Chapter 18

Since conversing with Ilia, Blake abandoned stealth, running across rooftops with fortified muscles fueled by aura, outpacing the few remaining cars.

'He's here,' the thought raised the hair on Blake's neck, sending goosebumps across her skin. 'No one else knows. I have to stop him.' Urgency gripped her, propelling her forward with singular focus.

Could she, though? Blake recognized her fighting skills and took pride in her hard-earned abilities. However, Adam, a monstrous prodigy capable of almost superhuman feats with a blade, cast doubt, overshadowing her confidence.

For a moment, Blake considered telling a teacher but dismissed the idea seconds later. Teachers, like the police, would ask questions she couldn't afford to answer.

'If I say nothing, am I killing Weiss?'

Blake needed to talk to someone. As Beacon became visible, one person came to mind—someone who knew her secrets and didn't judge.

She ran faster.

Shirou sat cross-legged, chest up, and eyes closed.

Though many mages found peace in meditation, tonight it escaped him like a fleeting bit of magic. The calm he sought in his mind seemed out of reach, clouded by his recent talk with Ozpin. Stuck in self-examination, he struggled with an inner turmoil that wouldn't fade.

He let out a heavy sigh, admitting to the emotional storm inside. With a symphony of popping knees, Shirou reluctantly rose, compelled to pace the confines of the room.

The walls seemed to close in around him, echoing the intricate and confounding labyrinth of Ozpin's intentions. What was the Ozpin's elusive endgame? The question loomed over him, pressing for answers that Ozpin was frustratingly resolute in withholding.

Shirou's stomach churned in uneasy knots, a physical manifestation of the uncertainty that had firmly gripped his mind.

It felt too much like Orpin sought to exert control over him, yet the methods remained elusive, shrouded in a veil of enigmatic mystery. Is Ozpin an enemy, a teacher, or a puppeteer skillfully pulling unseen strings? The answer escaped him, slipping through his mind like quicksilver.

A frustrated huff punctuated the air, a manifestation of the ongoing internal conflict. The weight of the unknown bore down on him, Ozpin's enigmatic maneuvers casting Shirou as a mere pawn in a grander scheme. He grappled with the persistent questions, the internal debate intensifying with each uncertain step across the room.

Shadows seemed to dance with his indecision, mirroring the intricate complexities woven into the very fabric of his thoughts.

Amid this intricate mental ballet, the pounding at his door almost brought a sense of relief, momentarily diverting his attention from the tangled web of introspection.

"Shirou! Sorry, please wake up!"

'Blake?'

Shirou found himself taken aback by the situation at hand. He hadn't spoken to Blake since the Nightmare incident, so the late-night interruption stirred a sense of surprise within him.

The banging still hasn't stopped.

"Coming," Shirou said. He cast a fleeting glance at the clock, its hands pointed resolutely at two in the morning. The realization of the unconventional hour settled in.

The lock clicked, but before Shirou could open the door, Blake pushed through, forcing Shirou back a step.

"We have a problem," she said. The door slammed shut, emphasizing her point.

Yes, of course. A common theme, a truth that spanned distinct realities. The world enjoyed making Shirou's life more complicated.

Blake paced the path Shirou had just left, urgency etched on her features. Swiftly, almost instinctively, she tore off her bow, revealing the disarray in her normally composed demeanor. Blake's cat ears lay flat, mixing into raven locks streaming behind her.

Shirou observed her, patient and silent, but Blake's glances at him were periodic and uneasy. He closed his eyes, relying on the soft thumps of her hard-heeled boots against the carpet to trace her restless pacing. Perhaps, he mused, he had overestimated the healing power of time, an error clear in Blake's nearly palpable panic.

"Blake, are you alright? Listen, if you're.. well, I know learning about me was shocking and everything, and difficult, but if you have questions about anything, I promise to answer them the best I can."

The room buzzed with unspoken tension. Shirou's concern for Blake collided with his internal conflict, unsure of what exactly had transpired to bring her here in the middle of the night. As he offered reassurances, there was a part of him that yearned to ease her obvious discomfort, to untangle the knots that bound her emotions. The clock on the wall ticked away, measuring the silence that hung between them like a heavy shroud.

"Not here for that," Blake clarified. Her frantic pacing slowed, but the fidgeting continued. "Gods, why is everything so messed up? Okay, you know I was part of the White Fang?"

Shirou nodded, a picture beginning to form, but he said nothing, letting Blake spill everything out.

"Well, since the Nightmare, I learned they've been operating in Vale. I didn't understand why. Considering their consistent focus on Atlas and Mistral, I investigated. Every night, I've been searching for signs. Tonight, I found something promising in the warehouse district. I hoped to find a group, maybe figure out their intentions, but..." She licked her lips, her hands tensing rhythmically. "I ran into an old friend."

Shirou resisted the urge to glance at the file Ozpin gave him while his heart went out to Blake. "I'm sorry."

She nodded, arms cradling herself. "I've known her since we were kids. We joined the White Fang together when the movement turned violent. She's always been more devoted, fanatical, and reports to one person—Adam Taurus. If Ilia's here, that means he's close." The realization hung heavy, and tension filled the air.

Adam Taurus? Shirou glanced at Gamble Shroud. "He taught you how to fight."

She nodded. "Yeah. He mentored me, and I worshipped him. Six years older, every time I saw him, I thought, 'Wow, he's amazing, so passionate.' There's something magnetic about his bearing. I'd catch myself wondering why more people like this?" Tears formed in Blake's amber eyes, her voice becoming thick. "I thought I loved him, and he just..." She shook her head. "He uses people to further his goals. Adam isn't passionate, not really. He's vengeful. Adam doesn't want equality: he wants to destroy society until there's nothing left of humanity, and I helped him. I gave everything to him — my ideas, my dreams, myself until it all became too much. I ran, never wanting to see Adam again."

Blake's vulnerability filled the air, an emotional storm in the room. Shirou sensed her past's weight, shadows in the corners of her soul. He clenched his jaw, pushing against anger like a striking snake. Rage surged, a kind he hadn't felt for ages. The burning desire to unleash fury, hunt down Adam Taurus, obliterate him for implied transgressions — it clawed at his restraint's edges. Confronting Adam, making him pay, fueled the anger's intensity.

But that wouldn't help now. Wrath wouldn't solve Blake's pain, and he knew that addressing this revelation would require more than words—it demanded understanding and support. He hesitated, but seeing her looking so lost moved him forward until his arms wrapped around her in an awkward hug.

She flinched and for a moment Shirou thought she'd pull away. Instead, she grasped his shirt and pulled him closer, burying her face into his chest, weeping.

Shirou tentatively stroked her back and hair as Blake choked words out through her sobs. "Why does he have to be here?"

Shirou closed his eyes at the naked pain in her voice. "I don't know, but I promise he won't touch you while I'm here."

She shook her head and began taking deep breaths. Shirou didn't let her go, only tightening his hold until she released his shirt and pushed away.

Shirou stared into her eyes, bright and shining. "He's not here for me. Ilia made it sound like the White Fang never realized I was at Beacon."

Shirou furrowed his brow. "Then why is Adam here?"

"Because, among all humans, there's a family he despises above all. A family usually shielded so well, the White Fang could never approach, regardless of Adam's combat prowess. A family that crowned their heiress to the largest conglomerate on Remnant."

Shirou's heart sank. "Weiss."

Blake nodded, eyes downcast. "Yeah, they're here to kill Weiss." She moved and sat on Shirou's bed, hands cradling her head. "I swear the world hates me, or maybe it's my penitence. First, I'm partnered with her, now Adam's after her. I never believed in the gods, but this feels like divine punishment."

The bed creaked as Shirou lowered himself down beside her, feeling one hundred years old as he again grappled for words.

Before he could conjure a response, Blake erupted with laughter, frantic and crazed.

"What am I saying? You must think I'm some weakling, bawling about a terrible relationship. After everything you've been through, my whinging probably sounds so pathetic, just like me."

"Stop!"

Blake jumped. Shirou almost did as well. He hadn't meant to shout. Taking a breath. He calmed himself down, barely. To have Blake utter those words, he couldn't permit her to traverse that path. No one should ever tread such a treacherous slope.

"You aren't weak or pathetic, and my experience doesn't invalidate yours."

"But you've been through so much—"

"So have you." Shirou shook his head, closing his eyes. "We've all endured. Suffering is inherent to living, but that doesn't diminish the validity of your pain just because others hurt, too. I learned this the hard way. Don't follow my path, Blake. Trust me." A faint smile touched Shirou's face. "It's not a conducive way to live, not a sustainable one, and I've witnessed where it ultimately leads."

Archer's intrusive thoughts pained Shirou. Unwanted memories painted a vivid picture of Archer's struggles and sorrow, defining his existence. Selflessness consumed him entirely as he sacrificed himself for others.

Shirou was acutely aware of the perilous path that lay before him, the temptation to follow that same destructive pattern all too clear.

Shirou rose from his seat. He grabbed the file Ozpin had shared with him, its contents a collection of unknown faces and cryptic texts taking on a sinister air in the shadowed room. He pondered the weight of the file, the photographs, and the text within seemed far heavier than they should be.

"Ozpin asked me to help target a known cell in Vale," he said, breaking the heavy silence that hung between them.

Blake, as if struck by lightning, snatched the file from Shirou with feral urgency. Her hands trembled as she scanned the contents, revealing the storm of emotions within her.

"I never thought Huntsmen would get involved, much less the Headmaster," she said. Disbelief was clear in her murmured words. Her eyes darted across the images, searching for something that made sense. "They've never cared about the White Fang before, always left them to law enforcement, even in Atlas."

Shirou observed her, his concern growing. Her reaction, the disbelief, the fear, the realization that the rules were changing, spoke volumes.

"I think it's a test. He told me I needed to prove myself."

Blake snapped her gaze up from the file, meeting Shirou with a mixture of confusion and apprehension.

"And the average White Fang member is harmless to someone like you."

"Yeah," Shirou confirmed, meeting her gaze without flinching. "Blake, I'm telling you this because I need you to understand Ozpin's planning, fighting. He's using me to locate and eradicate the White Fang in Vale."

"But Adam—"

"He knows nothing about me, but because of you, I can learn everything about him."

Blake's breath quickened, a low thrumming tension filling the room as she absorbed Shirou's words. Ears twitching, her gaze locked onto his, searching for assurance at the moment's intensity. "He'll never suspect what you're capable of."

Shirou nodded with a determined gleam in his eyes. Gently, he took hold of Blake's shoulders, his touch both reassuring and electrifying. A quiet but charged energy hummed between them. "Yes, Blake, I promise. I'll ensure he faces justice for his crimes against the world and against you. Trust me."

Anticipation pulsed, the weight of the impending confrontation thick in the air, drawing them together. Blake locked eyes with Shirou, her silence carrying unspoken understanding.

Seconds stretched, each heartbeat resonating in the charged atmosphere. Then, slowly, Blake nodded, a flicker of resolve igniting in her eyes. She embraced Shirou's words not merely as a promise but as an unspoken pact, a commitment that transcended mere speech.

As the weight lifted from Shirou's shoulders, relief cascaded through him like a torrent. Shirou knew his course. Tomorrow he'd let Ozpin know he would help destroy the White Fang.

Roman tapped his fingers in his cell, regret echoing with each rhythmic beat. The transition from refined thief to captive was embarrassing, and he expected further deterioration. Regret's weight hung in the still cell, his fingers tapping somber reminders.

A loud clank echoed as the cell door opened easily. Before him, a plain, ugly green hallway stretched out, the walls seeming not to care about the drama inside the prison. The corridor was quiet, with only the distant hum of dim lights overhead.

"Showtime," Roman said, pushing himself up and striding out. The plan unsettled him; loud methods made him cringe. Noise, to him, was an affront to good planning and well-executed maneuvers. Nevertheless, needs must.

Habit steered his eyes to corners, cameras stationed there with dark lenses tracking his every move. No alarm sounded, only the soft pad of prison slippers reaching his ears. Deals made and deals kept.

Approaching another door, even weightier, bolts thick and nearly unbreakable, even for the most determined huntsman. He waited, popping his neck and sighing before staring into the camera. A nod from him, and bolts slammed back.

"This is going to suck." With a heave, Roman pulled the door open, squinting against the assault of bright fluorescent light. "Can't believe people still install these stupid things."

Light filled the space, and people's noise echoed. Roman observed concrete walls and floors with colored stripes, aiding navigation. The orange jumpsuits were eyesores. Some prisoners stopped and pointed when Roman stepped forward. Notoriety at its finest.

"Torchwick! Freeze!"

Fickle notoriety.

Roman sighed and exploded forward, batting the guard aside and diving into the sea of orange.

"Move! Recognize me? Clear a path!"

Nobody hindered him; some cheered.

"Show those pigs who's boss!"

"Take me with you!"

"Marry me!"

Nope! Roman punch that guy on principle. A moment later, the alarm sounded. The obnoxious wailing drowned out all other noises.

Heart pounding, Roman redoubled his efforts, bowling through people who didn't move aside fast enough. At last, he reached another and sprinted down its length. He noted security doors remained wide open, his benefactors having thought well ahead, as guards pounded against their locked offices unable to reach him.

Roman shot them a smirk and two-fingered salute as he fled, unable to resist. Besides, the bastards stuck him in an orange jumpsuit; they deserved some snark. He spotted sign reading 'YARD,' he hit the door and leaped into the morning light. It seemed strange, breaking out of prison at such an hour. Questioning it, however, proved fruitless.

Breath becoming ragged, Roman leaped the security fence, never giving any tower guards a chance to fire on him.

'There!'

Roman threw himself through the open window of a waiting silver car. "Drive!"

Tires screeched and the smell of burnt rubber coated his throat as the driver tore away, spinning the wheel with expert precision.

"Holy shit! I never thought that was gonna work." Roman said, looking out the back window, watching the prison fade into the distance.

"Yee of little faith." Roman turned and met an amused pair of brown eyes, almost hidden by purple spectacles. "This isn't my first prison breakout after all," Ozpin said.

Roman laughed.

"Goddamn asshole."

'Broken out Jail by Ozpin. Neo never gonna let me live it down.'

Roman straightened his tie, relishing the luxurious silk against his skin. Properly garbed and ready for the world, he felt rejuvenated.

Ozpin dropped Roman a block from a safe house in Vale. It wasn't fancy, containing only bare necessities and minimal comforts, but would serve him well in the immediate future. Gods, he wanted a cigar.

"Neo! You decent?"

Two thumps signaled she was ready.

"Has my daring escape made the news yet?"

Another two thumps. Good.

With care, Roman placed his favored bowler hat on his head, fingers against the brim. Cinder would message any minute, thanks to the fake news release Ozpin guaranteed.

As if by fate, Roman's scroll chimed, signaling a secure message via a clever app he designed.

Twenty minutes. You know where.

Roman took a deep breath, staring into the mirror, practicing his most charming smile.

"Hope I don't die."

Damn, this is brutally fast, but I set myself a goal — write something I could post over the weekend. Given those constraints, not bad. The reason I wanted to get something down is because National Novel Writing Month is coming up, which gives me the perfect reason to focus on my original story.

Per usual, give me your honest feedback. Does anyone like a fast-paced story structure? Might be better if I posted more often ;).