"You weren't lying..." Saw stared attentively at the symbol, feeling an innate curiosity and anger swell up. "This is definitely something we would have done."

"Well I know that detective." Spitting out a breath and bringing his fingertips to his forehead, Roman suppressed a growl. "As for what makes these sorry sods here so special... Honestly, I have no idea. The White Fang has been nothing but a distant memory ever since the lockdown, at least for Atlas that is, so I can't see these bozos doing anything to piss them off."

"Sometimes it isn't about upsetting us." Saw stood with crossed arms, all the while his eyes remained locked on the bottom of the closet. "I can think of at least six different reasons to take down a random group, and three of which can be considered as having no direct ties to them whatsoever."

"So... what you're telling me is that you can up and pop 'em just because." This time a growl did slither out. "Great, so random killings it is."

"Not necessarily." Saw's correction drew Roman's eye, and the man raised a single finger. "While it may not have been personal, what's important in all scenarios is that a group is involved. The numbers are what matters, and the only time numbers matter..." Flicking his sights back to the symbol, the once upon a time terrorist let his finger and arm drop. "Is when we need to make a scene."

A series of rings began to blare, startling both men who froze up for a second. This soon turned their attention to Saw himself, who reached in his pocket to find his scroll receiving a call. With one wary look and signaling the other to remain silent, he took the call and answered.

"Hello?"

"It's been a while, commander."

"It has..." Retaining his heavy tone, he began to press whoever was on the other end. "I recall our decision was to only get in contact again if we were reforming our sect; should I assume this is what we're going to discuss."

"Unfortunately, no. Sorry, but we can't exactly accept someone who's friendly with those on the Atlas payroll."

"What?"

"Turn to your left and look up." This had the man's blood stop, and following through with those instructions, he'd laid eyes on a dark upper corner of the unkempt room. Within the shadows he saw a red blip, and it was here when he heard a small hitch of breath. The shock came not from the other end of the line, but from Roman who he now saw was looking at the same corner as him, but wearing a dark scowl. "You know, it's kind of funny how little people look up, especially in a place as dangerous as this."

"You were watching us."

"Watching everyone who entered that waste of land, yes. I saw you yourself commander when you first walked in; I saw when Roman and that atlesian pair strolled on in like ignorant little dolts; I even watched as your buddy made a call, and what do you know, you ended up strolling in not too long after."

This is more than just a call for attention. You prick, you were trying to draw someone in... and I have a feeling you got what you wanted.

Shooting his sights to Roman, he spoke into the scroll.

"Elaborate."

"It's as I said: your buddy Roman is in bed with Altas; what part of that wasn't clear?"

Once more, Saw shot a look towards Roman, who curled a brow this time. Nevertheless, the ginger gangster continued to stand with caution, quite obviously ready to spring into action at any second. This, combined with what was being fed to him, had Saw's thoughts racing.

That's impossible... why would Roman side with Atlas; better yet: why would Atlas side with him?

None of this was making any sense, and then there was Robyn: she hated Atlas for its decision to mostly abandon Mantle; she'd never accept an Atlas goon. Something wasn't adding up; was his old crew pulling his leg, and if so, why? No, that wouldn't make sense either; if they wanted to trick him, they wouldn't have even called him in the first place, right? Grumbling under his breath, Saw hardened his jaw, and with grit teeth he tried to rationalize an explanation for any of this.

You'd deny all of this though, wouldn't you Roman? His eyes settled on the man, and he could tell through the way he took a step back that Roman knew they were talking about him. But my old crew clearly hasn't been keeping me up to speed, so I can't really trust they're telling the truth either. Damnit! What should I do?

Roman was acting suspicious; most certainly upset at the camera in the corner of the room: there was no doubt he was hiding something. His old crew never told him they got back together, which was blatantly obvious based on the symbol alone; did they even plan on informing him to begin with, or had they only called because he showed up with Roman? On the subject of Roman: did he really escape capture so quickly, or had he been let go intentionally by Altas, as per the old crew's insinuation? Saw knew Roman was a professional, but his venture from capture seemed even too quick even for him. The whole damn scenario felt like a sting operation, and Saw was caught right in the middle.

He needed to decide now; right or wrong, he needed to do something, otherwise whatever trap was stewing from either side would spring. With his mind made up, he placed all bets on a gamble, and wordlessly clicking off the call, he locked eyes with Roman and dealt his hand.

"From the sounds of it, my old crew is back." Hardening his stance, he saw how the often sassy man stiffened. "And they claim you're working with Atlas; even got proof apparently." The way Roman's lip twitched down in the lower left corner betrayed any sense of denial he could have given, and Saw dug deeper. There had to be more to this, and Roman was going to tell him, if for nothing other than to save his own skin. "But I'm not one to judge immediately; I'd be a hypocrite otherwise. Roman Torchwick: I want you to explain to me what is going on, and why you're working with Atlas!"

A soundlessness grew bold as the two men stared each other down, until eventually, Roman eased off his defensive stance. With a soft sigh, he appeared as though he'd given up.

"It would take the remainder of my sanity to even summarize the depths of shit we're drowning in, and if you knew what I did, you'd probably be singing a different tune; Dust, the White Fang itself would even side with Atlas if they knew the chaos stirring underneath their feet."

"Then enlighten me." As Saw said that, his scroll began to ring, however he ignored it, and instead slipped out a provoking comment. "They're calling again, which means they can see us, but they can't hear us. Right now I can't be bothered to answer, not until the man in front of me is done talking."

Roman's teeth grit, and he clenched both hands into fists, shaking slightly.

"Damnit, this is all the kid's fault; it always goes back to that little bastard." He raised his head. "It'll take too long to explain it all, so I'll break it down: Cinder, the witch you were all teaming with back in Vale, she's out for more than just taking down the powers of each kingdom. She works for an even worse monster, who's only goal is the complete and utter destruction of Remnant." He paused, pulling back his hand to rest it over his chest. "I quite like the finer things in life, you see: a glass of wine, a swift cigar, and an elegant pair of ladies to keep me company after a long day of work. These are the things I value, but above all, I value a distinct and orderly society: one I'm able to rough up from time to time for the fun of it."

So you're more than just a common thief. Saw found himself conflictingly both a little surprised, and not at all. However, Roman wasn't done, and as he carried on the scroll continued to ring.

"I like how things used to be; I enjoy the thrill of cops chasing me down; I sleep easy knowing those I rob will recover perfectly after a month so I can do it all again. I can't enjoy blindsiding an orderly society if there isn't one. Without that order chaos will take the streets, and we'll be no better than the animals of the wild: tribes of barely functioning baboons skirting around in their own filth, running about taking whoever and whatever they want with sheer force alone; where's the subtlety? Where's the excitement of outclassing your foes? Where is the game? How do you have fun bending the rules when there is none?"

Desperate are we? Figures: you're already backed into a corner, so I guess I'd be grasping at strings too. You really are speaking the truth; you wouldn't be so frightened otherwise. Order and chaos huh? No, you're not describing either... you're thinking of change.

Change: it was the one thing Saw knew for certain. Indisputable, irreversible change: the truest aspect of nature. The world itself reverted back to its base: this alone would not be horrifying. To live as nature intended, where everyone and everything followed the laws of nature. The strong survived, and the strong would rule in such a world. Remnant was once like that, and where did it lead?

Right to where they stood now.

"If this foe wins... we'll just end up back where we were years ago."

"Huh?" Roman stumbled for a bit, his eyes losing that pseudo-panicked determination in favor of stale wondering.

"That's what you're trying to tell me, right?" He could grasp it now: the reason, the true and honest reason why he himself should care. Roman's fear of not having a nice life was utterly worthless to Saw, however the implications of losing such a thing brought back memories of times where his people were subjected to hunting practice, and bound to men who sought only to use them. The phantom burn of chains still etched itself into his neck from time to time, and now was one of those times.

A revert back to that world would be the erasure of all which his people strived for.

"I-I... uh..." Roman may have been at a stopping point, but Saw was not.

"If this enemy is successful, then we'll be stuck back in the days of old, where Faunus were nothing but livestock to be traded." Easing up, Saw straightened his posture. "Roman: I'm not like you. I don't care about the finer points of life, about outwitting my opponents, or even about how others perceive me. However, I do care about how far Remnant has come. Once upon a time Faunus were outcasts, treated as filth and nothing more. We rose up, evolving from that filth into monsters, and then into men. I'd once believed it was due to our ability to change: to adapt and survive, and then, somewhere along the line, we had stagnated."

"Stagnated?" Roman appeared to have lost a bit of his edge too, and reserved himself a little more while retaining his solid focus on Saw. "How?"

"The White Fang evolved to fight due to the people's unwillingness to show mercy, and when they changed, we ourselves refused to." Roman caught the way his fist clenched, and chose to remain quiet. "We continued on our way, and ended up being torn apart from the inside out. We have nobody to blame but ourselves, and I refuse to make that mistake again. I'll never forgive Atlas for what they've done, but I'm not about to let things grow worse either." Blake: that woman Adam was obsessed with, and who was the daughter of Menagerie's chief; she'd once been so determined to fight the Humans, and yet now she sided with them."

I now know why. Blake, you saw something in them, didn't you? You saw their change.

"I won't forgive them." This he was certain of, and yet... "But I won't risk losing everything we've earned: everything we've worked so hard for."

On the hip of his belt sat a clip, and Saw took it in hand, staring at the once symbol of his status as a commander of the White Fang. All of them were given one, and when the Fang fell apart, he found himself unable to let go. Clutching it tight, he flung his arm back, and the metallic stud flew like a bullet. The throw, enhanced from the barest bit of aura - a completely instinctual response - ripped through the camera's glass, shattering both it and the device as a whole. The little red blip faded, and soon, so too did the ringing in his pocket.

With one final breath, he turned away, to focus on the man before him; the Human he'd now resided himself with.

"I hate Atlas, but I hate the past even more."

For a bit Roman merely stared, and then casually, his solid wonder became more akin to a smirk: carefree, and yet humorous.

"Not exactly what I was getting at, but not wrong either." Sighing, he allowed a full on smile, carrying within the same sass he'd once believed long lost. "What is it with you weirdos and getting all uppity? Seriously, can't any of you have some regular motivations for once?" Shaking his head, he shrugged. "Ah well, at least they can't see us now, and hey: the ringing stopped too - they've finally quit."

"They know who's side I've chosen now." Saw crossed his arms. "But they don't know why. I don't believe they'll ever listen, so whatever it is You're planning, we'll need to make sure it puts them out of commission permanently."

"And he's willing to put his old timey buddies six feet under; scary." Roman chuckled aloud, his smirk now of brazen proportions. "But still right on the money: sparing them is out of the question." Roman turned his head, snapping his fingers. "Hey, Neo, are we done yet?"

The shorter of the pair flickered into view at his side, and Saw watched as she nodded vigorously playful at Roman, who linked his hands and hummed.

"Good job! Someone's getting a full tub of vanilla tomorrow." Neo visibly shook with glee, and Saw realized he was out of the loop."

"What happened?" He'd wondered if the woman had been here the whole time, but that didn't matter as his question had immediately drawn the cocky eyes of the thief, who's smirk came back in full throttle.

"What just happened, my friend, is that our dear Neo here has located your old pals." His hand motioned to the woman, and she held up a scroll, which pictured a map with a blinking red indicator. Saw was hung up for a second.

"How?"

"The moment your scroll started blaring, I had Neo here start tracing the signal. Yeah, your crew probably knew about her, but I bet they didn't expect her to be capable of following their trail through you?"

Roman's grin was more than dastardly now, making even Saw feel a little out of place: Neo was no better; heck, she was worse - her cold face of pure and peaceful relaxation made the seasoned warrior's skin crawl. Even with these faces, Saw couldn't say he felt like there was any real danger; both were on his side, or rather, he was on theirs. That smirk became less frightful and more cheeky as the man continued.

"Local networks are all we have since the CCT went down, and the one in this dump here was probably the most heavily guarded we've come across since Atlas Academy itself. However, the moment you showed up and your scroll started ringing, I assumed it might be related to the ass-hats here. Seeing as you're ex-White Fang, I had Neo do her stuff. Unlike this place, there was a lower chance of high end security on your scroll, coupled with her semblance making her invisible to even the camera, and she could plant a bug in it even as you talked." Roman then pointed. "You never even noticed the connector in the charging slot, did you?"

Sure enough, as he took it out and observed, there was indeed a small something sticking out.

"I see... Does she always carry things like this around?" They slipped it in without him noticing, even with his enhanced senses they did it without his suspicion; Saw wouldn't lie, he was impressed.

"Being able to get into the lines and listen in on police and other potential threats and targets is essential in my line of work, especially at my position near the top. Little minx here is never without some form of spyware. After all: information is the name of the game, and it appears as though we've won this round."

Apparently we have. Saw restrained his own tugging smirk; they still had to take the renegade group down. He wasn't about to let anybody double-cross him, and after drilling this into the bastards who broke their pact, he and Roman would have a nice little chat later about what was really going on.

"Now then." Roman twirled, readying himself as he beckoned to the door. "Shall we be on our way?"

.

.

Watching curiously as the landscape shifted, I began to question why such advancements for training fighters hadn't been implemented back at Beacon.

"It appears circumstance has deemed us combatants: interesting, is it not?"

The man ahead afforded me no time to dabble on the concerns of the schools; rather, although his appearance was that of serenity, the implications of his comment implied a sort of excitement. I wouldn't say he was thrilled, but at the very least he bore a fascination in how we'd been given our own personal arena. I found no such interest in this, but seeing as he was the only opponent around, I obliged.

"Perhaps. I was not given time to face your ally previously, and so both our skill sets remain masked from one another." Stating that aloud, while pointless in terms of physical battle, would at least instill a sense of caution in the man.

Whether he cared to respond or not hardly mattered; the importance was singling out the subject, which would force it to the forefront of his mind. Subconsciously this would create an air of restraint, one that should have halted any immediate action for a few extra seconds, even if he did not take the bait. Fortunately he chose to respond, and be it out of respect or any other multitude of reasons, it gave me more time to profile him; to observe his stature and personality.

"I agree: while his victory was guaranteed by the nature of his semblance alone, it didn't quite fare well for observation." His arms shifted into position. "I look to change that."

No more was said beyond that point; I could see he'd felt we had spoken enough, and so I took to my own stance. As I laid both hands on the hilt of Pale Bloom, something clicked in me. It wasn't anything overly worrisome or dangerous, rather, it was this deep seeded feeling of hindrance which washed over me in a drowning tide. Once again I couldn't move, and yet I could feel the aura ensnaring my body. He was on the attack again, and from how the warrior ahead of me stood ready to deflect any and all oncoming blows, I knew he was ignorant of this change.

This wasn't a one on one duel; there was an outsider.

From the wraps around me, I could feel the thin vines of energy flow outwards to the top-right of my current position, from atop the newly formed wall. The wolf was most likely standing up there, holding me in place so that his partner could strike. It was a sound strategy, albeit one I knew the guy ahead wouldn't approve of in this instance: he appeared honorable, and seeing as he was expecting a duel, I couldn't quite say he'd be very pleased of his partner 'ending' it before it began.

The veins of life entangling me... I could almost reach out and touch them.

Within me again was that previous longing to reach out and grab it; a desire so foreign, and yet so welcomed. I understood for certain this was a new change within my body, something I'd never experienced before, and still it came to me on a base level. Like our first greeting, Marrow believed me defeated, and yet I could reach out to grasp his bindings.

And so I did.

Reaching out with the tendrils of my own soul felt... queer, but the idea came to me the moment his essence wrapped around my own: the idea shouldn't have even existed, and yet it was the first response to fill my head. Like a set of extra fingers I could move them naturally, and though invisible I understood where they were. Slipping from across me, from the tar-filled crevices along my ashy flesh, the invisible wraps rose from their resting places. Hopping from the streams of their home, these malleable tentacles both fair and fine as a spider's web crept towards the invisible and yet delicate chains imprisoning me in place. Here it was that a strange sensation overcame me, and for one miniscule second, I was tempted to oblige the internal hunger.

Of all the tendrils looking to bite, I allowed only one to take a taste.

The immense gravity left me, and I heard a clunk from the man who'd held me so tight as he fell away up above. Apparently, my opponent heard it as well, and he hummed aloud.

"Seems they're getting started; shall we?"

I responded with a nod and tightened my grip, which proved to me that I was no longer held. Whatever happened to Marrow when the spiritual snake bit down was a mystery for another time, as for right now the martial artist ahead sprung into action. His movements were smooth, with barely a break in his rhythm: gliding across the short distance between us. He came in low at first, with a punch I knew for certain wasn't intended to hit.

I blocked it, as he expected I would, and then he followed up with a series of swipes and jabs. Every motion kept in time with the stride, neither slowing or accelerating; a tempo of unparalleled peace. The consistent pitch of his offense prevented me from striking back, as after one blow I was met with another, to the point I'd begun to jot down his pattern. Frontal punch; lower kick; uppercut; twirl and swipe: this was his song. After one loop he'd reverse, after another he cut out the kick, and then he was back at the start again. This repetition kept us sliding around the miniature arena of ours.

Concerningly enough, I'd begun to adhere to his pattern: beginning to block in positions where I knew he'd next attack. A smart fighter would have chosen to exploit this weakness, however I was cautious. Laying down such a predictable - if complex - pattern of motions took more than just simple practice, and I had a strong sense that if I were to break our dance, he would be the one with the upper hand, and so I locked into his movements: committing to his way for the time being; searching for a safe time to split.

As I did this my body began to settle in, and my mind drifted to the hunger I'd experienced only moments ago. The ability to halt anyone in their tracks was deadly on its own, but I was certain his invisible bonds were meant to be that: invisible. To feel where every bind of the soul interlocked, where his semblance took hold: it was unusual. I'd not been able to feel anything like it before, even back when I was coated in another person's aura; Neo's semblance was prime proof of this, as I'd felt strange, but I couldn't pick out every individual vein of aura connecting the two of us. Marrow was different, and maybe it might have just been him, but I felt this new distinction was something more.

Perhaps the obelisk had shown its benefit?

That made little sense too, as I was completely without my armor. It had very early been established by my previous powers that the abilities bestowed by those blackened pillars were exclusively available via my armored state alone; the enhancement given from the first of those cursed ties to Remnant...

All except one, and it was here the cracks began to form in my mind.

My body continued its dance with the monk: our hand to hand battle was nothing less than a habitual afterthought. Once before I had used an ability I could only assume was tied to the shards of darkness apparently scattered across the land, and it revealed itself after death. According to my other self: being Grimm meant I shared their relation to life and death, and yet I was pulled to the pillars distinctly, as opposed to a random gathering in the wilds, where my body was reborn anew. I had no armor while dead, and yet still the obelisks influenced the energy of my soul. And so, with this in mind, I toyed with a new idea. While the armor might have been the catalyst for my body's powers, perhaps it had nothing to do with the influences of my soul.

Funny, the idea of having my very spirit altered didn't hit quite that hard; it was almost comfortable in a way.

Pain shot up my side, and in a split fraction of a second I saw my foe's boot digging into my shin. There wasn't a single change in his expression, but I knew he was smirking on the inside. The blow swept me off my feet, which made his uppercut all the more devastating. Next came the twirl which placed him into a better spot for the swipe, which shot me into the air.

His hand never let go, and I got to watch as his arm glowed and stretched as he pushed.

I'd been quick, but not quick enough. My body was still following perfectly with his rhythm, and I'd seen for that split fraction of a second how my blade was partially towards the shin he'd struck. Not once did he break from the pattern, but the speed had changed. During my distracted state he'd sped up, with the pain afterwards alerting me to my aura taking its first hit, and quite a solid one at that.

All movement stopped, and I was whipped back down towards him as he suddenly yanked me. I braced, but all he did was step to the side, which had me flying past him and skidding across the ground. Just barely did I get back on my feet before I was once more defending, with an entirely new pattern of mostly clawing this time.

I see it now; crafty.

A series of mix-ups designed to create a habit of defenses against the target's will, so that when he broke the norm, the challenger would always be caught off guard. Worst of all, if one were to try and stray from the clash themselves, I was certain he had a way of pulling them back in; such tactics wouldn't fly if the enemy could just leap out as often as they liked - maybe the stretching was involved, as that appeared to be his semblance based on the aura I felt coursing through his hand.

"Not bad." His praise was paired with a toughened next few blows, pushing me back just a little more than usual. "Good stance; fast reactions; proper bracing: It's obvious you're an experienced fighter."

He was able to speak so casually while keeping up with his assault; were all the Ace-Ops like this? I never got to ask. He switched it up again, but not his speed this time; no, he cut out halfway through the reverse. What should have been the kick skipped straight to the uppercut, and then back to kick, and one more uppercut. I blocked the first two through luck alone, but that last one swung like a hammer and sent me into the air again.

This fist shot me farther away, and I came tumbling down with a roll into a new area of the battlefield.

The usual isn't going to cut it here.

I pulled myself to my feet, feeling the fatigue begin to hit. The Ace Ops were of a different stroke compared to our previous enemies, and this was just training too. This man especially wasn't to be taken lightly, and while I still had plenty of energy left, if I didn't do something soon, that energy would be gone, and thus his victory would be certain.

While I never moved from place, I turned my eyes upwards to see him standing a floor above.

So far he seemed to rely on catching his opponents in a series of traps, where every move was his to decide. Even if the other combatant tried to switch it up, his backups would prevent that. Either commit to his dance, or be felled in the ballet. If that wasn't bad enough, I'd begun to wager that his style was meant to draw out the foe's speed and reaction time, pushing those aspects to the spotlight for him to analyze. He might not have seen my attacks yet, but he knew of my swiftness and priority; this wasn't good.

Hopping down, the monk landed casually, and yet still while retaining that essence of caution.

"You're quite skilled. Although I would appreciate it if you gave our battle a little more effort; holding back can be seen as disrespectful in some eyes."

Interesting.

So he'd caught on to that too? Not surprising really, then again, looking back on it now: that may have been why he'd bombarded me so fiercely. It was probably an attempt to draw out my armor. That however was a last resort, which was something I'd decided on before the battle even began. If anything, he knew of my skills from the chaos back in Vale: where the Grimm had temporarily invaded from the explosion underneath the ground. I couldn't show him that yet, I didn't want to show him that either... and I realized I didn't have to.

Marrow's grip had revealed to me the final card left to play: my wildcard.

"Holding back?" I could feel them stretch out again, just as unseen as before. Experimentation wasn't something I thought I'd be doing during a training match, but I supposed that was the purpose of training anyways. It wasn't like I hadn't tried new tactics before; JNPR pushed me plenty hard back at Beacon.

However that was on a much smaller scale: this was a different thing entirely, and as I looked down to my open palm, I maneuvered the tendrils along my very fingers, covering it in a webbing of soul.

"No... I'm just... thinking..." Would this idea even work? It stopped the wolf, but I only knew it made him let go, and that was just a taste anyways. I still had no real clue as to what these strings of life did?

"Pardon the question, but are you certain you're of the right standing for our match?" I watched as he took another stance, however there was this sense of pity in his voice now. Regardless of said reserved worry, his arms glowed: ready for action still. "If you're not feeling one hundred percent capable, you may excuse yourself; there is no shame in allowing yourself time to heal and saving a duel for another day. None can truly appreciate a proper battle when one of the challengers is disadvantaged."

No, I needed to do something, and for better or worse, an idea came to mind.

"I'm capable… I'm just..." I would commit, because there were no other options. As my hand clenched with acceptance of the plan, I felt the tangled tendrils tingle. "Considering..."

Each and every fiber of my invisible net quivered, and so it was with this apparently arousing idea that I beckoned my opponent forth, all the while these newly born webs trembled with what might as well be glee.

"Face me..."

He didn't disappoint, shooting forward with a rapid pace double that of his previous: perhaps there was something about the way I spoke which triggered something deep within his mind. The speed alone was impressive, and still it never lost the evenly flowing grace. Right before the expected strike, he switched it up, coming in from the lower side.

It didn't matter: I had no intention of stopping the attack.

Physical pain was something I was already mostly used to, and with my emotional responses dulled thanks to the obelisk, any outward showings of irritation were practically erased; this I was certain of. The brief twitchy shock on his face was prominent enough to lock him up. Visibly frozen from said surprise, it provided more than enough time to offer me a chance, and so with one hand I gripped him by the arm still visible on the front side of my body.

And with the other I took hold of his face.

"I have you now..."

The words came automatically, but I paid them no mind. Everything seemed to fade into this sort of black and white, with the stringy snare twisting towards and enveloping my hand now visible with a shadowy scarlet hue. I could feel them shaking with excitement at their contact with his aura. It was untouched, which was a testament to his skill; that would change right now. The tendrils yearned to act, to unleash their wicked desires. They hungered for something: not to consume, but to enact.

And so, I allowed them to bite.

Author's note

…

Okay, I still don't grasp fight scenes, but hey, at least it's over.

We got to see Roman and Saw do their thing, which was cool. Not exactly the full fury of the Fang, but at the very least a slightly greater challenge than Roman was expecting. Oh boy, another dungeon crawl - or not?

V's going through shit again; shocker. Oh the Humanity… or lack thereof. A little weird? Yes, but when has anything been normal with this killjoy. So we've got invisible spindly tentacles now… I can already see the raunchy jokes coming. In all seriousness though, this might just be the worst ability he's obtained. You probably don't realize it yet, but soon enough you'll learn exactly what it is and does.

It's definitely not something most would actively use, but then again, a solid sense of empathy is required to abstain from tools such as it.

Until next time.