Beneath the Mask
Beneath the bloated sun of a late afternoon, the rotting city of Vale was crowned in a shimmering pool of green and gold.
Cinder Fall had visited the Kingdom before, and the news reports had given her at least some idea of what to expect. But the reality on the ground, to see it for herself…. didn't even begin to compare. The putrefaction of centuries seemed to cling to its walls like a persistent weed, the stench of death permeated the air, and the dense maze of the city seemed, for all intents and purposes, a ghost town.
It felt like a living crypt.
Except of course for the Atlesian tin toys patrolling the streets.
She could hear them even in her sleep, steel feet pounding a steady rhythm into her temples like a drum. The dark and disturbing reflections she had heard in her waking hours from people who had come, seen. and departed unmoved and vowing in the unrelenting and stifling darkness to never return did little to assuage her misgivings. A slow, unrelenting death march. That was her first thought, as she finally opened her eyes and the small hairs on the back of her neck stirred. She felt heavy, yet too light at the same time, struggling to regain consciousness like a man struggling to claw out of quicksand; slipping under and coming back up over and over again.
Even in the safety of her hotel room, she couldn't stop the tremble in her lips. Couldn't still the shaking in her hands.
The voices were always vivid. Most of the time, they belonged to her - unbridled hellfire, or her Queen's raspy tones, a backdrop to an endless array of burnt and decaying and desolate landscapes and her sisters' scraping laughter. Sometimes they belonged to others, faces and voices she couldn't place. Anger. Fear. Despair. She seemingly couldn't stop herself from snatching thoughts and feelings when she was asleep, but it was starting to happen when she was awake too. The latest dream, though… She took a deep breath. This one was new. A warning. Whispers tumbling over each other like grains of sand, speaking in languages that made the darkness inside of her sing, and her mind recoil.
And it seemed that she wasn't alone in that feeling. The city felt downright hostile at this hour. Day after day, she had watched the workers in the hotel and her fellow guests with as keen an eye as she could muster. Unsmiling insomniacs that found themselves constantly glancing at unlit spaces; in the corners of their eyes the dark would grow tendrils and reach out to grab her, only to disappear in the next blink. All she'd been able to do was drink strong coffee and keep her failing eyes on screens to let the torrent of information electrify her mind awake, and keep herself from accepting the terrifying truth that she was running out of time.
Throwing off her covers, she settled herself into an overstuffed chair, and with the hydrous light from outside mixing with the room's lamplight, began to read the latest coded report on her newest potential ally. With the loss of both Black Major and Minor, she could use all the firepower she could get, and Adam Taurus seemed like just the man for the job. The only issue, it seemed, was actually finding the man.
Although, it was equal parts promising as annoying that he was as competent enough to avoid detection as he had.
The dark haired woman had spent plenty of time with Sustrai as a result over the past few months, and had found her to be both bright and clever, two assets rarely found in the same person. However, there was a devious streak to her, one that she took great pains to disguise, but she wasn't nearly skilled enough to hide it from her. The girl seemed loyal enough, to a level that bordered on the fanatical, but Cinder could all but see the snake behind her eyes. The thought of the cunning gleam in them that she tried so quickly to bury whenever Cinder caught her staring was enough to drive her into a simmering rage.
She thought she was weak!
An easy kill!
She was plotting against her, working out where to plant a knife in her back and if Cinder didn't do something….
It was the only thing that made sense, and—
Cinder shook her head, digging her nails into her face. It was happening again.
She hadn't wanted to believe it at first.
The insomnia, the paranoia. Coincidences; a natural byproduct of her work. Ozpin's catspaws were seemingly everywhere, hampering her at every turn. Only days ago, she had seen someone who looked impossibly like that damnable Qrow Branwen poking around the lobby, before the hotel manager tossed him bodily out on his ear. As amusing as the sight had been, it had been quite the shock to see him so close. Vale might be Ozpin's seat of power, but he couldn't possibly have caught on to her presence so quickly!
And yet, she'd seen nothing since.
The fact that her health took a dramatic turn for the worst the day after that sighting was nothing but random misfortune. Perhaps she'd merely eaten something that disagreed with her.
But there had always been a part of her that knew otherwise. After all, there was no food poisoning in the world that could keep her awake at all hours and jumping at shadows even in broad daylight. No food poisoning that could feel like having feral dogs eat away at her muscles, day by day until the very idea of raising her hand, of putting one foot before the other, felt as Herculean as attempting to balance Remnant on her back.
But the final nail in her proverbial, and quite possibly literal, coffin, had been the black inky tears she had found in her eyes this very morning.
She knew, despite her desperate denials, it could be only one thing.
The heralds of the Waking Death.
She had ignored the whole phenomenon at first. Why wouldn't she? Even if this plague was as serious as the sheep were making it out to be, she was still Cinder Fall. Destined for greatness. Power was her right, and hers alone, and nothing could keep her from that which was hers. She was not some mewling whelp, she was no helpless victim. It was no threat to her.
Time of course had proven her wrong.
She had first seen the symptoms in Black Minor — Mercury, she thought his name was. It wasn't as though they'd had the time to know each other after all. It was an idle thing at first. He had seemed… restless when they were hunting down the Maiden. That much hadn't been anything to note at the time . She had been much the same; her goal had been so close! There was so much planning, so many variables to control, so many things to anticipate. The ambush was set. Everything was prepared. They knew where their target was. What road she would travel down. How best to bait her. But nothing could have prepared her from the almost zombie-like corpse on the back of a starving, emaciated horse that she had seen that night.
Even looking back then, Amber had borne all of the hallmarks. The atrophy, the withered skin, the black tears, the vacant stare. At the time, Cinder had simply smiled at her good fortune. True, she'd only been able to barely absorb a mere fraction of the Maiden's power before that damned Branwen had seen fit to interfere, but her target was weak. Feeble. It would be a simple matter to track her into Vale and finish the job.
Two days later, Mercury was dead, his withered corpse crying inky tears and insects feasting on his eyes.
And now, it seemed that fate was coming for her.
Cinder had never been a religious woman, nor had she ever put much stock in karma. After all, karma hadn't saved her from her abuse at the hands of the glorified slavers that had called themselves kin, nor had it spared her true parents their demise. Those experiences had taught her an immutable truth that few were wise enough to accept; there was no good, no evil. There was only power, and those too weak to seek it.
And yet, some idling part of her mind, some broken fragment of the scared useless child she had once been, whispered that she had been cursed. Why else would she feel the way she did? Why else would the cold daggers of fear rake along her back so vigorously, twisting her mind even as her body slowly began to betray her? It was a terrifying idea, to realise that she was dying.
And that there was nothing she could do.
Rage swirled in her at the thought.
Cinder suspected that what little of the Fall Maiden's power she had acquired was all that was keeping her alive.
Once, she had considered daring to ask her mistress if this world-wide endemic was of her design, if only so that she would know how best to proceed. The thought had occurred only once.
The resulting agony had taught her that her Queen was not a woman who suffered questions relating to her purpose lightly.
Cinder coughed once, twice, trying her best to make her muscles obey her. She hadn't been this weak in years. Not since….Rhodes. The fury swelled up again. The helplessness, the desperation she felt did little but fan its flames. She had never been the most trusting individual, and the circumstances of her childhood had done little to cultivate that weakness. But Salem had yet to reveal her plans regarding the current state of world affairs, and Sustrai, for all her ambition hadn't made her move as of yet, or given her any indication of her impending betrayal.
There was still time.
She just needed more time.
With a sigh, she rubbed her sleepless eyes and reached for her desk for a file—marked TOP SECRET: ATLAS INTELLIGENCE EYES ONLY—that lay on the table. Although its contents could have been translated into any language she liked, Cinder no longer had any need to refer to them. She had read the pages once and had instantly memorized their contents. She now knew everything she needed about the renegade revolutionary known as Adam Taurus. The only part that was missing from her consciousness was a true picture of the man. There was a photograph attached to the cover, but the man had been far too careful in his tenure to avoid direct surveillance, so she had been forced to rely largely on the official report:
Physical description/attributes
"Subject is six feet, three inches tall. Weight: Unknown. Hair colour: red. Eyes: blue. His physical condition is excellent but may have been compromised by injury (see Mantle file). Subject is known to be fluent in two languages—Valean and Mistrilian—and is also proficient in Mantlean. Little is known of his early life, but it is believed that he was once affiliated with the Schnee Dust Company, (see File B)"
The dark haired woman allowed herself a smile. It wasn't exactly hard to see why a faunus would have an anti-Atlesian vendetta given that bit of information. The Schnees had long since cultivated an air of entitlement and racism and with copious amount of bribes, had taken ruthless advantage of the autocracy posing as a republic that the Kingdom of Atlas had become. It was also to be noted, that of all the Atlesian targets Taurus has seen fit to engage, he seemed to be particularly vicious against SDC mercenaries and military personnel.
It was a hatred Cinder shared with the man.
And more importantly, it was something she could use, especially given the close ties between Ozpin and General Ironwood. She just had to find a way to sell that story.
"Subject is highly proficient and accomplished swordsman, displaying immense ambidexterity and what can only be the results of specialized training. His sword-fighting style and semblance is easily adaptable from offense to defense, which he carries to levels that substantially surpass that of the average standard for Huntsmen, and quite possibly beyond the scope of our own Specialists: Although rarely used, Subject is also accomplished in hand-to-hand combat, and has confidently engaged several of our Specialists at once on several occasions.(see after action report from Specialist Schnee)
"Approach with EXTREME caution."
Oddly, Cinder had been unable to actually procure any information on his semblance; which was both incredibly unusual, and aggravating. It made it difficult to plan an approach that didn't put herself, or her sole remaining catspaw at significant risk. The man had no love for humans, setting them both at an immediate disadvantage and there was also the fact he had an army of well trained, fanatical zealots behind him that would gladly die at his command. Even with a fraction of the Maiden's powers at her back, there was no guarantee he couldn't simply drown her with bodies until she fell, or worse, find a way to kill her himself, especially with her….condition.
Her scroll rang suddenly, once, twice. She picked up on the third ring, her tone that of a glacier.
"Are you certain you cannot find anything?"
She could hear Sustrai shift almost uncomfortably on the other end of the line. It spoke volumes.
"I have a few more locations to scout." The green haired girl finally replied, her speech careful and uncertain."Has there been anything on your end?"
"No." Cinder reluctantly growled out. It seemed that they had simply gotten lucky with the hotel. Against every prevailing instinct in her body, several days ago, she had made contact with Arthur Watts in order to make use of his resources. The very act had felt like pulling teeth, but she knew well that the price of failing Salem was far worse. To her surprise, and eternal consternation, he had managed to dig out an extremely well disguised paper trail through a number of front groups and businesses that had led her here. It seemed as if the White Fang, or more specifically, Taurus, actually owned a fair amount of property in Vale, including the very hotel she had booked herself into.
She had Sustrai out scouting the other potential locales that Watts had been able to find using her skills as an accomplished thief, while Cinder herself had tried (and failed) to see what she had been able to scrounge up here. The general state of the city had brought a deep sense of mistrust and unease, meaning her usual means of acquiring information were difficult to near impossible. The faunus here were all incredibly close knit, and there was almost nothing to be gleaned from eavesdropping. Worse still, there was absolutely zero hope of trying to bribe some information out of them; they didn't trust humans worth a damn. "With good reason." she admitted to herself quietly, before raising her scroll again.
"We know he's been here recently. You know how important this is. We cannot hope to carry out our operation without his and the White Fang's help."
"I know but—"
"Report back to me when you've searched the others. Do not fail me."
It was only as she finally put her scroll into sleep mode that her eyes caught a glimpse of something. Her reflection—-which was supposed to—she could have sworn it was glaring at her. She turned to face it quickly, before squinting.
It squinted back.
She raised an eyebrow.
It did the same.
She smiled.
It sneered, baring pointed canines as its eyes flashed a malevolent yellow for a brief moment. A voice that seemed suspiciously like her own echoed throughout the room.
"Soon."
Cinder jumped backwards, dropping her scroll into her lap, her head slamming into the back of her chair. In a mad scramble, she managed to will her uncertain fingers to pick the device back up. The effort was almost too much for her; as if her own limbs were made of lead. Slowly, she turned her scroll over and looked at the screen again.
Her reflection was normal.
"...You're just tired, Cinder." She mumbled to herself, rubbing at her eyes. "You're tired, deathly ill, and frustrated, and now your brain is hallucinating. It's all in your head." She glanced up again, giving a wary look towards her reflection in the screen, who returned the suspicion. She frowned.
Right.
All in her head.
Adam had to admit it; idleness didn't suit him.
That wasn't to say that he didn't understand the value of taking time to plan his next move, to take opportunities to prepare himself for future battles ahead. Such things came naturally to him, as gods knew that someone in his organisation had to be capable of consistent original thoughts of their own. Simply dealing with a continuous stream of endless incompetence, sycophantry and idiocy all but required the patience of the divine, lest he succumb to his desire to finally take Wilt and begin a cross-continental path of increasingly violent slaughter of his former comrades that would end in him mounting Sienna's head on a pike, and burning down the Belladonna Mansion with its owners tied up inside.
Before he'd parted ways with his old company, it had felt most days like that rage was a starving wolf, prowling around outside, looking for one opening in the rotting wicker fence that was his self control of late to break in and consume him, and it was providence alone that kept it at bay. Typically he controlled it by keeping himself busy; training, planning, taking missions, anything to draw his focus away from his own thoughts. Idle hands were the single greatest enemy to his state of mind.
And yet, as the days had passed into weeks since he had faked his death and abandoned the Fang—at least in the short term, he found himself deeper and deeper into their far reaching and seductive grip.
He started out by trying his usual solution; training. You only fought how you practised, and there was no such thing as too much experience. But even that could only take him so far. For starters, he was supposed to be laying low, which meant he couldn't just find a Grimm to use as a practice dummy for his new abilities without drawing unwelcome attention to himself, which sort of beat the entire point of what he was doing. That had the consequence of him still not truly understanding the full reach of his potential, since again, if he started throwing fireballs around his safe house, he'd just make things more difficult on the whole incognito approach he was trying to cultivate.
Aside from having to clean up the damages himself, of course.
It helped to visualise this entire experience as a mission of sorts, which… now that he thought about it, it honestly was. Solving this great mystery, a task for which he had been given what could only be described as divine power, was certainly not a task he could afford to half ass. The only problem was that he had absolutely no idea where to start! He had no leads, and no way of getting them, even if he could still rely on his spies in the city; he sincerely doubted they'd have information that the worlds greatest doctors and scientists didn't. No leads meant he had no way to form a cohesive plan, because he had no intel to base it on. And lacking the ability to plan, left him right back where he started; twiddling his damned thumbs.
And all of that was assuming that he was even on the right track about the Waking Death being what Igor and his sidekick were referring to in the first place!
He shook his head, dismissing the lingering doubt from his mind. Of course it was. What else could it be?
He pinched the bridge of his nose, leaning his head back into the armrest and the coat he was using as a makeshift pillow.
Wilt and Blush lay in the crook of his arm, cold steel digging into his warm flesh.
Depending on how things went, Adam knew there was a good chance he'd take to carrying the blade everywhere; it was a force of habit if nothing else, particularly if certain past acquaintances caught wind of his location, but for now, it probably wasn't necessary. At least, outside of his training, but as he'd already realised, practising his strikes on a sandbag only did so much.
Even so, he kept his weapons close at hand. His paranoia refused to allow for anything else.
Speaking of….
There was the matter of his scroll.
It was true that precious few people held his personal number. Just about any communication he typically made were through burner scrolls, which he could destroy at his leisure; since unlike some of his more incompetent men, he wasn't stupid enough to have incriminating White Fang contacts and data on a scroll that could be mined through the CCT towers by the authorities. And while his personal scroll didn't have any of that, conventional wisdom told him it would be a loose end that needed to be removed. He didn't have much in the way of tech knowledge outside of what he needed to know; but wasn't there something to be said about it being used to track his movements? Destroying it should have been a simple matter of course, mere routine, common sense even. Moreover, of the few contacts he had, there was no one on that list he even wanted to talk to. Well, Almost no one.
He'd let Constance know he was ok, and while she hadn't been informed of the full context of his actions— it would only serve to endanger her — she was intelligent and resourceful enough to put the gist together, if her ill hidden worry for him was any indicator. Aside from her, that just left… Pyrrha.
Pyrrha….
The midday sun burned through his windows, casting harsh shadows on his faces as it moved across the sky. He shifted his head, peeling the scroll away from the side of his face— he really had to stop sleeping on that thing— flicking it open to see the notification that had been chewing at his thoughts.
{Hello again! I hope this is the right number?}
He had given Pyrrha Nikos his personal number.
If Adam was being honest, he honestly hadn't expected her to actually message him, writing off her introduction as a mere example of Dutch courage; something that she'd done simply in the spur of the moment and would come to regret in the morning. For a moment, he tried to reach through his heart to untangle the complex feelings surrounding her contact. Did he feel unnerved? Perhaps. Angry? No, he knew that feeling well, and this wasn't it. Or perhaps relief? Gratefulness? He couldn't tell, at least not now. It all just felt…grey, like heavy fog.
"Open your heart to bonds, and nothing shall be beyond your reach."
Glynda's words reverberated in his skull, filling up the silence of the empty safehouse as his fingers tightened around his scroll. He snorted derisively.
"What a joke..."
Emotional attachments were dangerous. Anyone could betray you. Anyone could be used against you. If you wanted to love something, you had to be prepared to destroy it with your own hands. He still carried the lessons, the truths of his cursed reality etched into his bones. In every other relationship that he'd had, he'd had to ask himself whether or not he loved them enough to either kill them or be killed by them. Predictably, he'd found them wanting. Because trust meant arming those he cared about; and love meant baring his throat. As he once had for the Schnee.
And that not a mistake he could ever make again.
Even still, he could almost feel the Devil Tarot burning a hole in his pockets. It was obvious if he wanted to enhance his Persona abilities, he would have to associate with her on some level, and it wasn't as though he found her disagreeable. In fact, that was the scary part, because in that short interaction, Adam could safely say that she was one of perhaps two humans in all of his history that he genuinely seemed to like.
And that thought was terrifying, especially as she seemed to know a lot about him, whereas he knew next to nothing about her.
"Not a fact that'll change if you keep pretending she doesn't exist." Some dark segment of his psyche proffered, an argument convincing enough that he almost hit 'reply'... before closing the scroll again and dropping it on the carpet next to him.
Pyrrha would keep. What wouldn't keep, was getting to the bottom of the magical chaos that a certain long nosed cryptic had seen fit to drop into his lap via an invasion of his dreams, and he was irritated to say, that he had made next to no progress.
Adam leaned back, folding an arm behind his neck.
He hated mysteries. Knowledge was power, and the only way he could keep that power from inevitably being wielded against him was to have all of it. Being left without the full picture of events always left him irritated, angry even; it fed into the part of his mind that constantly suspected that people, especially those who called him comrade, were plotting against him. It didn't help that he was seldom wrong in that regard. But panicking over nothing was beneath him. He could do better than that.
Maybe he was coming at all of this from the wrong angle. Instead of focusing on what he didn't know, maybe his time would be better shifting his focus to what he did know.
However little that might be.
He suspected that the Waking Death had something to do with Shadows. He didn't have much to base it on; it was largely a hunch. He and Blake had been attacked on the train by Jack, and both the snow sprite and the creature's memories had told him that someone had sent him to kill them. Or rather, Adam more specifically. The timing of that; mere hours after he had tamed his own Shadow, couldn't be a coincidence. Over the weeks, more of Jack's memories had made their way into the faunus' mind, seeping into his dreams. They were… disoriententating, especially at first, being in a mind that wasn't his own. But in time, he'd begun to process, and later, even understand the images that would flip through his brain whenever he shut his eyes.
But the most interesting thing he'd learned was that Jack himself was a Shadow. From what little he'd been told, Shadows were suppressed human thoughts that gave themselves form and will, the lowest part of the human psyche. He also knew it was possible to tame them and turn them into Persona, which explained the snow sprite's current residence inside his head. But that meant he— it—had been attached to someone else before him. Didn't it? Given the nature of what Shadows were, it was the only thing that made sense. But who?
Jack Frost certainly didn't know, and it was unlikely Adam was going to get anything more concrete from his memories. It was frustrating; because the faunus knew therewas a connection there. Everything in his gut, every fiber of his being, told him that Shadows had something to do with Sandman Syndrome, and yet he couldn't begin to fathom the hows and whys.
His eye traced the path of a moth crawling along the rafters.
As for the other things the blonde woman had mentioned…. he was still at a loss.
Summoning one of his Persona (Personae?) drew from his aura, as did continuing to manifest it, but seemingly at a far slower rate than his semblance ever did. He'd worked that part out when Glynda had told him of the link between Semblances and Persona. If the latter could replace the former, it would also imply that they drew their source from the same well of power; the soul.
But even in spite of that realisation…. there was so much he didn't understand yet. So much he wanted to understand about his role, about what had happened to him, about what still could happen as he honed this power. But there was one thing he did know, something the blonde had let slip in their last conversation— though whether out of the kindness of her heart, or simple carelessness, he couldn't yet say. If he wanted to grow stronger, and handle greater power, he needed a way to "strengthen his mind."
But those terms were so vague, she may as well have said nothing at all.
Strengthening the body was easy. It was simple, visible and quantifiable; you could perform consistent actions and measure your progress until you reached your goal. There were entire industries devoted to the art, and—if you weren't a steroid rat— your only real problem was being spoiled for choice in methodology. Strengthening the mind was an entirely different story.
Did she mean his will? It didn't seem likely; he was as bloody minded as they came. There wasn't a force on Remnant capable of subverting his will, be they friend or foe, and not for want of trying. Acquiring knowledge then? A possibility, but if so, what knowledge? He doubted she meant to fill up his brain with trivial nonsense.
"...Might we offer a word of counsel? "
Adam started, nearly jerking Blush's trigger and narrowly avoiding blasting his own nose off. He really needed to get used to that.
'I'm open to suggestions."
"If thou wouldst seek to further strengthen thy mind, We—"
"We hee-had an idea, ho!"
"Did we now?" Adam crossed his arms, his suspicions growing by the second. 'What kind? Nothing too outlandish, I hope?"
"Nothing of the sort. " Oh. Hayabusa was chiming in now. "What we've arranged is… you could call it a form of meditation. I believe you are somewhat familiar with that concept, yes?"
'Meditation?' He frowned. Now there was a word he hadn't heard in a long time. He tried to swallow the sense of trepidation that came to him at the memories it invoked. There had once been a point where it would have been a regular part of his routine . But with constantly having to micromanage his subordinates, and all his other former duties, it had, for lack of a better term, fallen by the wayside on his list of priorities. No doubt it played a large part in why he always found himself so easily angered. Still, the suggestion did little for the faunus' ingrained scepticism.
"Of sorts," the war god conceded, paying Adam's internal musings no mind. "We too hath been dwelling on the matter that plagues thine soul. It hath taken us some time, but we believe we hath a solution." The faunus couldn't help but widen his eyes. "Why art thou surprised? We are one. What troubles thee, troubles all of us." Adam could feel… people nodding in affirmation.
"You have a wealth of battle experience. Countless harrowing conflicts that you have fought in, each one testing your mettle and forcing you to emerge stronger than ever before. With nothing but your imagination and memory, we believe it may be possible to organize simulated battles in your mind. Artificial opponents with which to train your soul."
He was intrigued.
"Will it work?"
"How in the spheres would we know? We haven't tried it yet, dumbass!"
An impatient feminine voice hissed, rattling though his grey matter with bough volume to make him wince.
"...Fine."
At once, the room's temperature plummeted to an icy chill, robbing Adam of the ability to complete his sentence.
"Uh… hello? Mars?"
There was no response.
He could only look on in horror as every corner and angle of the room slowly warped until they seemed ready to split at the seams and reveal a glimpse of the arcane nightmares underneath. The view outside his window had all but disappeared; the world peeling away until all that remained was a square of searing white.
Adam could feel his body, lying down. He could hear the ticking of the clock a room away. And yet, as he tried to move his head, to raise himself above his resting place, he wouldn't budge. He felt as if an invisible force had turned his body to stone. An ache in his lungs made him realise that he wasn't sure whether or not he was breathing. He willed his limbs to move but they stayed as still as stone. For a fleeting moment he thought he'd become a statue.
And then the floor fell out beneath him.
There was a flat crack like a snapping branch; and then he was being dragged down into an abyss. His good eye was open now, like someone was prying his eyelids apart. He attempted to contort his body to a position where he could at least turn his head to see what was beneath him - if there was anything beneath him. He couldn't breathe, the air ripped from his lungs before he could even think to scream. 'Hypoxia', his brain provided, as if being in possession of that piece of trivia would somehow keep him from his fate. Funny, the things you thought of before you died. He could now suddenly see his legs. They were rising, his two feet like two kites on his limbs, slowly rising out in front of him, and above his head.
There was his abdomen, splayed out above him. He was unable to make out the edges of his waist because of the fluttering of his coat tails in the wind, as he fell. Realisation had dawned. He could feel nothing under him. The couch was gone, his room was gone, even the air was nowhere. His hands were flapping by his side - two lumps of dead weight muscle he had no control of.
Adam, chest tightening, breath speeding, managed to force his eyes shut, bracing for impact. He was powerless versus gravity; falling.
"So this was how it ended…"
The inevitable impact knocked the wind from him completely as he finally hit the dirt-packed ground with a loud thump, and he knew no more.
The first thing he noticed when he came to was the night sky. A black to navy gradient was the backdrop for a full moon; the cosmic canvas so clear you could almost see every fragment of the shattered moon. The moon, a glowing ivory white, loomed large, surrounded by an ethereal glow. Millions of stars were sprinkled behind it, a few large ones but mostly a multitude of little white pin pricks. Every now and then, a twinkle caught his eye. There was something odd about it; a glassy sheen that seemed to cover the darkness.
He sat up. His shoulder felt as if it was on fire, and his head felt like a marching band had trampled through or, but he was, at least, in one piece.
The ocean waves lapped lazily at the shore, a jumble of navy and royal blue that glistened in the night. White foam crested the top of the waves as they approached, spilling onto the sand like a net being cast. Adam curled his fingers, and was surprised to see fine white sand beneath them, flowing easily between the gaps in his digits.
It was then that he became aware that he wasn't alone.
"Is he finally here?"
"Be patient, harlot. Our Master is obviously disorientated. This is the first time he's performed this feat."
"Harlot?! Who are you calling a harlot, you disease ridden pigeon?!"
Adam looked around for the source of the noise. He was… on a beach? He was at the beach. Straightening up again, he saw Mars, in a pose that he wasn't quite sure fitted him, leaning against a trunk of a palm tree next to him, his figure half disguised in the shadows. Jack was off in the distance, fashioning something in the sand. He couldn't tell what exactly that was, but the little snow sprite seemed hard at work, showing an uncharacteristic degree of focus as he knelt, and Adam decided it was best to leave him to it. As to the origin of the ruckus he had heard…
Two women were arguing violently to his right.
The first, Adam quickly recognised to be Angel; her long blonde hair, voluptuous shape, wings and conspicuous lack of clothing immediately marking her identity to the young faunus instinctively. Interestingly, her feathers seemed to be almost bristling as she jabbed a finger into the chest of the other woman, who smiled like a cat who had just found a flightless canary.
This one sported a long navy blue and white dress that split up the back with a seemingly tattered hem, a noticeable bust, as well as a mixture of purple and gray flesh tones. As Angel grew more frustrated, the other woman flicked her inky black hair, revealing a necklace of golden skulls. On her head lay a grandiose angled headdress of jewels and bars, no doubt to reflect her royal status.
For some reason, its shape reminded him vaguely of a steamtrain's pilot; the armor-like device that typically adorned the front of a locomotive to deflect obstacles on the track. As he mused on that odd thought, he cast his eyes up again to the moon.
It's light blanketed the beach in light that transformed everything it touched. Its unearthly power turned the sand into powdered gemstones and made the ocean a glittering pool. The sight of it all… it awoke something in him. Something familiar. "I know where this is. His bewilderment hardened into a glare. "I know when this is."
"Do you have questions?"
Another figure had joined him, his steps as silent as the grave; Adam hadn't seen or heard him approach.
"What the hell am I doing in Menagerie, and how the hell am I here?"
"This place… it is a place of importance to you. One you associate with particularly strong memories."
Adam frowned as Mars offered him his gauntleted hand.
"The mind works in mysterious ways?"
"Cute."
"Now that you've acquainted yourself, let us approach the matter at hand. The shinobi hath something he wishes to share with us."
The Persona nodded his head towards the shoreline, and following his gaze, Adam finally noticed Hayabusa. The ninja was sitting with his back turned to them, with his legs folded under him. He seemed to be deep in thought. As Adam and Mars approached him, the movement of sand underfoot signaling their approach, he spoke, without turning.
"So you've come."
Adam raised an eyebrow.
"So I have…"
The ninja's tone was blunt, almost cold as he spoke, and Adam got the impression that this was someone who wielded words with the same care as a blade; and only when he felt them necessary.
A trait he could admire, even if it was not one he could find particularly useful at present.
"So….?" Adam started, hoping to press the stoic ninja for an explanation. It did not come.
Instead, from the sand around him pooled masses of black sludge. And from that sludge emerged… a hand!? No. No, it was something different. He watched on as the slime continued to take shape, forming another hand, fingers, followed by an arm. The black slime thing seemed to literally drag itself out of the ground, limb by limb, solidifying with every movement.
When it had finished, the creature now donned a white pleated, sleeveless blouse with a dark blue waistcoat. Its legs were now clad in a pair of white trousers with dark blue garters alongside a pair of gray thigh boots with black detailing around the knees. As he looked on, a pair of black forearm length gloves with gray trimmed cuffs formed around its arms. As the puddle of black ooze finished solidifying, the faunus was once again struck with a bizarre sense of deja vu.
The shadow-like creature looked…familiar.
As it's hands took hold of an ornate cavalry sabre, Adam finally realised just what, or rather who he was looking at.
There was no mistaking that hair, or that haughty arrogance in the way she carried herself.
"This is a mere facsimile drawn from your memory that we have created to train your mind in combat. It would seem of all the opponents you have crossed blades with, this one was the one who impressed you the most. I wonder…"
"Huh? What's that supposed to mean?!"
"Far be it from I to comment on our Dear Master's taste in paramour." Angel approached with a gentle smile, keeping a reasonable distance from the ensuing battle. "I for one, approve. She's far more appealing than the Belladonna vermin that keeps attempting to procure thine affections."
The faunus couldn't help but round on her instinctually.
"Don't even joke about that, damn it!"
"Which part exactly? Belladonna being smitten as a kitten? Or you having some unrequited feelings for the other bossy princess?" Mars cackled, a booming multi-layered noise that reverberated through the ground.
"Have you no shame?"
"You do recall that we are one and the same, are we not?"
He dropped his stance. "So I don't have Schnee on the brain?"
"Fortunately, yes. " His other self nodded, and Adam couldn't help but notice his inner self's amusement at the faunus' panic. "You needn't worry. She is merely a foe to overcome, as always."
"...If you say so."
He tuned out the rest of the conversation. He needed to focus. In his current situation, Adam needed all the advantages he could get. He looked back at his opponent. Something was wrong…. he just couldn't put a finger on what it was. His thoughts were interrupted by his original Persona, who drove the edge of his glaive into the sand as he spoke, gesturing to the conjured
"This battle will serve as a confirmation of a theory of ours. Within this place,as ever, I shall be your partner."
"A theory?" Adam glanced at his inner self. "Care to share?"
"You need only attack. All will be revealed."
"Glynda's clearly started to rub off on you." Adam grumbled, brandishing Wilt with a stylish spin. "But I guess I have some time to kill. Fine. If that's the way you want to play it, Snowball…"
The faunus rushed his opponent with a simple opener; a diagonal downward slash, which was quickly blocked by his foe. Unperturbed, he weaved around her like a clock hand, circling her until he was aiming a slash right at the back of her exposed neck, going for the quickest end to the fight without aiming for the face or legs.
His eyebrows shot up in shock, however, when Winter whipped around and blocked his blow with her own two arms. Adam shuddered as the blow connected, feeling like he had connected with a concrete barricade than flesh. With nary a word. she suddenly pulled back one arm and used it to hit him in the side, sending him staggering backward, air escaping from his lungs in big bursts from the sheer shock of the blow.
The faunus had been hit by a lot of things in his career, from brands, to bricks, bottles, swords, SDC mercenaries, to bullets, and even electrified batons. Among those times, he had once fought leagues of Atlesian Combat Knights, each with strength like a hydraulic press, and defenses made of nigh unbreakable metal.
That blow felt far closer to that than any human he had ever fought.
"She's–" Adam was going to say "not human" but was never given the opportunity, not when the subject of his exclamation was suddenly in his face once more, almost striking him in the midsection without pause. Thankfully, the faunus was nothing if not nimble, even on his worst day, and it took very little for him to use her momentum against her, throwing her over his shoulder with practised ease.
Had she actually hit the ground, he probably would have tried to grab at her extended arm, and used it for leverage, to keep her there but as it was, she had rolled with the fall, so he couldn't very well do that. So, instead, he did the next best thing, and struck out with his feet, aiming for her shins before unsheathing Wilt again in a blinding flash.
The creature brought a gloved hand on the flat edge of her blade, a complete defensive guard. Sparks kicked to life, flying in all directions. The shock on his face must have been somewhat evident; he hadn't been expecting that to be her first course of action.
He withdrew and swung again, and once more her blade was there to meet his.
This was odd. Schnee was far less aggressive than he was expecting. Her style of swordsmanship complemented her volcanic hair trigger temper, and before today Adam could have confidently said that the woman didn't know what a defensive guard was, much less how to employ one; he had abused that shortcoming countless times before.
So why was she so much stronger now, especially since this version had apparently been formed from his own memories?
A poke-deflect. A slice-parry. A macabre pirouette of blades, red and black singing as they fought blow by blow again and again. They clashed for a final time into a fierce deadlock, a huge shockwave exploding from the contact of their blades for just a few seconds as they ground sparks against one another.
"You're better than I remember. Your defense and footwork were lousy when we last fought."
But…
"It's like you're matching me move for.. wait a seco—"
He finally realized what else was so familiar about how she fought.
Counterslash. It was a technique he had developed himself to enhance his swordsmanship. When his opponent blocked an attack, Adam would absorb the energy from the blow back into his blade, before using that momentum to swing in the opposite direction at twice the speed. If they blocked that, he would repeat it, so on, so forth. It was a quick and fool proof way to quickly overwhelm an opponent's defenses, as the faunus's strikes would simply get faster and faster, as their own attempts at defense slowed with every clash. By the time they thought to dodge instead of block, it would be far too late. He would be a hurricane of deadly steel, and in that single moment of their hesitation, he'd have his foe dead to rights.
It was something he had been quite proud of, and more importantly, that could only be made possible through his semblance. Which he no longer had, and worse still, that the Winter copy was now somehow using.
That realization however was enough to put him off guard, just enough time for her to send him tumbling into the sand with a lightning quick blow.
He turned his back on his opponent. "What was that!? "
"Expect the unexpected. Just because something looks familiar does not mean that it is. You know better."
The ninja's rebuke was not unwarranted, but it stung an awful lot more than the glancing wounds he bore as he found his way to his feet. And wasn't that a question; how was he wounded? This was his mind. That didn't make sense. Then again… maybe he was asking for a lot in wanting things to make sense, circumstances presenting.
Still…. going back to the salient point.
How was he supposed to beat her when she was fighting like… well.. him?
It was like putting the wrong glove on your hand, he thought to himself, trying to function with the left one on the right hand. It was almost impossible, like the body was in conflict with the mind, which in this case was evidently true.
"Let my strength be thine. Let my speed guide thy hands.."
"Ok. Let's try this again."
She charged again, this time lowering her blade as he lunged, bringing it down to his side so he could swing it up in a right-to-left diagonal. This time, Adam did parry, his blade moving from up from the lower left to catch Winter's from below, actually adding to the attack's speed and power; combined with a very slight backstep on Adam 's part, and the sabre went up and over, passing harmlessly centimeters away.
Adam responded by swinging his blade up, crossing it in front of his body, and catching Winter's strike in the V-shape they formed. The force of it made his arms tense, and it actually pushed him back slightly, but the improvised guard held.
"Normal fights shouldn't be giving me this trouble… I really do need more training."
He could all but hear the eye roll in Hayabusa's voice as he spoke. "The point isn't what normal people can do. It's what someone can do. Without a semblance, you are working at a marked disadvantage. You need to learn to adapt."
Adam did not spare the energy to nod; he knew the Persona was right. Even still, he made himself ready, planting his feet in the sand.
In the corner of his eye, he saw it. Where his arms had once been, black gauntlets, burning with azure flame.
"Wha—?"
Watching his reflection in Wilt, he could only look on in awe.
His figure was wreathed in ethereal blue flames that consumed his body, his attire shifting from his casual wear into flawless black armour, all succeeding to give off an intimidating aura of power. A flowing black cape with a red interior lining sprouted from his shoulders as the flames reached his neck, blowing in the gentle breeze. Adam dropped his weapon in shock.
The azure flames seemed to sprout from his body even as he tripped backwards into the sand and out of the blaze, the heat not so much as even singing his form.
The familiar blue eyed head of a scarlet bull stared back at him.
"Mars?"
"Perhaps I spoke too soon.." The ninja remarked examining his form with a critical eye. "It seems you have realised the purpose of this exercise already."
The note of approval did not go unnoticed by Adam, but he had his own concerns as he staggered forward a couple of steps, driving his blade into the coarse sand before he could catch himself.
"What is this? What are we?" His anxiety rose as spoke in his voice
"I am thou, remember? ''Tis more than mere words, than a simple contract. T'is the truth, in all its myriad forms. You are me and I am you."
"Are we stuck like this?"
"I do not think so, Master. Aura is needed to summon myself and the others. It stands to reason that when it runs its course, so to will our physical union."
"But how are we using Aura in our head? In my head?"
"…I know not."
"What do you mean, you don't know?! This entire thing was your idea!"
"Well, technically Master—"
"Not. Helping."
"Glynda called you; Personas, masks, didn't she? So let's call this little trick of ours…Masquerade."
"A fitting nomenclature. if a little lacking in style. Now then. Will you test our newfound strength on our foe?"
The Winter shade had remained silent and still, calmly observing Adam's freak out, but at this, she struck, covering the distance in a flash and lashing out at his armored torso
Things continued in that vein for several minutes, with the Schnee fake using powerful but largely improvised attacks, and Adam using a mix of speed, Persona-enhanced strength, the general unpredictability of his style, and Winter's own lack of subtlety to just about control the flow of battle. On balance, as Adam had observed in several previous battles with her, Winter seemed to wield a sword more in the manner of a sharpened baton than a precision instrument, particularly when one got under her skin enough.
'It always seemed to work for her… ' Adam had to admit, after nearly having his own guard broken several times. Speed was his strong point, but she could put a lot of strength into her blows when properly motivated. The problem, he thought, was that she seemed unconcerned about defence, and had no sense of subtlety at all; she could think on her feet, but she telegraphed every move she made.
Taking a breath, he spat a fireball from his mouth at high velocity, satisfied to see it collide with flesh as the Winter doppelgänger stumbled. Against Grimm, being "subtle" usually didn't matter. If he ever had to fight a person again, though — an inevitable fact really— it was going to give him problems, and the glaring holes in his offence that losing his semblance had cost him were an issue in any kind of fight, even against " Shadows".
The same kind of thinking that made him who he was. Beat the other guy before he beats you… There was some measure of practicality in the idea, but taking it to the excesses he usually did left him open against the ones he wasn't attacking, and sometimes blinded him to their presence entirely.
The next few seconds were a complete blur, Adam frantically blocking and parrying a series of blindingly fast attacks that Winter launched without hesitation or mercy. The assault was dedicated, powerful, and faster than any normal human being Adam had ever met; were he not accustomed to fighting things more than human, he didn't think he'd have lasted ten seconds. Only his experience kept him even in the same league. A tiny flaw in one of the shade's attacks, an angle just slightly off, gave Adam the chance to shove back, staggering the other just slightly. He used the minute opening to force Winter's sword to one side, and draw his own blade to strike again. Use what you know— Winter whirled, seeming to anticipate Adam 's movement, and swatted the latter's blade aside before it could get anywhere near the right flank Adam had been aiming for.
He had the distinct impression of the Winter-fake actually being amused—right before she recovered just slightly faster than he could, and brought her sword down firmly on Adam 's left shoulder. He wasn't sure which stung more, the pain that would fade in a few hours anyway, if it was even real, or the blow to his pride. Bringing his blade down and to his right, he moved his left foot forward one step, and pushed off.
The resulting rush was half-run, half low-leap. True to Winter's stance, she actually attempted to draw, but Adam 's low stance slipped right beneath it. When his foot touched the ground, just past Winter's attack, Adam turned on it, swinging Wilt up to catch Winter in the small of the back. Completely unbalanced by her own attack and the inertia imparted by the blow right above her backside, Winter stumbled forward, collapsed to her knees, and fell flat on her face.
"Begone."
As Adam cast forth his armored hand, the very air suddenly seemed to crackle with energy…and then a massive and unstoppable cascade of mighty blue flames suddenly tore into existence, positively drowning the entire battlefield in front of them with a deluge of eldritch power. The firestorm consumed the writhing black mass as a squeal escaped its distorted mouth before it erupted into a thick ashen paste.
"Game set, match." Adam suggested with a smile. Straightening up, he lightly flipped his grip on Wilt, set it point-first in the sand, leaning on the katana with a cocky grin.
He looked down to where the shadow was… dissolving?
All that was left from the creature was a slowly spreading pile of black goop. The white Grimm mask that Adam had slashed through seemed to be melting into the edge of the goo. It created oozing red streaks throughout the confusing mess in front of him.
"Well done."
His arm too had returned to normal, and Adam couldn't help but look down at it in relief as he checked his pulse and fingers, ensuring that all was as it should be.
"It would seem our fusion did not last as long as we hoped…"
Adam woke up with panicked gasps, blinking hard, clutching at the fabric under his fingers, disoriented. His heart was beating uncontrollably fast, and he was bathed in sweat, eyes wide.
He needed several seconds to realize that he was alone. He was lying on his couch again , grasping his cushions, the rays of a crescent moon shining shyly through the window. A look at his alarm clock, naturally told him nothing. It seemed like he'd slept long enough for the battery to have gone out. He didn't realise how much he was sweating, how fast the adrenaline was pumping through his system. He did not realise until then how hot he was, despite the cool air circulating in the room.
With a hard exhale, Adam flopped back against the headrest of his couch and stared up to the ceiling. He could almost pretend as if everything had been just a dream.
Almost.
However, he felt … different. Fundamentally different. Before waking to a new persona, Adam had seen the world around himself like underwater, it seemed to him. Basking in the afterglow of Masquerade, he felt like he emerged from a long period of walking, thinking, and watching the world around himself through a blurry lens. Now he had found a new sense of clarity.
Adam put his left hand on his chest over where his heart, noting with relief it was starting to beat at a normal pace again.
"I've been spaced out for three whole hours?!"
"It would seem that way."
His scroll lit up under his palm and squinting, he raised it above his head to see his screen awash with notifications.
The ones from Blake he deleted right away. They were a daily nuisance and they were mostly the typical ones about where he was, and why he'd disappeared. "If I wanted you to know that, you stupid girl, I wouldn't have ditched you." He thought irritably, as he rid himself of the final few without even reading them. Surprisingly there were a few new ones from Pyrrha, and even some missed calls. He still couldn't see why a human would want to get in touch with him that badly. It wasn't as though they were friends.
Even so, he couldn't help but feel a a little guilt about the whole thing.
Still holding the scroll, he swung his legs over before rolling onto his feet.
No further messages appeared to be forthcoming. Adam stood at the window and looked down at his scroll until the screen went black, reflecting his own face. The last vestiges of the rainstorm ran down his window, silver drops in the darkness that grew fatter with every descent.
He reached out with his finger and pressed it against one.
"So how was it?"
"How was what?" Adam asked, not even bothering looking at the bull headed Persona that had materialised in his reflection, turning away and walking across the room.
"Seeing her again."
The faunus scowled. "The same as always. Exhausting." He paused. "But you already knew that."
The gentle chuckling of his other half was as irritating as he expected it to be.
"But you used to be such good friends…"
"That was a long time ago. People change."
"You and I both know that isn't true."
"Well then, maybe I didn't see her for what she was then!" Adam snapped tersely. Mars, perhaps wisely, fell silent, choosing instead to meet his eyes in a solemn unflinching stare in the glass. He raised his other arm, the blade rising with it, an extension of his body. With effortless poise, a lifetime of holding, becoming, the weapon, he held it out level in front of him, as his Persona's blazing eyes locked with his own. Adam's eyes narrowed to slits.
Mood thoroughly fouled, he twirled Wilt in his hand, turning away from his window as he made his way towards the kitchen.
He wasn't sure what it was about training in his own psyche but he had apparently worked up a fierce appetite.
He could think about how annoying his Shadow was when he'd eaten.
"You don't deserve this life. So I'm taking it away from you."
Shadow…
His hand stopped halfway to the fridge.
Adam's own Shadow had tried to kill him. It was how he had awakened Mars. He had accepted the darker aspects of his psyche, and had come out stronger for it. But not everyone had that kind of strength. In his experience, people were generally weak of will, taking whatever path their indolence desired, wanting to think themselves 'good' while blindly ignoring the legion of hypocrisies and little evils they committed or were directly complicit in in their day to day lives.
What was that saying? No snowflake in an avalanche ever felt responsible?
But what if his own awakening hadn't been an isolated incident?
What if…. What if…. Their Shadows had succeeded where his own had failed? It would explain everything. The seemingly random timings of the deaths, the sheer scale, the fact that it was seemingly affecting all people from different walks of life… Everything. "The darker aspects of the psyche that all mortals had…"
He had no proof of it, at least nothing concrete, but the more he considered the idea, the revelation, the more it began to make sense. A strong acidic tang began to build in the back of his throat, as nausea began to overwhelm him. Cold anxiety weakened his knees and clutched at his heart; he gripped at the counter in an attempt to support himself, mentally grasping at the sheer enormity of his epiphany. A single Shadow had nearly killed him. Even with all his strength, all his newfound power, he had ultimately survived through pure luck.
How could one man possibly fight the Shadows of the entire world? Alone, no less?
How could anyone?
Suddenly, he wasn't much in the mood for dinner.
Something began to ring. He jumped, stumping his leg against the counter. The ringing sound was coming from his jacket pocket. He hurriedly took it out, looking down at the screen.
"Huh?"
He pressed the 'call' button and put the scroll to his ear, answering firmly.
"Speak."
"Oh, hi. It's me."
He heard laughter on the other end. The voice was bright, strong and flamboyant.
Nikos.
"Is this a bad time? Is something wrong?"
The genuine concern took him off guard, so much so that he almost forgot the terror of the past few seconds. Almost. "Oh, nothing really… Just…working." It took all of his strength to respond; his hands were shaking even as he held the device. His grip tightened as he tried to force himself to relax; any tighter and there was a good chance he might shatter the flimsy piece of plastic. "So… What are you calling about?"
"I was just wondering…. If you wanted to hang out tomorrow afternoon? I have some free time on my hands and—"
She seemed nervous. Despite himself, Adam felt a smile start to tug at the corner of his mouth.
"I'm flattered, but I think I know a sting operation when I hear one, Nikos."
"What? No no, that's not—"
He leaned his back against the doorknob, stifling a chuckle. She was so easy to rile. Though there was a part of him that was naturally mistrusting; he hadn't reached his rank in the White Fang by taking them at their word, after all, he was confident that he could deal with matters if this did turn out to be a trap. Besides, now that he thought about it, it was a pretty lazy attempt at bait. He wasn't one to give humans credit for their intelligence, but Nikos had already proven that she was far smarter than most of her kind. She would never be so blasé about an attempt to capture him. At least, that's what his intuition told him.
She was still stringing apologies and denials together when he finally answered, unable to keep the mirth out of his voice any longer. "I do have some errands to run tomorrow, but I should be free by the afternoon. Did you have something in mind?"
He could hear, if not see the pout in her voice when she realised he was poking fun at her.
"Well, now I don't want to tell you..."
Adam rolled his eyes, pacing across the room. "A surprise, then? Colour me intrigued."
"You should be." She admonished, though the jest in her tone was obvious even to him. The faunus would have quipped in turn, but she cut him off. "So…how about the place we met last time? Say around three o'clock?"
Adam considered it for a moment. The place she had in mind was out of the way, and one he knew well. More importantly, it was one he could safely move unnoticed in; it wouldn't do for some particularly sharp eyed soldier or Atlesian Knight to identify him in public. All the same, the mite of caution that had been sitting uneasily at the back of his skull was almost enough to make him say no… until he remembered that damned book, and that irritating blonde's final words.
"Bonds, huh?"
Adam sighed.
Like it or not, he needed her. He wasn't sure how exactly interacting, or rather, bonding with her would make him more powerful, but given what he had theorised of the sheer scope of his enemy, he had to claim all the power he could get. It wasn't even about liking or disliking her, he reasoned. She was critical to his mission. The White Fang Major in him agreed. It wasn't as if he had never worked with humans before, having made use of various sympathisers to the cause as intermediaries on several operations. While this wasn't technically for the White Fang, the present stakes were too high for the faunus to see his association with Nikos as being any different.
Realising with embarrassment, and a small degree of annoyance that he hadn't actually answered Pyrrha yet, he slumped, leaning against the door behind him. Unfortunately, as was typical for his luck, that too turned out to be a mistake.
The moment his weight met the seemingly solid surface, he felt something give way. Deprived of his balance, he crumpled to the floor, his body hitting the ground with a thud, and his scroll sprawling out of his hand. Scrambling to his feet, he grabbed the device and raised it to his ear again.
"Nikos?"
[This number is unavailable. Please try again…try again—try agai—]
Adam hissed as a burst of white noise bellowed from the scroll's speakers, ringing his sensitive ears.
"Of all time for the damn signal to cut out…"
Dusting himself off, he slowly picked himself off the floor before readjusting his cloth eyepatch. Annoying. He'd have to call Nikos back later when the CCT tower decided it felt like working again. He stared at his scroll for a moment, a part of that old paranoia wondering if perhaps what had just happened had been an intentional act. Atlas was in town in force, and they'd certainly have enough reasons to want to sabotage his communications. Had he been careless? Was there a strike team racing up the stairwell to him at that very second?
Cursing to himself, he readied Wilt and Blush before taking position behind cover. "You trained for this, Taurus…." He'd dealt with strike teams before. Standard Atlesian procedure called for a six man team at a minimum, possibly with Knight backup, assuming they knew who they were dealing with. Adam smiled. That would be a first. Their best had never been a match for him, and with his new abilities, they would stand even less of a chance than before. As he listened for their footsteps on the stairway, he could feel Mars broiling anticipation for the coming battle.
Though, when Adam strained his senses to identify their approach, he heard…. something else.
It was almost like an auditory white noise, drowning any sound outside of the room. As much as he hated to admit it, he had to give the Atlesians credit, they'd come prepared.
But…. wait.
Even if the Atlesians had the foresight to create an audio dead zone somehow, that shouldn't have affected his enhanced sense of smell. And yet he couldn't pick up anything that would accompany an immediate assault. None of the acrid burning scent of spent Dust Crystals, no fresh gun oil, no iron. Not even the ever detestable smell of human sweat. Instead, what he could smell was….salt? Something was wrong. His Personae felt it too, a series of emotions only partially his own rippling across his body. It was then that Adam noticed just how dark the room had gotten, and how the shadows on the walls had begun to ripple unnaturally.
Almost as if….
And then he made the mistake of turning around.
He blinked. Once. Twice.
Before tearing out of the apartment and into the stairway as if the hounds of hell were on his heels.
He took the stairs up to the roof three at a time, holstering his weapons as he ran. His feet splashed in shallow water with every step, and as he got higher, the beating of rain on concrete grew louder and louder. With every step his heart plummeted, praying that what he had seen wasn't real. When he reached the door to the rooftop access, he didn't bother slowing down, instead shoulder checking the door with all his might as he sprawled out into the open air.
Dark clouds were covering every last ray of light, and thunder snapped through the dense air. Rain poured down furiously, immediately dousing him to his skin.
"What the...?"
The city of Vale was gone.
A blood red ocean, tinged in the light of an eternal dawn stretched on as far as the eye could see. Perhaps more shocking, were the drowning heads of wrecked and tilting buildings, familiar landmarks long since buried in a watery grave. A loud and echoing rumble resounded through the air, rattling the window panes, and looking to the distance, Adam could only watch as an entire complex sank into the sea with an almighty crash, sending large chunks of debris and shattered glass flying into the waters below. The streets below were enshrouded in water, and despite its appearance, he couldn't see a thing beyond its depths. As he watched, a school bus sailed past at just under eye level, and what looked like a Lisa Lavender billboard, but more disturbingly, he could only see the top of the sign. A street lamp, borne aloft by the broiling tide, sank beneath the waves, pulled under by what could only be a ferocious set of currents.
The strong currents were enough to shake the building beneath his feet, creating a huge wave in every direction as it took to the edge of its breaking.
But all of that was nothing compared to the distant screams ringing through the open air. Or the corpses.
Adam couldn't say he recognized them— certainly not from this distance, and he doubted it would particularly matter, given their condition. They had clearly been at the ocean's mercy for a while—clothing reduced to strips of cloth, their flesh worn smooth and sloughing away into the waters. Their waterlogged and bloated flesh protruded from the waters, faces rendered into silent rictuses of agony.
Speech failed him as he watched the horrific vision unfold before his eyes.
If there had been any doubt before, it had been firmly and brutally made clear to him now. Adam Taurus was thoroughly out of his depth.