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?

8. Trail Of Shadows

"The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry."

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Chapter 7: Trail of Shadows

---

Words flew from her mouth that he'd never thought she'd even think, let alone say out loud. She must have known instantly from the look in his eyes that they'd hit their mark. In that instant their relationship shattered into glassy shards. He didn't think anything would ever be the same again.

His temper was that unnatural combination of Dust and gasoline, in that once something set it ablaze and the sparks started to sizzle, there was very little time to duck and cover. She knew she should just stay quiet, be mature and wait for the storm to abate, but she couldn't help herself. Not after tonight, not after all of those old memories had been brought up to the surface.

She traded slur for slur, insult for insult, dig for dig. When his temper blew hottest and he'd held the piece of fabric in his hand she called a tail tighter in his fist, she proceeded to stare him down with equal if not greater intensity, He hadn't slugged her, or cut her to ribbons yet, but she knew in that moment she'd pushed him far further than was wise with her words.

She'd lied to him.

He was alone again.

As quickly as the memory had come, it was gone.

Something bleak and doubtful snaked into Adam's gut afterwards, into his heart, and he swallowed hard.

No, he wouldn't—couldn't—dwell on any of that, not now. There were other things to think about.

The rain continued its relentless onslaught, windless and direct. There was no life to it, simply the chilling whisper of the drops left behind as they met their ends against the rooftop. The sound was mocking and comminative, blending with the ringing in his ears and the echo of his thoughts.

'This was pointless.'

He'd been here for hours now, watching the bright lights below him flicker and shift, waiting for his quarry to make an appearance. The time couldn't have passed any slower. Impatience intermingled with anticipation in a cocktail of frustration.

The Serenade Lounge stood loud and proudly on the north end of the square, inbetwixt two of the taller buildings he could see in that direction, though not nearly as large as some of the others further off. Standing at only five stories tall, by all accounts, it had seen hard days, having once been a thriving theatre house in times long past; and had been slowly falling into disrepair as the cultural tastes of the city changed, turning the building into a hollow carcass of its former self, before it was bought and revitalized into something more modern around a decade ago. That was about as far as his knowledge went.

The main entrance of the building was an arched canopy of wrought steel, beveled glass and graying stone, lit up in a seemingly impossible display of light. The roof was decorated in slate shingles, and gave off a muted light, less noticeable as the entrance, though the numerous balconies and windows gave the building away as something other than the palatial playhouse it had once been. Most importantly of all, it was the last known sighting of his target.

Upon learning this crucial information, Adam had wasted no time in trying to scope out the location himself. In a rare moment of tact, he'd attempted to enter as a customer early on, in the hopes of at least being able to get an idea of the layout of the building, or if he was extremely lucky, more useful information and leads, at least enough to confirm what he did have with his own eye. But of course, as with all things in his life , the fates had decided to throw a monkey wrench in his carefully laid plans. He'd been barred entry by a rather rude man in a cheap black suit, with a considerably heavy build and shaved haircut.

'No Faunus.'

The temptation to give the bastard a taste of the bite of his sword was hardly a new impulse, but he had been forced at the time to leave it behind at the Orchid so as to not arouse suspicion from the establishment's staff and security. That much Charlotte had insisted upon, and Adam, despite his best efforts, could see the wisdom in her suggestions.

That didn't mean he was happy about it. In fact, he daresay it rankled him something serious; he'd felt entirely naked the first time he'd stepped out without its soothing weight at his side, and the second was no easier; on several occasions, he'd very nearly tripped over noticing its absence for the umpteenth time,before his conscious mind reasserted itself.

Charlotte.

Now there was a sore topic. The name brought a sneer to his lips, and a burning anger to the surface of his skin, practically evaporating the water from his clothes. They hadn't really spoken much, if at all, since the other night nearly a week ago. They'd had an argument to end all arguments. She'd told him what he'd wanted to know, begrudgingly, but the teasing warmth and the ease of their conversations was gone, the hurt between them as palpable as any of the physical wounds Adam experienced throughout his life.

It wasn't something he could touch, nor cut with a sword. The patheticness of it made him simmer with fury, helpless. A black forest of thorns, in the space of a matter of days, that he finally thought quelled once and for all, had resurrected with a vengeance, running rampant across his heart, unleashed, unfettered and completely beyond his control. He felt like he no longer knew himself anymore. Couldn't trust his own judgement.

It seemed unfair, that no matter how much he strived to be the man his conscience wanted him to be, it would keep taunting him with his failures. But maybe he was always kidding himself. He'd finish this on his own, drag the annoyingly elusive piece of human vermin to the nearest police station, collect his bounty and get out of this hellish city soon enough. Where he'd go, he didn't know. Didn't care either. The moment he was out of those gates, he was never looking back. After all, there was no reason to stick around. The earth was already scorched, and salting it would just be a waste of his time. But in the meanwhile...

Looking up and down the narrow alley, still shadowed to almost black in the heavy rain, he took a running jump and leapt vertically, his hands catching the balcony rutting out above him and from there, scaled the scaffolding up to the roof, as he had all the nights prior, though tonight that act presented all new issues in itself.

It hadn't been raining before.

The midnight sky had become turbulent, a mass of uneven dark clouds gliding in from the west. Subtle pressures shifted in the air above him as he climbed, and he could practically feel them sliding past each other. The real storm, when it came, would be a bad one. Likely in a day or two, at his guess. The hardest part of the climb was reaching out above him to the edge of the roof, something he basically had to do blind, nowhere near confident enough in this weather to twist and look for handholds without either getting vertigo and falling or losing his grip and falling or overbalancing and falling or... something else and falling.

If he was going to observe and gather reconnaissance unnoticed, logically, being above his targets was the best place to be. After all, how often did people ever look up?

Finally, he reached the top, almost losing his footing as he balanced on a piece of wet pipe, before scrambling up the loose brickwork to fall flat on his back on the wet roof, staring up at the dark sky as rain pelted his face.

Despite the crisp air and the relatively calm night, he couldn't keep his head straight. The longer he waited, the more tense he grew. The rational half of his mind was already telling him not to bother—that there was no point to any of this. This was going to be another fruitless night. Another night of frustration, anger and lies an—He slowly raised himself up with his forearms, flipped over to his knees, and then moving into a crouch, he caught sight of a crumpled sheet of tarpaulin.

He paused for a moment, before tugging it towards him and wrapping himself in it like a cloak. The downpour was getting in his eyes and he wasn't going to see anything of worth if he had to keep blinking it out of his vision. That was his excuse, and damn it, he was sticking to it.

Adam shivered.

No matter how hard he tried to focus, thoughts of the woman intruded endlessly. The curve of her lips tortured him, the way her mouth pressed itself into a smile whenever he did something foolish, the flutter of her laughter at his attempts at maintaining his stoicism. Her joy that genuinely seemed to be for him, he realized, but the wound hurt far too much to dwell on. With a legendary force of will, he forced his awareness outwards and downwards to the street below, to engage his surroundings. He turned only to the immediate, to the here and now, focusing on every detail as it presented itself.

The sounds and colors of the night were usually comforting, but right now, in this moment, they were stifling. Guilt and anger were dogging his every step and his mother's face with tears streaming down was behind his eyelid every other blink.

He needed to- to fight someone. Get his mind off this.

Hidden overhead, he had a full unobstructed view of the main street that was packed with people, fawning women and preening men, milling carelessly around the square and into the main crossway. On the roof, he took a deep breath, and observed the crowds below, suspicious of all. Adam raised his shoulders and straightened his back, craning his neck marginally, hoping to get a better look. He was there, huddled on top of wet brick under the tarp, for what must have been hours, trying not to be pulled back into his thoughts. His tired eye burned as he scanned the street and the sharply pitched rooftops of the skyline alike, searching for anything that could be of use.

After a few scant moments, he noticed something new. Something that he hadn't seen in all of his previous nights of observation. Minor? Perhaps. Certainly nothing to crow to the entirety of Remnant about. Yet it would never have been clearly visible from the street, and had he not been watching the place as regularly as he had, he would never have known the difference.

It was subtle, but nearly a dozen men had taken inconspicuous guard positions in front of the building, and at its rear entrance, and the usual bouncer was nowhere in sight. The man at the forefront of the group replacing the usual bouncer was shorter than the others, though his shoulders appeared twice as broad, and Adam had been watching enough evenings to know that they rarely changed their security. The man shifted uncomfortably, rocking on the balls of his feet and folded his arms across his chest, his suit jacket pulling too tight over his enormous biceps.

'Well, that was interesting, wasn't it?' That was his first thought. His second was: what kind of idiot wears sunglasses at night? Limiting his own vision defeated the entire point of being on guard in the first place, and Adam couldn't for the life of him, fathom why he'd bother. Were humans just naturally that stupid? But no, he thought, shaking his head. It couldn't have been, because he was the only one, and the absurdity of the accessory was noticeable enough that he must have consciously chosen to wear them.

In any case, Adam could have put down the changing of the guard to a shift change, but then, that didn't add up either. They didn't seem even remotely alert for supposedly fresh men, most likely preferring to be inside, somewhere warm instead of standing out in the cold rain, watching the hapless herds of mundanity that served as the average citizen for something that might never happen. In that, Adam felt a small spike of pity for them. He knew how that felt better than he'd ever like to.

It was then that it struck him. Why were there so many more thugs here tonight, when previously only a handful had sufficed? The chance of them knowing he was there was next to zero, and he hadn't seen anyone else approach with any ill intent, or any other reason to warrant their presence. Well, aside from sheer incompetence, and while that was never something to put past anyone, especially humans, the conclusion didn't sit right with him for some reason. He turned the question over and over, racking his brain for an answer that made sense. And the only reason that came to his head, that they would make so drastic a change.., was if someone important was inside.

He smiled with malicious glee, standing to stretch his cramped muscles. He shrugged the sheet of tarpaulin off his shoulders, and made his way back towards the edge of the roof, eschewing caution, and leaping straight down onto the nearest section of scaffolding with a solid thud.

Moments later, Adam stepped out from the shadows of the alleyway like an oncoming storm, gaze intent and trained straight ahead. One way or another, he'd simply have to find out for himself. And besides, maybe it was time he was more 'hands on' with his investigation.

'Would it really be so bad, to shed control for a night, even a little?'

---

It was surprisingly easy to reach the rear entrance. The crowds worked significantly to his advantage; they served as a thick shield as he crossed the square and distracted the few guards at the front door who actually intended to do their jobs, whereas the rest were so frozen and bored that they hadn't so much as glanced as he slipped right under their noses. By the time they did notice something was wrong, they would all be far too late.

The claustrophobia started to kick in within moments of entering the sea of people crossing the square , and he wanted to scream, but his own battle-lust kept it in check. He kept his head of deep crimson hair down regardless, narrowly missing somebody bumping into his shoulder, with an uncomfortable twist of his torso, as somebody rushed past him in the opposite direction. Adam didn't let on so much as a blink in reaction. It was a surprising display of self control, especially for the likes of him, and were he in a self aware mood, this might have been jarring to him. But he'd had enough introspection for one night.

In what seemed like a flash of an eye, he had out maneuvered the men at the front entrance, passing in front of an inconspicuous looking black sedan onto the pavement and had made his way briskly past the entrance, taking the first opportunity to part from the milling shoal of people into another alleyway, this time wedged between the western side of the Lounge, and the building next to it, an Inn, if the neon was to be believed. His footsteps were even and brisk, finally stopping at a scuffed metal door. The door had a small blacked out diamond shaped window at head-height, glass reinforced with wire mesh.

Adam took a deep breath, and kicked it near to the lock with all his strength.

The door swung hard on its hinges as the latch ripped through the frame with a thunderous crack, falling with a clatter to the ground, and caught a bouncer in the face with it, causing him to yelp in pain as he recoiled. A strangled choke finished whatever his phrase was for him, the wind driven out of his chest and leaving him wheezing as he struggled to regain it. Sputters of confusion didn't last as his attacker lunged from the darkness, scattering them like bowling pins. Ten, no fifteen men were waiting for him, rapidly scrambling up from their game of cards and all reaching into holsters for guns and knives.

There was a flash of metal as the one who seemed to be the leader, dressed in a flashier, garish shirt than all the others, raised a gun at him, as a loud click cut through the air. Three bullets exploded from the barrel, a little too close for comfort; bright flashes and great noise that should have left his head ringing.

In a series of fluid movements, Adam weaved through the shots in a series of afterimages, blocking the stray ones with the flat of his blade, before knocking the gun out of the grunt's hand, throwing it to the floor and stamping on it, hard. The poorly maintained weapon crumbled under his heel, breaking into a shattered jumble of parts and mechanisms.

"My turn." he smiled cruelly before moving again.

Now , it seemed, he could really let loose. He was a whirlwind of motion, limbs blurring into non-distinct blurs of black and crimson as he dodged and punched and kicked, tearing his way across the room.

One charged at him head on, roaring with fury, but Adam dashed forwards to meet it, spinning under his clumsy swing, and using his momentum from his rotation to bring the back of his own clenched fist sharply against his attacker's skull, sending him flying and stumbling face first into the ground.

Almost immediately, a second guard tried to bring him low with a kick to his knee, but he caught it with one arm, savagely brought down his elbow onto his assailant's own knee with all of his might with the other, leaving him shrieking with pain, before landing a headbutt that caught the taller man square in the chin.

The bull faunus, much like his namesake, dived headfirst into the remainder of his foes with a manic glee, fists, blade and kicks flying, knocking teeth and weapons into the air with brutal precision and cold efficiency. It had been too long, he mused, since he'd been able to satiate the burning desire in his chest and the steady undercurrent of rage that flowed in his very veins. He barely felt what few attacks landed, serving only to spur on his own.

His relentless assault bordered on recklessness, but he was still standing on a pile of bodies by the time the fight was over, more wounded than he cared to admit. Several bullets had caught him, although none of them anywhere that would kill him; his aura having caught the worst of them, though that didn't mean that he wouldn't be peppered with ugly purple bruises tomorrow. He didn't spare a single look towards his victims, instead striding for the double doors east of him that he figured would lead him further into the building. Instead, he found himself in a narrow corridor, with three windows, all covered by blinds and pale white walls, with no decorations of any kind.

There was a service elevator at the far wall, adjacent to a small cupboard filled with cleaning supplies. Adam could only assume that the janitors of this place used the elevator to get around, to come and go unseen. It should have been an easy way up.

There were five well worn buttons on a panel in the space between the lift door and the cupboard with numbers from one to five. He scoffed, half tempted to ignore it all together. It seemed incredibly monotonous to him, and for the briefest of moments, he considered the idea that he just head back outside and find another way in. But that would raise its own problems in that it would be equally boring and tedious, and it wasn't like he was familiar enough with the building's interior for the idea to be even remotely viable.

After some deliberation over the buttons, he figured he could ignore floor one. It was fairly unlikely anyone of note was there, and it would just be a waste of his time to only go up one floor. Adam pressed the button to summon the lift and waited. A low rumbling could be heard from behind the door, as the mechanism descended and the door smoothly slid open. He stepped inside, watched the door close and spent the short journey counting off every second it took to ascend.

Finally, he arrived at the second floor, stepping out of the lift. He was met with another long corridor filled with rusted corrugated piping along it's low ceilings. He tried the first door he saw, which fortunately wasn't locked. A plush foyer opened around him, sleek and modern. He had come up through what looked to be an emergency exit, which was screened from the main chamber by a lacquered bamboo lattice. Music, unmistakably jazz with a throbbing downtempo beat floated in the air, somewhat shocking after the endless silences of the carpeted hallways.

It was surprisingly sparsely populated for a typical den of sin, though that could be put down to the fact it was the middle of the week, rather than a weekend. People milled and mingled all dressed in jewels and finery of some kind. Which of course meant that Adam, a sword wielding horned faunus, in a ratty leather jacket and vibrant red hair, stood out like a fly on a wedding cake. And unfortunately, he came to that conclusion only a second too slow.

"Hey!" Someone barked, from somewhere close at hand, stepping out from somewhere Adam hadn't seen. He pivoted sharply, his vision filled with a glitter of steel—flying downward on a path meant to cave in his skull.

He was taken down in an instant; well before he'd been able to complete his assault; a swipe across the lower legs to drop him, followed by a quick vertical slash across the body leaving him screaming. Another approached, running at him, and seemingly about to reach for the radio attached to the shoulder of his suit. He was going to have to fight his way through. Well, that was just fine with him.

Adam feigned a high guard stance with his drawn blade, the point horizontal and the flat parallel to his cheek, then swung the sword to hit his opponent with multiple strikes, two to the lower abdomen and one to the outer thigh, sending blood everywhere and crumpling him to the ground unconscious next to his partner. They'd live. Probably. Adam had avoided hitting any vital areas, and he'd gone for slashes rather than stabs, so the chances were higher than they could have been. It was more than they deserved, and it would be as far as his graciousness would extend. In any case, he hadn't the time to worry about it. He'd wasted far too much of his time in this place as it was.

A few others were on the ground, not moving out of pure fear.

By this point, there could be no doubt that panic had begun to spread like a deadly pathogen. He ignored the screams and panicking of the shocked and terrified patrons, shoving aside those who were too rigid or unaware to vacate his path themselves.

Adam moved briskly from room to room, scanning each one he passed with the eye of a hawk, and putting down the cockroaches that got in his way as he went with all the tact and finesse of a Beringel in a china shop. As his trail of destruction continued, he found himself growing more and more irritated when each room showed no sign of his target. He'd have gone back to the lift to try a different floor, but he didn't even know where that was anymore, having left behind the foyer some time ago. He didn't have much in the way of options; he had no idea where he was going, and the building's floor plan seemed almost designed to turn him around.

At last, he eventually came full circle; in turn reaching a large set of curved carpeted stairs with a varnished oak bannister leading upwards and sighed.

The third floor then.

He started up the steps, taking them two at a time, legs pumping and feeling a little more invigorated, in the knowledge his search area had grown ever so slightly smaller. As he neared the top, more men in suits raced down from the upper floors, and they met in the middle of the wide biggest man he'd fought yet shot at him like a cannonball, his comrades in the front parting for him like an ocean.

Adam intercepted a meaty fist wielding a broken metal bar flying at him from his left side just for show, then kicked without looking, catching the unfortunate assailant in the crotch. He spun and got him in the jaw this time with his other foot, sending him tumbling down the stairs onto one of his friends that had been in pursuit.

The heavy-set man reached the bottom of the staircase, landing with a heavy crack head-first into the floor, instantly unconscious.

"Who are y—HRKK!"

Adam hoisted the goon he'd divested of his makeshift club by his lapels with a single fist and slammed his mouth against the varnished railing with violent savagery. Then another, and another, and another. The shattered teeth and bloody saliva didn't stop the pleas from falling out of his mouth, albeit much more lisped now. With a final slam to the railing he fell silent with an uncomfortable moan. A light kick of Adam's heel sent the the body on its way to roll horizontally down the stairs before coming to a sprawling halt at the bottom.

"This freak is fucking crazy!"

Three of the suited men had already run away, scrambling for the exit, screaming the whole way. Perhaps to warn their friends of what was soon to be heading their way, perhaps to save their dignity, he didn't know, and truth be told; he didn't much care either. He let them go, instead focusing on ducking under the punch one of the remaining threw. He rolled around to pop up behind him, kicking him square in the center of the back and shoving him face down into the ground with the back of his heel.

There were five men left. And he hadn't even started sweating.

He rushed ahead in a black blur, planting a knee in the leading man's sternum, smiling as he heard the forceful exhale of the wind driven from him. That must have been the signal for his friends to jump in, attempting to swarm Adam through sheer numbers. They came at him with punches and kicks, all of which hit nothing but afterimages as he dodged effortlessly, tearing through his attackers as though they were little more than bowling pins. As one threw an arcing punch, Adam swatted his arm aside to punch one of his allies in the throat, forcing him to stumble aside as he lost his balance and fell to his knees, gasping for air for mere seconds before his temple collided with the swordsman's knee.

A vertical hooking reverse-grip sword slash, followed by a roundhouse kick dispatched another, and the fourth, he grabbed by the front of his shirt, before sending him hurtling over the bannister to the second floor.

Adam turned to the one remaining and smiled.

"How about I cut you a deal?" Adam finally spoke, as though he was simply bartering, or haggling for groceries. The man flinched at the use of the word 'cut' , catching a glimpse of the hilt of his blade which only pulled a smirk to expose Adam's teeth, "You tell me where Mr Myst is right now, and I'll let you and the rest of your friends leave with your lives."

A bluff, if he'd ever made one. He'd never actually killed before. He was honestly surprised that supposedly hardened criminals hadn't seen through it the moment the words left his lips. But what he couldn't have known, was the look of sheer mania on his face. His pupil was contracted and his face was marked with tiny flecks of blood spray that he hadn't noticed from his first few encounters on the second floor. Watching in horror as Adam casually flicked his blade free of blood, the fallen man got the impression that whoever this man was, he was a nightmare in living flesh.

Adam picked up the sound of pounding footsteps close behind him and whirled on a dime. He didn't hesitate to use the blade, his instinct reacting and cutting his forearm to the bone, making him drop the gun, before his mind caught up to his actions and he twirled the hilt quickly in an overhand motion to hit the unfortunate man's head with the solid metal pommel of his blade, knocking him out before turning to continue his conversation.

"Interested?"

He raised his sword, the tip now barely a hair's breadth from the soft spot between his eyes.

A flash of a frown crossed his face, as the man he had at his mercy paused, his eyes widening like a rodent's and his simpering fear of him just made the faunus despise him all the more. Adam quickly grew tired of the human's silence, drawing his blade and stabbing downward into the top of his foot.

His screams were ambrosia to his ears.

"Yes! Yes! He's upstairs, I'll take you to him!"

His eyes somehow grew wider as he looked up at the faunus expectantly, seemingly waiting to see if his compliance was good enough to be spared.

Adam laughed, hooking his own foot underneath the injured grunt and pushing him into sitting up, grabbing his jacket collar and hauled him the rest of the way to his feet, pressing gently into the small of his back with the edge of his sword.

Who said he didn't have a way with people?

---

He loved this place. His place.

To see the top floor of the lounge, one would be a fool to not see why.

Young nouveau-riche partygoers loitered in groups or in pairs at the bar. Two women were seated behind him in the shadows of the lounge, smoking and engaged in what seemed to be intimate conversation. In the corner, someone was piping some low humming jazz into the long night, laying a nice soundtrack for a classy, sophisticated mood.

Ten heavily set men lounged around the room filled with the scent of drink. Some played with knives, throwing them or digging them into the expensive hardwood, while others laughed raucously, entertained by giggling voluptuous hostesses.

Any other day, he would have never invited them here. Yet, given the five alarm shit-storm that was unfolding between the Spiders and the Jade Serpent Clan, here he was. He had to look after his bottom line, after all. Besides, being here, it had its benefits. On either side of him sat a woman in a sequined dress. Please ladies, one at a time!" he rolled his head around lazily with slitted gleaming eyes, beer sitting comfortably in his hand. Glittery dew moved slowly down the glass and dripped slowly across his fingers. Of course it had its downsides too, and there was one thing he was already furious about.

They were late.

He snarled, looking around the room with irritated anticipation. It was a good earner, and it's profits alone were usually enough to keep the Malachites up in Mistral off his ass. But recently things had changed. With the JSC's rapid expansion in the south, the Spiders had started to ask him for more kickbacks to fund their little war of influence. He'd accepted it at first. He was a loyal captain, and he'd paid up on time at the start of every month, but he'd given them an inch, and they'd taken several miles. The rate increased, and increased, and he'd gone from paying a mere ten percent to thirty in less than four months!

The limits of loyalty had finally been stretched to their breaking point. To hell with the Spiders. He'd busted his ass climbing to the top, by means fair and foul, and if they weren't going to give him the respect he deserved, he was going to have to take it.

A heavy built, somewhat obese man with a bald head, clad in a dark green suit over a navy shirt approached, appearing from an alcove and setting to velvet curtains swinging, carrying a simple brown briefcase. The second followed behind him, He was wearing a navy pinstriped suit over a magenta shirt. He had short curly hair and stubble around his chin. The first man placed it on the table in front of Levi.

"Ah! There you are, Ed! Take a seat. How are you liking the place?" Want a drink?" A smile. "A girl?" He was talking exclusively to the first man, an act he knew would infuriate the second at the flagrant disrespect. Flicking his eyes just in time to see the aforementioned man's face swish as he seethed in fury, he felt like it was all worth it.

"Well enough. The man who had been addressed as Ed looked around. "Though I would have preferred somewhere quieter."

Levi smiled. "Couldn't be helped."

His eyes narrowed, and he looked at one of the girls. "Get going."

Sensing the change in the atmosphere, both girls quickly walked away without looking back. They knew that voice, and neither of them wanted to stick their noses in places they didn't belong. He liked that about them.

The bald man continued, taking a seat. "As I was saying in our earlier correspondence, we've been eager to set a former base of operations in the capital for quite some time. So your offer of assistance is greatly appreciated. Though I notice, you did not mention anything regarding the specifics of your offer."

"Firstly, in order to flush out our targets, we intend to clamp down on sources of revenue. Clubs, narcotics,... waste management." The man put emphasis on the euphemism with a sidelong glance, but his companion hadn't reacted, so he rolled his eyes and continued, blowing a ring of smoke across the room. "Of course, these actions would be simply to rattle their cages. Ultimately, the plan is to draw out the leadership, and have you kill them."

"We were under the impression that was for you to give us the information that would allow us to stir things up and twist the arms of your former superiors into negotiations with us. Killing them in so open a manner, would defeat the entire purpose of our deal!"

Myst laughed, but the sound was cold and hollow as he carefully judged his reaction. Moving too soon would show anxiety, not a trait he wished to advertise. But he did need their partnership. At least in the short term. but the last thing he needed was to show his hand. Desperation beget weakness, and these JSC boys would jump on it like the vicious wolves they were. He schooled his face into a look of open bravado, changing his posture back into a loose and relaxed one.

"You hear that?" He gestured loudly to the rest of the room. "I don't think our scaled friend understands! No one laughed. He continued, leaning forward with a shark-like grin. "We should and will supply any means necessary to secure results and profits. May I remind you that my family are bearing most of the risk here, considering the consequences for traitors to the Syndicate. Therefore, it follows that the decision making lies in our hands, not yours."

Navy Suit had finally had enough. A vein was bulging in his forehead and he reached into an inner pocket, spittle flying from his lips. "We've gone to great lengths to fulfill our obligations to you, and our end of our mutual agreement. but if you intend to show us such flagrant disrespect, then you can die like the dog you are!"

And that was that.

One minute he was right in his face, more alive than he had ever been, and the next he was meat on the floor. The dead man lay on his back, his throat cut, not three feet beyond the radius of the door, in a pool of blood that would quickly dry and give the room a sickly-sweet butchershop odor.

He turned to the remaining man raising an eyebrow with a sadistic grin.

Every one of them had two seconds to process what was going on before something...no, someone flew through the door with a loud bang and landed hard on the floor, tumbling and bouncing twice with a sickening crunch before sprawling on the ground like a ragdoll at their feet in the centre of the room. The poor bastard's black suit was covered in blood and dirt.

The barely conscious man managed to raise his head and his body briefly under his elbows allowing his stunned fellows to view a swollen and bleeding face. The man was barely recognizable, but the injuries that anyone could make out of his square face sent whispers of "shit," "no fucking way," and plain sharp gasps through the room.

"..Boss.."

"Calm down, everyone…" A voice came from the doorway

Adam greeted them like old friends, albeit one who sounded as though he probably wanted to murder them all.

"Evening, gentlemen," he continued in a dark sing-song tone. "Sorry to intrude like this, but I heard there was someone here I just had to meet. We have a very urgent appointment…"

At the final word, one of his boots planted itself harshly into the back of the goon's suit, landing squarely between his shoulder blades. He groaned and shifted downward with the kick, as the swordsman trod over him into the room. He didn't move again.

In his heart of hearts, Adam knew he was being careless,especially given his current condition but there was a growing part of him that just didn't care. His nails bit into his hands, his smile somehow grew wider as he caught sight of his captive audience. He wanted this fight more than anything, perhaps even more than he should have on any given day.

With whatever had happened at the Pit still playing havoc with his aura, something he'd begun to realize with some significant clarity as he'd fought his way up with his hostage. He was much more susceptible to pain, and everything else that came therein. His knuckles were beginning to smart and he was sure that the wounds he'd sustained tonight would be a bitch to heal, but all of it did have an advantage in his eyes. The pain kept him focused, and as the old adage went, the best results for a hunt came when going out hungry. He swore he could already feel senses that were far more heightened than usual, like lightning was running through every nerve and muscle in his body.

His goal was finally in reach, and despite the whisperings of better judgment, nights of endless waiting and stake outs fueled an unparalleled sense of impatience and tunnel vision, both of which had long since drowned out anything resembling caution.. Ignoring his thoughts and his reason and simply immersing himself in the thrill of a real fight might be the only way to satisfy his mental lust for blood. And tonight, he was powerless in the face of his desires.

Levi however, knew nothing of the thoughts racing through Adam's head, and without a moment, he jerked his head at the intruder. The biggest grunt he'd seen yet, unpeeled himself from along a large leather couch he had been arrogantly sprawled on, and began to swagger over to him with malice in his eyes, grabbing a large green bottle, full of liquid from a table in his stride.

With a sharp blow to the table's surface, the bottle shattered, spilling glass and alcohol onto the carpeted floor. Its jagged top half was thrust forward with deadly speed, the improvised weapon flying for Adam's sole exposed eye. Shock and surprise was written over his attacker's countenance, as a smaller hand than his own darted up like a viper, faster than he could track and secured a crushing hold around his knuckles.

His roving eyes locked for an instant with Adam's glacier frost one, before Adam twisted the hand holding the bottle inwards, and slammed it into the man's face, shards of glass embedding themselves in his flesh, eyes and oversized fingers. He screamed in agony and rage as crimson rivers of blood exploded and ran down his cheeks and nose. That was the cue for more screams,

"Any other takers?"

Inevitably they were, and just as inevitably, he crushed them.

He dodged the strike and grabbed the attacker's arm, deftly striking at an upwards angle with an open hand at his elbow and earning a disgusting snap.

Stepping into their midst, he slashed with practiced ease. In a matter of seconds, it was already over.

His attackers lay maimed, on the floor and over shattered tables and couch chairs, in a jumble of broken limbs. None of them would be getting up any time soon. Not if they could help it.

'And then there was one…'

Adam strode briskly and confidently over his scattered foes to the leader of the entourage, who still sat in his comfortable chair, appearing the picture of casual and relaxed, resting an ankle over his knee as he spread his arms over the top of the couch. Standing before him and crossing his arms, he eyed the man before him with clinical interest. It was indeed his target. Of that, he was certain.

He wasn't in the same rough looking attire as the pictures in his file, instead appearing to be wearing more formal clothing. A grey waistcoat stretched over his broad shoulders, covering a white unbuttoned silk shirt. Adam absently noticed an expensive looking matching white suit jacket he could only assume belonged to him, draped over the back of his couch. That was about as far as the pretence of class went.

Observing his legs, Adam wasn't especially surprised to see fraying black denim and cheap looking dress shoes instead of the appropriate items of clothing.

His knuckles were thick with pale scar tissue, an oddity for one who supposedly possessed aura, along with a heavy platinum ring on his third finger. There was something almost brutal about his face, with its pale cheeks, squashed nose, and dark eyes. As Adam examined him in silence, the man rolled a still smoking cigar between his fingers with a sadistic grin, clearly amused by his presence.

The patterning of the scars themselves did do a lot to confirm the reports that Myst was an enforcer; a legbreaker , or brawler, who preferred his fists to any other weapon. From the overconfident manner in which he held himself, he thought it safe to assume that he didn't have any firearms on him, or at least, wasn't willing to bring them out as a first resort.

There was the possibility that he might have a knife, and here, he recalled one of the images of Myst's victims, bruised and battered, sliced from ear to ear as a message.

But to look at him, Adam couldn't see it. Knife fighters, at least the few he had ever encountered in his short life, were usually lithe and agile, their style of combat generally requiring them to be lean and light on their feet. Myst however,had enough muscle mass to make an Ursa look like a world class gymnast.

Adam spoke at last.

"Are you coming quietly, or not?"

A significant part of him hoped he said no.

"Get a load of you!" He sneered mockingly with an oily self-important confidence. "Fucker comes waltzing in here, acting like he's some kinda badass, and I'm supposed to be crapping my pants? You even know how to use that toothpick, boy?"

His voice was ugly, with little to no respect in it as he rose to his feet, standing around half a head above Adam, meaning to intimidate via sheer size. The Faunus remained unphased as he ground out the cigar underfoot.

An attempt to try and get Adam to fight on his terms, and a pathetically transparent one at that. Well, if that's what he wanted…. Adam grinned, baring his teeth, and drawing his sword in answer. His blade spun twice casually over his hand in a slow, arrogant flourish, as though he was spinning a quarter staff, before sheathing itself as he secured his weapon to his waist once more.

"If you're genuinely asking that after the demonstration I've just given to your little helpers," He gestured. "Then clearly that bottle is cutting off the oxygen to your brain."

You're a rude little mongrel, aren't ya," Levi snarled. He lunged in a blind fury, exactly the way Adam had expected. "Maybe you'll make for a more polite corpse!"

He side-stepped his sudden jab, moving himself between Myst and the table and throwing the latter off balance. Raising his opponent's abandoned glass, he quickly downed the dark ale within and grimaced. It tasted like paint stripper. Then again,he supposed, pitching the glass at the back of his head, it matched the man himself.

Weak and dull. Not even flies buzzing around a corpse were that slow. And to think, anyone had thought this would be a match for him? In truth, Adam couldn't help but be a little insulted.

With his sword staying put, he sneered and watched the furious man swear and straighten up, looking around furiously before catching sight of the faunus, seemingly realizing what had just happened. A cold smile stretched over Adam's features.

He lunged at him with frightening agility and swung a vicious fist with a force that would put most professional boxers on their backs. Adam saw it coming, caught the punch in his hand with a painful sounding smack and dodged his face from the path of the other.

Both attacks failed, locking the pair into what would had been a brief grapple, had Adam not taken advantage of his opponent putting himself off balance from over-committing to his opening strikes, using the curved sheath of his sword to hook behind his knees and take his legs out from under him in one swift motion. Levi fell flat on his rear, banging the back of his head against the curved edge of a table, knocking it and the bottles on top of it over.

As if from a distance, he could hear what sounded like a snicker, as well as the other patrons, hostesses and customers alike, at least those fortunate enough to possess their motor functions and enough wit to stay out of his way- scattered, fleeing from the room and giving the two a generous berth.

Adam did the same himself, taking a step back to allow the man to scramble angrily to his feet.

Myst exploded into a flurry of fists; jabs and hooks. Adam felt time dissolve into a haze of interchanging blocks, blows, parries, and openings. He felt…. disappointed almost. Compared to his matches in the Pit, it was as though he was fighting a small child. The blows were powerful and quick, yes, yet sloppy and telegraphed, and Adam had very little trouble evading his assault.

"Oh come on! I know you can do better than that! If you don't—" he parried another heavy blow, replying with a gut strike with the pommel of his sword—"I'm going to get bored."

He felt the delightful ustulation of his own blood, as it reverberated from once a level silent to a deafening roar. Adam moved well before his attack could be restrained by any quick strikes, lightning blurs almost invisible to the human eye. The first was with the curved edge of his lacquered sheath followed by a return sweep across his jaw.

"Too slow." He sneered, seizing Adam's forearm firmly in a strong grip.

Adam replied in turn by driving his knee upwards into his midriff

"Took the words right out of my mouth. Was that it?"

"You have no idea." His breathing was ragged, his breathing painful. His ribs were bruised, he was almost certain of that, but he barely noticed the throbbing undercurrent of pain in his midriff. "But I'd be happy to show you." Levi was losing his patience. He was sweating and huffing like a prize sow. Adam circled around him slowly, absently mindful that the others who had been in the room when he arrived had long since backed away,

Finally, he decided he'd had enough of toying with him. He spun with a side-kick that caught his opponent hard in the side of the head. Hitting with the force of a cannonball, it dropped Myst to one knee like a sack of iron weights, forcing him to move out of the way just in time to miss the follow up knee to his nose and to land his own vicious hook to Adam's solar plexus to wind him.

Eye ablaze with the adrenaline joy of combat, Adam shook the sweat from his eyes and swallowed a thick mouthful of blood. 'Finally.' The room smeared into a blur, his opponent the only thing still sharp and clear in his limited vision.

His boots skidded on the floor before finally finding purchase. Immediately, he spun into another kick— he was faster than Myst, and that was his advantage, he couldn't hit him if he couldn't catch him. He jammed his foot into the stomach and kicked him backwards.

His blows were weaker now, not up to par with one who'd trained since the moment he could walk, and with that in mind, Adam was able to outmatch his opponent. He was quickly coming to pride himself on precision strikes and reading his opponent for openings, and while aggressive, the man was also proving himself to be increasingly predictable.

Myst launched for a vicious overhead blow. Adam jaunted back, feeling the room twist and shift around him. The faunus watched with a sense of glee as eyes widened in surprise, too late to check his momentum. Adam gave out a brutal jab to an unprotected knee, effectively forcing one leg out from under his opponent , before grabbing the flailing arm desperate for balance and using it to swing Myst in a stumbling circle, driving him straight into the railing of the balcony headfirst.

"Told you I didn't need my blade to deal with you."

" "You… You're going to pay!..Bastard… No one pulls this shit and gets away with it!"

Myst began to protest, self assured yet laughably arrogant, backing away as he approached, reversing several shaky steps before his back met with the edge of the balcony. He just had to buy time. Buy enough time, and make the little mongrel brat regret he was ever born.

"Naturally. Would you prefer small instalments or one large lump sum?" His dark snarl made his lips vibrate. He was met with silence. "Get up."

"Fuck...you…"

"Aww, that hurts." Malicious sarcasm all but oozed from the swordsman's voice as he spoke, mockingly putting a bloodied hand over his heart to emphasize his pretend hurt, yet keeping his eye fixed firmly on his. "Would it help if I said please?"

Levi Myst might've been outclassed, but he was undaunted. He was determined not to go down without a fight. All he wanted was one nick, one nick of a bullet if he couldn't kill the little barnyard reject.

Just one.

"I'm gonna remember that smug ass face of yours."

"You do that."

Adam hauled him to his feet by his collar, beginning to drag him across the room. He needed somewhere to stuff him until the morning. Maybe he could tie him up in the alley behind Charlotte's? She'd bitch, but he didn't care. She'd change her tune. In his distraction, however, Myst struck. The knife tore with sickening ease through the material of his jacket, and sank into the flesh of his right shoulder.

Adam let out a strangled cry of shock and pain and staggered before dropping to his knees as the pain set in, which gave his target time to flee, shoving him hard before running; at an impressive speed for a man with his injuries ,across the room, straight towards a door marked with a bright red exit sign, a set of stairs seen through the glass on the other side. Adam slowly made his way to his feet from the cascade of blood, glaring, seething, and mad.

"Get back here! I'm not done with you yet!" Adam demanded, roaring fiercely, with fire still flowing hot in his veins and adrenaline beginning to throttle his pain. He growled with anger and disappointment, both with himself, and with his duplicitous prey. What had he possibly expected from dreck? Of course he was lying, his brain roared, far too late. He was a human! They lie as easily as they breathe, and if he'd had his head on his shoulders, he'd have remembered that.

Wiping some of the excess blood away on his sleeve, he got to his feet once more, ignoring the chaos around him. He should have anticipated his cowardice. He should have just knocked him out and dragged him onto the street.

He should have had a plan. He should have—

His ranting stopped as he looked down at his wound.

It was oozing out blood and he swore he'd feel the bruise forming around it once his fight or flight response died down. He lightly pressed his palm against the center of the cut and tried to summon his aura to attend to his wounds, only to suck in a sharp breath as the pain became immediate. He couldn't apply the necessary focus to do it.

In the halls, he could hear shouting now, echoing back and forth across the warm vibrant walls. Someone had called reinforcements, probably after finding the trail of bodies Adam had left in his wake. Sure enough, by the time he had his wits together, the doors had burst open.

He ran across the room, hitting a leaping kick to the head of one man, and slamming the head of another into a solid table in the same motion. It was then that Adam saw several muzzles flash at once and thinking quickly, he just had time to roll off the table and throw himself behind one of the couches as the bullet spray tore into the cushions, sending clouds of styrofoam flying into the air.

From relative safety, he cast a gaze at the door he'd seen his target run through and growled in annoyance. To run after his bounty now, he would have to cross several meters to reach the end of the room, with almost no cover, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to block every single bullet they fired in the process, especially since he would be running away from them at the same time. In short, it would be an excellent way to get shot in the back of the head to go along with all his other injuries.

The pain in his shoulder brought him back to reality. He was fast enough to deflect the gunfire with his blade—on a good day, but he'd have no answer to retaliate. There was no way to get close enough to use his sword without being filled with holes, but that didn't mean he was out of options. There had to be something. Bringing his knees up into a crouch, his boot brushed by something. The corpse of a man in a navy suit lay inches from his table, just out of cover, but that wasn't what had caught his attention. The pistol was a few inches in his hand, the snub nose practically touching the edge of a severed table leg. Without thinking, he grabbed for it, the cold metal making greyer the skin of his hand as if his blood ran from the gun.

A wave of disgust passed over him. Guns. Truthfully, he didn't like them much, almost as much as he loathed Dust. The coming of guns had heralded the end of skill in combat. Any idiot with a working thumb and an index finger could use one. It was a cheap way to spill blood, without regard for precision, or skill. A sign, among many of the sorry state of the world, and the fools who lived in it, how they relied more on technology, instead of the will behind it. And yet… he had been reduced to using one. Adam growled, furious with himself at just how far he had fallen.

He leaned out from his cover and immediately ducked down as bullets whizzed between his horns. The rest of the men were taking cover behind the bar counter, only a stone's throw away. Not an unfeasible shot. Maybe they'd buy that he'd kill them. He'd bluffed once, perhaps he could do it again? Precious seconds were wasted as he tried to remember how it was he shoułd even hold it. In the end, there was nought he could do but pray for a miracle.

It was around this point that things began to go wrong.

And they went wrong, spectacularly.

"Screw this! Smoke him out!"

He hadn't meant to shoot at all. Or rather, he had meant at least to aim better, but his brain skipped a beat, his adrenaline was in overdrive, and combined with his total inexperience with any kind of firearm, his trigger finger squeezed in surprise and single shot fired when it shouldn't have.

The bullet shot out with a loud bang, burying itself in the man's lower leg. He cried out, and Adam could only watch in slow motion as the bottle his target held in his hand, filled with combustible liquid shattered on the ground.

The brilliant red and orange flames burned hot, short and violent, with no care as to what would be left behind, quickly consuming the alcohol soaked carpets and varnished wooden counter, at a frankly terrifying speed. The man who had been shot screamed, writhing in agony, the flames quickly consuming his legs and lower body as he rolled on the floor in an attempt to put out the flames. Unfortunately in his thrashing, he knocked several more bottles of the shelves behind the bar, thus providing it with even more fuel to burn.

The fire was climbing the curtains soon after, the choking smell of smoke now beginning to hit Adam like a physical force. Black clouds were already beginning to rise upwards, stinging his eye and forcing him to raise an arm to block the worst of it. He needed to move. Keeping low to the ground, he stumbled, trying to get his bearings through the impromptu smokescreen. For a second, he thought he saw a humanoid shape moving through the smoke, and threw himself flat on the ground for a moment expecting another bullet. After quickly ducking for a new cover , Adam looked again, cursing the smoke and the burning discomfort in his watering eye.

He noticed the red fire alarm button set in the wall, but a quick dash for a closer glance revealed that the glass was already broken and the button was missing. Well that was just his luck. Trust him to be in the one building in all of Remnant that only pretended to be up to code. The flames were spreading rapidly, and there was nothing to be done for it now.

He couldn't have fled far.

Sprinting for the door that he'd seen Myst exit through as his own back was nearly scorched by a wall of heat, Adam barged into it with his good shoulder, crashing through and coming face to face with a long vertical chamber that housed a metal staircase leading downwards and presumably back outside. He couldn't see him, but he could hear faint echoes of rapid heavy footfalls further down.

Adam growled, quickly weighing his options. He'd never catch him if he ran down every step, and if he made it out onto the streets, he could blend seamlessly into the nighttime crowds of the square. If that happened, Adam was finished, and he'd never find the bastard again. And the service elevator he'd seen coming in, which would assuredly get him to the bottom floor, meant going back through the room he'd just left—The one that happened to be on fire at that—and the risk of running through the crowds of panicking people and into even more guards, which would take even longer.

Even if he was willing to fight his way through all of that, it was all but guaranteed that Adam would lose his trail, well before he made it to the ground, and there was no guarantee he'd get anything useful from kicking around his underlings for more information.

He supposed that meant he was doing this the hard way.

Gritting his teeth and gathering what remained of his aura, he vaulted the railing before he could talk himself out of it, falling a distance of around four feet and landing on a lower section of the stairwell, albeit barely; he stumbled in an effort to regain his footing, before leaping backwards again, twisting his body in mid air and this time instead catching a railing. He repeated the process twice more, but on the third jump, he made a mistake.

The world rushed by in a blur and he knew the pain was coming. He caught the rush of each railing as he fell by, fast, yet slow, almost suspended. Then impact. He felt his bones move in a way they shouldn't, jangled. Without looking, Adam already knew there would be blood seeping from skin that seconds ago was smooth. In his haste he had once more forgotten about his injured shoulder and fell several feet more to the ground, the handle of his sword digging into his hip, landing with a heavy thud.

With a simultaneous sigh of relief and pain he struggled, straightened up, before sprinting, or rather speed limping the length of the small corridor to the door.

He didn't immediately recognize he was outside until he smelled the air, fresh and cold, still smelling faintly of rain, although it seemed it had stopped at least for now. He stood on the first floor of the outer fire escape, glancing up briefly to see a zig-zag of rusted metal between layers of balconies - a monument to arrogance. Or maybe it was just testimony to the alcohol enhanced stupidity of the planners.

He wasn't at the same place he had entered—the surroundings were completely unfamiliar. Using the railing to reach the bottom of the steps, he continued to take stock of his surroundings. The alleyway was straight like a drinking straw and almost as narrow; he could see offshoots a little further in the distance, no doubt in the same labyrinthine patterns as he imagined. The noise of the streets got louder as Adam stepped forwards, and he could see lights. His quarry must have escaped into the streets.

A vast blanket of white hung heavy at his knees.

His eye shook with dark focus. He hadn't moved at all. He was still standing in the same spot by the stairs.

It was then that Adam noticed the brief shadow, a mere outline of darkness on the wall with the peeled off paint, a passing smudge in an alley into which no one would even want to send one eye, let alone two. The man threw his head back and gave a laugh that coiled into a frozen cloud of white mist.

"Typical animal. Throw the right bait and they'll run right into a trap. Guess that's why we humans are so much smarter than your kind." Five others, exact copies, slithered out of the shadows on the walls to block any ideas of retreating to a more open area. The echo of the voices proved enough of a distraction for something to strike the side of his head and for a moment all he saw were spots and strobe lights.

"Too late to unfuck yourself now. You made the wrong enemy go ahead and die like a good runt, won't you?"

The second impact to the opposite side of his skull cleared his mind, slightly, he could look up and understand that shapes existed, but everything was still so blurry. He turned his body in a quick movement in the direction he'd felt a presence shift behind him, guarding himself against a low kick that would have punted him painfully to the ground. He still ended up taking the brunt of the blow, back-rolling with the momentum onto his feet to assume a crouch, one knee against the ground, to face off against his unseen enemy.

Kick, punch, parry, block—only there was nothing but air to meet his fists, the man spinning around to his blind spot and leaving him scrambling to put up any kind of defense. How the hell had that happened? Adam blinked, attempting to focus on the shadows in the smoke again. The feeling of vertigo abated, if only for a few seconds, and... it had to be a misdirect, and as another fist hit him square in the nose, it became clear that he'd fallen for it. Adam adjusted his grip, pursing his lips in anger, determined not to be fooled by it again.

He was hesitant to risk his sword—he could barely see as it was, and the alleyway looked too narrow to try it. It must have shown in his eye, because the laughter sounded that much more confident than before. He did anyway, and heard the noise of metal grinding against brick, before being hit again, in the small of his back. Through gritted teeth, he pushed himself to his feet. He was being toyed with.

"You're not so tough in a fight when you don't have the space to be annoying, are you, runt?" The larger man slowly pressed down on the spot he had wounded, eliciting a snarl of pain as the faunus made to force the blow away.

Adam had not, however, expected a booted foot to slam into his left hand on the ground, and pain exploded up his arm as he jerked the limb out from under the foot. Adam held it close to his chest, biting down so as to not give his enemy the satisfaction of hearing him scream, waiting for the pain to subside even as he tried desperately to force it out of his mind; his right arm still worked, and with it, he parried another strike, swinging wildly as he tried to struggle to his feet.

The blade nicked the hollow of his enemy's throat and spilled blood, leaving a thin vertical line, straight as a ruler. His roar of anger echoed and something hit Adam in the ribs and he felt a crack. The floor gave out from under him.

Despite the narrowness of his surroundings, he rolled blindly to his side, his head pulsing in pain, and somehow managed to block a blow from above. His vision swam, but his muscle memory served him well where his senses could not - once he saw the downward kick his body did the rest, spinning dizzily under the strike, and slamming his right fist and good arm into what his instincts estimated was the position of Myst's injured knee.

Contrary to popular belief, aura was not a magical catch-all protection from injury, a lesson Adam had been learning the hard way with uncomfortable regularity in the recent past. Human joints, even with aura, were delicate. Even a blow of normal strength delivered to a knee at just the right angle was capable of completely ruining it. Which was good for Adam, because he could barely muster half that power in his present condition. But nonetheless, it would have to do.

The shout of pain and the quiet crunch of shattering bone gave him the immediate impression that it had still proved to be more than enough, and if he'd had the presence of mind to do so, Adam would have smiled. But that would have cost him more of his strength, and that one blow had used the last of it. He was finished now.

Adam could feel blood sliding down his temple, too far from his mouth to lick it aside.

He was shadow boxing—running on fumes. Every time he'd hit one of the phantoms, they'd vanished into smoke. His senses were clouded, until one of the specters chanced a lucky strike to Adam's good eye and he was blind for a few precious seconds, lashing out wildly before falling to the ground. Before he could react or regain his bearings, he was dragged roughly to his feet.

His assailant barked out a strangled curse as Adam's body wound up hitting the wall with enough force to make the faunus's spine rattle against the coarse wet bricks. The larger man seized him by the throat and pinned him there, his feet dangling off the ground. He dropped his sword, as his starved lungs screamed for air. His trachea felt bruised, but that was the least of his problems. He needed air.

There was no sadness in the contours of his face.

'I can't believe it's going to end like this.'

Death was nowhere near as merciful as he had dreamed of it being. Oxygen was slowly being ripped and snatched from lungs, leaving scars of regret on the weak tissue. Every waking minute was pain. Every movement sent screaming agonies dancing across his vulnerable flesh. His surroundings blurred into a new sick reality only the broken could see. He was broken. He was nothing. He had nothing. Why fight at all? His mother's voice seemed to ask him at the back of his mind. The clock ticked; his time left was limited. But he was ok with that. It didn't matter.

It would be nice to see her again.

At that thought, his anger returned, running down his fingertips and down his broken bones. He narrowed his eyes and spat, a wad of blood and saliva collected in his mouth shooting out and hitting his would be killer between the eyes.

He wasn't going to let this piece of filth be his end.

He wasn't that easy to kill.

And if he died anyway? He'd at least stare the bastard in the face and go to hell his way.

The backwards momentum as Myst reared unconsciously in disgust had taken his palms away from Adam's trachea. Adam sucked in a breath instinctively, only to cough as his throat protested. Sweat accumulating on his skin: icy cold as he sucked down as much air as he could get away with. But the distance gave him just enough leverage to break the stranglehold.

Forehead and horns collided violently with soft cartilage , and Levi was sent reeling back, blood now pouring down his face. Adam's forehead was feeling a little sore, overshadowed as that was by the multitude of other injuries he had already sustained but he supposed having a thick skull was good for something after all. A quiet gurgle preceded his collapse as Adam fell to the ground, barely able to keep in the realm of consciousness.

He'd probably kill him now; he was sure of that. But at least he'd fought. He couldn't, could barely breathe or blink as Myst began to approach him again. His mind was already elsewhere now. She'd done him so many favors, and all he'd done was answer with injuries. He didn't know why he was thinking of her.

His life line however, came into being with the force of the fists of the gods themselves. The world behind him ignited in a fiery ball of yellow flame, billowing outwards. Through the corner of his half-closed eye, he spied the upper floors of the Serenade Lounge ablaze, with a black wisp of smoke curled upwards, eddying in the late fall air like the perfect strokes of an artist. Windows shattered and smoke escaped through the sections destroyed by the blast wave. 'The fire', Adam thought faintly. It must have triggered something. Something that looked like fear crossed Myst's face as he towered over him. He was screaming something at him, but he barely understood. He couldn't hear.

"Who else?!"

"Wha—?"

"Who else was with you?! What family are you with?!"

Adam couldn't help it.

He laughed. It hurt to do; everything did, but he couldn't help it. The laughter was uncontrollable, spilling from his bruised lungs like a waterfall. The irony of it all was just too much. After all of this, Myst thought he, Adam, was anything but alone. He was expecting him to call the cavalry at any second, completely unaware of the truth. It earned him a punch to the mouth, and all it did was make him laugh harder.

He wanted nothing more than to wring the little shit's neck till he was black and blue, but he didn't get this far in the Family without knowing when to cut and run. He could kill that punk without much problem, but if he wasn't the only one attacking the place...

Caution finally took Levi's senses and he backed off, hobbling away, fast disappearing out of his sight. By now the police department's finest would have been called, and undoubtedly be on their way; corrupt and bought out as they were, even they couldn't ignore a building on fire right in the middle of the entertainment district. The runt was as good as dead anyway. No need to finish him off. He had to take care of number one.

Adam could already hear sirens blazing in the distance, though perhaps he could put that up to his ringing ears; he could barely feel his left, and in the back of his mind, he played with the idea that his eardrums might have ruptured. He was dizzy. Not the slightly tipsy kind of dizzy. More the kind that sent the buildings around him into rolling triplicate waves, and caused the very ground under his feet to tremble as though there were an earthquake. His hand touched something wet, as he put out a hand in front of him to steady himself. A puddle.

He caught a glimpse of his face. A stranger stared up at him, seeing a face glaring back that was more purple than any other colour. It was of course his own reflection and his own beleaguered features staring back into his soul through a rapidly swelling eye.

From the darkness rang a mew that penetrated even the drone of traffic and the ringing of his skull. Something crossed his vision, a cat, a shadow lingering furtively above him, in a lit window of the building opposite him, tail held high. It stood there with glowing amber eyes and dilated pupils

'The...fuck...are you staring... at?'

He spat.

The cry came again, this time more shrill.

"Yeah. Adam bowed his head to his chest, unable to hold the strength in his neck to continue to look skyward. "I know."

It took a surprising amount of effort to push himself to his feet. The throbbing undercurrent of pain that seemed to permeate his entire body made him want to curl up and die, but he forced himself to think, to act. Blood from his injured side ran down beneath his clothes and sticking the garments to his skin, with more dripping from his temple into his ear and down his neck. Somehow, the numb fingers of his good hand wrapped around the corded wrapping of his sword's hilt, as he closed his fingers around it. He needed to hide. He hated it. Hated. It. Failure twisted his way into his guts like fish hooks, but as soon as it came, it evaporated. He didn't have the energy for that.

But his sudden surge of will to survive — was a strong motivator. His heart pounded, up in his throat, as he forced himself upright, leaning on the blade as a crutch. His sheath was caked in blood and ash. With a fresh wave of energy, fueled by the primal fear of being caught out in the dark in his condition, he quickened his pace. Anxious to get away from the consuming blaze, he staggered, dropping his sheath behind on the ground. Almost immediately he wanted to go back for it, But his survival was more important at the moment, so he painfully made his way through the narrow alley using his sword itself as a cane, hissing and grunting in pain the entire way.

He kept his eyes on the ground, back hunched over as he walked. His ribs felt like a crowbar had been twisted between them with every step. A heaviness had sunk into the centre of his chest, as he stopped, involuntarily seized in the fit of coughing. When his lungs at once settled, he attempted to gather what remained of his strength to summon his aura again. Nothing. He tried a second time, more desperately trying to force it to the fore. Pain. Like he'd never felt before. It was all he could do not to fall to his knees— If he did, there was no way he'd be getting up again.

Trying to fight a rising sense of instinctive panic, he staggered and hobbled, bracing a shoulder flat to the wall for support. It was a miracle the clothstrip that served as his eyepatch was still in one piece as well. It felt sticky against his face, and he could feel itching under the covered skin. Managing a half snarl at the irritant, he tore it off, casting it with as much vigor as he could muster somewhere into the dark, landing in a dirty puddle of rainwater. Adam pushed off from the wall again, and the trembling of his calves and spasming of his lower back muscles made him immediately aware soon enough, that his legs were failing him, and he needed to get patched up somehow.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

'It's ok.' He thought to himself. Gritting his teeth. 'This is going to pass. You just need to ride this out like you always do.' If only he could believe it. 'Repeating a lie won't make it true.' That was when he saw it. His salvation. An open dumpster filled with trash, sitting at the edge of the darkness. He didn't ask why his brain had decided it would be a better idea to just clamber inside and bleed out in there. Some sort of instinct perhaps. Nonetheless, he couldn't help but feel it was fitting.

But that was what he did, and using the last of his strength, he kicked the lid shut and the darkness swallowed him whole, effectively hiding him from sight as he lay horizontally and sunk into the soft refuse. The trashbags turned the night entirely dark for Adam, but he could still hear the shouts and sirens growing ever closer. If he had the mind, he'd be grateful for the fact that his outfit was almost entirely black—it was virtually natural camouflage against the big black bags, at least in the dark of the night. By the morning it would be trouble, but if no one looked too hard, he'd be able to slip out when dawn came, if indeed he woke up at all, and his wounds didn't end up infected all to hell.

But he wasn't thinking about any of that.

The pain that once burned like fire had faded away to an icy numbness. Black filled the edges of his vision and the only thing he could hear now was his own heartbeat. His breath came in ragged, shallow gasps. Seconds passed, as he lay there, then finally he let his eye slide shut, unable to keep it open, and clenched his teeth when he coughed to avoid losing even more blood that would be an unmistakable trail to his hiding place. The rain would have made things more difficult for any pursuers, but that had passed. Not that it mattered one way or the other.

He would be able to leave all the pain behind.

Blissful unconsciousness took hold of him in quick succession, and he barely felt when soft but strong hands grabbed him.

He remembered exactly where he'd been when he'd gotten the news.

It was an unusually warm afternoon in the modest two storey home. He'd been sitting in the living room windowsill, staring out into the ocean view, his sword in one hand, and an oily rag in the other. Slowly and firmly, he brought the cloth in contact with the blade in the same one-directional, straight motions along its length, taking care not to leave an excess of liquid on the blade.

He had often found in the past that the act of maintaining his weapon had a calming effect on him, but today, the effect wasn't as compelling as it once had been. His mind was elsewhere. There was supposed to be a rally in Mantle. The first of its kind on the continent, protesting the cruel and barbarous practices of the SDC mines. He rubbed his covered eye unconsciously.

"She'll be back soon."

He was speaking to himself again. It was something he'd picked up as a child to comfort himself in the dark of the mines. He'd talk to himself as he worked, to keep his mind away from his pain, as well as to keep himself somewhat entertained. She'd always called that a bad habit. Evelyn Taurus had always been concerned by her only son's tendency to isolate himself, but just for today, he decided to indulge himself to ease his stress. There was no one else in the house but him.

Unconsciously he began to tap his foot against the ground rhythmically.

She was probably busy. He knew more than anyone how much passion she put into everything she did, whether it was training him until he dropped or promoting White Fang rallies. She was probably just out handing out flyers still, or socializing with the others or something. That was it. How many times, in the past, had she returned, to

So why did his heart feel as though it was ever sinking in a quagmire of dread?

The shroud of unease fell heavily upon him, and a bundle of nerves in his stomach. It would pass, he assured himself, desperately attempting to redirect his mind to his task.

Yet the feeling did not abate, as the hours of the clock turned, the sunlight faded, and afternoon became evening. An involuntary chill ran down Adam's spine, and he did not believe it to be the night air from the open window at his back

A knock came at the front door while he was still oiling his blade. He'd thought that odd too, because she had a key of her own, and she never needed to knock before. Maybe it was someone she sent to tell him she was running late? Putting the oil cloth and blade aside, he straightened and made for the door, wiping his hands in his shirt. His mother never did like that either. Oil stains were the worst to get out of fabric, but he was nothing if not a creature of habit.

The door had opened

"Mr Belladonna?" He felt a brief sense of relief, followed by irritation. The elder man's appearance was not uncommon to the household. Indeed, since they had first moved into their home on the island, and Eve had joined the movement, Ghira Belladonna had been a semi-regular visitor, often having cordial conversations with his mother along with his wife. Adam didn't particularly like him much, but his mother did, and that made all the difference to the young man. If she trusted the man, then he didn't see any reason to voice his dislike.

If only he'd known then, how wrong they both were.

Ghira had stood there, simply watching the shock and confusion morph into horror on Adam's face. "Eve...your mother.. he paused, catching himself, as if the words were alien on his tongue, " She's dead."

It made him cringe at the sight of it. Adam was frozen, petrified in time, the look in desperate to believe it wasn't true.

But Ghira knew that the boy needed to know the truth.

"She died a meaningful death, for a noble cause. You should be proud of he—"

He never saw the punch coming.

A sharp thwack had Ghira reeling back from the force of the blow, clutching his cheek. he let his fist fly and actually felt it connect hard with his opponent's gut. Hard enough for him to feel all of his knuckles pop with the impact. Hard enough to feel the surprised whoosh of air rush past his face as the blow knocked the breath out of the soldier. Hard enough to momentarily stagger his opponent so that his next, mad, frenzied punch connected just as solidly.

A hail of blows. Fury. Madness in the extreme. Silent tears rolled down his cheeks as Adam glared at the man, his eye brimming with tears and hatred.

"Get out!" The young man bellowed.

"I…"

"Get. Out!"

Those words were all he said, because what more could he say, until he finally left the doorway of the home, and left Adam alone to his thoughts.

The emptiness in his heart, the numbness pounding his brain, the salty tears that flowed unchecked from his eyes, the sheer nothingness that now took hold of his soul threatened to engulf him entirely. His legs buckled, as his world collapsed underneath him.

All he could feel was the sense of emptiness, despair and the grave sense that something in the world was horribly wrong and would never be the same way again. The sound of punches impacting solid ground and stone walls, and uncontrolled sobbing were the only sounds to come from the Taurus household, until those too, faded into silence.

And nothing had been the same since.

Eyelid snapping open, Adam came slowly half-awake, his blue eye staring uncomprehendingly at the white painted ceiling above, barely visible in his dimly lit bedroom. He was home. Forcibly he quelled the shout that had been building in his throat, culling it into a voiceless whisper. "Mother..." It had been the dream, again, so vivid in his mind, the details as rich in wakefulness as they appeared in sleep, opening anew the wound that remained raw and untended in his guilt over her death. "I'm sorry."

He managed to murmur, before his eyes started to roll back into his head again. Then there was a voice. The wrong voice, and he felt a sense of primal terror even as he tried to fight through his delirium, the air tainted with the unmistakable smell of blood and what little sense of security he had vanished.

"You fucking should be. Do you have any idea how long it's going to take to clean this dress?"