with such force that it shattered the alley wall that it struck, snapping its spine in two. Devon and Tom winced at the boy's explosive violence.

"H-H-How did you know our names?" asked Devon. "W-What are y-you?"

The boy snickered. He took another bite out of Richard's heart. It crunched like an apple, red and sweet. Perhaps it would taste better barbequed than raw. The boy listened to the silent thunder of their accelerating hearts and the drops of animal sweat that fell unto the floor. This was fear, pure and simple. Perhaps these animals could still be reasoned with. The boy did not

"What are you?" asked Devon, firmer now, steeling his nerves.

"What am I?" he hissed, casting him a glance that turned his blood to ice. "What might I be? Is there a more absurd question you could ask? What do you think I am?"

The boy paused, giving the duo time to collect their thoughts.

"You…no…" said Devon, his voice quivering with emotion as he arrived at the horrid realization. The moment rested on a knife's edge. "You can't be it…"

"My kind tolerates the filth of yours so very much. Your very existence is a testament to their tolerance. But back to the question — what I am matters not to you."

The boy giggled. Cynthia wanted to run, but her legs were frozen stiff with fear at the sound of his voice and the threadbare sanity of his laughter. He took another bite out of her assailant's heart. It tasted great, but the boy was disappointed now.

"Hmm…no more memories? As expected of your pitiful intellects," remarked the boy. He crushed the ball of muscle in his hand, and blood spurted out of it like water from a squeezed rag. The boy let the piece of abused meat drop from his bloody hand, onto the dirty concrete floor. His voice was quivering with rage and emotion.

"You are obscene creatures, all of you Faunus. Damn Faunus. You fornicate like beasts and multiply like rabbits. You create your little organizations and stage your pathetic rebellions in protest of the rightful punishments meted out to your kind for the sin of your collective existence. It is universally agreed by humans that Faunus are capable of love and compassion, but all I have seen today are the perpetrators of the darkest of deeds and a surprising display of cowardice. Perhaps there are good Faunus that I will spare, but not you. The magnitude of your sins is beyond reckoning, and I have watched your crimes from the shadows long enough."

A tear fell from his right eye.

"What I am matters not to you," continued the boy, hardening his voice. It boomed like thunder. "The role I have selected following my arrival on this world will mean very much to you animals in these last seconds of your meaningless lives. I am an emissary of civilization. I am an exterminator of animals like you. I am judge, jury, and executioner. And I will stand for no injustice while I still draw breath."

The gangsters dropped their crude machetes and ran in fear, but they were far too slow. From the boy's perspective, at least.

He pounced.

Hello, dear readers. This early release is a very special treat. This one's a relatively short chapter, but I very much enjoyed writing it and visualizing everything that happened.

See you all in two weeks!