Part One: Nyctophobia.
Rain was, if you asked the young lad stepping out of a gun store, the best weather. It was just that right amount of loud, the metal overhangs covering the sidewalks of the shopping center right outside Beacon's Airship Landing, creating a symphony serotonin making noise.
But the lad wasn't here to stand around and listen. Truth be told, he was meant to be on his way to Beacon, but seeing as he was an Idiot and spent too long getting up in the morning, he missed the first Airship. And the second wasn't getting off the ground any time soon, by virtue of the rain, so here he was.
He had a few options for burning time, however. He could get some breakfast, get a new coat to replace his torn and weathered one, and could even buy some extra ammo for his newly acquired Revolver.
As he rolled his options to burn an hour or two off in his mind, he passed by a window, advertising a quite pretty looking vest, right next to a TV running the news. Some malarkey about the SDC's recent statistics, the numbers causing a kind of rage in the lad's blood to boil. Thankfully, what was next to it simmered those feelings. A rather pretty jacket, black as tar and almost perfect, in his eyes. In fact…
He shimmied over a bit, letting his reflection match it. Oh yeah, that looked Good. The collar reached his jaw, getting neatly matched up to his white, neck long hair. It also made the tacky "HARDWIRED… TO SELF DESTRUCT" T-Shirt he'd been wearing for the past 2 years look fashionably torn and dirty. Add that with his shredded pants, and it almost made him look like one of those pretentious fashion nerds in Atlas!
Ok, he looked homeless.
Hm, and that price… Ⱡ300 was a bit steep, but he had more than enough. The lad stepped inside, eyes set firmly on the jacket.
Exactly 12 minutes, 32 seconds later, the side of the shop was blown out, the would-be shopper being flung out by the hems of his Aura, the just-bought jacket clutched tight between his fingers.
As onlookers grew close to the site of the explosion, as idiots are prone to do, a group of 5 uniformed Faunus lunged out, dragging with them the old shopkeeper. The masks made it clear.
'Fuckin' Hell….' The albino growled within his head, shoving a fallen wall off of his back. 'White Fang? Why in the Blood are they in Vale? Better question, why are they robbing some clothes shop?! Better yet, why kidnap that old dude…'
He slowly got to his knees, only to be pulled up fast by someone, panicked talking filling his head. Someone was asking him if he was alright, but the ringing in his ears made it hard to make out. What he could make out was the store-owner's kid screaming out, held back by other civilians. Even shrouded in ringing, he could hear her shouting.
"Tch, always gotta be something." The Hunter to be growled, spitting out a small glob of blood from his tongue. He pried the concerned hand from his shoulder and turned his attention down the alley. A growl was born in his throat as he lunged, pavement shattering under his boots as he flew down the alley, bouncing off of trash cans and dumpsters to make sharp turns. In little time, he arrived at his destination, and came in Fashion.
His first target couldn't even react before his hand wrapped around her face, twisting mid air and using the force and twist to slam her head into the brick wall with such force, the cracks reached to the roof. Of course, this let him be open for attack, which the second target chose to open fire on him with a dainty little SMG, the pathetic handgun's ammunition bouncing off of his Aura. With a glare, he used the White Fang's friend as a bludgeon, slamming the two together like a gong meeting a mallet.
And much like a gong poorly tied up, they flew away, the SMG holder screaming in agony as his bones crumpled in on themselves. The other 3 simply stood there, blankly staring as their compatriots became living projectiles of pain.
The biggest one, armed with a Chainsaw of all weapons, gritted his teeth and stood at attention. "Who the Hell are you?!" He growled.
The albino slowly raised into a better stand, bones cracking as he went. His gold eye passed up and down the Chainsaw, and then to the mask. "Hm, your mask deems you an Elder." His hands slowly inched towards his back. "What the Hell is the White Fang doing in Vale, and the Hell are you doing kidnapping an old man?"
The Elder's eyes slanted under the mask. "This Human," He growled the word out like it was a curse, "Is simply a means to an end. But I must ask, why is one of our own fighting his kin?"
The albino's eye twitched.
"That Black Mask, you're an Admiral, yes? Those masks haven't been worn in a century, so you must be a Legacy Child."
The albino's annoyance became a smirk. "Nah, It's just screwed to my face. No real significance, I swear!" Slowly, a clawed finger pointed his way. "But it will become significant, once I bathe it in your blood if you don't drop the old guy."
Both ignored the old man grumbling "My name is Tobias!"
The Elder raised his chainsaw, wielding it much like one would a Great Sword, and allowed it to growl. "It doesn't matter. You laid your claw upon my kin, so you shall die screaming!"
The Albino's smirk became a full blown smile, eye shrinking as instinct began bleeding into his arms. From behind him, hidden by his new jacket, he ripped forth two sickles, rusted over and chipped to hell and back. But even in their worn state, they carried an edge as thin as a razor. The faint color of blood along the edge spoke it true.
They stared each other down, before lunging together, weapons coming together in a chorus of screaming metal. The Elder's chainsaw was blocked by the Albino crossing his wrists, catching it with the thick of the sickles, followed by a quick shift of the feet, slipping the chainsaw to the left while his boot found its home in the Elder's ribs. Unfortunately, it was protected by a layer of armor and Aura, but it was still enough to send the Elder skidding against the wall, where his neck was nearly severed by the Albino's violent swinging.
Each wild, reckless swing gashed into brick like carving butter out of a tin, each barely nicking the Elder's neck as he rolled out of the way. Eventually, he found a chance as the Albino's sickles got lodged into the stone, allowing the Elder to swing around and land a painful slash into his Aura, tossing the Albino far away from his weapons.
That didn't help much, as from beneath his jacket came forth a third weapon, this time a simple sword. He didn't just swap weapons, he swapped fighting styles as well. With a smooth spin, he used both hands on the grip, placed just right to be the perfect tool to pierce. And of course, that's what he aimed to do.
With another groundbreaking dash, he aimed to stab right through the Elder's poor defense, right into his throat, but that soldier was a lot faster than he seemed. His chains caught the edge, unraveling the teeth but saving him from an unprecedented lobotomy. Though, it left the Elder wide open for a sudden left hook, leaving a small crack across his Aura. Spiritual pieces fluttered to the pavement, but the sudden expansion of pain in his jaw didn't stop the Elder from throwing his chainsaw to the side, bringing the sword to the ground as well.
Of course, that action didn't stop either from throwing hands like amateur boxers. Each blow was like a jackhammer, calling well to both fighter's years of training, but there was one significant difference.
The Albino didn't mind cheating, especially as he pulled a antique revolver on the White Fang's knees, and with the damage done so far, it was more than enough to shatter the mystic shield and rend muscle, tendon, and blood free from under skin.
As the Elder began collapsing, his jaw was met by the Albino's knee, shattering bone, and sending the White Fang Lieutenant into merciful unconsciousness.
The Albino stood there for a few moments, breathing in deeply to slow his heart. Less so from the fear for his life, more so to not continue beating his downed foe. Instincts are a bitch like that. With a growl, he ripped his sickles from the wall and kicked the sword into hand, sheathing all into his jacket. That's when he remembered, at long last, 'Oh yeah, there's two left.'
The remaining two were a sad sight indeed, shivering and sniveling in their boots and uniforms. Clearly new blood, but seeing their fear gave the Albino a smug sense of satisfaction.
"So, y'all gonna explain what the Hell you're doing in Vale?" The Albino growled, letting the pathetic soldiers in front of him cower just a little more.
For Fun.
"We-we-we-we-we-" The one on the left was stuck stuttering like a warped record, but his cohort was a little more coherent.
"We- We're on a r-r-revolutionary mission!"
You could feel the Albino's "you shitting me?" expression from a block away. "Yeah, sure, kidnaping an old guy is totally gonna help us Faunus out. Tooooootally won't get the Bigots in Atlas to start screaming that we need shock collars and our names stripped from us again." His eye sharpened. "Dumbass."
His gaze turned to the old man. "And kidnapping an old man? Dude sold me a jacket less than 20 minutes ago, he ain't an asshole."
The two gave each other terrified looks.
"Shit, when did the Fang even leave Menagerie? Last I checked, no members were let off the island unless it was for religious passage in Vacuo."
This changed the remaining fighters' expressions. "Uh…"
That got the Albino's eye to twitch. "Looking at those uniforms… You aren't the real White Fang, are you?"
Without even blinking, the Fang found themselves bound under the roaring teeth of the Elder's chainsaw, kicked into the hands of the violent albino.
"Ey, Ay!" To their surprise, their rescue came from the old man. "Calm down, son, they're already close to wetting their pants. These nerds are a part of White Fang Vale, a cheap, more violent knock off of the Menagerie White Fang." He rose to his feet, slowly rubbing at his bruised arms. "They're led by some psychopath who's been hiding out around Vale, apparently only answers to the new leader of the White Fang over there."
The old man chuckled. "And based on the reports, he's been ignoring her in favor of doing shit like this." He huffed. "You can let them go, by the way. They've already passed out about a minute ago."
Looking down, and would you look at that, they did. With a huff, the Albino made to throw the chainsaw away, but hesitated. It was cumbersome, oversized, and not that useful in combat, but… it was really cool. Without hesitation, the Albino lugged the piece over his shoulder, stealing the half-assed holster the Elder wore over his shoulder. "Damnit."
In the distance, his ears picked up the distant roar of engines, sirens. "Damnit, Cops." The Albino grumbled. "Can't get distracted, I won't get to Beacon in time."
He turned to the old man, quickly throwing him his wallet. "There's a good bit of Lien in there, go and fix your wall. And try not to mention me, I think I gave these guys enough brain damage to not talk."
And without a word more, he rushed away, scouring the walls and roofs, launching off towards Beacon.