AN: Sorry this took so long guys! I've had a hectic week, but I've finally been able to sit down and write at this ungodly hour! Much love to all the fans of RWBY and to everyone who's been keeping up with this fic, you guys are the best!

Disclaimer: I still don't own RWBY.

Chapter 5: Sins of the Fathers.

Weiss gripped her ruined shoulder with hands she could barely feel. It wasn't the pain that kept her down now; her aura had done it's work, taking the edge off the impact – though she would still need to see a Doctor. What kept her rooted to the spot, rigid, unmoving, still as death, was pure shock.

Blake had shot her.

Blake had shot her.

Blake…

The girl in question held Gambol Shroud in a shuddering grip, fingers bleeding, nails broken. The agony in her gaze hit Weiss with the force of a thunderclap. Blake Belladonna looked to be about a minute away from drowning on her own tears; the girl Weiss had known, the staunch warrior who held everything behind a veil and an upturned book to protect herself and those around her, had been slain the day the White Fang cut down Yang in the Beacon cafeteria. The girl that stood in her place now, shivering with revulsion, eyes awash with agonised tears, had been emotionally broken in ways Weiss couldn't even begin to describe.

With widened eyes, Weiss realised in that horrible moment that Blake hadn't shot her; the White Fang had shot her, through Blake. This was not the girl she had known, this was a pained puppet, reluctantly dancing to the tune played by a madman.

"Leave her alone!" Winter's cry was tinged with rage, swords drawn, fighting-stance low; ready to pounce like a leopard, whilst covering Weiss' prone form with as much of her own body as she could. Weiss tried to haul herself up, using Myrtenaster as a crutch, but one look from Winter convinced her to stay down; her sister's gaze was pleading, terrified – a look that in all her seventeen years, Weiss had never seen her elder sibling display even once. Stay down, the look begged, stay down and don't get hurt.

Stay down and leave this to me.

She'd barely processed Winter's unsaid words when the Atlesian commander pounced; blades whirling, glyphs launching her forward like round-shot from a cannon; Winter hit the Lieutenant like a Typhoon hits the shore; with all the raw savagery of nature unbound. The rebel, to his credit, was no slouch; that much Weiss could remember; he hefted his motorized blade around to parry Winter's strikes with a fluidity and primal strength that it should not have been possible to achieve with a weapon so heavy. He parried high, low, high again; Winter's flurry of strikes finding no purchase behind the snarling, roaring defence of the chain-blade, but likewise each of the Lieutenant's own savage blows was turned aside with effortless, deadly grace; parry, riposte, guard, parry again.

Blake had visibly backed away from the fighting, circling the duo, Gambol Shroud drawn; unable to find an opening to assist amid the twisting, whirling chaos of the duel. It was like watching Gods trade blows; a lethal dance of fluid bladework and unchecked savagery. The girl in black continued to circle the pair, watching, waiting; blearly eyes suddenly focussed, seeking an opening to end the fight.

Weiss scrambled to her feet, raw, emotional hurt dragging her upright; finding her feet amongst the grief. She staggered forward, rapier drawn, each step unsteady, but focussed. Winter was the greatest duellist she had ever witnessed, but at close-quarters, two against one would overcome even her; especially when a fighter as fast and powerful as Blake found a weak-spot to launch herself into the fray from.

She had to stop her.

She steeled herself, nothing could have prepared her to draw swords against someone she held so dear, but she had to; she took whatever courage she could get from within, no matter how thin, no matter how false. Save Winter. Was her only thought, her only directive. In that moment, Save Winter was all that remained of Weiss.

The elder Schnee parried an overhead strike that could have levelled a building, roaring, biting chainsaw teeth gridning against her cutlasses, sparks flying like macabre fireworks. The force of the blow staggered her, forcing her back a step…

One step was all Blake needed.

Weiss sprinted across the hallway as fast as her legs could carry her; panicked eyes saw Gambol Shroud raised high – Blake's eyes locked onto Winter's exposed neck as her target continued to stagger under the sheer force of the Lieutenant's strikes.

Time slowed to a crawl; Weiss launched herself forward, Myrtenaster poised in what she could already tell was a vain attempt to intercept the strike; Winter had not seen the blow that would surely kill her, too focussed was she in holding off her other foe's brutal onslaught. Gambol Shroud fell with deadly precision; the raw finality of death encapsulated in every centimetre Blake moved…

…Except, as Weiss realised suddenly, not the movement that dragged Blake's eyes just, barely perceptibly, to the left…

..Where Winter had been standing until half a heartbeat ago…

…Where her real target had just occupied…

The Lieutenant hefted his monstrous weapon high, the revving of the blade its own cacophonous battle cry, winding up for the deathblow that would never land.

Gambol Shroud parted his head from his shoulders in a single swing.

-o-o-o-o-o-

'Ruby! Ruby! Ruby!' Nora was desperately shaking the younger girl, who had slumped into a seemingly never ending slumber. Nora cradled her adoptive teammate close to her, concern painted across her face as she hunched up against the crumbling remains of the fountain wall. Jaune had borrowed Magnhild for a moment, firing grenades skywards in her absence along with Ren, fighting to cover their teammates. Their targets were the remaining score of Nevermore that continued to circle overhead, still plenty enough to massacre the four of them where they stood; especially since the youngest of their number was somehow out of the fight.

But what an exit she'd had.

The blast of silver that had resonated out from the little girl a few minutes prior had been, in a word, breathtaking. A wave of beautiful, shimmering silver flame had shot forth from Ruby's eyes with the force of a tidal wave; crashing into the Grimm like a diamond firestorm. The diving Nevermore had been frozen where they stood; hanging in the air, shunted out of the stream of time itself by whatever force had erupted within Ruby. Magnhild and Stormflower had reaped a brutal close-quarters tally on the helpless Grimm; the perfect predators turned into easy prey inside of a heartbeat.

But there were still fourteen Nevermore up there, circling, waiting, weaving in and out of the blaring flakk from the fountain. Fourteen Nevermore paitently awaiting the moment when their prey ran out of ammunition.

Click

It was the softest sound, creeping tenderly yet ominously from Magnhild's barrel. Yet it carried with it a chill that all but stopped Nora's heart. As though the very thought of it had tempted fate just that bit too much, her beloved weapon had spat it's last volley. A series of similar, defeated wisps of noise from the chambers of Stormflower heralded a kindred doom. Their ammo had run dry.

For a moment, an elusive, yet still painfully present moment, as Nora's breath refused to catch, as the chill set into her bones, as her brain came to the breakneck realisation that she would die, knee-deep in soiled water, in some forgotten fountain in the middle of nowhere, the breeze heralded another sound.

It began as a burbling, thrumming, juddering noise that chattered the teeth and scrunched up the eyes. It grew quickly, a roaring, pulsating crescendo at the corners of Nora's ears; she dared to take her eyes off the Nevermore, as though destiny itself dragged her gaze away.

In the distance, several hundred meters out into the bay, but gaining fast; a black dot crested the horizon. A black dot that turned into a large, white, wedge-shaped thing that grew larger and larger in her eyes with the roar of its engines and the thudding of Nora's reawakened heart.

It was a speedboat; a white speedboat, ten metres wide at it's largest, with a proud, slicing prow that scythed through the waves like Crescent Rose through a Beowolf's neck.

No, Nora suddenly realised, as the boat drew close enough that her eyes picked up the double-crescent device resplendent on the vehicle's hull, not like Crescent Rose…

…like Crocea Mors!

Atop the boat, at the very apex of its prow, arms splayed wide to catch the wind, was a tall blonde girl that Nora did not recognise, but judging by the look in Jaune's eyes, he clearly did. The newcomer was flanked on either side however, by two other women that Nora very much knew, and whose presence could not have come at a better moment.

Nora had believed that Team CFVY had set the bar for dramatic, lifesaving entrances at the eleventh hour long-since, with their resoundingly powerful airdrop into Vale's main square all those long months ago. She had no idea just how much higher the bar was about to be raised; and by the defending champions no less. The mysterious blonde girl was flanked on her left by a runway warrior in several unmistakable shades of chocolate, and on her right by the tall, willowy form of her partner; the former sporting her trademark minigun, the latter it's spectral clone, both audibly spooled up and ready to wreak havoc. But this alone was not what Nora would later remember as the most awe inspiring thing she had ever witnessed.

When they had arrived yesterday evening to Wolf Harbour, local scuttlebutt had taught Nora of a tradition amongst the local boys, something of a passage into manhood without which no self-respecting Harbour boy could apparently hope to impress a girl; the usual flavour of testosterone-fuelled stupidity. A little ways out into the bay, stood a large rock some thirty metres high, known to the locals as Ursas' Tooth; sheer, rugged and impressive on one side, but bevelled on the other so as to form a gentle, flat incline to the apex. On his sixteenth birthday, so the tradition went, each boy had to run all thirty wet, slippery metres in a single explosive sprint and swan-dive off of the other side into the depths below. The cause of decades of embarrassing slips, broken ankles, sprained wrists and outright lies about success amongst the youths of Wolf Harbour, was about to become the agent of their salvation.

With an almighty roar, the Arc speedboat blasted its way up Ursas' Tooth, miles and miles' worth of pent-up, breakneck momentum rocketing it up the incline and launching it skyward from the rocky apex. The boat soared high into the air like a dust missile; scything amongst the Nevermore inside of a second, flattening several of the soulless predators against the crushing prow. What the boat itself did not reap of their prey, Coco and Velvet were more than happy to sow destruction unto. Coco's minigun and Velvet's clone weapon blasted a volley of pure, dust-laden death into the remaining Grimm, culling them all in a single broadside; ebony feathers raining down to earth like the final, beautiful notes of a macabre concerto.

Nora had no words for what she had just witnessed. She didn't think she ever would. All that came to mind to describe the poetic brilliance of Team CFVY's entrance, as the boat crashed back to earth, skidding up the Town's main thoroughfare; with Coco, not even holding onto the railings, removing her trademark sunglasses and waving them aloft in salute.

'That…' Nora mouthed, 'was awesome.'

o-o-o-o

They sprinted through the winding halls of the Schnee mansion like the hounds of hell barked at their heels. They ducked around corners, gunfire chipping off gouts of paintwork and priceless marble as their pursuers sought to run them down, always eluded, always denied their chance at vengeance by a hairs' breadth.

Blake couldn't read Weiss' expression, it was locked somewhere between shock, relief and pure dread as they fled through her ruined home. Her aura had healed the wound that Blake had been forced to deliver, or at least it had done as much as it could to reknit the muscle – the bullet was still in there and still aching, that much she could tell from the grimace that teased the corners of Weiss' mouth. Guilt speared through Blake even now; she'd had to do it, she'd hated herself for pulling that trigger, but she needed the Lieutenant to believe her deception long enough to take his mind off her. From the moment she'd realised exactly where she was, instead of where Adam had created an entire convoluted attack plan to trick her into thinking she was going, she had been looking for a way out. She'd run back to the White Fang to buy her friends' lives with her own servitude. Now she knew that no price she could pay was worth more than her suffering in the eyes of the monster that had once been her partner.

She had hoped that she could sell her life on some far off battlefield under the White Fang's banner, and thus purchase a long and safe existence for Weiss, for Ruby…

…for Yang…

She fell, gracefully in defeat, beautiful in tragedy. She fell, one arm sprinkling molten flakes of aura into the breeze as her soul struggled to cope with the shock of the injury. Even then, she was still fluid, still precise, still poetic in her every movement as she crashed to earth. She was the most beautiful creature Blake had ever witnessed, realized now in agonizing glory as though the sudden, gut wrenching pain in Blake's heart had painted itself onto the canvas of a master artist. The girl that had fought back to back with her in the Emerald Forest, the gentle soul who had coaxed her from her self-destructive soliloquy with the intense fire of passion and the caressing warmth of empathy. The girl who'd taken her first dance, and though Sun had had the honour of making her laugh all evening, had still been the first to bring her to life on the floor. The one who had been there for her even when Sun couldn't relate, couldn't understand, couldn't know her pain. The girl she had grown to love clattered to the ground with the finality of destiny itself.

'I will destroy everything you love, starting with her.'

She had been wrong, she saw that now. And as she had brought Gambol Shroud down on the Lieutenant's exposed neck, as she had forever severed herself from her past, never to return no matter how painful the future may be, she had sworn one all-important vow.

Adam Taurus would take her loved ones over her dead body, and not a second sooner.

They burst through the doors of the main foyer, catching the assembled White Fang by surprise. It was Winter who reacted first, charging ahead of her compatriots, blade whipping through the necks of the first two Faunus guards before they had even realised she was there. Blake leapt through the air as the first barks of gunfire roared back at them, spiralling over the blazing bullets, Gambol Shroud answering them with a single gunshot as she flipped through space, the round felling three more commandos, their heads exploding in turn like grisly fireworks. Myrtenaster continued it's grim tally as Weiss dived into the fray, rolling under the staccato gunshots to hamstring and gut their fanatical foes left, right and centre. The room was chaos, White Fang soldiers scrambling in vain to defend themselves against the sudden onslaught of the traitor in their midst and the Schnee sisters. Screams were cut short by the graceful strikes of Weiss and Winter, severing jugulars and punching through eye sockets, whilst each solitary, crack of Gambol Shroud's hand-cannon blew out another skull, punctured another lung, and rent through another heart.

Blake was by no means numb to the pain she was creating. She felt for the poor fools that Adam had roped along in his fanatical madness, with each life she took, she prayed to Gods she had long since stopped believing in that they found peace in the next life. A peace this world had denied them so much they had sought out Adam to cure it, only for him to fan the flames of the firestorm. Blood that wasn't hers stung her face, viscera slicked the marble floor, the scent of death hung in the air, but Blake kept killing. Cursing Adam's name with every gunshot, every sword thrust and every deadly swing, holding back her tears behind a veil of pained fury, Blake fought on.

The last commando fell with Myrtenaster puncturing his windpipe, gurgling and choking on his final breath for one last agonized moment, before collapsing. To their credit, none of the rebels had dared to beg for mercy, none had tried to run. They had died on their feet.

Like Huntsmen… the thought came to Blake faster than she could guard against the emotive blow that came with it. She sagged to her knees amidst the corpses, her breath teasing it's way out of her in a defeated sigh. The tears would not fall, they did not need to. The sheer pointlessness of all the death she was surrounded by had ensconced her soul in ways crying could never do justice to.

Crying couldn't. But a bullet in Adam's heart just might.

'Blake?' she had been so withdrawn in that moment that she didn't recognise Weiss' face, hovering a few inches before her own, until the other girl spoke, 'are you alright?'

'No,' the answer was easy enough, but as amber eyes met the grey, she found a measure of strength nonetheless. There was an understanding in Weiss' gaze, it was not full acceptance, but nor was it accusation. She remembered the look in the heiress' eyes when Weiss had challenged her, atop a wobbling stool, to confess her problems before they began investigating Torchwick. The grey gaze locked onto hers now was less intense, but carried the same message; I know you have something important to tell me, and I trust you to tell the truth. Weiss knew that Blake could explain her actions, and more importantly, she did not doubt her friend's intentions now. She hadn't lost Weiss, but confessions would still need to be made, once they were safe. If they were ever safe again.

'No, but I will be.'

'Is that so?' The mocking voice startled Blake to her feet, eyes cast upwards at the source. Blake, Weiss and Winter backed up to each other, eyes in all directions as White Fang soldiers flooded the upstairs balcony. There were more of them than even Blake had realised were part of the assault; rifles and submachine guns trained on the huntresses that had unwittingly stepped into their kill box. Adam had baited them a trap with the lives of his own men; faunus blood had thinned the Schnee defences, and faunus blood had now been the lure that turned predator into prey. Sixty gun barrels stared them down. No escape, No means to fight, Nowhere to run.

As she stared up into the eyes of her tormentor, insane grin plastered across his face, she realised with a painful, yet inevitable finality, that Adam had known she would turn on him all along.

He had been looking forward to it.

Over Adam's shoulder was slung the battered, broken, but unmistakable body of an unconscious James Ironwood. To his left, Wilt held menacingly at his throat, stood a thin, greying, moustachioed man that Blake realized instantly could only be Weiss' father. Franz Schnee, to his credit, was doing his utmost to look undaunted in the face of the beast holding him captive, but the fight was visibly leaving his eyes as he beheld his daughters at gunpoint. Blake had never seen the Schnee patriarch in person before, though she remembered his visage from White Fang propaganda posters in her youth, almost always distorted to resemble some Grimm in human clothing. As Blake beheld the White Fang's worst enemy, the man around whom the bad reputation of the Schnee Dust Company revolved, the supposed monster who used faunus as slave labour and profited from their suffering, it shocked her that all she saw was a man who had lost all hope. Franz Schnee was desperately trying to be strong, not, she realized, to uphold the SDC, or his name, or even to intimidate the White Fang, but for the sake of his girls.

Franz Schnee was trying to be a father, here at the end of all things.

Despite every belief she ever had growing up, even after meeting and eventually gaining the trust and true friendship of Weiss, Blake Belladona stared into her enemy's eyes…and she didn't hate him.

'Drop your weapons.' Adam's tone held no room for negotiation.

With a single, sidelong look to her compatriot in white, a single silent exchange between the amber and the grey; Gambol Shroud and Myrtenaster hit the floor.

o-o-o-o

Night was falling by the time Weiss awoke, and her awakening was not a merciful one. The sudden torrent of cold water slammed into her frame with the jarring force of a thunderclap, biting deep into her bones with its wet, icy teeth. She shook her silver, sodden hair, the shuddering motion revitalising her somewhat, bringing her back into reality.

She wished she hadn't.

She was tied to a pole, held upright by iron shackles forcing her hands above her head. To her left and right, she saw Blake and Winter, similarly bound, similarly soaked, eyes forward and defiant in the faces of their captors. It was a futile display of what little might remained to them, yet she steeled herself to follow suit. Her defiance died in her heart though when she saw the veritable sea of rifle barrels levelled at them.

At least a hundred White Fang soldiers held them at gunpoint, weapons trained. A firing squad simply had not sufficed, the White Fang needed a display of real power to end their captives. From amongst the serried white ranks and snarling masks, a figure in black picked his way forward; scarlet hair catching the breeze, matching the colour of the blade held lazily in his grip. Weiss knew him only as the leader of their captors, but the terrified look in Blake's eyes revealed to her in a moment that this had been Blake's old partner, her mentor gone rogue, whose memory still haunted her friend even now.

'Finally awake I see,' he spoke with a seductive purr, as though distilling raw, physical pleasure from their soon-to-be deaths, 'sorry about that.' Weiss gritted her teeth again, trying to draw on her last reserves of bravery, eyes darting about for an escape route, but finding nothing.

Adam continued to lazily pick his way forward, his weapon twirling in his palm; enjoying every second of what he was about to do, the pain he was about to cause. With no hope to be found in the recesses of her vision, Weiss tried in vain to stare her enemy down, but that was all but impossible with her foe's eyes hidden behind his leering, ornamented, terrifying mask. Adam Taurus was the White Fang personified; a faceless, terrifying force of nature. Weiss swallowed hard, it was all she could do.

'Bring him out.' The order was simple, but teased out with a caress of Adam's tongue, savouring each syllable. Weiss' eyes tracked left, to the mouth of a nearby tent, where two commandos emerged, dragging a body between them. Whatever fight she had mustered in her vain defiance was brutally kicked out of her by fate as Weiss recognized her father; lips cracked, a black eye bulging on his brow, teeth missing – these monsters had taken their time with their mortal enemy, she realised, and they had relished every moment of it.

The commandos dumped Franz Schnee to the floor before them in an unceremonious heap, before turning and walking back the way they had came in perfect lockstep. His hands were unbound, but it was clear in an instant that the beating he had received had left him without the strength to run, his breathing rattled in his gullet as he fought for air, desperately pushing himself up from the dirt into a kneeling position, facing his daughters.

His gaze met hers.

Weiss had often heard it read that though anyone could communicate silently, a pointed stare carrying a score of words, those who truly loved each other could convey everything they needed without ever saying anything. Anyone could grasp the fundamentals of a look, but it took love to put enlightenment truly behind the gaze, whether that was a partner for their soulmate, or a parent for a child. When Blake and Yang had danced together at the Festival Prom, Weiss had looked on from the sidelines, seeing the tenderness in Yang's gaze meet its tentative, unadmitted but oh so present reflection in Blake's own, confessing pure pride in each other for admitting the struggle of a lifetime on one part, and overcoming a veritable mountain of sorrow and worry on the other. When Beacon had been collapsing around them at the end, the last time she'd seen Pyrrha Nikos alive, she had been locking eyes with Jaune, emerald on sapphire, the pair of them conveying a lifetime of unsaid love in a single look, taking the strength from each other that they needed in those final, desperate hours of the battle.

Now, for a heartbeat, Weiss' eyes locked onto Franz's, and she caught an eternity of guilt flaring out of them. In a single moment, she saw herself growing up from another's eyes – saw the pride her father had taken in her every achievement, yet had never known how to express. She saw a lifetime of difficulty, of stifling arrogance so carefully cultivated by generations of aristocratic elitism that Franz had not been able to escape it even to let his own daughters know how much he cared. She saw how much it had pained him to try and chastise her days before, how he'd stumbled and blundered and tried to protect her from dark forces, not realising how attached and willing to forgive his daughter had grown towards her friends. She saw in that moment that for seventeen years, Franz Schnee had done his utmost to be a good father in the only way he had ever known how, and how much his failure had pained him.

In that moment, he finally succeeded.

'Weiss, I'm so proud…'

When the gunshot rang out, Weiss didn't process it. She didn't fathom it even as her father's body fell to the floor like a dropped marionette, even as Franz Schnee's blood flecked her face in a fine, scarlet mist. She didn't hear her sister's scream of pain and rage, even as it overloaded her ears with anguish. Weiss just stood there and stared at the body, lost in her father's final words.

I'm so proud…

She didn't cry, she didn't scream. She was too far gone for that; she lifted her gaze to the rebel leader, the hilt of his rifle-sheath still smoking, blade still twirling in his hand, evil smile still playing about his lips. She drank in her enemy's bloodthirsty, ecstatic, almost drunken grin, letting the rage build behind her eyes silently as she stared him down.

'The sins of the fathers pass to their brats.' Her captor spoke again, lifting his blade to her cheek; the sharp edge biting shallowly, tracing a crimson line down the contours of her face. She was numb to the pain; something as insignificant as a scar could not hold her down now, not after that. She might never be able to avenge herself on her assailant, but she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her beg. She would stare death in the eyes unto the last. She owed her father that much.

'After all, blood is so much thicker than water,' Adam continued, moving his sword to hover level with her neck. She tuned out Winter and Blake's screams of anguish, spitting curses at their captor and pleading with him for her life in alternate breaths; Blake cursing her mentor's name, yet still begging that it was her Adam wanted, not her friends; let him take her instead. Winter's voice rang shrill in the air; I'm the elder sister, it pleaded, My death will send the greater message, let my sister go! Weiss heard them as if from afar, a forgotten echo, appreciated but ignored. She would face death here and now, and let her father take pride from beyond that his daughter stared into the abyss without even a flinch, like a Schnee should.

'So much thicker…want to see?' The blade whipped back above Adam's head and thundered back down faster than the eye could follow; the finality of destiny locked onto Weiss' mind as her brain fought to calm herself, to make peace, to face the void with her head held high, heart hammering its final beats in her throat…

…Then she realised the blade hadn't landed.

An outstretched hand, gloved, bleeding slightly from the deep cut that Wilt had scored along its palm, had caught the sword a foot from Weiss' throat. The shock in Adam Taurus' eyes was palpable even behind his mask, the White Fang leader unable to process what his senses were telling him.

A series of explosions rocked the ground beneath Weiss' feet, and she dared for half a moment to look around as the cacophony of noise and the sudden, blazing firestorm threw the assembled commandos from their feet. Her ears popped, the ringing too much for her senses to handle, but her peripheral vision catching something which made her heart soar; a strange, willowy figure in red, face hidden behind a leering Nevermore mask, scything through the scrambling White Fang soldiers with an enormous blade, and a girl with a very recognisable shade of golden hair, scarlet eyes aflame, pummelling commandos left, right and centre with a single, deadly arm and a cacophonous volley of shotgun blasts.

She didn't have time to process much however before her attention was drawn back to her immediate surroundings by a pained voice very close to her ear; the voice that belonged with the hand holding Wilt at bay seemingly without effort or strain; elbow bent, aura shimmering in its owner's defence as semblance and raw muscular power overcame the executioner's strike. The owner of said had was a tall, blonde man in a dusty brown jacket, eyes bloodshot from a pain and worry that only a parent could know. Eyes locked onto the suddenly, and very visibly afraid Adam Taurus with a murderous intensity. The man's voice, the sound that had drawn her gaze, had a tormented tone, with a steely glint, as though his tenor was a whetstone that had sharpened so many blades it had gained an edge all of its own.

'My name is Taiyang,' said the voice, 'you hurt my little girl…and now I'm going to rip out your guts.'

Sorry again for taking so long guys, hope you like the update! During the scene with the boat in Wolf Harbour, I figured it only appropriate to insert each volume's dose of pure, metal badass into that bit. Feel free to imagine Ghost-Pyrrha standing on the back of the speedboat shredding Jeff Williams guitar solos as it flies through the air. I couldn't actually write it, because then this would officially turn into a crack fic, but if it makes it more metal in your mind, do it, and crack open the mead barrel while you're at it like the Viking you are!

Thank you to everyone who's reviewed, followed and favourited so far, your support means more than I can do justice to in words!

Next Time: Chapter 6 – Looking For A Heart.