Twenty years ago.
You don't know when you're made cognizant. But you know it is at her feet, at that pale, radiant woman's feet. Your eyes trace across the pale skin, twisted with black veins, until they reach those horrific, dark eyes shot through with red. She is a monster out of your nightmares, and as bile rises in your throat, you struggle to twist and turn. Bucking against what restrains you, bucking and twisting. You aren't moving… WHY AREN'T YOU MOVING?
"Oh poor noble soul…"
Her voice touches that primordial part of who you are, ripping and tearing at the core of your being, you flinch, trying to shrink away. Trying anything to escape, you find your muscles refusing to respond, find something that shreds at your soul.
"You can't move, can you? They really hurt you, didn't they?"
Memory flashes through you, spasms of pain, twists in your leg… a desire to sing burning through you, your song could bring so much joy… what had happened to cause this? Shouts, screams, immense amounts of agony, a tearing sensation in your lower leg, lying in the dirt as blows rain upon you. A snapping crack as your arm is bent too far, your soundless, desperate, pleading cries begging for them to stop, begging and pleading for them to cease hurting you.
"Poor, poor girl… tormented when all you wanted was to bring joy…"
Her voice soothes you… her touch, ice cold against your battered, split cheeks as she drags your head to her lap, stroking your hair. It feels… motherly, gentle, and you finally summon up the will to croak.
"Water…"
The woman laughs then, and its gentle, careful, and then the lips of a bottle are pressed to your bleeding, broken mouth, and she's speaking again.
"Sip carefully… not too quick, you are only holding on because of my grace."
You aren't stupid, this has to come with strings attached, but right now? Right now all that matters is that she is water, she is relief, and she is going to keep you alive for another day. Another step forwards.
She helps you to walk at first, the process is slow, painful, your legs are held in thick braces, and you have to use crutches to walk. She doesn't give you assistance with the strange powers she calls her magic unless you were at risk of genuine injury.
She tests you daily, asking you to identify the roads to travel to avoid others, the paths that hide grimm vs the paths that hide game animals. It sticks out to you that in all the days that she was taking you to… gods knows where, she never really spoke, never seemed to breathe or to eat. Only when you had to stop from pure exhaustion did she seem to rest or sit down. Even then, it is a close thing, you reflect, the keys to her nature were always there.
You slowly piece together that she is no human and no faunus, although that gets a small chuckle when you imply it in casual conversation. She explains that she is older, more powerful than either, that she is going to give you vengeance and answers, but that she requires your allegiance first and foremost.
You ask her to demonstrate that she can give you what she promises.
She obliges, and shows you the power of magic. The sheer energy behind her semblance, the sheer powers that she exhibits that evening leave you spellbound, and she impresses upon you that another sent you into the lions den to be destroyed.
"What do you mean?"
"You know of the man… Ozpin, yes?"
That name stirs memories in your mind, of family moving to Vale, of a school for huntresses and huntsmen, of the distance from those family members that only grew as you began to tour. Of the strange fear that was in their eyes as they looked at you. Of the way they suddenly always have plans, the way that you suddenly struggle to see people you called family.
She sees your face fall, and before you even realize it, she has pulled you into a tight, close embrace and pulled you in. She holds you against herself, and in that cold you start to cry.
It is so hard to think that a stranger would give you all of this and would give you the power to genuinely, really change something. And as she speaks, as she continues, you find yourself gently listening.
"Ozpin, or rather, Ozma, as his true name would be, is a monster who sent you to die because he fears your semblance. He fears what you are able to do, and what form of help you could bring to the world. And all you'd have to do is to sing."
She is seductive with her promises, and you find yourself wanting more, wanting her to help you claim that vengeance.
"You struggled so hard with the rejection, the way they treated you… it was so disappointing to watch them run from you, all from fear."
You nod, you hear her, the rejection, the pain and anguish, your wounds sting and ache, her cold flesh laying healing paste into them as she works through your tired muscles.
"Don't you want to take it back from them? To burn their precious world to the ground as punishment? They never wanted to accept you, never wanted to support you. They g̴̨̪͌ã̶̯v̷̖͖̇e̷͘͜ ̴͉̍ŭ̴̠p̵͙̦̏̌ ̶̆͐͜ò̶̡̀n̷̢̚ ̴̬̽͛ͅỳ̸̝o̴̺͌ǔ̵̩̌͜"
Anger began to boil within, they had burned you, they had shot you, left you for dead. They sent you out to die. Your family, the people you had loved and cherished, and wanted to spend your life with. They'd sent you to your death because they feared you.
"Do you want them to fear you?"
You just nod. There is nothing left. You felt a part of yourself cry out, desperately telling you that this wasn't right. That this was wrong and bad, and would only lead to more pain!
"Am I wrong, little girl? Am I wrong that they left you to die? Is this not your right? To demand vengeance of the unwilling? To demand that you be shown some sympathy, that you gain your pound of rightfully deserved flesh?"
That voice dies a small, insignificant death, and the flames of anger are stoked ever higher, as that pale, dark woman simply purred from her lips.
"Good. You understand. Give me your hand."
You look up at her. You see her take your hand and you feel the agony as it spreads from your hand down. But this is a good pain, a pain that promises power. A pain that promises vengeance and rage and everything you could ever want from this.
You take it, grasping onto that power and flooding it with this new energy, and then, that pale, corpselike woman begins to speak.
"For it is in the darkest hours of our life that we discover true power. Through this, we exemplify power and strength, and stand defiant against those who scorned and spurned us. Infinite in desires and unbound by morality, I release your soul, and by my commands, avenge thee."
You feel dark, shivering, power rush through you, infinite energy, pouring through every fiber of your being, every single motion and possible move filling your mind. Every single thing you thought you could never actually do, now stands at the tips of your fingertips as you stand. You stand, unassisted! This woman doesn't have to exert anything over you, she knows you too well, she's won.
But… that doesn't matter, you realize. You don't need anything else, you have your vengeance and she's right in front of you, begging you to take whatever you want from her, to force it out and into your body.
You had known your semblance could make others happy. You had known this, but you feel it shift as the unforgettable semblance of aura floods through you. You feel that your semblance is changing and shifting, and as that cold woman, the spirit and force of pure and total vengeance looks down on you. You feel complete for the first time in years.
Have you ever trained until your skin split and every part of you couldn't even think? Have you ever felt as though your lungs were full of frost and your muscles were girded by nothing but sheer, unequivocal agony? Have you watched as who you were is unmade completely to allow who you are to take full front and center?
You feel every single piece of the agonizing training that the woman puts you feel your muscles and tissues reshape themselves, transforming yourself completely and utterly until you are leaner and meaner than you've ever been.
It is only after a month that you and the woman arrive at an expanse of the ocean, hidden beneath a camouflage tarp is an aircraft, something the Atlesians used, but you don't remember its name. It occurs to you that this woman came for you. She flew an aircraft out here, left it, and then found you at your lowest point.
That should have filled you with dread, instead, a sense of pure and total pride courses through you. You are wanted, she needs you for something. You don't know what it is yet, but you have faith she'll tell you. Already you can run longer, fly across terrain, scale any tree, fight grimm with palm strikes and a knife.
You don't need a gun, only your voice and your weapons. And she even lets you speak around her, she's immune to your effects.
She tells you her name, finally.
"My name is Salem, child."
You have many questions, how old she is being one of them, strangely enough, it isn't this one that gets laughter out of her, merely a tired, and very unfortunate sigh.
"Older than I care to remember, at this point. I cannot rest, not yet. Not while I have a task to complete."
"That task being to kill Ozpin?"
She shook her head.
"No. He is convinced that he can… redeem me. That he can save me from this awful affliction that dulls my senses and makes living painful."
"He can't save you?"
"I am sure he believes he can. But I have long since accepted my fate and my position. All that remains is to eventually fade away. Perhaps… sleep for a time until I am ready to rejoin the world."
"What do you want from me?"
She turns to you, and with that rich, deep voice, she simply says.
"I wish for you to draw his attention, and to convince him that I cannot be saved. That if he pursues this path that I will tear apart the human race he so loves to use as his playthings. That I will stop playing with him, and advance the plans and plots I have put into place more than a thousand years prior."
A chill runs down your spine at her words. She smiles at you, that same mirthless smile, and you see just how little of her humanity is left. A passion burns in those red irises, and as she makes eye contact with you, you realize something.
Salem has never looked directly at you, never made eye contact before, but now? Now she does make eye contact with you.
You realize she's done that to be courteous.
Fear, ice cold and primal seizes you as you stare into those horrible eyes. Every single muscle in your body tightens and freezes up, rocketing sheer terror to your mind. You can't think, can't move, can't even breathe as she stares at you, that hand reaching out to touch your face.
It is frigidly cold. There is no warmth in her grip as she purrs in a voice that makes no concessions, makes no compromises. This is the voice of a queen.
"You are mine now, girl. You will do as I ask and you will succeed. Because if you fail…"
She holds up her hand and clenches her fingers.
Indescribable agony rips at you, and you fall from the log you are sitting on, collapsing to the ground, spasming and coughing as every single motion only brings more pain, all the while those awful eyes stare into your soul. The eyes of a monster in the body of a woman, the eyes of the only predator of humans in the world. The eyes of true pain and terror ripping into you with every motion and every single gaze.
You can't even think, can't even breathe, and Salem doesn't release you until she's satisfied with the suffering you've gone through.
"Are we clear?"
You nod, gasping for breath, hunched over on your knees at her feet as she bends down, and that same, cool hand caresses your chin to bring your eyes back up to look at her.
"Did you have a name before, little girl?"
You nod.
Agony tears you in half again. Salem clicking her tongue as a disapproving parent.
"No. You have no name. You are mine now, remember girl. You are only whatever I give you."
You nod. Choking words out.
"Yes… Salem…"
She smiles at you.
"Good."
Then, she commands again.
"Get up."
You obey, fighting your screaming body, still twitching with the agony she'd just inflicted upon you. Then, you find a cool, cold steel blade pressed evenly into your hands, and Salem tells you simply.
"Kill me. Girl."
You don't want to. This is the first person to give you sympathy, to help you, to show you kindness. Here she stands asking you to kill her. To stab her dead and leave her for nothing but the worms.
You can't do it, and she sighs.
"Disappointing."
Pain and agony tear you in half, over and over, until it blends together and you feel yourself straining and breaking from within. Salem teaches you that she is not to be disobeyed, no matter how much you think you know, she knows more, she is always… always more.
It takes her 3 hours to make you stab her, the first one from rage, but as she stares at you, that insufferable, cocky, arrogant smirk on her face. You raise the dagger over and over, and plunge it into that chalky skin overwritten with black veins. You slam the weapon home again, and again, and again, and again.
When she finally collapses, you stare at the blood, dark red, covered in black spots, and only then do you inspect the carnage you wrought as regret and grief and relief fill you.
Salem lies dead on the ground, on the roots of the tree, her black and red gore seeping out of her and pooling on the ground, her head is twisted to one side, that mocking smile never leaving her lips as you breathe heavily, staring at her corpse.
It makes it so much worse when her head snaps back correctly. Those eyes strike you instantly, forcing you to your knees in front of your predator, the woman who commands everything you do now.
"Hmm. Efficient, if mismanaged due to emotion. Do you understand now? Little one?"
You look at her, desperately trying to avoid her gaze, until she snaps her hands onto your cheek, the black field, your aura, flickering brightly as it tries to fight her off, she forces you to look at her. Looming over you and staring evenly into your voice as that same, spun sugar purr of a voice replies.
"You will obey. Child. I will force you to do so if I must, but I detest inflicting agony and pain on those who are in my employ. Do not give me a reason to start enjoying it."
You nod, shaking.
She releases her grip on you, and her hands shrink back into the formless gown that accents her movements, the dark red curving across her.
You follow her to the aircraft, and strap yourself in mechanically.
As she begins to power up the craft, you note that her movements aren't… correct. She is going through the motions, but doesn't seem to need them at all. This is only confirmed when you note the engines spinning up, and the craft lifts away, Salem's hands move to clasp behind her back, and she stares directly ahead of her, until you are far, far out to sea.
The form of the Grimm leviathan catches you off guard, and you scream, even as Salem smiles that same, horrible, smile that she always has.
"Do not worry, child."
It feels impossible to do anything else, but the Leviathan simply looks at the aircraft. Its massive wings floating alongside the craft, the Sea Feilong is the most impressive creature you have ever seen. It's massive, serpentine form graced by wings that are inhumanly beautiful. It's scaled form long and sinewed with muscles. Salem smiles at it, that small quirk of her lips immediate.
"They are beautiful in their destruction. But they follow my commands and my will. She is merely hungry, for your emotions, for your grief and pain. Do not let it take them from you."
You finally meet the eyes of the enormous dragon, and feel it taking your emotions. Sea Feilong's have always been persistence grimm, able to steal the emotions of others, inducing moments of hesitation in trained hunters, and total shock in anyone else.
You feel it trying to take your hatred, your rage, and your pain.
You don't let it. The sheer force behind your eyes cowers the Feilong into submission, and the great dragon lowers its head and dips back beneath the waves.
"Good."
Salem spends the rest of the flight in silence, urging you to get some sleep in the back of the cabin. It is only as your consciousness begins to drift off, you hear her mutter something to herself.
"I will call her Nightingale."
You dream of nothing and everything in the back of that aircraft, complete and utter nothingness, and the faces of all your enemies, your former friends and family, twisted in anguish and pain as they are forced to bow beneath you. You see yourself upon a throne, overseeing the construction of an enormous statue of Salem, and you feel pleasure, completeness, in the action.
She will give you everything you want, and all you need to do is obey.
Twelve years ago.
The mission had been going so well too, until Ozpin's pet hit squad had decided they wanted to ruin everything.
You stare at the incoming huntresses and huntsmen, and shift your fingers on a tactical display accordingly. A frown creases your lips as you feel the building shake under your feet. Raven Branwen, Qrow Branwen, Taiyang Xiao-Long, and finally Summer Rose, bearer of the silver eyes.
They would be powerful thralls. But you dare not attempt such a maneuver, you've tried before, but their particular training and massive aura reserves never were low enough for your song to break down their minds.
To say nothing of the monstrosity that was Summer Rose.
You had gone for Raven Branwen first, and had found her not only a capable combatant, as a shattered rib and pulverized wrist attested to, but fiendishly clever. She had figured out exactly what your plan was, and then had pulled Summer Rose mid scythe swing through the portal after striking your ribs on multiple occasions.
These four shouldn't have even been here, they should have been recovering, and according to Salem's intelligence, this town should only have been defended by a trio of powerful, but limited huntresses.
You had already caught those three, domesticating them into thralls so broken and so obedient that they couldn't really fight back even when they had been free of your song long enough for it to fade.
The relief team that had first come for them hadn't lasted more than a few seconds.
Huntresses and hunters worked together, even from different teams and schools, and the relief team hadn't expected the three in charge of this town to turn on them so suddenly that it was a surprise any had made it out.
Internally, you curse yourself for allowing the one survivor to flee, her name had been… some flower… hadn't it? O-something… Orchid?
You weren't sure. In any case, the sheer will she'd had, to crawl for miles on what had been broken, bleeding legs… you didn't know how she'd managed it.
But she had, and now Ozma's finest were staring you down.
The building shook again, another large caliber weapon, anti tank, you believed, based on the muffled crack.
This had been shot, you would need to withdraw with what forces, what thralls you could take with you. Some were police and ex-military from Vale itself, and they had provided the heavier weapons you now faced, and fought to delay team STRQ's inevitable advance with.
But who to take? The huntresses were sure bets, given that two could already no longer fathom killing you, and the third would break soon, if only you squeezed the right amount of pressure to her fragile mind.
And her mind was fragile. Held down with thoughts of her partner and the life they shared… the cat faunus was so vulnerable to just a little more poking and prodding, and she would fall apart.
The building shook again, and this time, you hear a window shatter. Sighing, you raise the radio to your lips and speak gently into it.
"Gothel, Nightingale actual. Extraction, please and thank you."
The gentle hum that came through the radio was the only confirmation you would receive. With a thought, you modulate the psychic song, and three huntresses break from their concealed positions and begin to move towards the basement, of the dozen or so police forces you had started with, 6 of them remained, defending the internal levels and making live the booby traps that thoroughly would demolish the building.
You almost don't see the blow aimed for your head, or the dark grin on the black haired woman stepping out of the shadows as you fall back and dodge the incoming blow.
Years of instincts, trained under Salem snap too, and you throw yourself to one side as a blast of silver light illuminates Raven and erases part of the handgun you are slightly too slow to move to one side. Lines of agony rip through your torso and leg, staining the fabric red as Raven's long blade cuts through your weakened aura and draws the first blood. Gasping as agony takes your breath away.
You drop the useless frame as Summer Rose steps free from the dark red and black portal swirling, just as the tempo of your song changes. Two of the huntresses remain, the third having been picked off by Taiyang Xiao-Long, and Qrow Branwen.
"Hannah Blau, you have been charged with gross manipulation and violations of at least 3 dozen innocent people, including the mass scale control of three huntresses, and the traumatizing and torturing of them into puppets for your control."
You don't respond, a hand flicking to your waist, to the dagger that rests there, and then, Raven simply says.
"I told you, Summer. She wasn't going to surrender. Too wrapped up in her own head."
They don't know? Ozpin didn't tell them? You can use that. You open your mouth, and begin to sing a slightly different song, and your semblance responds to it. Opening up and drifting into the air with your words.
"He didn't tell you why you were here, did he?"
You step forwards, and find Summer's blade at your back, and Raven's at your throat. All you need to do is buy a few more seconds, the two huntresses are almost in position.
"Not another move. We will kill you, we have the order signed."
That hurts… more than you'd want it to. To know that you've had the kill order placed on your head, to know that they truly just… hated you…
It hurts.
You don't want it to, but it does anyways.
"Ozma lied to you. I am guilty of the crimes, yes. But he doesn't want you here to bring me to justice. He wants you here to kill me."
That causes Raven to pause, and you see her shoot a look towards Summer, that look, is all it takes, for you to scream, for your semblance to force both of them back as it tears at their aura, as you amp up the fear and distaste they have, and send them staggering back just a few feet.
As the two huntresses enthralled by your touch detonate the charges under the building and leap towards Raven and Summer, you fall backwards, flashing a smile towards the two huntresses who thought they could stop you. Who thought they were capable of stopping you, even as rubble obscures their faces.
The grimm pool generating underneath you closes around you, and you feel a moment later, as strong, dark arms that tingle with the acid touch of grimmflesh wrap around you and haul you free from the pool.
You gasp, there is no air in the grimm pools, and the trip is worse the longer distance it is. This trip, from the middle of Mistral to Salem's palace within the grimmlands, has taken it out of you, it takes moments to cough up some of the fluid, to feel its acidic touch fade, until Gothel is pulling you up onto your feet and marching you to Salem's throne room.
"Report, child."
You straighten instantly, fear and hope tingling in your gut. You have succeeded in many ways, you think.
"Town has been destroyed by infighting, my semblance has strengthened through training and tutelage, I can enthrall dozens now, and fully break any I wish to my will."
You pause, and Salem, looking down at you from her throne, allows you to suck in a breath before she continues.
"I failed to keep any of my thralls. An unexpected force arrived, and they slew or knocked unconscious all in my wake."
Salem's eyes narrow, her ire announcing itself in a subtle shift of her body, moving closer to the edge of her throne, staring you down.
"Ozma's new team intervened. I do not know how they tracked me or why, but I know they found me and are as powerful as rumor would have it."
Salem raises an eyebrow,the motion is encouraging, and you seize it, instantly.
"They cut through entrenched ex-military and police forces without a second thought, immobilized one of my huntresses, the one who likely had the highest individual chance of killing one of them, knocked her free of my control, and then sent the two most dangerous after me. I… believed they may believe me to be dead."
Salem smiles at that, a slight, gentle smile, but it is there, and then, she simply says.
"Good."
She does not need to make a motion to dismiss you, you are aware your presence is no longer needed, and as you turn to leave, Salem simply calls.
"I expect you to focus on honing your control against disruptions. Use Malachite's clones for such a task."
The silent woman, Malachite, Salem's bodyguard? Friend? You aren't sure which she is, only that the diminutive, silent woman with the split pink and white hair and the ancient appearance is the scariest thing in the castle next to Salem herself.
You don't even try to resist as she slams you into the wall the moment you are free of the room, for easily being in her 80's, Malachite barely looks like she's out of her 40's, and her body isn't slowing down either.
She smiles at you, the jagged scar that cuts across her lips a haunting reminder of Salem's mercy.
She doesn't speak, never needs to, instead simply beckoning you towards the training rooms. You follow, knowing that aside from Salem, the prisoners from your last raid on a village, and Malachite, you are the only ones present. Tock had left months ago, and was not expected back before at least another month had passed.
These small rooms, carved from the same black stone as the rest of Evernight, accented with purple, and filled in sections with the same black liquid that the grimm spawn from, still feel as cold and impersonal as they always have. You have to acknowledge the simple fact that they serve every single purpose that Salem wants of them.
Malachite kicks you in the back, sending you into the pit and landing opposite to you. She flicks her hand out, drawing a long, thin stiletto blade from within her coat and advancing on you. Her semblance, flickering and dying as she removes the disguise she's worn for the entire time you've known her. Cheekbones lengthen and sharpen, and her mismatched eyes fill with deep, dark, onyx color.
The elfin, strange figure of Malachite's true form, a very small woman in her late 60's, if you had to guess, although the aura effects of everyone around you means she could be 40 or 60, the slowing of the aging process…
Hell, you're not even sure if the ethereally strange looking woman is her actual face or yet another disguise with the way her physical form is able to alter and shift on demand.
"Training again?"
The woman nods gently. Her stiletto flying at you the moment her nod reaches the apex of its motion.
You twist to one side, the burning line of the knife skating past you but only barely. It is so, so easy for Malachite to kill you, and she has threatened to do it on multiple occasions, but has never struck you once your aura has broken without Salem's explicit permission.
You wonder, absently as you twist to the side again, and slam a heel into Malachite's chest, sending the smaller woman skidding back. You wonder what she was promised by Salem to join her. What drove her, and what ensured her loyalty at the side of the other woman.
She's back up on her feet and charging you a second later, leaping up and then crashing down, boots lined with steel aimed for your head.
The slam cracks your aura and sends you into the floor, the impact dissipating its force across the black shield that gives you the protection you desperately need. The sounds of battle quickly taking your mind and consuming it as you fight and scream and cry against Malachite's training and relentless pace.
Now.
This place was a prison, as it had been for years. Keeping the violent and unstable of Argus just outside the city walls, it had heavy defenses and a rotating guard shift, using dust laden technology to satiate the rampaging grimm outside.
The grimm thrashed at the walls of the prison, or well, they had. Prisons like this one served as excellent decoys, pulling the Grimm into narrow killboxes where hunter teams and the military could kill as many as possible. Stragglers always got through, of course, but that didn't matter, the healthy population outside their walls kept escapes to a minimum. Even the most twisted and broken person craved life over death. Their emotions overpowered you initially when you had stepped foot into the city earlier.
Now, they sang your song, and you had been excellently placing them across the city, perfect to instigate riots, cause chaos, or directly attack those who got in their way. You would make Atlas look like the avenging angels and the heroes of the day. But that wasn't the point of your mission here. You were to destabilize the region, and for that, you needed to kill several of the huntsmen within Argus' walls, as well as directly blame the Fang for such an event.
You didn't know how this would aid Salem's plots or plans. But you didn't care. She had brought you closer over the years, as first Tock, and then Malachite had left Evernight and never returned. In Tock's case, you found her body, left behind in the canyon overlooked by the gigantic stone Nevermore. You remember the pain that had lanced through you at that discovery. The way you would never look upon her again, and the way her jokes would never fill the ears of you and Malachite with that sonorous laughter.
It hurts to lose a comrade. Yes, all of your ambitions are second to Salem's, as only when she has what her objective is does she allow you anything else. But… you were still friends beyond that, as much as you could. Malachite had disappeared only a scant few years ago, and you'd found a body matching that of one of her more normal disguises a year later. You didn't quite know why she would leave, or if she faked her own death or had actually died.
But you knew that Evernight felt even colder than it ever had. Salem's newest disciple, Tyrian, scares you, his fanatic psychopathy so disgraceful even Salem has a distaste for the faunus, but… he is effective. Slaying huntresses and huntsmen across Remnant at your mistresses beck and call.
Salem had continued on, ever graceful in the formation of the years, but… you liked to believe she grieved for your comrades in her own way.
She had sent you here for a task, though, and you would engage in that task.
You could not bring down Argus, and that was never the goal, but isolating its huntsmen in the streets and killing them by drowning them in waves of criminals under your sway? Easily accomplished.
Or so you'd thought it was.
Then Raven Branwen had arrived in Argus.
The old scars that she'd given you in that last confrontation ached and burned. She was here. Here not to ruin your plans, here shepherding a child, here shepherding a girl who was powerful. The commandant of the guards in the prison, routinely receiving briefings from Atlas and Mistral, had discovered mentions in two separate reports of an unknown, very important person traveling with Raven Branwen.
Sure, she used an alias, but several of your thralled civilians had seen her. She was still Raven, drawn, more tired than she had been, clearly experienced, and her eyes carried a sense of anger and death and deep sadness. She kept the child close to her at all times, and never let her go out alone.
Plans clicked into place. Raven was here and a huntress. Which meant simply, that she had to die. She would not leave the city? Then she would be dealt with.
Last time you had a dozen police and ex military. This time you had the military, and dozens of police. It would be a simple matter to capture the more belligerent and irritating Fang too. The daughter of the Belladonnas was not quite as sneaky as she liked to believe, and she would ensure her parents' total cooperation.
The plan began to come together, and you smile in the darkness, before stepping up to the makeshift stage, hooked into enormous microphone and audio equipment that stretches out of the prison and into the massive broadcast tower atop its central building.
Your thralls had commands to receive, after all.
A/N: Man. I hate the second person. Apologies for the delay on this chapter, but I struggled to write this one from simply a technical way, hopefully it's not too repetitive or boring. Expect at least two interludes during major arcs for the future, but not many if any will be in second person. Nightingale is… she's fun, but man she makes me feel icky to write.
As always~! If you like my work and what I'm doing, leave me a comment or a like!
Next Chapter: Assuming no delays, October 2