Red Moon Rising

by MasterofMasyaf9000

The beating of a butterfly's wings can lead to the whipping of a tornado. A world of bloody evolution is forever changed with the most minute of choices: What if Adam Taurus had never joined the White Fang?

6. In The Country Of The Blind

"A man cannot destroy the savage in him by denying its impulses. The only way to rid himself of a temptation, is to yield to it."

---

Chapter 5: In The Country Of The Blind

---

He was going to kill her.

Privately, Adam Taurus had begun to come to terms with that fact. It was as sure as a sunrise, and he didn't think he'd be able to stop it, in the same way that an ant was powerless against an avalanche. He knew full well that he had issues controlling his anger. He'd been struggling with it most of his life. The urge to lash out and destroy the many things and people that earned his personal ire was like an itching under his skin, never satisfied, never sated, and it was all he could do to simply keep it that way, lest it spill out onto the heads of the few undeserving. He was self aware enough to know that in some cases, that anger was both irrational and unreasonable; that he was overreacting and he needed to take stock of matters objectively.

He had even thought he'd made progress with them on occasion, incremental as said progress may have been. But as was becoming the depressingly predictable pattern in his life, something would inevitably rise to prove him profoundly wrong.

Oh, this absolutely wasn't the case some hours ago, when Charlotte had asked him for a favor. 'Hold the fort for a few hours , would you? I promise I'll be back before closing.' That had been at four pm. As in, all of six hours ago, and with no sign of her return, he'd been stuck there, behind the counter, running her business establishment for her, while she went out on what he could only assume was a date.

Why had he agreed to do that in the first place, again? He wasn't a damned lapdog waiting for praise and treats. Oh. He remembered. Right. Because it was her, and his cursed teenage body had decided to rebel against his brain. He'd taken one look at her, dressed to kill as she was, in a strapless violet ankle length dress, overlaid in floral designs with a hip length slit on her left leg, leaving little if anything to the imagination.

The only real thought to pass through his head at the time, beyond the regular undercurrents of confusion and self disgust that came part and parcel with every encounter with the woman, was just an overwhelming sense of how beautiful she was. The dress had to be holding on for dear life, with the way the fabric had stretched across her breasts, almost bursting.. And fool that he was, he'd said yes, almost without thinking about it, before the words "not a chance" even had a chance to cross his brain stem, let alone his lips.

Irritation was the word of the evening, as he attempted to understand just why the Gods' name he was being such an idiot. He told himself for the thousandth time, he wasn't angry because he was jealous. They'd known each other barely two months now, and they didn't have that kind of relationship, despite what his ridiculous teenage hormones said. Actually, now that he thought about it, he wasn't angry at all. Really, he wasn't. Mainly because 'angry' was a benchmark he'd decisively passed somewhere around the three hour mark. He'd transcended angry. 'Angry' was but a distant shore on the horizon, and his ship had long sailed into the tumultuous and perilously stormy waters of 'absolutely livid'.

Of course, it should be explained that there were some other underlying factors for why his temperament was on a knife's edge. In the days since his heart to heart with Charlotte, she'd grown increasingly distant. That in itself would have been fine, but he was beginning to get the feeling she was toying with him, and not in her usual fun way.

She hadn't seemed to have caught on to Adam's own abnormal attraction to her, thank the gods but she was getting progressively surlier and outright cagey whenever he'd tried to press her for any further information regarding his mark, giving more and more evasive answers until eventually, she stopped humoring his questions at all. Worse still, she insisted on keeping him indoors wherever possible, all but killing his regular night time excursions, or even his daytime ones. Initially he trusted her, and accepted her conditions. For a considerable amount of time, he might add.

He trained.

Then he ate.

Then he pondered again.

Then he exercised and showered.

Then he slept.

And when the endless cycle of monotony finally drove him to madness, he confronted her.

When pressed, she would claim it was so there was less chance of him being recognized or word getting out to Myst that there was still a bounty hunter pursuing him, but combined with her caginess, all it made Adam feel was resentful, that she was callously attempting to use him as a packhorse and string him along. It was only through sheer strength of his own will that he was able to keep giving her the benefit of the doubt as it was, even though It had been in his opinion, far too long since she'd mentioned her progress in hunting his elusive bounty.

And then today happened.

In theory, it should, would have been no trouble at all. She'd taught him well enough that he was more than capable enough to be left to his own devices behind the bar for at least a brief time. If worst came to worst, and the brief time she was to be gone turned out to be busier than planned, he'd resort to the "pull your own pint" failsafe of hers that Charlotte regularly employed during rush, with one free drink per hour as an incentive.

To tie things up, if he threw in a menacing glare to would be thieves to remind them of what would happen if he caught anyone trying to skim off the top of the register, then he would have some room to breathe for perhaps a few minutes at the most.

It wouldn't be a whole half an hour after she'd blown him a kiss and he'd faintly heard the sound of the back door closing before it finally clicked that Charlotte had abandoned him on his own , running this bar full of cretins masquerading as people with their breathing and their talking, and their existing, and it was driving him absolutely to the end of his tether.

'Stay calm, Adam. Stay calm. Maintain composure.'

That had been his mantra all afternoon, and well into the evening. He served drinks, worked as hard as he could. No one ordered anything too complicated, and the bar traffic eventually began to trickle down as afternoon turned to evening, painting a smile on his face that almost brought a spasm to his cheek muscles.

He focused all of his attention on cleaning the glass in his hand, letting the slow motions of the action attempt to drive him into a sense of calm, as they had so many times before.

He was going to kill her.

The man was an ass. Adam had gleaned the immutability of the fact merely from giving the man a once over. One glance could tell even him, that he was the kind of person that you got bored of even before he parted his maw to speak. Once he had opened his mouth? Any doubts were subsequently extinguished. Everyone else, at least the regulars, had learned to give Adam his space, with his constant radiation of his "aura of unapproachability" as Charlotte liked to refer to it, and he was grateful for that at least.

Only, it seemed, Adam had discovered, talkative drunks didn't seem to take hints well. The being responsible for his rising ire was seated, directly in front of the counter with the facial featured of a drowned rat, rail-thin, clad in a sleeveless faux leather jacket with more buckles than any normal person would be caught dead with, and his head shaved half bald, displaying a tattoo in the shape of a some generic tribal tattoo of a bird on his scalp.

Just looking at the man made Adam want to assemble villagers with pitchforks and drive him back into the foul lagoon that spawned him.

Worse still, if his pathetically poor fashion sense wasn't enough, it took basically nothing to send the sorry excuse for a man into a monologue. His voice was just so irritating. Like a fake accent. And if he was forced to stand and listen to it much longer, he was going to lose his mind for good. He needed to hit something. Charlotte would be pissed, meaning he'd never hear the end of it if he started ramming the ice pick under the counter through a customer's skull repeatedly to alleviate his growing aggravation, but the urge was there and growing. It was right there. All he had to do was lean forwards, take hold of it, and all his problems would disappear forev-

Adam suddenly returned to reality and the sharp sound of cracking glass. Looking down to see the drinking glass in his grip, he found the fracture was small, barely the length of a hair pin. The aura around his hand glowed a deep crimson, pulsing in a steady rhythm, as his hold reflexively tightened.

He was going to kill them both.

He'd made the decision somewhere between the second and umpteenth diatribes about how much poorer the bar service was without the "eye candy" and how "he deserved better than having to stare at a "one eyed freak" all night. Woman or not, pay or not, tenuous friendship or not, Adam Taurus didn't suffer disrespect from anyone, and sure as hell not a human of all things, and if he heard one more word, no amount of money, or Charlotte's pleas was going to keep him from reaching over and folding the little cretin's spine in half like a deckchair.

He could already hear the whispers of his inner self again in his mind's eye; see the man's bones snapping and crumbling like chalk and it felt good. He could feel his fist smashing into his nose, splattering red blood on the dirty walls. What an improvement that would be.

Adam growled, shaking his head free from such pleasant thoughts and clenched his fists. He took a breath he didn't need in an attempt to steady himself, and straightened, forcing himself to relax again. He was just another egotistical entitled human he'd have to deal with. Just like all the others. Just like all the others. Just like all the ot-

He stared at the clock for what must have been the millionth time with an anguished mental scream. Fuck it. He looked over at the strong box. It looked full enough. Not overflowing, but certainly enough to be heavy to the point his absentee employer might ask him for help carrying the damn thing to count profits at the end of the week. Sure, he'd probably get the earful from her anyway if she ever found out he was closing up forty five minutes to a full hour early, but it was either this, or he was going to send one of her customers to traction.

Far be it from him to even begin to decipher the hidden depths of her inconsistency or her treacherous mind, but he figured she'd have far less problems with a slight decline in lien on a given business day, then being reported to the cops or city guardsmen because he'd finally lost his tenuous grip on sanity and self control and bounced some little shit-bird's skull against the bar counter until what remained of his brains spilled out like egg yolk. If she didn't like it, tough. She'd learn to live with it.

"Last call!" He bellowed, taking private petty delight in startling the irritating little piece of dreck from his perch with the sudden volume and bass in his tone. "Anyone wants drinks for the road, pay your tabs now!"

Most were far too drunk to argue, or even notice the actual time on the wall, and immediately began filing either towards the door, dragging their friends along or to lining up to dump lien cards on the counter that Adam quietly counted up. All except the rat.

"That means you too."

"I'm not done drinkin, so I'm not payin'. Or do I need to beat it into ya?"

The tiny piece of twine holding his patience together finally snapped. Why the hell was he doing this ridiculous song and dance, if he wasn't a customer? Hopping around like some kind of trained dog trying to please people he hated? Adam couldn't help it. He laughed. It was brief, bone chilling and it made the pile of rags half seated, half hidden in shadow edge away from the two as discreetly as possible. He lowered his voice, his tone evening into a calm and deadly motive that somehow managed to be even more terrifying than his normal brooding and scowling.

"You must really want to know what a broken neck feels like, don't you?"

The tone was almost conversational, as though he were just asking him the time, rather than threatening to give him a life changing injury. He watched impassively as the threat began to sink in, the man's eyes swelling at the mirth at the insult, at the very idea.

"A little mongrel like you thinking they're hot shit just because of who they're with? Well guess what! She can't save you n—!"

The last word never even left his throat. That tended to happen when you had a hand around it. He hadn't had the time to see him move, nor had Adam the time to think about it. His arm had moved virtually on its own, his fingers and palm slowly crushing his throat with the steady efficiency of a hydraulic press.

"With all due respect." He said in an overtly polite way that clearly indicated his true feelings, through gritted teeth that could almost pass for a smile to the uninitiated, providing they weren't looking too closely. "That wasn't a threat, That was a promise. And I keep my promises." He tightened the hand around his throat for effect, before shoving him backwards, letting him crumple to the floor and knocking over the bar stool he'd been sitting on.

'Give me a reason.'

Those were the words reflected in the cold blue eye and glare.

Adam kept it until the man realized he was serious, and finally began to reach into his jacket to pay.

So it seemed he had some sense then. Or so he had thought.

He lunged at him with a clumsy left hand. Well he couldn't say he didn't give him a chance. Adam caught the fist in the open end of the glass. Not blocking it with the rim, nor with the base, but slipping the glass onto his fist like a glove, swallowing his entire hand to the wrist. The man's hand had been significantly larger than the glass , but Adam was nothing if not accommodating. Suffice to say, most of the drunk's fingers came off worse for wear as a result.

The glass itself stuck tight around his appendage, red rivulets staining the clear insides where his curled and contorted digits squeezed uncomfortably together in mangled and unnatural positions, so much so that any attempt to pull himself free would undoubtedly make the damage worse. Tiny shards of glass from the crack embedded themselves into his flesh, pinpricks of pain he could barely feel over the tangled ball of broken bones at the end of his palm.

Adam's own hand held him captive via the outside of the glass for a moment, inspecting his handiwork. His solid grasp prevented the little rat from breaking free, though that didn't prevent him from trying; desperately trying to pull away from the counter, eyes wide and flush with fear and pain. Pulling him closer and reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket, an admittedly difficult task with all of his victim's flailing, his fingers closed around a solid mass to feel the tell tale sign of leather. Adam looked over at the wallet without turning his head. It was fat, new looking, at a cursory inspection, filled with bundles of lien cards, almost all fifties.

He snapped it shut with a sharp thwack before squeezing down and twisting hard with his other arm, with a satisfactory crunch of glass and snapping of bone. "Have a nice evening, sir" He sneered sarcastically over the sound of the man's screaming. "Thank you kindly. You can keep the glass too. On the house."

"I'll get you for this you son of a whore! Just you fucking wait!"

The man stumbled out holding his tumbler encased hand, struggling to keep upright as he did so.

"I'm shaking in my boots."

Good riddance.

Taking a look at the cash box that served as the bar's register, Adam counted out the lien, before haphazardly tossing what remained inside, wallet and all. Let Charlotte deal with that. He made his way to the pass-through at the side of the bar, lifting it up to walk somewhat leisurely through the gap into the rest of the room. He picked up a bar-towel on the way, slinging it haphazardly over his shoulder. Those tables wouldn't clean themselves, and he hoped the silence and the monotony of the action would cool his burning blood, if only momentarily.

Unfortunately, as he cast his eyes across the bar, and saw the slumped over form at one of the tables nearest the door, Adam realized that like with everything else that had occurred over the course of the evening, he wasn't going to be so lucky.

The next thing Jade felt was a hard jab from the end of a mop.

"You."

She flinched. She had been hoping he hadn't noticed her yet. She'd originally planned to approach him, but not so soon.

"Bar's closed. Clear out."

She raised her head, slowly, as if to shake the cobwebs from her head, and watched as the recognition began to set into his eye.

"You."

Oh, he remembered her. Well that was good at least.

Jade swore he had just growled something else under his breath, but it had been far too low, and far too quiet for her to know for certain. Suddenly, through her tipsy haze, her mind registered in full the lack of voices that had previously been present, and the distinctive feeling that there weren't nearly enough witnesses to observe their meeting. She wasn't yet inebriated enough to miss the fact that Adam's muscles had coiled like a viper ready to strike, and she was prudent enough to clumsily take a slight step back to put some much needed distance between herself and the increasingly aggravated faunus.

"What are you doing here?"

"Would you believe me if I said I was here to apologize?"

He shifted his balance to his right foot, crossing his arms and raised a single unimpressed brow. "No."

She paused midstep, blinking. "But I haven't even asked yet!"

"Don't care. Whatever it is, the answer's still no."

"But this could be your ticket to the big leagues! This could help us both! At least hear me out!"

"Sounds like something you should have thought about before you robbed me. I'll pass."

The two had something resembling a standoff, with Adam glaring balefully at her and the latter sending it back as sternly as she could muster. Her stern old lady expression was rather lacking, most likely because she was nowhere close to sober, and she was swaying slightly from side to side like a reed in the breeze. People tended not to take you seriously when you couldn't stay upright.

Ignoring his impatient fury, she instead settled on tilting her head to the side, in a manner not to dissimilar to a dog in a way she thought for certain would cool the flames of his antipathy, and showing him her best redeeming smile, and….he was walking away from her. He was probably going behind the counter for that sword of his he loved so much.

'Crap.'

But he turned, much to her surprise. "If I hear you out, will you fuck off and stop bothering me?" The reply was terse, with almost rehearsed rudeness, but it made her hide a smile, if only for a moment. It was only a mere step above where she'd been seconds ago, but it was progress.

"Remember how I was talking about that fighting ring?"

He snorted derisively.

"Are you ok upstairs, old woman? Fighting for you isn't going to earn me one skinny lien's profit, especially not around a two bit con merchant like you. I'm damn near broke, my patience has long since frayed, and I have better things to waste my time on your nonsense."

In the interim, a new realization hit him, as his glare somehow narrowed to a finer point. "How did you know I'd be here?" Adam finally said, sounding somehow even perturbed with his unwanted guest. "Don't tell me you've been following me?"

And now it all made sense. She'd spoken like she'd expected him to be here, and that was because she had. How the hell hadn't he noticed her before? The answer came almost as fast as the question: he'd been so busy trying to keep control of himself, that he stopped noticing his surroundings.

"You know what? Forget it. I don't even know why I'm still talking to you anyway."

Touchy are we?

Maybe with him, she needed to get smarter. He was as difficult as a hard nut to crack. She needed to give him something.

Jade liked to think, that being the way she was for so long, she knew how to read people. In the days she'd been here, watching him work, she had a pretty decent understanding of how his mind operated. The kid was filled to the brim with piss and vinegar, much as he had tried to hide it during working hours, and her last meeting with him apparently hadn't helped. That much was obvious, from the way he gritted his teeth in ire and contempt every time he looked sideways at her. But she still had an ace in the hole. There was something, a weak-point in the armor as it were. All she had to do was put his pride on the hook, and he'd snap the bait right up.

"You can hide behind money all you like. You're forgetting, I saw you that other night. I know money isn't what matters to you." Her voice had become uncharacteristically solemn, discarding her usual sing song tone in a way that made him stop, facing away from her and staring straight ahead. "Whatever honest life you're making a show of living in here," Here, she gestured around the room with a single dismissive hand, not remotely discouraged by his silence. "I can see the monster behind that eye of yours, gnawing down on your insides. Hell, I've seen it clawing at you all night. Look at what you did to that last guy just now. Face it, you're just not wired for a nine to five."

Adam's nostrils flared.

He'd have hit her square in the jaw then and there, if there wasn't so much truth to the statement. Adam clenched his fists, nails digging deep into his aura. He wasn't cut out for it. Sure, helping out at the bar was just dandy, and certainly, he owed Charlotte that much for the board alone, but this couldn't go on. And with Charlotte keeping him indoors all the time, he'd been stuck in an uncomfortable place in his head for far too long, with no reliable way to distract himself from the demons that plagued him. To put it bluntly, he was going mad. The days trapped and alone had left him hollow and angry. He usually took this anger and turned it into something else to ease his frustrations, but thanks to that conniving snake of a woman, that avenue was closed to him.

"Though if it's money you're concerned about… I think I could help you out. Especially being a first timer, and all"

He thought he understood what she was implying.

From what he suspected, odds against him as a newcomer, no matter who he fought, would be so high that one decent win would net him at least several times whatever he put in to begin with.

One quick fight, he'd roll out with pockets full of lien before anyone could even ask questions or even get his name and that would be that. And it would sure as hell beat anything else he had to do tonight.

"So why not live a little on the wild side?" She caught sight of his horns. "Uh, no offense."

Silence passed. She almost thought he hadn't heard anything she said until he spoke again.

"Ninety ten. That's my price."

"I'm a drunk, not stupid. I get eighty, you get twenty."

"And I'm the one putting my neck on the line, you drunken bitch. Seventy thirty: final offer."

"Fine."

Adam stared at her with a look that bordered on surprise, followed by a hardened glare and resigned sigh. "Good. Now fuck off, would you?"

"What?"

He snarled. He hated repeating himself.

"Get. Out."

"But you just said—"

"I know what I said, you drunken bitch." He hissed, before continuing more calmly. "I also know that I don't trust you, and definitely not enough to leave you alone and unattended here, where you can pilfer hard earned lien to pay whatever outstanding loan sharks you have from behind the bar the moment I'm not watching. Wait by the door. I'll be with you within the next ten minutes. And if you so much as blink at the register, I'll take your hands."

It shouldn't take him long to lock up, and already, his eyes were scanning the room for the ring of keys that Charlotte kept, catching sight of them in a glint of metal hanging just above the counter. Turning back to her, he was somewhat unamused to find her still sitting there, staring at him.

"What?!" He snarled quietly.

"My name's Jade , kid."

"Drunken Bitch."

"...Jade . Say it with me now. It's only one syllable and it's as smooth on the tongue as a nice bottle of rum. Jade ."

"Drun-ken-Bitch. Now leave, before I change my damned mind and throw you through that door."

"Wouldn't you have to open it firs-"

The quip died on her tongue, catching a glimpse of his stone face. He meant every word, and both of them knew it.

Even so, there was undeniably a certain overly-proud lilt to her steps that he thoroughly despised as she flounced to the exit, shutting the door behind her.

He sighed, sinking into a seat.

Fishing into a pocket, he let his ring of keys lie in the middle of his palm, as if it were a live beetle, weighing them in his hand. There was a part of him that said in a fight where there were no holds barred, and anything was legal, he had a slim chance to begin with of success, even if he did accept the fact that he'd be fighting on display like a prize show pony.

Fighting in a cage for the amusement of others. Something had to be wrong with him if this was his idea of downtime.

But it was something to do, and honestly? He'd wanted another fight for weeks.

Spinning it in the air, and snatching it before it could hit the ground, he got up, jogging through the pass and upstairs to change. The moments the action took passed, and he considered writing a note for Charlotte, before deciding against it. To hell with her. He grabbed a handful of lien from his duffel, shoving as many of the tiny plastic cards into his pocket as he could see. He didn't know how much the entry fee was, but he supposed it wouldn't do to be short.

When it at last came to his sword, he hesitated. Furious as he was with Charlotte, he couldn't help but wonder if she had a point. The last thing he needed was to scare his target back into his hole for another month by showing up some place connected to the criminal underworld, and word of mouth circling back to him. Carrying a weapon as fine and distinctive as his would only create more trouble than he needed, even with all his other distinctive features.

Leaving it behind would feel like tearing off a limb. Adam agonized over the prospect for a good few minutes, before he finally laid his weapon into his bed, drawing the covers over it in an absent minded attempt to conceal it from sight. The truth of the matter was that he had a perfectly good pair of fists and feet, and while he wasn't anywhere near as skilled with them as his blade, that didn't mean he didn't at least have a basis of how to use them. This would be a chance to diversify his arsenal, if nothing else. And if that failed? Well, he'd just have to break every bone in the lying little human's frail body for wasting his time then, wouldn't he?

Palming the keys in his hands, he shoved them into a pocket, and left the room.

It was about time Adam Taurus started doing things his way.

---

If suspicion had a smell, he figured it would smell something like the old bat currently leading him through the gloomy evening, through the now familiar streets of Kuchinashi's slums.

They cut through the ruins of a city park and carried on past what looked to be a club towards their destination. He was extra alert for the first few minutes, anticipating another ambush or some other duplicity, and somehow became even more alert when none came. It was odd to him that Charlotte had never mentioned this mythical arena herself before their current situation, given her arguably extensive knowledge of things in the city. But then again, he'd never bothered to ask around about whether there was a place to fight around before.

As if reading his unanswered questions, Jadestarted to talk.

Each fortnight, the fights were held at a different location, and attendees only learned the venue's address only hours before the fights begin. They were never advertised; underground fighting was technically illegal in Mistral, she explained. But like with just about every other unsanctioned activity or vice, if you said the right things to the right people, you could usually figure out where to go. It sounded plausible enough, about par for the course in this city in fact. Still didn't mean he didn't take it with several doses of skepticism.

She led him down a series of narrow alleyways, and further and further away from the outer district of the slums, where the bar resided. Soon enough, the dark and alleyways began to open out, and the streets began to gain things. Scattered lights, the occasional passerby and even a fair few shops and bars he hadn't recognized. Moreover, it was clear from the increasing confidence in her strides, they were firmly in her territory, and he had no doubt that she knew this place like the back of her mottled hands.

He wasn't blind to how the landscape around him had begun change as they moved. The buildings were a dilapidated mess, even by slum standards, the landlords having long ago stopped investing in renovations and the rumour had it, at least according to the tidbits he picked up at the bar, that they were letting them fall apart so the land could be sold for construction.

That last part, looking around at the buildings, Adam found very hard to believe.

Half of the buildings were wooden and far lower to the ground than the buildings surrounding the bar, a result of sinking into unstable clay foundations and when it rained, the gutters overflowed, saturating the ground and making them sink even deeper. As time wore on, the community fell into a social death spiral. Anyone who could afford to move had long fled to a different area. The buildings were defaced with graffiti, anything that broke stayed broken and what few residents remained were forced to climb stairs and walk streets past the homeless vagrants, faunus and human alike; though more the former than the latter, that were now a fact of life there.

Adam couldn't find it in him to feel camaraderie or even sympathy for them. The stale smell of urine grew stronger as they walked, and whatever conversation between him and the old woman dimmed.

Or maybe it had something to do with his keen eye picking up the tenth quiet mugging in one of the alleys they passed, the bleeding woman with the bushy tail lying at the side of the road a brown bottle just out of reach from her hand as four men with identical thin flat tails, rifled through her pockets, or the other group of faunus lowlifes that was watching them from the mouth of an alley, kept back by a sharp glare. Probably looking for better targets. Fucking worthless cowards.

He half expected to see a vagrant rolling in their own filth. 'These were the people Mother died for. The ones I would have died for. No loyalty. No honour. No self respect. Feh.' Honestly, they deserved the humans. His shoulders went taut for half a heartbeat, tight and dangerous, before evening out. Looking at them disgusted him, and only soured his mood more than it already was.

Finally, the two came to their apparent destination: A restaurant, located in a relatively large building at the intersection of numerous streets, with its back to a river. "This is the place! The Golden Heron!" The annoying voice broke him from his thoughts as the building seemed to shudder and sway in the wind, serving only to make him all the more nervous. The stench of the river bank behind the restaurant wafted somewhat unpleasant in a eastern direction, right across his sensitive nose.

"I came here to fight, not eat."

"Trust me, would ya?"

The lighting was dim and the air was thick with the scents of so many different foods. He tried not to gag as a waitress carrying a plate of seafood walked by. Adam listened to the noisy chatter of all the people sitting around him. He couldn't have felt more incongruous if he tried. The restaurant floor felt small, and he was starting to feel claustrophobic. He clenched his fists, keeping as alert as possible, as the woman all but dragged him through tight corridors into the busy kitchens.

Jadecounted down under her breath before ducking a metal tray flying directly for her head. It flew past her, forcing Adam to catch it with his bare hands or end up eating it himself, "Oi, I thought we were past this already!"

Don't you give me that! You know what you did!" A man in a white chef's gown, tied haphazardly over a black t-shirt appeared, walking their way to the front of the room at an increasingly quick pace. Lowering the platter, the first sight Adam came face to face with was a man with shoulder-length hair and a short beard.

Dark messy bangs were pasted to his forehead with either steam, sweat or a combination of both. From the crows-feet around his eyes Adam guessed he was probably forty something, near middle aged, but that was the only clue he had. Jade began to violently curse at the man, who promptly responded in kind in equally colorful language, too fast for the young faunus to really follow along. Noticing Adam, he smiled in the way inconvenienced people did before speaking in a rough accented voice.

"Are you here for Mr Liu's fights downstairs?"

Adam, somewhat taken aback by the man's sudden directness, nodded.

"Very gritty, nasty, not pretty. Bunch of testosterone." He spat. "He get weapons from all over the world. As long as you got the lien, he can get a hold of the perfect weapon for you from anywhere in the world."

The faunus raised a skeptical eyebrow, passing the one hundred lien into his hands.

Part of him had expected to be screened and searched for weapons. Not given the opportunity to take one, but there was no sense in looking a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe he'd even find another sword.

He hadn't asked for a weapon, or a training session, but clearly the man thought it was a necessary part why they were here, in a meat locker, staring at a veritable armory of melee weapons. And that alone suggested that the old woman wasn't completely full of shit, but Adam wasn't fool enough to trust her so readily. More to the point, most of the weapons looked more disappointing, rather than anything of any quality. His hopes of finding another blade were dashed.

What use did he have for brass knuckles? Or staves? There was a bladed staff he rather liked the look of, and his hand hovered above it for a few moments. It looked eerily similar to the one Usagi Kazama had used, and for a few seconds he was overcome by curiosity. However, after a few scant seconds, he refused with a shake of his head. The man looked at him as though he was mad, and Adam for a second, honestly believed his unspoken assertion might just have some merit. The feeling however, didn't last long, and instead he stood tall, squaring his shoulders and staring defiantly at him in turn.

He'd made his own bed and he'd be man enough to lie in it.

Shrugging his shoulders as if to say, "your funeral", the old man led him out of the room that housed his armory, and the trio began to make their way downstairs through a rusted iron door that led into the cellar.

The Pit turned out to be just that, a pit. A hollowed out chamber in an already sizable basement, with an octagonal ring made of crowd control barricades that appeared to be bolted to the ground. It looked uncannily like a bull pen, the irony of which wasn't lost on him despite his current mood. He smiled. Would the bull find a worthy matador? Time would tell, he supposed.

Chattering excitedly among themselves as they swapped bright yellow slips of paper. He had arrived just at the end of a fight. A young man was being dragged feet first across the ring, his arms splayed out, his shoulders painting a red streak along the canvas as he was carried away. And the members of the audience who had bet on his opponent were collecting their winnings.

The room was packed with roughly around two hundred people, all of whom appear to have purchased tickets that they were all waving in the air, as they were jostling and clamouring to claim a spot with an unobstructed view. Betting slips, he realized, as he took note of the giant floor to ceiling blackboard. It was filled with names, not many that Adam could make out from where he was, his view blocked as it was by the mass of bodies around him.

The moment he stepped into the room proper, Adam could already tell that something stood out, calling to him, over all the olfactory noise: the unwashed bodies of the men and women present, the stale beer and urine, the blood.

The sight of a man getting hit hard enough to spray blood across the first row of observers to his fight filled his vision. One fighter grabbed the foot of the other, pulled him to the ground and brought an elbow to the victim's face, snapping his nose into a grotesquerie, landing the blow again and again as he beat him into submission. His eye bled, blood dripping down to his mouth. People were out of their tiny cheap seats, screaming for bloodlust.

Two heavy set men jumped into the pen, and the loser was carried, or more accurately, dragged along the floor from the centre of the makeshift ring. The victor paced around the ring, seemingly indifferent to the cheering, and the lien passing hands in the crowd.

Jade started talking casually, like it hadn't even happened.

"Alright. I'll have em' work you into the next match. You ready?"

Without once looking away, Adam nodded. "Yeah. I'm good. Just need to put down one guy, right?"

"That's the spirit, kid. I hope it goes as easy as you make it sound!"

With a clap on the back, she disappeared into the crowd towards the blackboard and the booth.

Adam was at the very back of the auditorium. Seeing him, the audience laughed and applauded. More yellow betting slips changed hands. There was a crack in the floor, and he caught a glimpse of silver, the river water lapping at the concrete posts underneath. He eyed his would-be opponent suspiciously. He looked to be a man in his twenties, with a lean physique and a quiet swagger, clad in a bloodstained gray collared shirt with matching trousers and a pair of black leather shoes, stained at the sleeves with dark crimson splotches. Adam didn't think any of the blood was his.

In the brief interval, more music blasted out of the speakers. The televisions flickered back on. Yellow slips were exchanged, and Adam noticed people gesticulating wildly, angrily tapping their watches. He realized now that the audience wasn't betting on who was going to win the fight. With the man in the ring, there could be no doubt of that.

They were betting on how long a fighter could last against him.

Fighting some muscled punk, like the one who'd just been beaten against the hard ground, who thought he was tough, was one thing. Facing off against fighters willing to face him in single combat was another. But facing someone who was willing to end his life on a whim, and had the strength to back it up, was another thing in its entirety. Anyone else would have felt fear.

Even though he'd had yet to even throw a single punch his way, he could swear he felt every aggressive movement, every impact from the elbow hitting flesh. His chest felt like his heart was being squeezed in his fist. He found himself clutching at his waist for a sword that wasn't there, and almost snarled. That kind of presence, it demanded his attention, and the man wasn't even doing anything. He was just standing there.

"Aaand now, to unveil the next fight on tonight's card!" That sounded like his cue. You all know our very own champion! He's dominated the Pit since the day he arrived. Undisputed, twenty one consecutive victories… the Reaper of the ring himself! He bowed to the audience and danced on his feet, raising his fists to acknowledge their applause.

. Moving through the throng of people cheering on the fight going on in the makeshift ring set in the middle of the floor

As Adam moved through the crowd, they began to fall away to a murmur in his ears moving out of his way until he reached the front and stood at the edge of the small ring. With barely a moment's pause, he vaulted the barricade, landing , and walking nearer to the centre of the pen to face his opponent.

"And in the challenger's corner, a new fallen star, landing freshly in our Pit, a one-eyed stranger with a heart of fire and balls of steel! " The announcer's microphone blared through the tinny speakers with surprising volume, though it didn't distract either of the fighters in the ring for even a moment, their eyes never leaving each other's.

"Which of these warriors will be the one to sink into the Pit? No time limits, no rules!

Ready…. Fight!"

In a rush to land the first blow, it was Adam that moved first. It wasn't his style to be coy; and he'd waited long enough. He needed to set the pace of the fight. He threw a simple but powerful jab, only for his enemy to strike forwards as well. Regretfully, he misjudged the length of his opponent's reach, and he was forced to twist his own upper body in an attempt to avoid the blow that landed in the centre of his chest. Adam barely felt it, the hit was shallow, feeling more like a pat than an attack. He grinned. If this was his best, then he could easily power through his attacks to victory, even with his cursory knowledge of weaponless combat.

At least that's the way it should have been. Only for five, six, seven more strikes to follow it in rapid succession. Shocked as he was, Adam was hard pressed to intercept them all, in a rapid exchange of skirmishes and arms in a pure hand to hand fight for positioning and dominance, crimson and azure auras clashing and cracking like lightning before one full-powered open palm slipped through his guard to plant itself firmly against between his eyes, rocking his head back to a cheer from the surrounding crowd.

With his good eye watering and his nose smarting, Adam backed away, the unexpected power behind the attack leaving his legs almost shaking as he did so. His opponent said nothing, the cool impassive look he'd worn since he'd first laid eyes on him practically unchanged, save the faintest hint of a smug smirk stretching across his thin lips. He fought back a furious snarl. He was at a disadvantage as it was, and blind rage wouldn't be something that would help him right now. It was a lucky shot. No more.

The two fighters began to circle one another once more, each taking slow and deliberate steps, waiting for the other to move. So rushing him hadn't gone exactly to plan. But the good news was, from those exchanges, he'd been able to gauge both the speed of his reactions and he was able to get the beginning of an idea of what style he preferred. Most notably, he hadn't once led an attack with a punch, in favor of open palms, in a similar, but not identical style to the woman he'd fought not too long ago in the alley. It was odd, and immediately it set Adam's mind racing. A coincidence? Or had they had the same teacher?

As far as he could tell, most of his hitting power came from his back, his body moving in short rolling motions to give reach to his arms. From the way his long sleeves snapped back from each swift motion, he could make out significant definition and tone on his arms. It was little wonder just how strong his blows would be from that level of force. But still, his instincts told him that wasn't all.

His opponent launched himself at him, this time instead with a whip fast knife hand strike, which Adam reflexively blocked at his inner arm at the joint, before countering with his free hand into a backhanded fist. He leaned back, moving his head to safely out of Adam's path before forcing him on the backfoot by striking out at his throat with a second knife hand blow.

So maybe he wasn't up against a punching bag after all.

Deciding against having his windpipe crushed, and too close to properly dodge, Adam tilted his head downwards to protect his throat and thrust his horns forward, letting the blow bounce off his forehead, and in a stroke of pure dumb luck, taking the hit, quite literally, head on. It wasn't his proudest moment by any stretch, and thinking again on this moment in hindsight, it brought him no pleasure; he hadn't even done it on purpose. But as he watched in muted surprise, as his enemy staggered backwards, clutching at his fingertips, he knew full well that that would be how he chose to remember it.

If you were fighting someone faster than you were, then you needed to lock down any distance between you and them to render the advantage of their speed worthless. It's how he would have handled it if he had still had his sword, how he had been trained to, and already a part of his tactical mind had already been lamenting from the moment he stepped into the ring the lack of reach and dexterity his limbs provided in comparison to his weapon, before being overruled by adrenaline and impulse.

But he'd tried that, and he hadn't gotten all that far. So obviously, he needed to try harder.

While his opponent no doubt contemplated just how Adam had thrown his head into his attack safely without splitting his skull open, he made no show of it otherwise moving one hand behind his back. Stubbornly gritting his teeth, he utilized the moment of distraction to perform a short dash forwards and followed-up with a straight punch using his opposite fist, before unleashing a barrage of light punches with speed and barely repressed fury in an attempt to keep the pressure up and reassert some control of the fight.

Less than half of them connected, either flying wild or falling flat against his enemy's forearm, that he used to guard himself, despite the pain of what had to be broken fingers on his unused hand from the sickening noise he'd heard over the din of the crowd when his hand had made contact, he had no trouble weaving his way with effortless efficiency through his attacks, in a way that had felt somehow familiar to the young faunus, but was quickly lost on him as he grew more irritated and his attacks grew more frenzied.

He snarled in anger, watching his face shift from one twisted by pain, into a gaze of an assured arrogance, a smirk with malevolent intent only adding to the air of smug superiority. Adam was beginning to tire of trying and failing to land a hit, but he decided to keep up the attack for a few moments more, choosing to focus on speed and accuracy over power; mostly wanting to overwhelm him and see which direction he was partial to moving in. He couldn't keep backing away forever , and eventually, Adam had him cornered.

No sooner had he finished the thought, he leaned backwards, touching the ground and resting his weight on his right arm, pivoted, and launched his lower body into an upward flying single-handstand-style kick.

Adam caught one of his kicks, and lifted his own leg to hook his foot under him, a direct blow to the back of his pivot point. Falling to the ground, before he could think to follow up his advantage, the man flipped, flowing with the momentum, using his body control to roll into a crouch, before lashing out again with a sweeping follow up of his own, that Adam was forced to leap into the air to avoid.

In the few seconds it took him to land, he was already well within his personal space, swinging the same leg up and around in a high kick aimed straight for his face. 'Not an ordinary street brawler, that's for certain.' He batted the leg away, only to receive a stomach-aimed gut strike to his ribs for his trouble, that had him stumble off to the side for a few steps almost knocking him down. He coughed and saw flecks of red spill from his lips to the ground from the spectacular aim of the strike.

'What in the gods...?'

It was so fast that he barely would have even noticed it, were it not for not for the pain. He didn't think he'd even been hit that hard before, and he still had his aura! Looking down in a subconscious attempt to assess the damage done, he wasn't sure if his skin flickered black for a few moments, or if it was just the onset of dizziness from the lack of the oxygen driven from his lungs.

A semblance… that was messing with his aura maybe?

While he was doubled over, Adam saw him try to move in for another kick, and seizing an opportunity, made to intercept it again before he realised that instead of at his body, it was aimed squarely at his groin.

He barely avoided crumpling to the ground as he took the brunt of the low lashing kick to the area just above his knee, twisting and contorting himself so that his thigh took the damage instead of his family jewels. No one he'd fought had tried for such a dirty strike on him before, and ordinarily that would have had him burning with anger and wounded pride, failed or no and indeed, he could already feel his blood humming in his veins as determination and anger began to swell and break his constructed mask of calm, but as logic took hold of his mind, so too did confusion. With a truly Herculean effort, Adam forced his mind to ease, using his opponent's complacency to begin searching his eyes for anything he could use against him.

"Styles and strategy make fights, not mere strength alone. There's always alternate paths to victory, little one. Woe to the fool who can't see that." A gentle, chastising female voice came to his ear, one he had heard often and knew far too well. If he let this drag on, this would take forever, even if he did emerge victorious, and even that was no guarantee. Adam was rapidly realizing he needed an actual strategy. Something outside his usual scope.

In the next thirty seconds, Adam used every defense technique he had ever been taught, but he knew that in truth, he was simply relying on his instincts, dodging and weaving as the arena seemed to spin around him, the audience shouting, the fans turning, and the sluggish heat weighing down on him from all sides. A right hook caught him on the side of the face and his whole head jerked around, a spasm of pain traveling down his neck and spine.

The kick didn't hurt for more than a second- Aura, or at least what remained of it, took care of that, but it could have been much worse— especially since this fight was no holds barred. Why bother going for the cheap shot in a battle you were already winning? And more importantly, he mused, testing his weight on his leg just before dodging away from another crushing overhead from a flying heel strike, why was it so weak? If he'd have been hit even half an inch with the power of the blow the man had just used seconds earlier, it would have been over, and he'd likely have been crippled.

Adam frowned. Now that he thought about it, how had he just missed from that close? A kick like that should have shattered his collarbone, and made the fight a little more than a distant afterthought. He didn't have much time to dwell on it however, before a reverse roundhouse interrupted his thoughts, that he ducked under, replying with a quick jab to the midriff to stun him. As his opponent's foot returned to the ground, Adam's eye caught a slight tremor as he struggled to rebalance himself fully. Was he injured? Or had it just been an off kilter landing?

Wait. That was it. The gears clicked into place in his grey matter. His kicks. He'd stopped or dodged every single one of them with almost no issue at all, yet his hand strikes, he was barely able to see, much less stop. They were slower and weaker than his hands; what they had in dexterity, they lacked in speed, and power. That belied the fact that he wasn't comfortable with using them, and if he was trying to end the fight quickly with cheap shots, then he knew it too.

If Adam could just stay out of his range and bait him into kicks, he could jump in close and punish his lack of balance, ending this, or at the very least, disable his arms for good, essentially robbing his foe of any real offense potential.

Adam hid his malicious smirk. It was a damned good plan if he said so himself. Now all that was needed was to figure out a way to carry it out. He wasn't going to assume the man was stupid, even by human standards, and he didn't think he'd get another chance if he failed. It hadn't taken many hits for him to bypass his Aura and if he let his opponent keep that same focus for his next attack, he didn't have an answer for how to handle him. Maybe he was going about this wrong. He couldn't do that by waiting to counterattack. This wasn't how he operated. Adam Taurus made things happen, he didn't wait on them.

His opponent grinned with malicious intent.

The faunus boy hadn't been the easy kill that everyone expected, and he knew he could enjoy himself here. The audience wanted blood, but they wanted drama too. He could play with the boy for a while, weaken him before the final blow that would put him into the hospital. " The crowd roared its approval. Even the gamblers who had already lost and were tearing up their yellow slips wanted to see more.

Seeing him try to hit him again, Adam made the snap decision to knee his open body once, driving his knee into his chest and checking his momentum as he made contact to spring backwards to avoid retaliation. His first instinct was again to press the assault, but he used the faint metallic aftertaste of his own blood in his mouth to calm himself down.

Adam switched his footing, this time taking on a different fighting stance, seemingly of an entirely foreign discipline. Standing to the side, his legs were wide apart, forward and back, lowering his centre of gravity, with his arms crossed in the direction of his front leg at the forearms. It was far from a perfect imitation, he'd only seen it once, but he was out of options and it was close enough for what he intended.

If he'd had the mind, he'd have sent another of many a silent prayer of thanks to Evelyn Taurus for all of those many early morning footwork drills and lower body exercises because he had to be absolutely precise in what he did next if he wanted to have a chance of success. Letting instinct ride him, instead of continuing to rack up his brain to form a way to overpower his enemy through brute force alone.

The movements felt foreign to him as his opponent blazed forward, more still when Adam let his palm slam past his face as he dodged it. The back of his knuckles barely brushed the side of his jaw as he avoided the murderous blow by a fraction of a hair. Despite how cool-headedly he was trying to play things, Adam would always prefer the brute force approach. He wasn't a patient combatant. He preferred to make his own opportunities rather than wait for them. But at this point he was just prolonging the inevitable. He had to be able to do something offensive in order to win. And yet, his focus never once wavered.

Finally, the opening presented itself. His opponent, running low on options, launched an overbalanced roundhouse kick and brought himself right into his range.

'There!'

Knocking the leg even further off course, Adam tensed for a single moment before jumping into the air and swinging an elbow and a knee in a lightning fast pincer movement that knocked him unceremoniously on his back. The blow hit hard, and fast, and Adam allowed himself a second of satisfaction. He didn't have any intention of following him to the ground to press his perceived advantage. He remembered full well what he'd seen of the last fight, and what his opponent's elbows were capable of doing once he had an enemy pinned on the ground.

Adam wasn't anywhere near confident enough in grappling techniques enough to try it for himself, and his enemy had enough advantages over him without him offering all new ones on a platter.

He rested a hand on his hips before throwing it forward in a mocking gesture. "Ugh, is that really all you can do?" He made sure to sound as dry and uninterested as possible, attempting an emulation of Charlotte's tone of casual mockery. "If you can't hit me, why bother attacking at all?" It didn't come off as perfectly as he hoped; he sounded nothing like her, but the result came off as a sort of innocent blandness, the kind that would test the patience of even the most ardent of saints.

He knew better of course, but he needed to goad him into attacking more. Hitting harder. Going for more reckless moves that would leave him vulnerable. The irony of his strategy was something he could appreciate; it was the same strategy he'd nearly fallen for, had fallen for in the past, and he'd very nearly taken that same bait once in this fight already, allowing his enemy to capitalize. But it was his best chance to do some damage. Taking Adam's taunt as a cue to start tearing into him again, he exploded to his feet, fists balling by his side. 'Bullseye' Adam assessed quickly, pleased with the heated reaction. He was starting to get under his skin. Now he just had to keep dodging.

He felt a strange, yet not entirely alarming sensation. As if he had suddenly gained a physical control of his heartbeat, and was painfully aware of every individual pulse. It was a hypersensitivity to himself, and everything that he was. He felt his aura flare almost reflexively, and he shifted his footing to dodge. This time, he needn't have bothered. The blow sailed wildly off course, and he quickly realized it wouldn't have hit him even if he'd stood still.

He'd have taken it to be his own attempts at being infuriating and taking his enemy off guard, but his opponent looked as confused as Adam himself, before swiping again Adam ducking under his arm and repositioning himself behind his back, with much the same result.

Only when the faunus righted himself, something had changed.

There was another Adam, a black shadow cloaked in his crimson aura, staring back at him over his opponent's shoulder with a single scarlet eye, his fists raised, his guard up, in the position he himself had been in just moments before. As if in slow motion, he watched on as his opponent made to strike at it, only for it to disappear in a blurred haze before he could even lay a hand on it.

Before he could even begin to process that, his body had begun to move again while his mind was still occupied, his instincts screaming at him to attack, whilst his back was exposed. Adam delivered a quick three hit combination of high and low kicks and ended the assault with a powerful axe kick that connected cleanly with the back of his opponent's skull, sending him face first into the ground, unmoving.

What had that been just now? He couldn't do that before. It couldn't have been his semblance. Could it? He turned away, and looked down at his hands in muted awe and confusion, completely missing the twitch in the hand of his downed enemy. It was impossible. His semblance had needed his weapon to work—he was sure of that much before he'd lost it. But then, it still begged the question. Had he just been seeing things?

It was only his uncanny sense of situational awareness that kept his head attached to his shoulders. He ducked low to the ground, intending to let the attack sail harmlessly by, the blade of the knife instead catching against the side of one of his horns. The blow rattled his skull, mangling his forward stability and almost made him fall on his face had he not forward-rolled through, before finding his feet once more.

He dodged several jabs at his body and head with the dagger, cursing mentally all the while. In a ploy to gain a moment's reprieve, he feinted at a quick jab, before his opponent was forcefully side-kicked in the stomach to knock him away to prevent him from doing any lasting damage.

He staggered back, winded, and every bit as furious as he had been before.

Without even thinking about it, Adam kicked low again, using his own opponent's carelessness in his lunge to hook his own leg with the opponent's, allowing him to flip over his enemy's back to hit the opponent from the other side. Once there, Adam's leg lashed up to kick his grip upward and with a fierce battle cry, drove his opponent with a savage elbow to the back of the neck.

He allowed his opponent's body to slump down lifelessly, his head thudding into the hard ground. The fight was over.

He felt a tension lift from his shoulders. The anger he'd been feeling remained but it was muted now, but the endorphins flowing in his skull began to mix with the delightful sensation of his adrenaline rush ,clouding his senses in a haze of comfort. A job well done, his strength proven.

And there was no feeling like it in all the world.

"That's it! That's it! It's over! What an upset! The one eyed monster appeared out of nowhere with a resounding win in his debut match! The magic is real, ladies and gents, and the crowd is pulsing with excitement!"

And indeed, the crowd did roar around him

He took a few steps forward, picking up the gleaming knife and running it over in his hands. It was a Mistrilian wazikashi, a simple yet beautiful thing, more than capable of cutting on first contact, even with minimum pressure, with a blade length between ten and twelve inches long. The sharp curves and beveled edges gave the single edged blade a sleek, strong and aggressive look, as did the detailed ornate patterns running the length.

"Thank you." he spoke quietly to the unconscious body at his feet. Whether it was for the spoil of war, or for the challenge of the fight itself, Adam himself couldn't be sure. His regular move set didn't lend itself well to overcoming that fight easily, even less so with hand to hand, an area that had never been his primary strength. He felt he'd come away from that experience with several invaluable lessons, ones that he never would have learned, had he chosen to sit in the bar like a good puppy. He had every intention of putting them to good use.

His opponent didn't respond, just as Adam knew he wouldn't, despite the perhaps odd hope that he might somehow rise and resume their battle again, setting upon him with the same fervor that he'd attacked him with before. But he didn't. He remained there, prone. And Adam stood tall.

Wasn't that what mattered?

The two men he'd seen before his match entered the pen just outside his field of vision, no doubt to drag the unconscious body away.

Absentmindedly sheathing the knife into the lacquered scabbard before slotting the weapon into his belt, he turned his gaze to the crowd. He didn't bask in their adulation, though the temptation was there.

Was he supposed to leave n-

He felt the thud in the vibrations of the ground moments before he saw anything. His next opponent. If the last one had been any indication of what he could expect….

Nothing was spoken between them. But then, nothing else needed to.

---

Despite her general insanity and lack of moral scruples, Jade couldn't help but feel a little bad. Sure, her little scheme was working just fine. The kid hadn't broken her neck for the stunt she'd pulled with her wallet. Her debt to the Serpent Clan was within reach of paying off, and with that, there'd be no more midnight calls or sending assassins to ambush her in alleyways. That worked for her just fine.

But somewhere in that sliver of a shriveled up heart of hers, she didn't want to get the brat killed at her behest in the process. Even if he was a rude prick.

"Just tell me how much he's worth." She dropped the money onto the table, the older man eagerly pocketing the cash like he was afraid she would change her mind, "And no cameras here, right?"

"You've been on a streak today, pot's gotten to 15 grand and it's only getting better." He grinned, showing off his chipped teeth.

Jade grimaced.

Looking back at the ring, she watched as the bull faunus twisted at his hip and blocked a punch with his open palm, bracing himself despite the odd positioning by putting one foot forward on the wall he'd backed his enemy against, 'He's so aware of his positioning despite not being able to see fully,' It really was impressive, despite the fact that she fully knew nothing of the depth of the boy's talents.

She'd told him he was just fighting one guy, and technically, that was true. The catch was, that she'd put him on the Deathwish list: a gauntlet of 6-on-1 odds, any weapons allowed, and the crowd had free reign to do as they damn well pleased, though in her defence, few were stupid enough to try. She hadn't been able to look him in the eye since they'd gotten here, but the chance to clear her debts was too good to pass up. Apparently he'd been the first to take the damn list in months. Only for the best or the stupidest, the bookie'd said. Right now she couldn't tell which he was.

What she did know, is that judging from the sounds that came from the ring…. was that the kid was having the time of his life.

---

All things considered, Adam was in his element. The fact that he could say that, four (or was it five?) opponents into the gauntlet was something that honestly skated the line between confidence and arrogance, but truthfully, he found himself having too much fun to care.

The man who just vaulted into the pen was taller than Adam, well-built with blue jeans, a dark leather vest, studded bracelets, and combat boots. Completing the ensemble were the dirty white wraps around his hands. His eyes were fierce, a conniving, wild smile split across his face. The length of a heavy metal chain hit the ground with a thud, the other end of which wrapped around his fists.

This new opponent wasn't particularly skilled with his weapon of choice, but the nature of said weapon more than made up for it, enough to actually force Adam to think his way through this battle instead of simply rushing his opponent.

He was physically strong, and his swings were erratic and wide, which made them difficult to predict. Every time he tried to get around his reach, that chain would whip back, and the seconds he wasted dodging it was time he sacrificed not getting up close and personal to deal damage. It was almost like he was fighting Sienna again. Almost.

Aside from lacking in both looks and agility, he was some kind of junkie by the looks of him; his eyes were bloodshot and his veins were practically pulsing out of his skin with every move and arc he made. Signed up for some easy money most likely, he reasoned, keeping a close eye on the path of the chain. That much, Adam could hardly hold against him. And to his opponent's credit, he was at least trying to put up a half decent fight. Unfortunately for the both of them…. He was falling far below expectations.

"Hold still so I can smash you, you freak!"

"Clever. You come up with that one on the playground?"

Adam quipped, using the edge of the pen as a springboard to flip over his opponent's head gracefully falling into a spry crouch not far away. It took him a few seconds to work out where the faunus had gone, and when he did, he swung around, eyes wild with rage and lashed out with the chain again. Adam himself by then, was a rapture of grace and skill, focused only on keeping ahead of his weapon. He didn't even notice that he had turned himself a blur of motion; a whirlwind of afterimages and mockery that surrounded the chain wielder , who was rapidly losing his patience.

'Sienna Khan, he isn't ...' Adam dodged the chain again, leaning back and allowing it to pass over his head, but the edges of the metal links ripped across his chest before he could complete the motion. Still, Adam felt nothing, beyond the thrill of the fight, even as his aura strained under the damage.

[]

That didn't last long.

Adam's boredom soon returned, and he made the decision to end the fight. To get past the quick, deadly-powerful, and extremely far-reaching motion of Junkie's attack, he had to be fast enough to evade it and instantly lash back out. The quickest way possible to do so was a straight line. And that was what he did.

As it came for him again, Adam struck it away with his forearm, extending his leading leg and slamming his heel on top of the length of the chain. The sudden halt in momentum tugged his opponent forward, bringing him stumbling into intimate range. He had time only to grunt in surprise as his head and torso came forward, before the first of several devastating attacks connected.

The larger man stumbled back, blood spilling from his mouth from where Adam's heel had landed, right where the hollow of his throat was. It was one of the prime spots he had been taught to aim for to end a fight quickly, second, only to the eyes and the cartilage in the nose. Mercilessly, Adam landed a punch at lightning speed, snapping his opponent's head back again, followed by a drill of quick and precise body shots with quick punches and elbows. He was in his own world now. One where everything made sense, and all was as it should be, fully immersed in the beauty of the fight. Finally, a quick advancing turn and a violent jab of his elbow forward, Adam felt the entire side of his opponents ribcage collapse behind his limb like an eggshell. Blood welled in his mouth.

Not even Junkie's advanced muscle structure wasn't up to such a blow. Adam heard the breath explode out of his lips. All the color left his face. For a moment, he stood there, his hands hanging limply beneath him. The crowd had fallen silent—as if in shock. Then his opponent collapsed onto his knees and finally slammed facedown, unconscious, onto the floor.

Adam smiled. He missed his sword, but there was something so…. satisfying about inflicting blunt force trauma that you just didn't get with a blade. He couldn't believe he'd ever thought less of it.

"Who's next?"

---

Xiang Liu was not a man prone to being easily surprised, or impressed. So in the event that he found himself both, he tended to take notice.

Most would have expected him to be angry. The entire arena had erupted with cries of anger and outrage. The audience had seen what had happened—and they couldn't believe it. The boy had been brought here to entertain them, but he had cheated them instead. They had lost money. And their champions, his champions, had all been humiliated.

But Xiang was nothing if not a fair man.

The Faunus boy had fought well, and with far more honour than anyone could expect from the average denizen of Kuchinashi. He had considerable potential, yet, he didn't adhere to any particular form he recognized, as far as he could tell, instead being more focused on improvisation and sheer gumption. A common brawler. That had been his first thought. Ordinarily he'd have written him off as just another run-of-the-mill grunt, and not given him a second glance. He could find one of those anywhere; they were all over this city, in fact. But he wasn't a run of the mill street punk trying to play the tough guy. He had training, even if he was a little raw. And even as he continued to watch, he realised how wrong his surface assessment had been. Not only could he see the nuances and elements of several fighting styles over the course of his fights, there was discipline in how he carried himself, how he held his shoulders high, and far too much savagery in him to be a Huntsman.

He moved with absolute confidence and certainty. And most importantly, he'd beaten several of his best. Jing alone, an admittedly average mercenary and occasional executioner for the Clan, was a surprise, especially for a stranger. The youth had clearly struggled through that battle, taking as many wounds as he'd dealt to emerge victorious. A fluke? Perhaps. But then, he'd gone and defeated more opponents in quick succession, and it was then that he began to truly take notice.

He had no specific sets of movements, katas were nonexistent. It was almost, if he had to put a word to it, dynamic attacking. What little he lacked in honed technique, he made up for with body movement and positioning, combined with raw strength and agility to defeat an opponent.

It was quite remarkable.

The boy had an almost unnatural fighting instinct. Even now, as he glared in concentration, clearly analyzing the weapon he had claimed as his spoil, Xiang could see his shoulders tense, his knees bent as if still anticipating attack. The very way he walked was refined, guarded. He had no blind spots, despite appearances, and Xiang could already tell that he had already sensed his presence amongst the clamoring throng.

Perhaps most intriguingly, there was an air of hunger about him, far beyond anything he had seen in men and women full grown in recent years. A deeper strength lay within him, he was certain of it. A beast, he'd go as far to say, one that was far from sated, if the subtle glimmer of disappointment in his eye was anything to go by. Yes. The boy would be one to watch, indeed.

"That should cover my debt and then some! I told you he was good!" The annoying voice broke through his contemplation much to his annoyance. "Now about our agreement..."

"Do not presume to dictate terms to me, should you desire to keep your tongue in your head." Turning his head to one of his subordinates he nodded, and several handfuls of lien passed into leather gloved hands which immediately began counting.

"Noted." Jade said, with a sweeping bow and a wide grin, it's facetious nature obvious to even a blind man. Satisfied, she began to walk away, leaving the man behind, until he stopped her with two single words.

"His name."

She made the mistake of trying to meet his eyes. They glistened brightly, cold and metallic, rivalling the most excellently polished suit of armour. The old woman subtly wilted the moment his first clipped word left his lips, even more so at the impassive cold behind them.

She knew he had made his fortune extorting local businesses for protection money, and that his gang specialized in forging passports and travel documents for the criminally minded. But she knew the rumors that went deeper than that. Rumors that were far more sinister.

Some were true, others wildly exaggerated. The only thing really agreed upon was Xiang Liu had a reputation, and she wasn't about to find out if it was warranted or not. Not tonight.

"I… actually don't know it."

His grey eyes burned with an icy fire , cold and metallic, rivalling the most excellently polished suit of armour.

"It is ill advised to lie to me, woman." His tone barely changed, as though he was merely discussing the weather, but she could hear the frost creep back into it. His breath seemed to still in the cold air of the room, leaving a gap of soundless space as they stood there, metres apart. The quiet was an unspoken dare, telling her there was no point in trying to cross him, that it was pointless. The hackles of his subordinates rose, and she took a tentative back away as they stepped forward.

"I'll find out."

A moment of silence and tension between them passed, broken only by the noise around them, before Xiang raised his hand, and his goons began to back off, weapons disappearing back into holsters and she began to relax.

"See that you do. And... be sure to give him my regards."

He took no small amount of satisfaction, from watching the wretch bow and scrape before hurriedly exiting. She'd do as she was told; she was too much of a coward to do anything else, and while he despised the trait, that did not mean that it wasn't a useful one.

"Your thoughts?"

He motioned to the hooded woman seated on the next chair over.

Bringing in his personal hitwoman to his fights wasn't necessarily something he did often, but with the ongoing war with the Spiders, it was better to be safe than sorry. And it was hardly without cause; already, they had tried to kill him twice in as many weeks; once with a car bomb on his weekly collection run, that it was only by the grace of heaven that he had managed to avoid with a decoy, and second, someone had sent an assassin with a butterfly knife into his home. He hadn't made it between five feet of Xiang before running into Mariko, which ended.., poorly for him. His men still couldn't pass that particular corridor without fighting the urge to wretch.

That concerned him.

Not the threat of death of course. He knew the man he was, and he knew the life he had chosen. Leading the Serpent Triad had given, and cost him much, and he had no illusions about how his life would end. No, what Xiang absolutely couldn't stomach was the idea that somebody in his organization was a traitor. Somebody close to him. The idea of it disgusted, enraged him on a level that he could not describe. His business required him to keep his circles small. Most of the people he brought into the fold were weak, lacking both ambition and loyalty. Lean on the right strings, money, fear, and reputation, and keeping them in line was as simple as a nod and a whispered word.

Those who he trusted however, were another matter. And the attacks on his person could only be the work of those he trusted. His father had told him long ago as a boy, that there was no such thing as friendship in their business, and it was now, that Xiang began to see the truth of his words. He had not told his foot soldiers the route that his car would take. He had not told his usual driver that he would be riding with his decoy instead of himself. Details, that the assassin would have undoubtedly needed to succeed in his plot.

The evidence was only compounded with the second attack. His home was guarded, and guarded well. A five story high rise overlooking the more wealthy districts, with an open air garden, his foot soldiers, armed with the best guns that money could buy, continuously circled the building in an effort to make sure that any approach would be protected by at least two of them at any given time. The timing of their patrols was impeccably precise; it took exactly nine seconds from when the first set of men turned a corner on the penthouse floor, and the second set appeared. There were cameras, sensors, and yet, the intruder had managed to pick the perfect route to bypass them all. In order to do that, the assassin would have had to have known those patrols. Which could only mean that someone had told them.

He had narrowed down the list of suspects, and he had a damned good idea of who was responsible, but like the namesake of his Triad, he was patient. He would wait for them to try again, and then, and only then, would he strike. However, bringing the rat out of hiding would take some doing. If it was who Xiang believed it to be, he wouldn't dare try a third time, not so soon, while his target's guard was up. No, he needed an incentive. Something that would force his hand. And someone as powerful as that boy, may well be the perfect instrument.

He turned his gaze to Mariko, whose eyes had not left the boy since Xiang had first spoken. Even as he had left with the old woman, her eyes, even now, still lingered on the doorway he had departed through. An eyebrow raised, he could see a glint of white teeth and upturned lips. But instead of her usual wild grin, there was something much more reserved spreading across her face, an unreadable expression, complete with smatterings of flushed skin on her cheeks.

"I like him." She said quietly.

The Serpent Head didn't display his shock openly, but her statement did elicit a great level of surprise. Mariko was loyal, yes, but he wasn't delusional enough to think she liked her employer; in fact, she was renowned among the ranks for not liking anyone. His underlings were deathly afraid of her, not least for the fact that she could and would kill at will for the slightest perceived offense, or even just to alleviate her own boredom. Rank, money, position, none of it kept you safe from the edge of her blade, or even without if she was in the mood, as he himself found out after she gouged out the eyes of one of Xiang's own men with a spoon during one of his functions for seemingly no reason at all. He wasn't a bother to replace, and her sociopathic reputation certainly had its benefits, but the point was, it also made her current behavior that much more unusual.

That did not however mean, that he was blind to opportunity.

"That is fortunate indeed."

She looked up in surprise, and the hood slipped from her head.

"As it happens, you'll be getting very acquainted with him in the near future." Xiang said quietly, the beginnings of a scheme beginning to form in his head. And I would hate for you to make a poor impression..."

---

Twenty. Thousand. Lien. Adam had never seen so much money in his life, much less owned it, and yet as the bookie counted the cards with a face that could sour s lemon and handed them over, Adam couldn't help but stare in wonder. Sure it wasn't all his, but the dividends should take care of him for a while.

Not too shabby, if he said so himself.

All in all, Adam could say he was pleased with the night events, as he leapt out of the pen and began to lose himself in the crowd. A misstep caused a twinge of pain in his upper thigh, and he fought back a wince, before chuckling to himself quietly.

His leg might prove a problem in the morning, but after all this, he could deal with a slight limp for one night. He couldn't even remember what rage felt like, let alone grasp the sensation in his mind. Unbeknownst to him, lips peeled back to show teeth, curved up into an uncharacteristic smile.

People were throwing things, and Adam had to duck under several hurtling piles of trash and bottles, but he paid their owners no mind. Stripping them of their hard earned money was more than enough for him.

Moving towards the exit, Adam felt his attention drawn to a middle aged looking man, human, with a stern look on his face. He had a heavy goatee, long dark hair, tied into a slick ponytail and had a large scar on his face. His curious eye roved over his attire inspecting it , a tailor-made suit with ornate details over a purple high collared shirt, white suit trousers and matching white dress shoes, fine, much too fine for this section of the slums, Adam concluded. Personally, he'd have been surprised if he didn't end up getting robbed on the way to whatever palatial lodgings were home to him.

And then something truly surprising happened.

He gave him a nod of respect, gently inclining his head in Adam's direction, much to his surprise. It wasn't the mocking, hidden sneers or even outright disgust that he'd come to expect from humans who caught sight of him. For what may have been a fraction of a second, he found himself returning it, before his scowl deepened, both in disgust with himself and with the being in his current view but by then, the man was distracted, someone in a cloak speaking into his ear.

There was far too much noise and echo from the crowd, echoing around the hollow chamber for him to pick up the particulars of their conversation, and the angle Adam found himself at, did not lend itself well to any attempts to lip read. Before he could ponder on the matter more, he was ushered out of the chamber by a familiar figure.

Some of the crowd cheered, as he went, most of them booed, but the bookie was practically grinning when he handed her the fat envelopes full of lien along with an invitation for him to come back whenever he wanted...yeah, like he'd ever come back to this place. They were out of the building and in the alley before she spoke, "...For a second I thought you were going to kill me back there," she said, her voice teasing.

"I don't kill people for being annoying." he grumbled. "Have to kill everyone if I did." Once they were outside, Adam tugged his arm free, causing the old woman to raise her hands in mock surrender.

"Nice fight." Jade finally spoke, gaining Adam's complete attention. "Been a long damn while since we had matches that good. Whaddya say? Any interest in slicing up the ring here and there in the future? There'll be a hell of a lot more money in it."

"I'll think about it. Meanwhile, while we're on the topic of money…" Adam held his hand out.

Pulling out another bottle of booze as if from thin air, that she started to sip as they walked. "Yeah, yeah, I hear ya. Here's your winnings, kid. I took my cut already." The woman smiled, tossing him a drawstring satchel. It would seem he wasn't the only one who had won that night.

"Guess this makes us even for you robbing me." Adam admitted, counting his share, still riding a little high from his victories, and feeling just charitable enough to warrant some diplomacy, bordering even on actual verbal appreciation. "Maybe I was wrong to doubt you."

"Of course ya were. But I won't hold it against ya. By the way… what was that back there?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You know?" She waved her arms, sloshing the contents of her bottle everywhere. "The speed clone thing you were doing? Was that your semblance?"

A patronizing glance was all she received in answer. "You need to stop drinking, old woman."

She huffed. "Fine. Be like that! But at least tell me where all those other moves came from. I thought you were a sword fighter?"

It was then that he allowed himself a smug smirk, rolling his shoulders backwards. It wouldn't hurt.

"Would you believe me if I said I saw them in a movie once?"

"No."

Adam's laughter was his only reply.

---

She leaned over the railing, wistfully looking out at the cityscape.

When she'd left the bar earlier, Charlotte had breathed a sigh of relief. Ordinarily, she wouldn't like stepping away from the familiarity of the slums, not that she ever got a chance to, but this much was urgent. Hornhead would keep for a few hours, and after having worked with him, as long as she had, she felt she could trust him not to shorten her returns from the cash box. Breaking from her thoughts, she had started off in the direction of the richer districts, walking briskly into the afternoon with a sense of purpose.

Her logic for such a secretive departure had been fairly simple: she was in a no win scenario. Her regular contact had gone dark on her in the days following her message, and as a result, she'd been hanging around some of the older haunts she knew in order to do her own legwork. working for weeks to get close to a stooge, who either by some unfortunate coincidence, happened to work with the Spiders. She'd been sneaking away from the bar to meet with him, get him drunk, flirt with him a little, and see if she couldn't get him talking. Her unwitting informant had agreed to meet her, under the guise of a date.

She groaned internally. It was something she'd been putting off, claiming all manner of excuse every time they met, claiming she was busy, or the tried and true "female problems." That seemed to work as a fix-all ripcord for her gender. But then he'd offered to visit her, and that would just raise its own set of problems. Namely the guy she'd left to run the bar in her absence. For what had to be the millionth time in weeks, she debated with herself about whether to tell Adam the truth. Let him figure this out on his own, in his...tactful way.

Lord knows she'd thought about doing it herself.

Unfortunately, knowing his bullheaded (she chuckled to herself at that) personality, it was a strategy that would probably cause more harm than good. More to the point, she'd agreed to help, and he'd more than upheld his side of the bargain. A little discomfort wasn't too high a price. At least, that's what she told herself.

So here she found herself, hiding out at the back of a fancy, glitzy lounge with men that looked like the missing links between mankind and concrete, and booze that tasted like watered down piss. It was also a front for mob activity when it suited, an intel drop point for PI's working with assets, and a good place to get a stiff drink after a long day. She scoffed. Some price she was paying. At least she'd gotten some free drinks out of it.

She fished out a cigarette from the pack and lighter she'd lifted during another grope session and lit it, exhaling in frustration and impatience. She hadn't smoked in years, but being back here, of all places…. No. There lay dangerous thoughts and she needed to get a grip. She pulled on the cigarette so deeply that it burned her throat, before blowing out a few harmless rings of smoke.

If anything, she felt something of a shred of pity for her regular patrons by inflicting the Crown Prince of Taciturn on them without warning, yet again. Hopefully he didn't kill anyone by the time she got back, though admittedly that was something she figured she was overthinking. Hornhead wasn't that bad. Especially not in comparison to certain other elements. Speaking of which…

She adjusted the front of her dress to display a little more skin, before she flicked the cigarette over into the darkness and opened the door, surreptitiously eyeing the clientele as she walked back in with the uncomfortable feeling of eyes following her every step in turn. It was then that she realized that there were a number of unfamiliar faces. Sure, she hadn't set foot here in what felt like forever, and there was bound to be some changeover, but this many was a good sign. Because it almost definitely meant that some syndicate activity was in progress. Now she was beginning to form an understanding of the reason behind the quiet of the past few weeks– the calm before a brewing storm.

She caught eyes with her target, smiled and made sure to put a little extra sway to her hips as she hugged her patsy's arm, walking over to the bar and sitting down at one of the empty chairs. Charlotte listened closely, picking up an occasional word amidst the buzz of conversation, the click of a cue ball hitting the pocket on the pool table, the sound of a record player somewhere in the distance.

The first thing she'd noticed when she'd arrived at the lounge, was that her "date" was trying too hard to impress her, laughing too easily, and uncomfortably. She on the other hand, underplayed her part, coy and a little slow to warm. 'Let him feel like he's in charge, that she'd earned his trust.' He was about as sharp as a marble and easier to steer than a child's tricycle. She remained girlish, innocent as possible, like one of those rich girls with a hidden taste for danger, forcing back her disgust as he tried to unsightly paw at her, turning her face with a coy smile whenever he tried to plant a kiss.

Beneath her mask of delight and interested listening, she was planning ahead of how to draw out the next question out of him in the same manner most people reserved for writing a list of household chores. By the time the afternoon had rolled into evening, she had all but finished drawing information out of the goon in front of her and decided she'd had enough. The heels were getting to be hell on her arches anyway, and the smell was starting to get to her.

"I really should get going."

"Aww, baby… don't be like that? Can't you stay a little longer?"

She didn't want to. She really didn't want to. At this point, she had started to wish she'd brought Hornhead along, subtlety be damned. But he wasn't here, and she didn't fancy her chances in a fight, especially in heels, so she turned on the charm, as best as she could muster, summoning every ounce of her persona to keep playing her role. Maybe there was still something more she didn't know yet. More information was never a bad thing.

The bartender was delivering drinks to a customer at the other end of the bar. Charlotte crossed her legs and waited for him to notice them. When he did, he headed down the bar to greet them.

"What'll it be, miss?" he asked politely, his eyes meeting hers.

Well at least the jackass sitting next to her was good for something.

She gave him her order along with her trademark smile, leaning forward and accentuating her ample cleavage as she read the bartender's body language. She suppressed another smirk as she watched his eyes sweep down then just as swiftly back up to her face. The girls always did draw a crowd.

"Gin, three cubes."

"Is this seat taken?"

The voice made a chill run down her spine, though she did her best not to let it show. She turned slowly, an impassive look on her face. It was him. Her blood boiled at the sight of the suited douchebag standing next to her, his lips raised into the same smug fucking smirk he always had.

They held each other's eyes, neither of them willing to give the other even an inch of ground. She immediately caught the flash of recognition in them, and had to suppress the urge to laugh at how he looked like a gaping fish.

"You. Take a hike."

"But Boss, sh-"

That was as far as he got, before the unfortunate goon received a savage backhand, knocking him clean out of his seat and to the ground.

"I won't ask a third time. You don't want anything to do with this freak. Trust me on that." There was a moment of silence as the man was allowed to collect his dignity and flee.

"So," she said , narrowing her eyes at him. "You're still alive. Charming as ever too."

"Disappointed?" He sat down on the now empty stool next to her, ignoring the cool gaze of interest she gave off.

"Depends."

If he was shocked to see her, he was doing a damned good job of hiding it.

"What say we find us a table where we can talk privately?"

It wasn't a question.

Seeing as she had no choice, she picked up her drink and followed Myst, trailing behind as she was guided to a table tucked away in a corner of the establishment. She glanced up at him with barely restrained venom and murmured something before sitting down. He smiled with masked cruelty, and that special kind of superiority that radiated contempt.

"So how've you been, Charlie?"

Levi knew he'd gotten under her skin. Her cover slipped for a moment, cracking like glass and falling away to reveal the sharp frosted steel beneath it as she met his eyes, glaring at him.

"Call me Charlie again." She hissed sweetly. " and I'll cut your fucking eyeballs out and make them my new earrings."

Same old, same old. He smiled.

"Aww, that hurts, Charlie. Didn't we used to be … close? Shouldn't you be a little nicer?" Myst drawled, looking down teasingly as she glared up at him."What if I cut out your eyes, hmm? Oh, wait. I forgot. You got plenty to spare, don't you?" He reached for her forehead, and she made to slap his hand away. Too slow. He caught her by the wrist and squeezed, just enough to cause pain, before he released her arm, allowing it to return to its resting position; elbows on the well-shined table and manicured nails almost touching her lips.

She wanted to open his throat.

"So why are you ruining my date, out of interest? You jealous?"

She didn't care of course. If anything she was glad to be rid of him, but the temptation to irritate a man she so roundly despised and her own defensiveness worked against her. She just couldn't help herself.

"I had to come and see this for myself. Tell me, how did it feel when the last of your brain slithered out through your ears?"

Charlotte felt a rush of panic. One of her informants had talked. She clamped down on her fear by indulging the building flames of rage that were rising to the surface the more she looked at the man across the table.

"I'd try to describe it for you, but I don't know if I can get the context across to someone who's never had one."

"You're not supposed to be here, you know. You know the rules."

She snorted. "Since when did either of us give a shit about rules?"

He shrugged, even if the dig was less than subtle.

"I heard that you were asking around about me."

There was a clear question in his words, something that took her aback somewhat. Maybe this was all a coincidence. Charlotte inched away but said nothing as she searched his face. He didn't know. The light of his eyes spoke of amusement, but she knew him well enough to know his curiosity from the way his body leaned and the way his face leaned in to follow hers. He never did like a mystery, and as smug a prick as he was now, he'd be strutting around like the cock of the walk if he knew her real reason for being here. Best to throw him a bone.

Her smile returned, a real one this time.

"I want back in."

It was a lie, but it was a lie that he'd believe, and that was what was important. She kept her face cool and impassive, betraying nothing.

Those simple words changed his entire demeanor. Where before, he was curious and teasing, with a side of malice, now he was all business, straightening up in his chair and fixing her with what appeared to be incredulity.

She fought down the bile rising in her throat and swatted his hand away again. He leaned back in the chair. "When I saw you walk in here earlier," he finally uttered, cruelty hidden in what appeared to be a gentle smile, "I could have killed you where you sat, and no one would have said a word."

Charlotte did a disbelieving double-take to see if he was being serious and seeing that he was, she began laughing. Quite why, she didn't know, it was far from being funny.

"What the fuck are you laughing at?" He hissed.

She couldn't resist. She could have said nothing, played at being afraid, but she was tired, pissed off, and the words were out of her mouth, before she could stop them. "You, having the stones to do your own fucking wet work is a miracle I'd love to see."

Charlotte's head was pulled back painfully by the roots of her hair, a stinging pain mercifully numbed by the booze, yet still sharp enough to bring tears to her eyes. She reluctantly bit her tongue to stop from swearing at him again. This was serious, really serious and she needed to handle it, preferably when she wasn't pissed off. He slammed her head hard into the table, and it was all she could do not to reach for the knife strapped to her thigh. She could do it. Stab him in the throat here and now.

"Well, why don't I make a start now, you little freak?!" he snapped, becoming aggressive with startling swiftness."Maybe you want to lose the whole hand this time?"

"Go ahead. It'll make a change from using your own to beat off, you dickless coward!"

The knife came down, embedding itself in the table inches from her fingers. It was everything Charlotte could do to repress the twitch. Myst dragged her to her feet by her hair, Charlotte kicking and spitting like a viper. With a bang, he kicked open the door, amd tossed her out . She tripped on her heels, and stumbled to the ground, hitting her head she went.

"Don't fucking show your face here again, Charlie."

With the river of blood rushing through her ears, she never heard the raucous laughter, or the door slam behind her.

Her pride forced her to her feet; tattered as it was, ignoring the pain in her skull and her shins from where they had scraped the concrete.

She wouldn't give him, or anyone, the pleasure of seeing her hurt.

The urban metropolis of the west district was made up of luminous signs and advertisements in all shapes, sizes and colors—not half as wild or dangerous as the nightlife found within her home slums, but sleeker, and carefully vetted. Kuchinaschi had an image to uphold after all, even if the truth was far from reality.

She walked, following the curve of an alley back around toward the street. She kept her shoulders straight, her gait even, as a war waged inside her head. Then she waited until she was sure he and that damn lounge was out of sight and let the trembling overtake her as she sank to her knees, resting back on her heels.

She could see the state of herself now;

Her dress was ripped at the hem, and her tights had laddered; she could see and smell the blood that had trickled from her cuts and was now causing an uncomfortable sensation by getting caught between her skin and the material. Her makeup had smudged, and her hair looked a state. "I look like a whore." She muttered angrily under her breath.

She covered her face with her hands as she struggled for control, tears burning behind closed eyes. It'd been too much. So much more difficult than she'd imagined. The way he'd looked at her, like she was nothing. The memories of what he'd done to her all those years ago. The smug arrogance of that...She'd been powerless, felt humiliated. She was a coward. The wounded dog that she'd become, licking her wounds, too embarrassed to move.

If she blinked, just for the moment, she would have seen a shadow flit across her head, and indeed, she felt the rush of wind as it passed, her hair violently stirring as it did so. She snapped her head up out of reflex, as if sensing the foreign presence, but all she could see was the pitch black sky beyond her.

And when she looked down again, in the piece of shattered glass opposite her, all she could see was the same thing she'd spent four years trying to shed. Four years trying to run from.

A girl alone in the gutter.

---

Adam bounced over the rooftops, vaulting and flipping over gaps with practiced ease. He felt like cackling like a certified lunatic, but he had enough self awareness not to draw too much attention to himself. Well, more than necessary anyway, wall-running and jumping off roofs aside. One would have thought he wouldn't have had the energy for that, after the time he'd just had, but between his mood, his harsh training, and natural athleticism, not even the sheerest walls could bring him down.

Fourteen thousand lien could do that to a man. After the old woman had taken her cut, that was his percentage of his winnings. He still couldn't believe it, even as he had made his excuses, spotting some crates in a side street that were leaning up against a small one-story building that he could easily leap up. Once on the roof, he used his momentum to climb up to the second story and across a street to the covered balcony of another building, ascending with alarming rapidity. The cool air seemed to ease away his aches and pains and he took to the rooftops proper, his bulky drawstring satchel of lien bumping clumsily against his back. By then, he was a little more than a fly on the wall, quite invisible to anyone below, even if they had bothered to look that far up. He had, as far as he was concerned, total security.

He would have been a fool to walk the streets with that much cash, especially when so many had seen him win it. Hence why he'd made the decision to take to his current mode of travel. The reassuring weight of the satchel pulling against his shoulders was by far more money than he'd ever had in his possession over the course of all nineteen years of his life, and all it took was just a few hours of doing what he'd loved. He'd even met some interesting opponents; ones who actually pushed, challenged him. It hadn't even jist been mindless violence either.

He'd learned something.

Was it just some fun? Maybe to anyone who'd been watching him. But the truth was so much more than that.

For the first time in too long, for however brief it had been, he had felt…whole. Like he'd been reunited with a limb he'd lost. Like he could breathe again.

To come back to a part of yourself after so long, a part you'd tried to deny for the sake of something that you weren't even sure you still wanted. To defy yourself and the whole damn world for ever forbidding you from being what you were born to be. To rejoice in being even a shadow of that person again.

There was really nothing like it.

Something else had dawned on him too, a thought that stopped him in his tracks mid run. He paused there for a moment, at the edge of the roof, his black ensemble bathed in the green neon glow of an overhanging advertisement. For a single night's work, he had earned more than even the bounty that he'd been staying in the city for in the first place.

A lot more.

He could leave. Right now. Stop by Charlotte's, grab what few things he had, and just go. It would be easy. He could be halfway to the capital before she even woke up. From there, he could go pretty much anywhere. He rather liked the idea of Vacuo, if he was honest. Not for the tourist attractions admittedly, but rather the idea of there being several thousand miles of desert between him and any human or faunus in any direction. No annoyances, no distractions, just him, the sun and the desert. Though the same could still be said for the mountains of Mistral; he had, and could go days without seeing another living soul in that wilderness. So why had he thought of Vacuo, a place with terrain so similar to the place he hated second only to Solitas?

It was a thought that gnawed on him incessantly for the next few minutes, as he paced up and down, like a dog chewing gristle off a bone. Until finally, he came to a realization. He didn't want to be alone because of his misanthropy, though, it was admittedly a factor. It was as he'd told the old man that day on the beach. He wanted to be free. As free and formless as the wind. Free to go where he would, do as he pleased, without being tied to a person or a place, to focus solely on his training, to become the strongest he could. That had been the feeling he hadn't understood.

Because it was in those moments, that everything was right, when he didn't feel sorrow, or anger, or guilt or loneliness. The training and the mastery that came from the fight were all that he truly required for satisfaction. He needed nothing else. No one else.

A wandering warrior, who lived only for the fight. That was what he needed to be. And maybe if he wandered far enough… he could finally let go.

He chose to ignore the more practical issues regarding that little fantasy. Whether or not desert life was sustainable, was one thing. Burgeoning complicated feelings regarding his temporary employer/informant was another. But the most pressing hurdle that Adam faced, was that he'd given his word that he'd bring down wasn't technically his problem, true; he had no real quarrel with the man on a personal level; he'd never met him even, and he'd vowed not to intervene in other people's problems ever again. Sure, he was a cruel ruthless monster and a crime lord, but he was a human; what was one cockroach in a world full of them? Whether Adam dealt with him or not, there'd just be another ten of him to take his place. It was simply the way of things. Charlotte had said as much herself, even if it hadn't been about the same guy. Charlotte….

He remembered the talks. The kindness, the laughter. The way she'd stuck her neck out for him time and time again, in a way that no one ever really had before. He growled, smoothing his hair out over his horns as he slumped his back against the sign, sliding down until he was sitting on the roof.

He couldn't just abandon her just yet.

Vacuo would keep.

Assuming humanity could resist doing something mind numbingly dense like glassing the entire Kingdom for the next few weeks. Though with his luck and the general exemplars of intellect he'd come across throughout his travels? It was probably best that he hurry all the same. His train of thought was broken when a bird, of perfect black inky wings alighted on top of a nearby smokestack. For a few moments, the two stared at each other, as of sizing each other up. Inquisitively it hopped up to his feet on spindly talons, shaggy feathers jostling around the throat and above the beak, and a wedge-shaped tail flapping with every errant movement.

"A crow? No, a raven," he realized. He'd learned the difference, some years ago when he had cared for one as a child. It used to follow his mother around for months at a time, hopping onto her shoulder and even more oddly, she would talk to the wild bird like it was a person. It had always struck him as odd, but then, she'd talk to her bed of roses and plants the same way. One of her many eccentricities, he supposed. But in any case, it would let him pet it, and feed it from his hand, and occasionally, it would peck at him when he tried to wander off.

It was an odd little thing in general, but it's visits were always regular, despite it not being a native Menagerian creature, being much more bland than the typical wild animals that populated Menagerie. "A lot more intelligent than the talking ones too." he smirked. Idly, and for the first time in years, Adam wondered what had happened to his bird friend in the end. Had it found a new flock? Did it have eggs of its own now? He liked the idea of it at least. That at least one of them was doing ok for themselves.

His musings of the past were disrupted by the bird of the present, who seemed to be unamused by Adam's lack of attention span. The irony wasn't lost on him that he felt judged by a bird for being birdbrained.

It hopped closer, flapping its wings to steady its descent. It seemed a little unsteady on its feet, seeming to stumble slightly before finding its footing, cocking its head at him. "I don't have any food for you. Get going." Adam waved his hand, using his free hand to reposition his haul on his back. The bird, as if in defiance, beat its wings, taking to the air and settling itself on Adam's wrist, staring into his eyes as if to examine him. The faunus shook his arm, but it didn't deter the raven, which continued to stare him up and down from head to toe, as if waiting for something.

"Or maybe," the faunus considered with mounting annoyance, "Looking for something." He supposed it wouldn't hurt to ask.

"What do you want, you overgrown feather duster?" Adam sighed, using his free hand to stroke at the feathers behind the bird's neck. It seemed to preen briefly, before staring him dead in the eye and shaking itself, knocking his hand free, and taking flight again, this time landing on one of his horns. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood." He huffed, feeling the uneven weight settle on his head as he blew away a loose feather from his nose. "Why are you hanging around me anyway? I already told you I don't have any food."

The bird warbled in reply, and with a sharp parting peck to his skull, eliciting a snarl of pain from its unwilling perch, it took off, beating its wings silently as it rose into the night sky. Adam watched it go, silhouetted in the pale light of the moon.

"Strange, really, as far as coincidence goes" he remarked in his head, as he watched it disappear.

It had to have been nearly a decade since he'd last seen one with scarlet eyes.