Time is relative; the older you are, the faster it passes, leaving you with only key memories, the pivotal events that shape your present.
That's why I find myself kneeling in front of a small wooden shrine under a yet-to-bloom cherry blossom tree in the garden of my home. Despite not yet blooming, it maintains a serene beauty, a perfect place to find solace in this fucked up world.
I find myself overwhelmed with memories of the past, flashes of my younger self attempting to climb a tree, failing spectacularly as my feet slipped. But before I could plummet to the ground, Kali intervened and caught me just in time. Then Blake showed me the proper technique to scale the tree without falling.
i lift my gaze, observing the vast expanse of the blue sky, and momentarily close my eyes, attempting to dig more memories from my past.
I hadn't allowed myself to dwell on these recollections before. It wasn't the right time or place, and I didn't feel ready. Yet, there's no safer or better place than home to confront these memories once and for all, to calm the turmoil within me.
The memories of my younger days are crystal clear: born in a mine and forced to work there for years. I was too small to mine, but just the right size to crawl through tunnels, scraping my knees and elbows every single day, transporting something, I couldn't even remember what was that important that needed to move every single day, I just knew that thing needed to be transported from one tunnel to another tunnel somewhere deep inside.
It begs the question: why would those bastards, or this world in general, resort to manual labor when we have fully functioning robots and big automated machines that could work more efficiently?
And this answer is simple. It lies in the fact that those machines were already operating at full capacity. Manual labor was their way of earning extra, exploiting small veins with lesser yield while leaving the machines to handle the bigger and richer deposits.
Yet, most hauntingly, there was that fateful day when I was branded, the phantom pain still haunted the exact spot on my face as if it never healed. I can't recall why I was pinned down and branded by that bastard; they turned it into a grotesque public event for everyone to witness in all its bastardized glory.
All to send a fucking message.
And nobody did a damn thing.
Everyone seemed content to watch, relieved that it was a child suffering instead of themselves, observing in morbid silence as a kid cried and screamed before them.
And did nothing after I was thrown down inside a hole and left to die.
Pitch darkness and silence.
Until a light pierced from above, accompanied by a comforting voice reaching out to me. Despite the gnawing hunger and my weakened state that day, something deep within me stirred, compelling me to reach for that outstretched, big hand.
A hand that belonged to Ghira Belladonna, the revered leader of the White Fang Coalition and Chieftain of Menagerie.
My eyes snapped open, fixating on the picture of my adoptive father, his towering figure radiating pride as he smiled at the camera.
That very same smile when I successfully captured a fish for the first time.
That same smile as he witnessed my success cutting through the training dummy with my semblance for the first time.
The identical smile when I joined the White Fang.
The same smile when Blake and I revealed our relationship.
My hands, now clenched into tight fists, forced my gaze downward, fixating once more on my prosthetic arm.
That artificial hand trembled, an echo of my roiling stomach and the tension in my jaw as I fought to contain the tumult of emotions surging within me.
His last gift.
The memory lingers vividly in my mind, etched as clear as day, humans planting bombs with the intention of killing us all. Ghira, at the forefront, leading talks to mend relations, seeking collaboration with Vale; the least divisive and most open-minded among the kingdoms. Discussions swirled around options, aspirations, the prospect of a brighter, unified future.
A fucking better future.
A future that crumbled to dust in the wake of a Human Terrorist Organization. Their vicious strike aimed squarely at Ghira, leaving him battered but alive. Yet, the Vale Delegation, those sympathetic to our cause—gone, swallowed by the explosions.
If it hadn't been for me, wrestling with a cyberpsycho rigged with explosives, Ghira would have fallen victim too. The detonation cost me my entire arm, leaving amputation as the only option left.
Months passed in a coma, Ghira pulling every string, leveraging his contacts, wealth, and even stooping to pleading just to preserve my life and secure a cyberware, a discrete model, unnoticeable as a normal limb. But given who we were, obtaining it was nigh impossible. Despite his extensive influence, Ghira could only secure a shoddy, outdated model, at least four decades behind current technology.
Faunus has barely any access to cybernetics, while humans can get all the upgrades they want. That's why almost all cyber psychos are humans because we simply cannot afford them, or are denied them.
But his gift, I appreciate it a lot.
I wasn't there, couldn't be there when he needed me most.
Ghira Belladonna, my adoptive father, was killed by the same Terrorist Organization months later while I was still recovering.
And I made sure to exterminate every single one of them.
KILL. KILL. KILL!
"Adam?"
The voice jolts me out of my reverie. I rise slowly, turning to find Kali approaching, but she halts abruptly upon glimpsing my grim expression, an expression I quickly suppress, releasing a weary sigh to dispel the mounting negativity within me.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." I apologize, forcing a smile before taking notice of the tea she's set on a nearby wooden table. Moving fast, I reach for a teacup and take a sip, the heat of the drink brushing my lips, causing me to recoil in pain, a reflex that prompts a brief chuckle from Kali as she settles into a chair.
"Tea is best enjoyed slowly, dear. Take a moment," Kali encourages, gesturing to a wooden chair nearby.
I comply, settling into the seat across from her. Once seated, I fixate on the cup and its contents, even peering at my reflection in the tea. For some reason, I find a semblance of solace in observing my own reflection distorting with each ripple, allowing time to drift by.
Minutes trickle away, the quiet ambiance punctuated only by the delicate clinking of porcelain as I slowly swirl the tea in my cup, lost in my own thoughts.
"Adam, what…"
"Don't you hate me?" I abruptly interject, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
Kali's eyes widen slightly, taken aback by my question. She pauses, gathering her thoughts before responding. "What? No never, I could never hate you, Adam."
I shake my head, unable to meet her gaze. "It's just that…"
Her hand gently finds its way atop mine, a reassuring touch. "Adam, I understand," she assures me, making me raise my eyes to meet her amber gaze, witnessing a sad smile etched on her face. "I just wish things hadn't escalated to this point. I should have done something."
A surge of memories floods in, a haunting hand extended to aid me in fulfilling my lust for just revenge, an offer I eagerly embraced.
"Don't blame yourself. You were grieving."
"We were all grieving," she murmurs, closing her eyes briefly. "I isolated myself, neglected everyone. How can I not bear responsibility when I failed everyone at the moment I was most needed?"
Ghira's death dealt the most devastating blow to the faunus in Remnant. I despise having to contrast my adoptive father's decisive actions with the hollow figurehead that now occupies my memories. Ghira was a man of action, unlike the incompetent idiot in my head who merely spouted moralistic bullshit and did nothing.
Blake understands this. His passing shook her to the core, yet despite the grief and reasons to fight one, why would she turn her back on the cause, on us...
On me?
I would have preferred or maybe even understood if she returned home or something else not…THAT.
My thoughts are abruptly interrupted as the pressure of her hand around mine tightens, surprising me with the force she exerts.
"Is B-Blake…" Her voice falters.
"Alive, she… just left," I respond, omitting the harsh truth for now.
Her grip relaxes slightly, but the tension in Kali's expression persists, a mix of concern and unease evident in her eyes. "Can… Can you tell me what happened? I saw the news. There isn't anyone in Remnant who hasn't seen or heard about them."
My expression tenses, aware that this question was inevitable to come up but wishing it hadn't been brought just yet.
"I will," I reply firmly, carefully choosing my words. "But I want everyone present when I explain it to you."
"Everyone?" Her ears perk up.
"Ilia is back at the port," I inform her.
Relief momentarily washes over Kali's features, but it swiftly fades as she looks at me with a conflicted expression. "Only Ilia is back?"
A somber nod is my response. "Yes, she and I are all that is left."
Shock overtakes Kali; her eyes widen as she instinctively covers her mouth with a trembling hand. "Adam, I'm so sorry."
I shake my head firmly. "Don't blame yourself. None of that was your fault."
The quiet that ensues allows me to take a prolonged sip of tea, relishing its flavor, moistening my dry lips. As I drink, I unlock my phone's system, allowing incoming signals. I didn't want to be interrupted with my adoptive mother's reunion, something very important.
But a promise is a promise, and I need to call Ilia. Yet, as I prepare to make the call, my vision floods with missed calls and urgent text messages, prompting me to halt mid-sip and carefully place the cup back on the table before rising to my feet.
"Is something wrong?" Kali's concern laces her words.
Raising my hand to gesture to her to stay behind, I move to a distance where our conversation won't be overheard, answering Ilia's desperate attempts to reach me. Her tone in her messages carries a hint of urgency, indicating she must have stumbled upon crucial information.
"Adam?! Thank god!"
"What happened?"
"Carnivores Adam! There are Carnivores here!"
Carnivores?
That's what I initially wanted to ask, but I quickly grasp the severity of Ilia's words, a heavy weight crashing upon me, causing my heart to skip a beat. However, I swiftly regain composure, relying on my company's defenses to restore clarity of mind to act accordingly.
"Come quick and explain everything you know." I instruct, concluding the call. Turning back toward Kali, her worried expression mirrored my own concern.
"Adam, what is happening?"
"Kali…" I pause, gathering my thoughts. "Did you know that Sienna has brought Carnivores to Menagerie?"
"SHE DID WHAT?!" She rises abruptly, slamming her hands onto the table, the force causing drinks to spill in all directions.
"I guessed as much." I exhale heavily, my hand finding its way to my forehead.
"Ghira exiled them, forbade them from ever setting foot here. She knows this!" Kali's shock morphs into indignation, a justified anger that resonates with my own sentiments.
"Situations change," I interject, attempting to reason through the chaos. "She probably thought to use them to maintain control over Menagerie or face the brink of civil war." The gamble Sienna took, however, is far too dangerous, a powder keg primed to detonate at any moment.
"Adam," Kali's tone shifts, her voice adopting a gravely serious edge. "You understand what will happen if ANY of the kingdoms catch wind that the White Fang is associating with Carnivores."
I draw an invisible line across my neck. "Extermination."
I cross my arms, thinking deeper into the precarious situation at hand.
"The kingdoms couldn't care less about Menagerie or its inhabitants," I say bitterly. "To them, it's just a forgotten corner of the world. But if news ever spread that we're harboring and fraternizing with Carnivores, all kingdoms would unite momentarily to eradicate that threat forever."
"The populace would actively support such a move," Kali adds, her voice carrying a weight of resigned acknowledgement.
Ghira foresaw this danger from the outset, attempting to prevent it by even contemplating and even drawing plans to the genocide of the Carnivore tribes that attempted to align with the White Fang coalition. They are a product of their environment, isolated savages shaped by the many dangers of this death world, breeding fierce warriors.
Psychopathic warriors, but strong warriors nonetheless.
And…
Atlas has their own army of drugged-up, augmented psychopaths under their belt. Why shouldn't we have our own unit of augmented psychopaths?
I pause and shake my head, putting all those thoughts away.
The matter concerning them will be addressed in due time, either by executing Ghira's original plan or by finding a means to exert control over each one of them. The stamp is useless in that regard. Loyalty doesn't mean obedience, which is what I need.
Yet I still need to address the immediate problem with carnivores in Menagerie, which begs the question, how did they come into the island without Kali's knowledge?
She, the regent if not the chieftainess of Menagerie, should have been consulted, or at least informed, by Sienna regarding her intentions of this magnitude instead of acting on her own. That's how critical matters are typically handled.
A troubling realization dawns on me, as the little details start connecting.
"Kali, I need you to be honest with me." I look directly into her amber eyes, taking one step closer. "Are you still the leader of Menagerie?"
Her reaction is telling. She flinches, taking a step back involuntarily, a gesture that furrows my brow with concern.
Kali's gaze falls, her ears drooping low. "In name only. Sienna tried to maintain my position for as long as she could, but when talks of secession arose, she had to yield."
Her revelation adds yet another burden on my already heavy shoulders, attempting to drag me down. But the raging anger within me pushes back against the weight.
"How long?" I grind out through clenched teeth.
Silence hangs in the air, Kali's conflicted expression speaking volumes.
"Kali, how long?" I press further.
"...a year ago," she finally admits, her voice barely audible.
"A year?!" I hiss, the fury simmering within me, threatening to erupt. "Why was I never informed about this?!"
Strangely, despite the seething anger brewing within, I manage to rein it in, taking a deep breath to clear my mind. The company defenses prove to be the saving grace, redirecting my focus before they spiral out of control.
"The White Fang doesn't respect Sienna, do they?" I ask, rubbing my temples to ease the building tension.
My adoptive mother responds with a resigned sigh, shaking her head. "No, they never did. Whenever she attempted to garner favor from one faction or extend support, rival factions would intervene. Maintaining the delicate balance, as Ghira did, was impossible. Sienna eventually ceased trying to appease all and sided entirely with one faction."
Her actions shattered the fragile equilibrium she had struggled to maintain. If they threatened and took my mother's rightful position, what was to stop them from demanding Sienna to step down as well?
No one willingly follows a leader they don't respect.
This left Sienna with no choice but to exert force to command obedience. Yet, with scant support, her influence was feeble against the entire coalition. It compelled her to seek aid from the Carnivores, coercing hostile factions to back down.
Yet it still is a terrible decision because as soon as everyone realizes who she allied with and the implications that brought, it could turn into a bloodbath very fast. And that is, without taking into consideration what Sienna might have promised or conceded to the tribes to get their help.
I can't help but sigh once more.
What a big fucking mess of politics.
Suddenly, a sound behind me causes me to whirl around, instinctively reaching for Wilt.
It's just paranoia, I remind myself, easing my stance as I realize it's Ilia who has finally arrived. Yet, she appears fatigued, dropping to one knee.
Rushing to her side, I assist her in standing. "Are you alright?"
Ilia looks up, nodding to assure me of her condition. But before she can utter a word, she's gently pulled from my grasp, and Kali envelops my friend in a warm embrace.
"I'm so glad to see you alive and well, Ilia," Kali murmurs, holding her close.
Ilia reciprocates the embrace, and they remain connected for a few moments longer. I respect their moment, refraining from interrupting this reunion, a smile slowly tugging the corner of my lips.
"I-I'm glad to see you too," Ilia responds, a gentle smile gracing her features before she gently breaks away from my adoptive mother's embrace.
"What else did you learn?" I ask my friend, redirecting her focus back to the matter at hand.
Ilia's smile fades, replaced by a grave expression. "Lady Khan is currently at a meeting with a representative from the tribes."
Her revelation furrows my brow. A meeting like that would inevitably expose the Carnivores to the rest of the White Fang. Yet, the absence of uproar within the city makes me suspicious.
I know some leaders were absolutely disgusted by the Carnivores. The extremes were full on board with their extermination.
Unless... unless the White Fang has somehow been convinced that integrating the Carnivores into our ranks is a viable solution to the main problem, or they are desperate enough to salvage everything.
It doesn't set a good precedent.
"Then we have our objective," I declare, casting a gaze toward the direction where the meeting is presumed to take place.
"Wait, you are going..." Kali's voice trails off, her expression conflicted. "Right now?"
"We have to. The longer we stay put, the worse our problem becomes."
Ilia nods in agreement, her gaze fixed with determination.
The ex-chiefess of Menagerie starts to voice her concerns but bites her lip, a cloud of worry descending upon her. Her furrowed brow speaks volumes, revealing the weight of her unspoken fears. She exhales heavily; the air laced with apprehension, before finally giving me a slow nod, though a hint of uncertainty lingers in her eyes.
"I won't do anything drastic, I promise." I try to reassure her, to let her know that things will be different this time.
A fleeting, albeit grateful, smile tugs at her lips. "Thank you."
Feeling uncertain at first, I gather my resolve and stride toward Kali, enveloping her in a hug. There's a palpable need within me to feel this connection again, a yearning for the comfort of familiarity that I've missed. Perhaps later, when most of this mess is over, we can truly sit down and catch up on everything that has happened so far.
"I'll be back soon," I murmur, sounding as sincere as possible in my voice as I pull away, meeting her gaze.
Kali nods and exchanges glances with us. "Take care, both of you."
Without wasting another moment, I sprint toward the walls, propelling myself over and landing on the other side without much issue. Ilia swiftly follows suit, landing beside me.
"Let's go." I gesture with my head. We have a meeting to crash.
"Adam, wait!" Ilia's urgent shouts halt my feet, making me look over my shoulder as confusion clouds my expression.
"What's wrong?"
"You don't have your disguise!" Ilia points out, her concern evident. I glance down and notice I'm still clad in the obnoxious, ugly clothes, but with the only difference being that the helmet is missing.
Everyone would see my identity.
Raising my gaze to the sky, I contemplate our predicament. Yet, the solution strikes me fast, and without a second thought, I peel off the ugly jacket, crumple it into a ball, and toss it away. "It doesn't matter anymore."
With the situation we are in, I cannot hide anymore. But at least the initial anonymity gave me an advantage, as nobody will be expecting my arrival.
"But…Okay, let's go." She nods, revealing a determined look on her, making me smirk.
Picking up pace, we dart across the streets before transitioning to leaping over the roofs of sturdier buildings. This decision not only cuts the distance but also hopefully averts curious gazes. The streets below are mostly deserted, though; the people are gathered at the port, practically on the other side of the city.
However, not every soul is congregated at the port. As we rush past, idle faunus mill about, engaged in trivial activities or sketching aimless circles on the road. Yet they barely notice us running past them.
Which is a good thing.
Minutes slip by, and we arrive at the city's outskirts, where my vision is momentarily obstructed by the map, displaying the remaining distance.
The distance to the Headquarters is markedly diminished, requiring us only to traverse the desert—a striking contrast to the lush jungle we leave behind. It serves as a stark reminder of the island's limitations and Menagerie's constrained prospects for development.
Perhaps hidden within the vast deserts lie untapped mineral veins or other non-renewable resources, offering new opportunities for Menagerie's growth and development. But that prospect is a matter for another time; our current priority is reaching the meeting.
We press on, continuing our sprint forward through the desolate landscape.
The heat is not affecting us thanks to our aura, which is another thing that is strange with the rules set for this world. Aura is always a convenient Deus Ex Machina, but I am glad of such lax rules as crossing a hot dry desert is a walk in the park.
Checking the map again, I realize we're nearing the base, meaning we will soon stumble into White Fang members patrolling the area, making me raise my hand and signal Ilia to stop.
"I need you to charge me."
"What?"
"Charge your weapon with lightning dust and attack me." I reaffirm my order, but seeing her conflicted expression, I need to add one more thing. "Trust me."
Despite lingering doubts, she eventually nods and swiftly detaches her weapon from her belt, deftly loading it with some dust ammunition into her whip.
Stepping back a couple of paces, I give her the space she needs.
In no time, she activates her mechashift weapon, and crackling electricity envelops it, adding a lethal edge.
But not to me.
As she strikes, aiming directly for my chest, memories of our first encounter in Mountain Glenn flood back. Reacting accordingly, I maneuver my cybernetic arm to intercept her whip, ensnaring it in a vice-like grip. I absorb the powerful electrical surge, channeling its power.
Clamping down on my instincts, I resist and stop my semblance from acting up so the new energy surge remains intact, storing it within like a charged battery.
Releasing a sigh, I adjust my stance, allowing my body to relax momentarily and release my grip on her whip. "It'll have to do. Thank you."
The main base soon emerges on the horizon, the watchtowers with sentinels standing guard being the first visible sprawling compound sprawled before us, and the occasional patrols crossing our sight.
Although briefly since they patrol on motorcycles.
Yet, a momentary pause grips me as the number of patrols seems greater than usual, a sign that they're on higher alert than ever. And that could only be because of the important meeting taking place.
So we are still on time.
I roll my neck and take a deep breath before I move forward, with my chin up and hardened resolve as there is no turning back from this point.
With my childhood friend right behind me, we cross the perimeter and head straight to the main road that leads to the main entrance.
My entrance won't be subtle, but it won't be loud either.
And the effects are immediate as the sentinels stationed on the watchtowers spot us as soon as we step inside the perimeter and the patrols rush towards us, yet when they block our path they soon stop and remove their helmets as they realize who they are blocking.
Not a word is spoken as they silently retreat, clearing the road for us.
A smirk tugs at my lips as I effortlessly assert my implicit power over the White Fang. Restoring order shouldn't pose much of a challenge once I assume the mantle.
However, my priority lies in reaching Sienna before taking control.
That proves to be a swift endeavor, as nobody dares oppose us, which, in itself, becomes a problem. Why don't they attempt to stop or question us? After all, doppelgänger or illusion semblances are a thing. We could be enemies in disguise, yet they place too much faith in my image. Or maybe there is something else at play?
Just another issue to add to my growing list of reforms.
Approaching the doors of the main building where everyone should be gathered, a sizable audience watches our every move, prompting an exasperated roll of my eyes. They shouldn't neglect their duties just because they are too curious for their own good.
I raise my hand and signal them to leave. Which the majority does as told, but few still look at me with shock, watching a ghost's expression on their faces.
Their reactions stop being important as I push open the double doors, stepping into the headquarters. The reception hall comes into view, where those guarding or working stop their activities, turning to regard us with the same stunned expressions as the patrols moments before. A lizard faunus even drops her cup, shattering it upon the floor and spilling its contents everywhere.
I pay no heed to their reactions or what they might say, striding past them and the reception desk toward the main hallway leading to the War Room. Because that's where Sienna should be, along with the other White Fang leaders and, more important, the representative of the Carnivores.
There's no need for a search; the War Room is unmistakable behind its grand double doors, elegantly crafted unlike the simpler, plain doors scattered throughout the building. Besides, it's impossible not to notice the guards stationed at each side of this particular entrance.
My frown deepens as I find the White Fang Guards not alone in their simple task, accompanied by additional, peculiar guards beside them.
They stand adorned in a red hooded cape over their standard black-and-white uniform, a distinctive mark setting them apart from the common Fang soldier. Yet, that isn't the important part. What draws attention is the tribalistic faunus standing guard alongside them.
These faunus possess more pronounced animal traits, not crossing the boundary into becoming excessively animalistic but noticeable enough to turn heads. Most common trait being more and larger hair, elongated nails resembling claws and in one of them I can see fangs sticking out from their mouth. Their choice of clothes differs significantly as well, draped in pelts or adorned with what I assume is primitive armor.
However, the most obvious distinction lies in their height, towering, at the least, a head above our honor guard.
Yet none of that disqualifies them as a weakling in my eyes.
Their appearance serves as a clear marker of their allegiance, though it also paints a big target on their heads.
Undeterred by the discovery, I hasten my steps, eventually breaking into a full speed charge towards them. I don't even give them time to react before I drive a fist deep into his gut, feeling his ribs crack under my blow. I grab his head and pull it down with a savage force, making his nose meet with my knee. The impact echoes across the hallway, followed by a loud shatter of his aura besides a broken nose. He falls to the floor like a rag-doll, blood dripping from his face.
Not wasting a second, I spin on my place and kick the jaw of the second guard, sending her flying to the other wall. She crashes into it, leaving a crack on the surface before falling onto the floor. She tries to push herself up and retaliate, but I don't allow it. I dash towards her and stomp on her head, cracking the floor below. I watch how her aura tries to put up a meager resistance, but it is no match for my strength. I stomp again and I don't stop until her aura also breaks, and she is fully incapacitated, her eyes rolling back in her head.
My fellow White Fang members stand frozen in shock, staring with their mouths hanging open, but never interfering or voicing their concerns. Because why would they?
They are far more preoccupied with the sole fact that I am right in front of them and not six feet under.
I signal with a small jerk of my head and Ilia is quick to her feet and goes for the incapacitated warriors, which she quickly apprehends after taking plastic handcuffs from the guards.
I know those handcuffs aren't aura resistant or aura suppressors and they will probably break free when they fully recover, but I won't give them such a chance.
"Keep an eye on them." I order them, pointing at the unconscious carnivores. My men quickly compose themselves and nod, accepting my orders and moving in to start dragging them off somewhere, probably a cell. It would be more secure than normal plastic cuffs, but not by much. They are nothing but a temporary measure, as I deal with the crux in the matter.
With everyone gone, only Ilia and I remain standing before the door. Behind these doors everyone is gathered and all the public I need to make my point.
"Are you ready?" I ask.
She offers a confident smirk. "Right by your side."
Placing my palms against the doors, I shut my eyes and draw in a steadying breath. This moment demands unwavering determination; any doubts could shatter the momentum and image I've built to this point.
Clearing my mind of doubt, I swing the doors wide open.
"Everything said or agreed upon is now void!"
Instantaneously, numerous pairs of eyes fixate on my loud entrance, and I capitalize on the silence for a quick survey of the War room.
The expansive round table dominates the space, featuring a detailed map of Remnant and designated seats for each faction leader within the coalition. Sienna holds her place at the table's head, seated in the most exquisite and ornate chair among the group. Unlike the others, she isn't alone; her presence is flanked by the Albain brothers serving as her bodyguards.
Initially, confusion blankets the room, swiftly transitioning into surprise etched onto every face, particularly evident in Sienna Khan. Yet, she is quick to regain her composure, returning to her stoic demeanor, anticipating my next move with a scrutinizing look.
Scanning the room, it doesn't take long to identify the tribalistic faunus among the crowd. Clad in rough clothes slightly better than the guys guarding the entrance, but still exuding a more feral appearance, which helps her to stand out from the rest. Yet, what's most significant is her lack of surprise, or perhaps a meticulous attempt to feign it, as she directs a piercing glare in my direction.
The murderous glint in those black eyes.
I meet her gaze head-on. It's a challenge, a deliberate act on my part, for I understand that these individuals likely adhere to a doctrine rooted in their fucked up culture fitting for this death world.
Might makes right.
"Adam Taurus, supposedly dead in action, yet here you stand, disrupting these very important talks. Or are you truly the Adam Taurus?" The woman's voice gains intensity as she rises from her seat, directing her inquiry toward Sienna. "Is this your final, desperate bid to maintain control, Lady Khan?"
Her mocking tone causes a faint twitch in the high leader's eyebrow, though she maintains her composed expression.
In contrast, I raise an eyebrow in mild surprise. Her eloquent speech defies my preconceptions—I had expected broken sentences or a much louder, growling manner of speech from someone like her.
Curious, but not an obstacle.
"Your kind is not welcome here; leave," I command, drawing Wilt and pointing it firmly at her. "Mongrel."
It is a calculated move, a deliberate act of aggression meant as a direct challenge. I know she wouldn't let it pass, providing the ideal pretext to put an end to this theater and focus on most important things.
It IS a blatant bait, one she latched onto eagerly, slamming her hands onto the table as she springs from her seat. "A fake has no right to speak against their betters!" The carnivore's words dripping with contempt, accentuated by the menacing display of her unusual teeth, revealing a set of razor-sharp fangs.
A physical trait that makes sense since they eat raw meat.
However, what truly captivates my attention is the quick transformation of her nails, elongating and sharpening into claws capable of evisceration, much like Ghira's.
Despite the palpable tension, everyone present remains as mere spectators in their respective seats. While some display fleeting curiosity about the impending confrontation, none dares to intervene or make a move to diffuse the situation, including Sienna Khan and the Albain brothers.
Because my identity and strength have been challenged outright.
Precisely what I wanted to occur.
And this savage just gave me the perfect opportunity to erase any doubt from their minds.
"And a mutt shouldn't talk back."
My reply becomes the last drop that spilled the cup as she jumps on top of the table and charges towards me, pulling out a serrated dagger from her waist.
A smirk creep on my lips as I smoothly sheathe Wilt inside Blush, shifting my left foot backward, assuming a much better posture to receive her imminent attack, my entire focus fixated on my idiotic pawn .
As if on cue, the world seems to slow around me as I concentrate solely on the carnivore. My right hand is poised above my blade, while the other rests on the trigger.
The mongrel continued her reckless charge, hurtling through the air propelled by sheer momentum. Her claw aimed at my throat, while the dagger threatened to rend open my stomach, or that's what I predicted from her movements.
However, it is the madness blazing in her eyes, brimming with white-hot rage, that speaks louder than her actions. Her murderous intentions are more than clear to me and everyone present.
Yet I don't move out of the way.
Only wait and watch her get closer and closer.
And as soon as she enters my range, I smirk and finally release my semblance as everything around turns red, causing her rage to vanish and soon replace with panic.
Too late.
I pull the trigger, releasing Wilt from Blush, the blade propelling like a bullet sparks flying. My hand was already waiting and ready, catching the hilt in a swift and elegant motion, a contrast to her savagery.
Using the full force of the momentum and the enhanced strength of my cyberware, I execute a perfect and clean upward slash. My signature move manifests with my semblance, Moonslice, which easily overpowers her aura as it fails to put up any resistance.
Despite the velocity, I feel the satisfying crunch of bone and metal, the splash of blood.
as the edge of my blade connects with her extended arm.
I cleanly slice off her right arm, sending the limb flying in the opposite direction with a spray of crimson. It lands with a thud, a few meters away.
The pathetic diplomat crashes onto the floor, her serrated dagger clattering harmlessly. She clutches the bloody stump where her arm used to be. The sheer shock and speed of my attack left her more confused as she bleeds, painting the floor red. Something which doesn't last as adrenaline finally recedes, leaving her screaming and thrashing on the floor as the pain of a lost limb finally registers in her brain.
Lowering my weapon slowly, I straighten my back and roll my neck; the tension easing with the short movement. With a powerful swing, I shake off the excess blood staining the perfect red of Wilt before sliding it back into its sheath.
The cacophony of pain-filled howls fades into the background as I refocus on the faces of the White Fang leadership. Surprised glances mingle with relieved expressions, but most importantly, satisfaction lingers in the air. Their reactions, though, hold little significance; as semblances are unique, an identity impossible to replicate.
It's a message; a declaration to everyone.
Adam Taurus lives on, stronger than ever.
With the most important matter finally achieved, I move towards the wolf faunus still crying and kick her to force her to look at me, how I look down at her where she belongs.
"I won't say it twice." I press my boot onto her shoulder, eliciting a sharp yelp. "By nightfall, your kind will be gone from my home."
She nods frantically, and a twisted satisfaction surges within me.
"Take her away," I command aloud, the words carrying to the honor guard stationed outside. They rush in, their discipline evident as they lift the woman from the ground while others attend to her severed arm.
Yet, watching them depart with her leaves a hollow satisfaction. There's something more I need to do to feel truly content, and a new idea sparks in my mind.
I do want my own MaxTac after all.
"Wait."
My men halt their steps and turn back.
Approaching them slowly, I summon the company stamp into my hand, pressing it firmly against the defeated faunus's forehead. As the symbol imprints on her skin after three seconds, I remove it to observe the final result and my second capture.
Another extra, very likely.
"To carry your defeat back to your land of savages." I say with contempt, as she can only bite her lips, drawing blood. Trails of tears falling from her eyes, tears of rage and impotency, but a single glare from my part and force her to back down and lower her head, fully accepting defeat once and for all.
Turning my attention from her, I refocus on the White Fang, but my gaze lingers on Sienna, her expression unwavering, or maybe putting up the best facade ever.
"Leave us." I address the entire room.
Silent exchanges pass among them, each acknowledging my command with respectful bows as they vacate their seats, leaving in a hushed procession. The honor guard follows suit, escorting the incapacitated faunus away. Only the tigress remains seated, flanked by her bodyguards.
And for this crucial moment, I need to be alone.
"Including you, Ilia," I assert firmly.
Taken aback, she attempts to protest, but her words falter into a sigh. "But... alright."
Reluctantly, she takes her leave.
Alone now, I refocus on the high leader. "Well?"
Corsac and Fennec offer me a bow before departing from Sienna's side. Her composed facade cracks as she extends a hand in a futile attempt to stop their exit, failing to capture their attention.
The trio finally passes through the door, sealing it shut behind them.
The resonating click of the door seals the room in an eerie silence, amplifying the echo of my footsteps toward the current leader of Menagerie and the White Fang. My movements remain the only sound inside the War room.
The tigress breath quickens visibly, her chest rising and falling with heightened rhythm. Despite her efforts to maintain a neutral expression, her unease is palpable. As I draw nearer, I observe beads of sweat tracing down her brow and her hands trembling—an unexpected reaction that prompts a curious tilt of my head.
Why this fear?
Coming to a halt once I am relatively close to her, I fold my arms, allowing silence to stretch and pressuring her to break it first.
The brief standoff swiftly concludes as she draws in a deep breath, closing her eyes momentarily before exhaling.
Her golden eyes fix on me, a resurgence of confidence evident in her gaze. "How are you alive, Adam? I saw you die."
I shrug nonchalantly. "Does it really matter at this point?"
Furrowing her brow, she presses on. "I meticulously verified every shred of evidence Atlas broadcasted, exhausted every avenue to confirm the authenticity of that stream, even delved into the possibility of a semblance at play."
Pausing, she points an accusatory finger at me. "Every lead pointed to the same conclusion. Yet here you stand unscathed. How?"
Contemplating my response, I glance up at the ceiling, recalling the events of my demise, for I did indeed die that day.
MaxTac put a bullet in my skull.
And that's when the soul merge happened.
If it wasn't for the Company, I would be just another rotting corpse in the middle of nowhere, probably being lunch for vultures.
"I wonder that myself…." I begin with a sigh of exasperation. "I recall waking up on a cold metallic table somewhere underground. The whole room was empty except that table."
My fabrication only deepens the furrow on her brow. "Are you suggesting you were rescued and nursed back to health by an unknown party?"
I offer another shrug. "I am as clueless as you are."
Her scrutinizing glare fails to unsettle me as I seize a chair and settle into it. "But our discussion isn't about me." I tell her. "Now, tell me, why did you bring the Carnivores to Menagerie, disregarding Ghira's explicit stance that they are not welcome and forbidden to step foot in Menagerie?"
Her silence in response to my question further fuels my frustration, igniting my anger.
I slam my left hand against the table and jab a pointed finger at her. "Have you any idea what you have done?! The danger you put us all in?!"
"DON'T YOU THINK I KNOW?!" Her outburst finally erupts, her hands slamming onto the table with such ferocity that it fractures under the impact.
"Do you think I haven't exhausted every option? Should I have idly sat by, doing nothing, and watched Menagerie descend into civil war?! Wait for the collapse of our Mistral front, our sole trade route, and allow our people to starve without anything trying to prevent it?!"
An act borne from sheer desperation, which I understand.
"I was the only one left to deal with the aftermath while you were playing hide who the fuck knows where!"
Her accusation earns another hardened glare from me, but I maintain my silence, allowing her to continue uninterrupted.
But she doesn't yell.
Instead of shouting, she sinks back into her chair, her ears drooping low.
"The rest of the Fang demanded leadership changes due to these failures. They sought to replace me, and our efforts to suppress their discontent were futile. If not for our recent victory in Mistral, the Coalition would have gone down in flames along with everyone."
She averts her gaze, a hand cradling her head. "We must be an united front, especially now that Atlas has been in talks with some families from Mistral."
The mention of Atlas engaging with Mistral's families triggers my memory. Mistral, a kingdom more akin to a Mafia state, ruled by a handful of powerful criminal families. Atlas negotiating with them implies a potential large-scale Special Military Operation to extend their dominance. Implicitly, Sienna suggests they might be plotting against Menagerie's weakened state.
"Did you reach out to them or did they step in of their own accord, prompting you to bring them here to negotiate an alliance?" I ask, understanding the big difference between the two scenarios.
"They intervened by their own volition." She responds promptly, her demeanor unwavering. And her lack of visible reaction implies a measure of truth in her words.
But that also brings me to understand that the tribes saw an opportunity and took it, same with her who found a silver lining to fix the ever-growing chaos. Which wouldn't have happened in the first place if it wasn't for a very important fact.
"The White Fang doesn't respect you, never did." I assert.
"I'm aware…" she concedes, her hand dropping as she releases a weighty sigh. "But there was no other capable leader for the Coalition. Any other faction would have led us to ruin…" Sienna trails off but then her er tone shifts suddenly, a glint of determination flashing in her eyes. "I served as Ghira's right hand. I'm the most qualified to lead!"
I can't help but chuckle at her words. "Quite arrogant, aren't we?"
Sienna responds with an icy glare, visibly offended by my remark.
My chair creaks softly as I lean back, fingers drumming against my temple, grappling with the tangled mess this situation has become.
Sienna doesn't rush into radical measures at the first sign of trouble; I'm well aware of that fact from both perspectives. Her explanation holds some merit—she was desperate to avert catastrophe. Yet, she isn't Ghira Belladonna. She's simply Sienna Khan, a glorified assistant, cynically speaking. While possessing some charisma, it pales in comparison to the man who practically unified all faunus factions under a single banner for a brighter future.
Respect for her leadership was a formality, a transition phase until I was ready to assume the mantle or even Blake, if circumstances barred me from the title. The boy and girl Ghira raised, trained and mentored were the perfect candidates to succeed him.
And then I died, and Blake disappeared.
The absence of successors left a vacuum, allowing everyone to make their own claim for power.
I know I've been repeating the same thing over and over again, but it doesn't make it any less true. What a fucking mess.
And I will finally put an end to all this bullshit.
"I'll acknowledge your efforts to hold things together with the limited resources you had, and I am grateful for that." I declare, rising from my seat. "However, that ends today. Starting today, I rightfully assume Ghira's legacy.
Her head snaps back, wide-eyed, ears erect as her full attention fixates on me. But I don't stop with my words.
"It's evident you have lost control. I must bring everyone back to the fold, and today's demonstration was just the beginning for that objective."
She abruptly shoves away from the table, launching herself backward and grabbing her weapon in a single fluid motion.
"I won't go down without a fight." She growls, igniting the fire dust within her weapon, transforming it into a blazing chain as she strikes the floor, flames erupting around her.
Shaking my head, I fail to stifle a hint of amusement. "Do you genuinely believe I'd end your life?" Her grip tightens on the weapon, my words failing to sway her. I click my tongue in disappointment."You may have exploited circumstances to your advantage, but that doesn't equate to deserving death. I'm just disappointed in you."
"Disappointed?" she hisses.
Inhaling deeply, I speak again. "This isn't up for negotiation Sienna, I will take Ghira's Mantle and lead the White Fang as intended from the very beginning as the rightful successor of Ghira Belladonna." My hand hovers over Wilt. "Do not force my hand, please."
In truth, I need all the allies I can get in this fucked up world. I don't want to lose one if it is preventable.
Much to my relief, I notice her hand trembling, her grip weakening, and her once fierce gaze losing its intensity. Her initial resolve slowly loses the willpower to continue.
Observing her hesitation, I cautiously relax my posture, inching closer with slow steps, yet remaining wary of her weapon, prepared for any sudden aggression driven either by fear or malice.
"I will make the White Fang respect me, us."
I take another step.
"You'll resume your former duties, akin to when my father led us. I fully trust you won't fail in the same endeavor. You will be my right hand."
Pausing my approach, I extend my open hand, a gesture of goodwill towards her.
"Let's work together this time."
Sienna Khan, the leader of White Fang, bites her lower lip, staring at my open invitation for this new era. I know she is thinking hard as her hands shake for a moment before she drops her weapon and clatters onto the floor as she closes her eyes and takes deep breaths.
And the fire around her dies down along with her chain..
"I, Sienna Khan, formally renounce my position as the High Leader of the White Fang and Provisional chiefess of Menagerie, shall pass these titles to the rightful successor, Adam Taurus."
With her official surrender declared, she places her hand in mine, and I gently close my fingers around hers.
A faint smirk plays at the corners of my lips as I secretly conjure the company stamp between my fingers, lightly pressing it against her hand.
Just to be sure.
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