Yakuza Arc Holiday 02

A Thrilling Hall-Woe-ween

Vale's 'Mistraltown', Halloween Night

"Happy Halloween, sir!"

"You, too. Happy Halloween." Hehe. Me, a sir.

The little bell above the door chimed, and a cold wind hit Jaune's face as he exited the convenience store. With arms full, he turned and gave a last farewell nod to the cashier. The part-timer had been unfailingly polite to what she saw as a true blue Xiong, the de facto rulers of this neighborhood. It astounded him even now that the people living in Red Axe territory thought of him as a bigshot. Astounded, but also pleased.

Still, for as much respect as the cashier showed, Jaune would say she deserved it more for working on Halloween night while people like him were enjoying the holiday. The store's owner being her grandfather likely had much to do with it. Him cleaning out the candy aisle should make the old man happy and get the cashier some praises.

Melanie and Miltia should praise him, too. Their errand of procuring more sweets to sate the unending stream of trick-or-treaters came at the very last minute before they ran out, and past the hour most stores have closed. Of the ones still open, this was the third he visited and the only shop with any candies left. They've jacked the prices to double what it was yesterday, but he'd take the win where he could.

Jaune turned the corner into an alley, the muscle memories long-accustomed to the area taking him down familiar paths. Almost at once, the city's incessant cacophony dropped to a background murmur. Shortcuts like these dotted the map, often sporting filthy or suspicious appearances which kept the pedestrian traffic well clear for the locals to use. All the better for him because walking down the main streets with bags of chocolates in hand would paint a target on his back. Roving trick-or-treaters were no joke.

Ahead, a man in a tracksuit shuffled out of a side alley directly in his path. Barely slowing, Jaune sidestepped around the figure.

"Whoops, careful there. Happy Halloween!"

Hehehe, that line was fast becoming a magic spell for him. Normally, he might very well get cursed out by other party despite it being a near-miss because this city hosted some of the rudest people he has ever met. That was not to mention how these situations sometimes devolved into a brawl, with whoever he bumped into seeing a chance to mug a well-dressed (read: wealthy-looking) guy in a deserted back street. It was hard to argue with good holiday cheer, though, and on this night he walked away from the other person without hearing a foul word to sour his mood.

A hand clasped his shoulder, its owner groaning as if in pain.

Oh, he spoke too soon.

The supposed injury despite the lack of contact, the hard grip to prevent Jaune from escaping, this must be one of those scams where the conman fake an accident to demand compensation. The guys around The Club have warned him of such situations, although they told him to expect it from criminal types rather than a civilian like this man. Statistically speaking, Jaune was more likely to be the one committing this scam.

Melanie's advice for such a situation boiled down to maintaining a cool head and a firm stance. So, scowling, he whipped his head around and injected a harsh edge into his voice.

"Look, don't bother-" Corpse-pale skin. Bloated flesh. A gaping maw full of rot!

The plastic bag in his hand, full of candy, struck the man's cheek an instant later. Empowered by his Aura, the swing imparted enough strength to send the man somersaulting. His head met a brick wall with a sharp *crack, and he slid to the ground.

"Hah…hah…"

Heart thundering in his chest, Jaune took in large gulps of air. The costume had seemed so, so real. Like the stuff of nightmares. The man looked like a dead body.

And he might soon be after what Jaune did.

"Oh no, oh no, are you okay?" Scrambling over to the man's side, Jaune hesitated on whether to flip him over or not, and instead dipped his head to see the man's face. "Are you conscious? Can you breathe? I'll call the-" The head twisted his direction, vacant eyes staring just off-target.

Jaune had not been mistaken.

A tar-like substance dripped from the man's mouth, the stench unbearable. The skin stretched taut in some places, yet loose in others. Here and there, chunks of the man were missing entirely. His legs and arms scraped to find purchase, pushing off the ground without any sense of coordination. The lips peeled back to reveal a mess of broken teeth.

"Graaagh!"

Nope.

Aura coursing through his legs, Jaune beat feet down the alleyway, widening his distance from the man- the thing stumbling after him. Ahead, he saw more people emerging out of the darkness, their shambling gait all too similar to the one back there.

He shoved the first one aside as they went for a tackle, and the second was a matter of darting around its reach, but the rest came in a tight grouping to clog up the alley from wall to wall.

His eyes flicked to the dumpster sitting just ahead of the groaning things. He hopped on top of a trashcan, then stepped on the dumpster lid. Another leap and he soared through the air to land behind them with a straight shot to freedom.

Or, maybe not. The closer he ran to the mouth of the alleyway, the louder the groaning became. There had to be more of them on the main street, a thought soon confirmed as more figures shuffled past his view. He also heard the telltale sound of fist meeting flesh, and… and was that music?

With little choice but forward, Jaune burst out of the alley into the Mistraltown street. To his left were a few stragglers, but to his right he saw dozens of -and there was no denying it now- zombies surrounding two men.

Sporting a red jacket, sunglasses, and a white fedora, the first man danced his heart out under the neon lights, moving backwards all the while. Around him, more zombies arrived with each passing second, poised to transform into an unrelenting tide that would cut off every path of escape. A song blared from unseen speakers, giving the scene a surreal rhythm.

Surely, the man had to have noticed the danger surrounding him. Yet, the performer never stopped dancing even when he came within reach of the zombies. He twirled and grooved as they opened their mouths wide to feast on his life. He never slowed as a zombie was thrown over his head to knock down the ones before him, the only acknowledgment given to the thrower being a thumbs-up that blended with his moves, answered by a thin smile from his partner.

That man, tall and powerfully-built with slicked-back hair, grabbed another zombie and tossed it over his shoulders towards the advancing crowd, then slammed his fist into the next closest creature. His expression, intense and focused, slackened in shock when he spotted Jaune in the gap between the shambling bodies. He whirled to look back at the dancer, who was quickly being set upon by more zombies, and to Jaune again, torn with indecision.

Jaune took that decision out of his hands by dropping the laden bags and charging forward. He seized the shirt and pants of a zombie to lift it in the air, using it as a battering ram to clear his path to the two strangers. Breaking through to enter the circle, he flung the zombie aside as he screeched to a halt before the tall man.

A hundred questions flashed through his mind, both pressing and inane, and they paralyzed him. He liked to think he possessed what could generously be called a keen mind, able to assess a situation at a glance. However, the possibilities before him ran the gamut from Halloween rave party to an honest-to-Oum apocalypse.

What was happening? Were these the actual walking dead? Where's the music coming from? Why was the hatted man dancing? Did anyone call the police? Was he being pranked?

In the end, the first words out of his mouth were, "Where did you get your suit?"

In his defense, he was freaking out a little, hence the scrambled priorities.

The man was not amused, leveling a stern look at Jaune as one leg kicked out at a zombie wearing a Vale University jersey.

"This is hardly the time for fashion talk."

Says him. Jaune never considered the combination of dark red shirt on a light gray suit before, what with the 'black suit on black vest on black shirt' being a timeless classic, but he certainly was now. The white snakeskin loafers added that extra bit of flair, and he once again had to entertain the idea of leaving a few buttons undone instead of sporting a tie. The ensemble, as a whole, gave the impression of wealth and danger in one. It was such a familiar style of dress, and as good as confirmed that this man, like him, lived the Yakuza Way.

"Stay close to Johnson. I'll protect you."

Jaune narrowed his eyes, and he stretched out his leg in a kick to send a zombie flying away from the dancer (the presumed Johnson in question) in a near copy of the move made by the tall stranger.

"I'm not helpless, old man." A hand reached inside his suit, pulling out his hidden wakizashi. Jaune unsheathed the blade…then sheathed it again, opting to use his long knife like a club to hit a nearby body. "But, uh, are they actual zombies or just really, really aggressive trick-or-treaters?"

The Yakuza dropped into a low stance, then launched a blistering series of punches to hit multiple foes.

"I'm not sure on that, myself. There were supposed to be actors dressed as zombies like the last time, but I don't remember them looking like this." Last time?

"~something evil's lurkin' in the dark~"

Both fighters turned to Johnson for a moment before they continued beating back the zombies, with Jaune shouting over the music and groans.

"I can't tell if that was a song lyric or a cryptic way of saying they're monsters."

He didn't hear the other fighter's reply, but caught a helpless shrug from him out of the corner of his eyes. Moving to the other side of Johnson, Jaune shoved a zombie back with his scabbard, then examined the thing's face. This one was missing its nose, and for the life of him Jaune cannot decide whether that meant it was dead or not.

*Thwump*

The huge axe splitting its head in half like firewood rendered that question moot.

"I rather think, that he was referring to me."

With those words, the pale girl with dark hair in pigtails pulled the weapon out of the definitely dead body with a *squelch*. Jaune watched from inches away as jets of blood spurted from the wound, one of his eye twitching.

The girl then braced the axe on her shoulders and spun her body. The resulting sweep of the blade parted the heads from a line of zombies. After just two attacks, the straight wooden haft of the axe had stained crimson and a few streaks of blood had splattered on her outfit, a school uniform of a strange design that included a shin-length black pleated skirt and a blazer in stripes of black and gray. The girl did not so much as blink at the sight. Jaune, on the other hand, gagged on the smell of it all.

"Oh, that's going in my nightmares tonight. Zombies, and now a girl with a bloody hatchet."

"Sweet dreams. If you wish to thank me, I prefer gratitude in the form of monetary compensation and equivalents rather than lip service." Another swing, another decapitation, followed by a stomp to crush a crawling zombie's head under her monolith loafers that, frankly, seemed oversized on such a dainty girl. "And this is not a hatchet, but an executioner's axe. Note the much longer handle designed for a high cleaving motion, along with the larger head and bit specifically forged to better sever the entire neck of a criminal in one fell swoop." She punctuated the explanation by demonstrating said fell swoop.

He hadn't noticed such details about the axe before. He couldn't stop seeing them now. Even more unnerving was the dispassionate expression with which the girl went about her business. It suggested that she considered such acts mundane, akin to going for a walk instead of a battle for survival.

"W-well, putting that aside, you are sure these are dead bodies?"

"They are." Another vertical cut, now, to bisect a zombie. "See? In my experience, a living person would scream when that happens."

The implications of her phrasing deeply worried him, but it was also the confirmation he needed to unsheathe his long knife and pierce an undead office worker right between its eyes. Whereas before the bodies would get back up after his attacks, this one flopped to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. Despite knowing he had not actually killed a person, Jaune shuddered in revulsion at the sensation transmitted through the blade into his hand.

But as gruesome as this was, someone had to stop these things from killing them all. So, he drew back the blade and prepared to do the same thing again.

By the look on the other Yakuza's face, the man had come to a similar conclusion. With a grim nod to Jaune and the newcomer, he turned to the nearest zombie. Wisps of Aura roiled from him, and with a roar he struck a blow powerful enough to cave in its face. Jaune followed suit with a stab through a monster's face.

Extracting the knife, he took aim at another zombie, already falling into a rhythm. A sharp push, a pull as the body fall to let gravity remove the blade, and take it from the top. The third and fourth foe fell in quick order.

"Wait." The dark-haired girl skipped close to his side before he could take out his next opponent, and grabbed his knife hand. She adjusted it a few inches to the left. "Aim for the eyes. It's easier to puncture than the forehead, and faster to pull out."

As quickly as she came, the girl glided away with bodies falling in her wake. Left behind, Jaune briefly debated if he should thank her for showing him how to kill in a more efficient manner. Sure, it was a weakpoint he loved to exploit against the Grimm, but the thought of slamming a blade into a human eye freaked him out. In the end, he decided that if he could appreciate the basic lesson when the twins first taught it, then he could do the same for this more specialized course. Especially when his life was on the line.

"Thank you, uh, what is your name, by the way?"

"Stop. I neither desire nor appreciate empty platitudes. Furthermore, your demand for my private information reeks of socialization and offends me greatly."

His mind blanked out for a moment as he tried to parse through the meaning of her answer, nearly receiving a face-gnawing kiss for his troubles. A shove and a stab later, and he was no closer to understanding the girl.

She definitely provided him with help. Twice, even.

*Stab* *Stab*

It therefore behooved him to express his gratitude. Right?

Kick* *Slash* Ewww, it's oozing.

Looking to the older man for help, Jaune was greeted with a wry smile.

"You should think back on what she said earlier."

That…was not as helpful as he had hoped. The reminder of the brutal weapon she wielded and the efficiency at which she went about a slaughter made her seem more inhuman by the second. Not to mention the incomprehensible expectation that he should be happy to have a nightmare. She even believed he should be…grate…ful.

Whipping his head around, Jaune called out with a victorious grin.

"May I know your name-" The girl frowned, her lips parting to likely voice a rejection, but Jaune barreled through. "-so I know who to make the check out to. Gratitude by monetary compensation only, right?"

Her mouth snapped shut with a click of her teeth. Her frown deepened beneath those curtain fringes and the girl continued her grisly crusade against the zombies in silence for a time. Just when Jaune was about to write off the attempt as a loss, she answered.

"Wednesday Addams."

And on the other six days? Jaune bit down on his lip to stop himself from blurting out the thought. Yang would appreciate the joke, but Wednesday Addams was clearly not a 'Yang' kind of girl.

"Happy to have you with us, Wednesday. My name is Jaune Arc. How-"

"You are doing it again." Right, socialization has been declared a form of attack.

"Sorry, I'm just curious on how you can stay so calm right now. They're zombies. Zombies!"

"They are poor excuses of such. Hardly a challenge at all. I've seen better. Made better, too."

Jaune caught on to the subtext of her words, but it was the Yakuza who turned around in surprise.

"Someone made these things?"

"I had assumed you were aware of that fact, since you're standing at the center of a necromantic ritual." This time, Jaune shouted at the same time as the other man.

""We're what!?""

"Oh. This is not something you've planned, then. And here I thought I've stumbled onto the one tolerable Halloween party in this city. My disappointment is immeasurable."

Ramming through a group of zombies, Jaune arrived by Wednesday's side.

"Hang on, please go back to the ritual thing. Do you know who is doing it?"

"Who else could it be, but the one they are being drawn to." Blood-stained axe on her shoulder, Wednesday pointed a damning finger at the sole person not fighting against the zombies. "Who else, but him?"

She pointed… at Johnson.

It had been Johnson, all along.

-o-

One may think it impossible to 'accidentally' perform necromancy. If it was real, then should not necromancy require rare and fantastical reagents or an eldritch chant calling to powers beyond the grave? At the very least, should it not involve an evil wizard or witch?

According to Wednesday Addams, 2cc of blood and an egg can animate a run-of-the-mill zombie for a while. Accidental rituals happened all the time. The people who performed them without knowing just tended to not live to tell their tale.

The first step taken on this occasion began centuries ago. Long-forgotten cemeteries laid beneath the streets as the city built on top of itself over time, thus providing that most basic of ingredients for a zombie. Then, just last week, a certain someone came around with a contract to rent out this particular road for a music video, which served to proclaim the unwitting summoner's dominion over the area. The catalyst to start the actual proceedings leaned on the metaphysical rather than the material. It eschewed such fanciful ingredients as Lunar Tear flowers and the captured wails of a banshee in favor of a full moon on an auspicious night like Halloween, plus an uncanny song whose lyrics called for supernatural forces to rise. Add an unrivaled dancing ability to the mix, one that just so happened to instinctively mimic the movements of an ancient rite from a bygone era, and they had a mass zombie summoning on their hands.

This Halloween night, popstar Miracle Johnson (and wasn't that an apt name) ascended to the levels of a wizard by sheer coincidence.

"Okay, so tell him to quit dancing already." Jaune blocked the flailing limbs of a zombie, its attack battering his Aura. "Because I swear, these things are getting stronger!"

Videogames had prepared him for situations like this. If they wanted to foil necromancy most foul then they should halt the ritual as a whole rather than fight the infinitely-spawning mobs.

"No!" The older Yakuza raised an objection. "They're being drawn to him at the moment. If he stops, the zombies might disperse throughout the city. We can't allow them to get near the civilians."

A very good point, but there were no guarantees it'd end up as he said. The zombies could return to dust (not Dust, mind) for all they knew. Jaune turned to Wednesday, the most knowledgeable person present on the matter.

"As objectionable as his…gyrations are, stopping him now would likely cause a backlash to rip out our souls as substitute offerings to finish the rite. Then the zombies will disperse throughout the city. Accident or not, an interrupted ritual spells dire consequences for anyone in the vicinity."

Her perspective did little to reassure him, which has become something of a pattern with this girl.

"So, uh, if the zombies eat him?"

"We could very well all die in short order. Isn't it thrilling?" Jaune gulped. That was one way to put it. Unfazed, Wednesday chopped off another head. With a curious hum, she paused to scrutinize her axe. "Also, you may not be delusional, seeing as that cut met more resistance than it should. I believe they are becoming more powerful as the rite continues."

Not only were these things zombies. They were now super-zombies.

Yaaaay.

Still, complaining never got him anywhere. What they needed now were options.

"Wednesday, you're our expert. Can you think of a way for us to destroy this ritual?"

"If we want to protect the civilians in this city-" Locked in their respective battles, both male fighters called out an affirmation. "-then Johnson must complete the summoning, which will bind the zombies fully under his control. That said, since the ritual is based on the terms of his contract-"

The Yakuza finished her thought, his face grim.

"We'll have to protect him until he dances to the end of the street, and these monsters are only going to get stronger from here." His eyes flashed with determination, course already set.

Ever ready for an easier solution, Jaune gave Wednesday a hopeful look.

"There is one more option. You could take the life of the necromancer before the zombies could. Simply making him stop will kill both us and him, because the rite would reach out to all of our souls at the same time. The same goes for if he died at the hands of mindless zombies. The deliberate act of murder, however, marks his life-force as a target for the ritual to concentrate on. His significance as the initiator and sacrifice of this ceremony should be enough to bring it to a finish without using our own souls as fuel. One of us can then take control of the zombies." She glanced at Jaune with a critical eye. "On a related note, do you happen to be a serial killer of some sort?"

In answer, Jaune flung his knife at Johnson. It flew straight as an arrow, finding its mark past the man's head in an errant zombie. A second later, he appeared in front of the falling body, the Aura overloading his legs fading back to normal levels. Pulling out the knife, Jaune gave the popstar a thumbs-up.

"I'm not about to let someone else die to save myself. You're in my territory, Johnson, and that means you are under my protection. So just focus on the music, because I've got your back."

The dancer returned the gesture, and continued to shimmy his way down the street with renewed vigor. Past his shoulders, Jaune met Wednesday's eyes. She quirked an eyebrow.

"Your foolish idealism disappoints me greatly. And to think, you were almost interesting." Wednesday sniffed with disdain.

Words said were not always truths spoken. Put them aside to look beneath the surface, and he noticed she did not volunteer to perform such an act either, instead turning away to face the zombies. Sharp of tongue she may be, Wednesday Addams was as big a fool as him.

The Yakuza was more straightforward, outright regarding Jaune with approval. His gaze turned uncertain upon seeing Wednesday ready her axe for another blow.

"I have to be here because Johnson is my friend and the young man has his reasons, but you should escape, miss. This fight is not your own and as you say, we may die." Hearing that, Wednesday scoffed.

"Please, do not threaten me with a good time."

Jaune snickered at the Yakuza's flummoxed expression.

Kudos to him for being chivalrous but, really, he should have expected a response like that from her by now.

-o-

A single lapse in focus, one brief instant when Aura did not protect skin, and it all went to hell.

"I got bit! I got bit!"

"Make sure to wash it out later. You might get an infection, otherwise." The goth girl's blasé attitude brought Jaune up short.

"That's all you can say? People turn into zombies when they get infected. I'm doomed!"

"Only someone who has been brainwashed by popular media would believe a nibble makes a zombie." Wednesday shook her head in pity. "They are created through rituals steeped in blood and magic as befit an act of defiance against the natural order, not through contrived plot devices and lazy scriptwriting designed to add drama for an easily-pleased audience. You'll be fine. Probably. Like I've said, wash it out later."

To see her so casually diss both filmmakers and movie fans in one breath was a sight to behold, not least because she kept hacking away at the mob of bodies with abandon. The brutality of her attacks juxtaposed with the grace Wednesday exhibited as she danced amidst the monsters, the girl as pale as the corpses that surrounded them. For all that she was drenched in blood, she showed nary a wound on her flesh, nor a tear in her clothing. She spun and rolled with the momentum of the heavy executioner's axe, following through from one swing to another to create a whirlwind of limbs and heads. Her style exemplified the concept of offense being the best defense.

No one kept count, but Jaune suspected that she might be in the lead in terms of enemies exterminated. The axe she wielded had been uniquely suited to this endeavor.

It also raised a few concerns to tug at his mind from time to time, concerns like what a petite girl dressed like a civilian was doing that involved running around Vale with a giant axe. She said the zombies had been a surprise, so what was she prepared for?

…B-best not to ask too many questions. He might not like the answers.

Then again, her take on things possessed a morbid draw that both shocked and amused to no ends. A part of him -the bit found in every soul that constantly urges oneself to… flip the bird at important people to see what happens, for example- wanted to hear more. Thoughts for later, if there was a later.

*Stab* Another one down, a thousand more to go.

His knifework had never been so smooth and precise. Eye after eye after eye, he rendered this battle down to a fine process. There had been a few close calls when a zombie almost got past him, but overall, he acquitted himself well in maintaining his side of the perimeter around Johnson.

The wakizashi was not without flaws, however. The knife's design geared towards in-close fights, displaying the best effect in one-on-one combat. It favored speed and accuracy over reach and cutting power, making the weapon a poor matchup against a horde of charging enemies able to ignore most wounds. Out of the three combatants, he had to be the slowest.

His blade should have had an advantage over the older man's empty hands, right? As it turned out, he could not be more wrong.

The other Yakuza in the room (or on the street, as it were) laid waste to the zombies' ranks, and the only thing stopping him from taking the lead over Wednesday was the distaste he shared with Jaune for their task. On more than one occasion, Jaune saw the man hesitate for an instant before launching a strike to crush a skull. It happened less and less in the last few minutes as they became accustomed to the grave undertaking, but he tended to avoid lethal blows.

This Yakuza's way of fighting was no tool of execution, no swift and impersonal end. One would have expected, then, that it must be preferable to Wednesday's cold butchery. A mercy to his foes.

With the result of this 'mercy' before him, Jaune was fast coming around to the idea that Wednesday Addams might be the safer person to interact with.

The man transitioned from one stance to the next, incorporating attacks from a wide array of different martial arts that nevertheless blended together. Jaune spotted boxing punches, judo flips, karate kicks, and even actual wrestling moves. Bare fists clad in Aura imparted blunt force trauma that did not just stop, but blasted the zombies back. A kick would lift a zombie in the air for the man to snag an ankle and smash the thing back down against the asphalt. He utilized deft holds on various parts of an opponent's body and clothes to control their actions, setting them up for devastating finishers that snapped bones like twigs. A trail of bodies marked his path, many still twitching in a futile attempt to move their broken limbs. Were they the living, his opponents would be screaming through a blinding agony in the immediate aftermath and would suffer weeks, if not months, of recovery.

Every strike crisp, each evasion smooth, the man fought with the ease of one who had experienced a thousand battles. Jaune thought for a moment that he was standing in the presence of a martial arts master, serene and composed. Then, the Yakuza picked up a motorcycle.

The Yakuza. Picked up. A motorcycle.

The veneer of a disciplined practitioner vanished, and a stark brutality took its place. Each swing of the bike felled multiple zombies at a time. Flesh and metal flew every which way in an image that encapsulated the term 'meat grinder'. When he lost the body of the motorcycle, the heavy weight flattening one last foe, the man lifted the loose wheel remaining in his hand and brought it down to pulp the next zombie to cross his path. Empty-handed, he fell back on his martial arts.

Yet, Jaune now sensed the spontaneity of it all and recognized his fighting style for the eclectic mish-mash it really was. The Yakuza calculated his actions, yes, but he also followed his instincts to seize opportunities as they come.

He would use a trashcan as a blunt instrument until it looked like a crushed soda can. A nearby utility pole became an impromptu teeth extraction tool, as he gripped a zombie by the back of the head and introduced it to the concrete post. The zombies themselves served when no man-made object was within reach.

The Yakuza had not been some great master of a particular school. His was a style that used anything and everything available in the vicinity to achieve victory. And if nothing came to hand? His body was a weapon of its own.

It was savagery, the quintessence of a street brawler, polished to an art.

Jaune very much pitied the zombies at that moment. It hardly mattered how strong they grew under the ritual's influence, because the creatures struggled in vain; the Yakuza and Wednesday Addams could take on anything. He, himself, felt rather superfluous to this entire affair.

*thud…Thud…THUD!*

…what was that?

"~You hear a creature creepin' up behind~

~There ain't no second chance against the thing with forty eyes~"

Those were just random lyrics. They meant nothing. The first time had been a simple coincidence. To think otherwise meant buying in to baseless fancies like magi- the superna- things that do not exist.

*THUD… THUD*

B-besides, maybe another cute girl will appear!

THUD, THUD, THUDTHUDTHUDTHUD-* "GraAaAAaaAAAOR!"

Yeah, he didn't actually believe that, either.

-o-

Jaune stood slack-jawed. The Yakuza, same. Even Wednesday, the ever impassive Wednesday, showed a rare emotion where her eyes bulged in surprise. It was for just a second, but that itself represented a marked increase in expressiveness.

The continued approach of the zombies of usual sizes (ZOUS?) woke them from their stupor and they resumed protecting Johnson. While doing so, Jaune shouted over the music and the wails of the dead.

"Thing's massive!"

"Yes." Wednesday's curt affirmative did not help much to calm him.

"What is that, even!?"

"Constantly asking me questions shows that you are unintelligent or needy. Neither are praiseworthy traits."

"You don't know what it is, do you?"

"…"

It, in this case, looked like an amalgamation of a few dozen zombies fused together to form a giant measuring at least three times Jaune's height. The base appeared like a person scaled upwards. Faces and limbs of the fused zombies protruded throughout, and the many eyes stared unblinking. A constant droning emanated from all the mouths at the same time, combining to make a roar without end. The zombie of unusual size (also ZOUS?) moved with a lumbering gait, likely bogged down by its sheer weight. Each step left cracks in the road and crushed any hapless zombies that happened to be in the way.

The most relevant, vital, urgent detail about it, though, was that it stood between the party of zombie slayers and the end of the street. Between the squishy civilian and where he needed to go.

And, again, the thing was massive.

As this sight truly sank in, Jaune's hand, still holding the knife, dropped to his side. He stood in place, uncaring of his surroundings, and tried to make sense of the world again.

A high, hysterical laugh reached his ears, its broken tone speaking of the last shreds of sanity being stripped away. It took a few seconds for Jaune to realize that the laugh came from himself.

What even was this night?

It seemed counterintuitive and a tad boring, but Halloween wasn't supposed to be spooky. He would say that it had become quite safe and sanitized, in fact. Whatever supernatural significance it possessed had become lost to time. For the kids, it was about candies and costumes. For those too old to extort candy, it was about parties and… different costumes. All good fun, and a bit of a thrill.

He should have been tossing candies at the last of the trick-or-treaters before joining The Club's Halloween party. What he actually got were zombies, a dancing necromancer and his criminal buddy, stronger zombies, a goth with a bloody axe, a song that won't get out of his head, and a Last Boss zombie to round it out. Oh, and the threat of his soul being ripped out.

This was just too much.

How did it make any sense?

What were they going to-

"Hey." A hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing in reassurance. He turned to see the taller man step past. "Protect my friend. I will deal with this monster."

With those words, the Yakuza charged ahead. He left his supposed friend behind, completely exposed to the danger bearing down on him unless Jaune did something to stop it now, now, NOW-

What a way to snap someone out of a downward spiral.

Jaune exploded into motion, fleet steps bringing him next to the zombie about to bite Johnson whereupon he tackled the thing to the ground. A stab ended its rattling groan. Pushing off the asphalt, he ran past Johnson to engage the next imminent threat to the popstar. Out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted the Yakuza reaching the giant. What happened after was unclear, for his moment of inattention allowed more zombies to close distance.

As if sensing weakness, more monsters came out of alleyways to strike from multiple fronts. Life became a desperate race from one zombie to the next as two people tried to do the job of three. Glancing blows chipped away at Wednesday, sapping her stamina as she whipped her axe around with reckless abandon to keep up. Though she maintained an expression of seeming indifference, her breath came out in gasps and huffs. Having to wield such a heavy weapon must be taking its toll. Jaune, on the other hand, remained hale of body but weary of mind.

The task set for him appeared insurmountable, his abilities negated by the pure numerical advantage their enemy brought to bear. Back and forth he ran, sometimes managing only at the very last second to push a zombie away from its prey. He lost more Aura to cardio than to the enemy, but it was his nerves that were fraying apart with every close call. He returned dozens of undead to the ground, yet wherever he looked, the encirclement tightened further. He was failing.

He needed help.

It hurt to admit that, but Jaune swallowed his pride. It mattered little when his mistakes could cost them their lives. So, he called out to the other defender.

"We can't cover Johnson at this rate. I'm barely handling my end."

"We most certainly can do so, if you would act with more forethought and efficiency. Your current predicament stems from your penchant to chase these zombies in the manner of a dog running after a mail truck instead-"

"Hurry, please!"

Of all the times for big words and long explanations, thirty seconds from death ranked near the bottom. He was this close to slipping on the blood-soaked ground. Just one little stumble, and then where would they all be?

That did not stop the tinge of peevishness coloring Wednesday's words, or the exasperated eye-roll.

"No run. Pull back. Look more. Make plan. Attack." Her axe swept in longer strokes, trading greater effort to clear out room. Her voice lost its sarcasm, and she continued in a lecturing tone. "Each of them? They're nothing. Mere nuisances whose actions follow base drives. Do not spare them much thought."

As if to demonstrate, she weaved through the gaps between the bodies without sparing a glance to them. Her eyes remained on him.

"Simply note their presences in relation to yourself. Anticipate where they will move. Determine what course you should take. Then, deal with them in order." A seemingly-blind backswing felled the zombies following her. "See not only what is, but what will be."

What was she, a psychic?

But, it was worth a try. Or rather, he had to try. An innocent life was on the line.

He tried to disengage, and panicked when the zombies almost overwhelmed him. The petite figure of Wednesday Addams appeared before him to block their path, chopping away to create an open space. Immediately after, she dashed back to her position. As she passed by, Wednesday locked eyes with him.

"Go ahead. You will be up to the task, or you will perish."

She skidded to the other side of Johnson. Instead of a deft swing, she rammed into a zombie to push it away. Her grip shifted lower on the axe handle, leading to wide and inelegant slashes that covered a longer stretch of the perimeter around Johnson. More wounds accumulated, ignored as she pushed herself to grant Jaune a reprieve. She was risking her all to buy him time, so that he could in turn carry his weight.

If he still failed after that, she might kill him before the zombies could. No choice, then.

Chancing it, Jaune closed his eyes and took deep breaths.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Eyes opened, and swept over the scene.

See where they are, predict where they will be.

There were three on his left side, shambling forward. At that speed, from that distance, he had four seconds left before they arrive.

The one to his right was further out, deceptively so. It could run. Two seconds until contact. Best to take it down first with a stab past its eye.

He did so.

The three zombies were here. One in front, with the two behind approaching side by side. He just had to push the leading zombie back with a hand and they would all be in a line. With enough strength, his long knife can slam into the ear of the first, through the second, and end up in the last.

He did so.

The mob followed a few discernible patterns that, once grasped, reduced them to little more than objects. Within that scene, he moved as the one discordant element. They did not control his actions. If anything, he dictated theirs, interposing himself and usurping their course as he pleased.

Was this how Wednesday viewed the world?

It was something akin to his oft-used on-the-fly tactics, only revved up to max speed. A blink of an eye to plan, no time to guess himself, and a second chance will never come. This world, a collection of chess pieces, and he, the player. A decisive way of fighting wherein one had to act with utmost confidence.

He can do that.

An axe dropped over his shoulder to cleave a zombie moving in his blindspot. Gore sprayed every which way. A jet of blood splashed his face.

A monotone voice whispered next to his ear.

"A subpar first attempt. Try again."

Meep.

-o-

He never quite got the hang of it to the proficiency Wednesday exhibited, a given since he was learning as he goes. The most he managed was to ease the burden for seconds at a time, just long enough for him to stave off defeat again and again. Nevertheless, him picking up the slack alleviated the strain on Wednesday Addams, and her frantic rhythm calmed. The battle still wore her out, but slowly.

They struck a balance, tenuous but harmonious. She left Jaune to handle his side, judging him able to stand alone. He stayed out of Wednesday's way, the girl's solitary nature unsuited for fighting as a pair. A warning would alert of any zombie that slipped through one's fingers, which would then be dealt with by the other. It worked for them.

During a momentary lull, Jaune glanced down the street to see how the Yakuza was faring against the giant.

Not well.

The giant's progress had been halted by a barrage of blows. Smaller limbs and faces along its body had been broken or destroyed, likely to test whether they may be weakpoints. A score of regular zombies lay at their feet. Debris, from store signs to concrete blocks to another motorcycle, testified to the man's effort in confronting the zombie titan.

After that hard-fought struggle, the zombie was still very much active. Now that it had engaged in battle, Jaune realized that this was no mere shambling corpse. A spark of combat awareness resided in those eyes. The dozens of beady orbs followed the Yakuza, reacting to his attacks. Its arms swiped with accuracy and purpose.

The thing has not learned to pick up weapons…yet.

He had hoped the problem would be settled by the time Johnson arrived at that part of the street. That dream died with a whimper, since by his estimate they had less than two minute until contact. Soon, they would be within range for it to squish Johnson flat.

…And it would be within range for him and Wednesday to lend their ally a hand.

Whether it be against people, Grimm, or zombies, the lessons from his teachers remained applicable. When one's own strength proved insufficient, bring backup.

"Wednesday. Wednesday!"

Said girl spared him a withering glare. The sweaty sheen and ragged gasps of air detracted from the intimidation factor, to the point that Jaune worried she might not last much longer.

"Do I -huff- have to revoke your privilege -huff- of using my name?"

Scratch that, she has some snark left in her. She's completely fine.

"We need to clear a space around Johnson, enough to buy us a minute. I have a plan."

He almost thought she would object until, with a huff, she braced herself to regain some of her earlier composure. Her hands slid down to the knob at the end of the axe. A step, a twirl, and the axe made a low circle. On the second pass, boots clicked together and she leaned back to stand on her heels. By the third revolution, the axe head was rising and falling from knee to neck height as she spun like a top. Her shoes scraped on the ground as the heavy weapon began to pull her along, taking the lead from the girl. The sharp edge met its first victim, quickly found the next, and moved on from there in a macabre dance where she swept one partner off their feet after another. They fell like wheat in a harvest on a curving path that took Wednesday from one side of the street to the other. With Jaune stabbing away in a frenzy on the other side, a wide gap formed between the mob and the popstar.

At last, the axe came to a rest, crashing down on the asphalt. Wednesday held on to it with a white-knuckled grip. Her knees trembled, and her teeth gritted together in a snarl that Jaune knew well. It was the face of one trying to keep their stomach contents down. In exhaustion, she looked quite sickly. Sicklier than normal, he meant.

If he could let her rest, he would. But the threat looming over them allowed no respite.

"Wednesday, thank you-" He winced at the slip. "-but there's one last thing."

With effort, she reconstructed her blank countenance, and quirked an eyebrow as if to nonchalantly ask, What is it now?

"I need you to cut away at the giant's left leg, deep enough so that it can't handle its own weight. I'll take the right."

"I would be well-suited for the task, but how will you do the same?"

His thumb brushed over a switch on his wakizashi.

"I've got something. You've caught your breath? You're okay?" She nodded. "Good! Because ready or not…"

He stared up at the giant. A few eyes stared back, and he could see in their reflection the blue flames that was his Aura flowing down to one leg. In his periphery, Wednesday rested her axe on a shoulder and settled into a running stance.

"…here we go."

Kicking up dust, Jaune disappeared from place and reappeared behind the giant, wisps of Aura marking his trail. He braced for an attack that never came, the zombie too dumb to process what had occurred. Flourishing the knife in a circle, Jaune slammed it home in the back of the giant's knee. The blade met resistance on the leathery hide, punctured it, but stopped an inch or so in. Letting go, he hopped back then kicked forward. Heel struck pommel; the knife slid past the dense flesh to bite deep.

The zombie showed zero reaction to being stabbed. Deadened nerves, as he thought, so pain won't affect it much.

No matter, one little spark and that dead leg was going to dance.

"Hehe-, Hehehe-, HehehaHaAHAHA!"

For what he was about to do, and on this night of all nights, the laugh just felt right. His thumb pressed the switch on his knife. Within the Dust chamber located in the hilt, two wafer-thin strips of metals touched to open a path for the lightning. Electricity arced its way along the wakizashi, ripping into the wound.

For a moment, nothing happened. Jaune watched on, bemused, as more electricity traveled through the knife. He glanced over to the other leg, where Wednesday was winding up for the first swing. She hesitated, curious eyes looking at what he was doing.

Then, he saw movement. The knee just twitched. It did so again, slightly harder.

Okay, his plan was working, but a 'little spark' might not cut it. He grinned, flicked the activation switch all the way up, and held it there. Three pairs of metal strips connected. The Dust chamber whined in protest. Lightning Dust encased the knife's blade in a golden glow.

And Jaune gleefully shouted the only words he could say in these circumstances.

"IT'S ALIIIIIVE!"

Bolts of lightning seized control of the giant's leg, jolting the muscle to induce violent spasms.

The knee wobbled. The knee shook. The knee jerked left and right and contracted and straightened without input from its master, throwing the creature off-balance as it danced a jig. The massive arms continued to swipe at the Yakuza, missing far off-target now. The eyes on its back spun in their socket, trying desperately to make sense of what was happening. One affixed its gaze on Jaune, until he punched it out with his free hand. A smell of burning flesh hit Jaune's nose as electricity seared the wound.

*Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!*

Wednesday has gone to town on the other leg, chopping it as a lumberjack would a tree. Something in his antics must have amused her, for she showed her first true smile.

It was a twisted, vicious thing lit up with sadistic joy. He thought it suited her.

The axe carved out chunks of the zombie, dead muscles torn away until bones emerged. The leg reached a point where what remained could not withstand the weight it bore. One final cut pushed it over the edge and the bones shifted out of alignment. Skin and flesh shredded apart. On Jaune's end, a strong blast of electricity jerked the leg back so hard he hear a *snap, after which the knee pointed in the wrong direction.

The giant tipped forward.

Even as it fell, the monster strove with all of its might to kill the summoner. As its knees hit the ground, the thing stretched out both arms in an attempt to grab Johnson, whose dancing had carried him within reach. It ignored the Yakuza in the way, and why would it not? The bulk of the zombie would crush the man beneath when it snatch up the popstar.

At the moment of their impact, with the zombie's fingers inches from Johnson, the Yakuza dropped on one knee into a crouch. A deep blue Aura engulfed his arm like fire. His left shoulder dipped, and with an earthshaking roar he swung his right fist in a cross strike aimed towards the zombie's midsection. Knuckles drove deep into stomach and-

*BOOM!*

A punch should NOT make that noise! Jaune's mind screamed.

Jaune and Wednesday dove out of the way as the giant zombie reversed course. The punch had counteracted, then overwhelmed the momentum of the monster, blasting it away. It's immense frame became a projectile flying down the street, pulverizing a vast swathe of zombies. It bounced one, twice, then crashed into a building at the end of the street. A cloud of dust and debris kicked up to obscure the figure.

With burgeoning hope, three people watched on.

At last, the dust settled to reveal the zombie embedded in the wall. Its arms flailed in weak movements, but anything below the chest laid motionless. An indentation in the shape of a fist can be seen on its belly.

Jaune's gaze drifted from the fallen giant to the Yakuza, who had straightened his posture. Lazily, the man shook out his hand. His face sported a satisfied smirk. He gave Jaune a nod, one which Jaune returned in kind.

Unbeknownst to the man, Jaune was burning the image of that punch into his memory; the form, the timing, the power. His mind superimposed his body over the move, striving with difficulty to comprehend the minute details in order to reproduce that technique.

And he would do so, someday, no matter how difficult it turned out to be. In that counter, he saw a thing of beauty, a sublime strength with which one can fell a great beast. He swore then and there to make it his own.

Thoughts still swirling, Jaune turned to check on Wednesday, as did the other man. She, in keeping with her nature, did not spare them a glance. Her attention was riveted on something...over...their shoulders…

The two Yakuza spun around, screaming in panic.

""Johnson!""

Knife, fists, and axe pummeled the zombies as the combatants reestablished a protective circle around the popstar. The path remained teeming with regular zombies, which seemed positively harmless now, but no second giant made an appearance. It was smooth sailing from then on as far as they were concerned.

Soon enough, Johnson crossed the boundaries to enter the intersection that marked the end of the street. Jaune kept a close eye on the giant zombie, still struggling where it laid.

"Soooo, what now?"

Right after he spoke, the air changed. An oppressive weight, heretofore unnoticed, lifted from his shoulders and Jaune breathed easier. Wisps of light appeared along the path they've treaded, gathering towards Johnson, who danced in place. His eyes behind the sunglasses burned with an eldritch glow. His face took on a grayish tinge, his cheeks shallower than before. He waved a hand in time with the beat.

The zombies dropped their arms. Their legs slowed, and the incessant groaning halted. Jaune relaxed his guard. It looked like the ritual worked as intended.

Then, the zombies broke into a full-on sprint.

Jaune, Wednesday, and the Yakuza hastily prepared their weapons, their shocked faces transforming to a grim determination once more. Confusion struck when the zombies flowed around them to group up in front of the giant. They spun around to face the humans, and stopped in their tracks.

Johnson moonwalked his way out of the cordon of bodyguards. He took position in front of the undead.

As one, he and all the zombies, including the giant, jerked their right shoulder up. They did so again, and a third time. Smoothly, they pivoted to the left, sweeping out one arm to the front and one arm behind their back.

The scene paused. For a few seconds, all was still.

Then, the living man began thrusting his hips. The undead imitated him in synchronicity.

"~'Cause this is thriller, thriller night~"

And they danced on.

Jaune slumped to the ground in relief.

The Yakuza chuckled and placed his hands on his hips, shaking his head.

Wednesday Addams just showed a blank face, until a small movement caught Jaune's eyes and he looked over to see one of her foot tapping. She sensed his gaze, stopped… then very deliberately resumed tapping.

He lost it and began laughing uproariously. Between peals of laughter, Jaune tried to explain to the Yakuza what he found so funny while Wednesday's lips curled in a barely noticeable smirk.

His limbs may be screaming in exhaustion, and another one of his suit was ruined. He had a hundred questions he wanted answers to. But, those problems can wait until later. That they could laugh, that they could joke, that this unbelievable scene was taking place before them proved their victory. Whatever strange incident has happened tonight, they've reached the end of it.

Together, they settled back to watch what might be the silliest use of necromancy in history, where the undead became backup dancers to one man's music video.

-o-

Things wrapped up quite neatly after it all. Once the terms of the rental contract that started this mess have been met with the completion of the shoot, the ritual's power cut out and the undead collapsed to ashes. A fortunate development as Jaune did not want people waking up to a street full of rotting bodies. The debris was a problem, but one best left for tomorrow's Jaune plus any unfortunate Red Axe minions he can rope into clean-up duties.

The Yakuza placed a phone call, and a man calling himself a director had rushed in to whisk Johnson away, a gaggle of hangers-on plying the star with drinks and clean towels. The set crew working with him remained to retrieve the cameras installed alongside the road and buildings. Nothing had been broken, so the footage should come out crystal clear. Whether their minds can handle what the cameras recorded was a matter Jaune will leave to more qualified people to take care of.

In other words, it was time to actually enjoy Halloween. That was, if Melanie and Miltia did not kill him for bringing the bags of candies back so late. By now, The Club should have closed their doors to trick-or-treaters, and shifted gears to a party for the usual patrons. Partly in camaraderie and partly out of the hope to have someone who can vouch for his story, Jaune extended an offer to his newfound companions.

"I'm on my way to a Halloween party at this nightclub. There's drinks, dancing, food, lots of good people. You're all invited."

"I approve of your sadistic nature, but your method of torture is too unusual even for me. I will pass. Emphatically."

A quick rejection from Wednesday, unsurprising since what he described sounded a lot like the dreaded 'socialization', but what about the Yakuza?

"There is a prior engagement for me to attend. I've let an old friend know that I flew in from Mistral today and he wanted to catch up." He smiled wryly. "You know how it goes."

He did know, having on occasions seen Uncle Hei meet up with friends from out of town. Things tended to begin with little cups of Mistralian rice wine and a few side dishes, and culminate in a private banquet with no expenses spared as they share stories and gifts. Usually, it led to drinking games, because even famed and experienced Yakuza thought that was the way to prove superiority over their peers.

The Yakuza had a party of his own, one doubly-bound in memory and obligation. Rather than getting in the way of that, it'd be so much easier to convince Wednesday to help out. He turned to the girl with a grin.

"Wednes-" An empty street and a cold wind were all that greeted him. "-day… nevermind."

The two Yakuza stood in silence for a few seconds before sharing a chuckle over the capricious nature of Wednesday Addams.

"I should also head out before I'm late." The older man bowed, and Jaune returned one of his own. "It is clear that you are someone who live on the underside of society, and I'm sure you know that I am one, too. Ours is a small world. As long as you continue on this path, we will meet again."

"And so long as we're on the same side, I'm looking forward to it."

They straightened their backs, and each faced a different road. Jaune took a step… and spun around. Their first meeting had been abrupt, and the night had been so hectic, that he almost forgot to ask.

"I didn't catch your name. Mine's Jaune Arc."

The Yakuza half-turned his head as he walked away, showing a smile.

"Kiryu Kazuma."


Epilogue: The Club, 5:32AM

Every night has its dawn, every party has an end. The one in The Club that Jaune enjoyed... suffered... experienced lasted until five in the morning. It had its ups, and Jaune's face reddened as he recalled a thumping beat, jade-green eyes, bodies pressed close in a dance, and cat-ears headbands. It had its downs, and he blanched at the sheer embarrassment he had been at times. At some point, though, a person had to know his limits and say that enough was enough. Right now, he just wanted sleep. Needed it. Desired it. Loved it.

And were he not in the throes of this pounding headache, he would have it.

He had ended the drinking early (in a relative sense), around one in the morning, thinking himself smart for doing so. What it really meant was that his Aura had the time it needed to burn through the alcohol, and a warm drunkenness had become a raging hangover without the blessed hours of sleep in between. Melanie and Miltia seemed to have fared better, peacefully dozing on the couch of the VIP room he and they have commandeered at the tail end of the party.

Restless and with his one true love out of reach, Jaune exited the VIP room and reentered the main chamber. He anticipated a new woe on the horizon, the need for breakfast, and if he cannot sleep then he can at least prepare for that. Melanie and Miltia would appreciate it.

The thought cheered him up as he stepped off the stairs connecting to the first floor.

There, Red Axe men and women shuffled to and fro, bearing much of the same symptoms he suffered. More than one table had someone sleeping on or under them. The scene reminded him somewhat of yesterday. They were as lifeless as the undead.

He spotted his Uncle behind the bar, back from some private party he had gone to instead of the rowdier celebration here. Mulling it over, Jaune admitted the man may have chosen wisely. He looked alive, unlike most of those present.

On the counter in front of his Uncle laid a spread of fast food burgers and sodas. Another figure perched on a barstool, munching down on fries. Something about him set off a twinge in Jaune's bleary mind, but his attention was mostly preoccupied by the sight of a meal.

The food, undoubtedly, must be awful. The kind of cheap, greasy fare that a man of reputation would not touch.

Jaune drooled. Pretensions of class and good taste can be left for other days.

He wandered, innocently, over to the bar. In his head, he calculated the best avenue to segue his way into the conversation and sneak away with an armful of the bounty.

His hopes turned to disappointment when he realized there were not much left to take. Most of the wrappers were open and empty. The same went for the fries cartons. He adjusted his course to go towards the doors leading to the back rooms, the kitchen on his mind. Unfortunately, Uncle Hei has noticed his approach.

"Jaune, good morning! Quite brave of you to dress up like a cop in my bar."

Jaune looked down at his costume, confused. It took him way too long to remember that while he might think of it as a samurai costume, the outfit he purchased during the Midsummer Festival was a reproduction of a special police unit's uniform used in Mistral centuries ago.

"I'm surprised you recognized it. I thought these guys don't exist anymore." Instead of his Uncle, the other man answered, his head half-turned to look at Jaune's costume.

"There are quite a few films back home about their exploits. Your uncle and I were big fans in our school days." The familiar voice jolted the blond's memory, and he smiled as his fellow zombie-slaying Yakuza swiveled around on the barstool.

"Ki-" What was it that his Uncle said about Mistralian culture? There's a proper form of address added to the end, but which one...

Well, when in doubt, all one needed was confidence.

"Kiryu-chan!"

Kiryu Kazuma shut his eyes, a hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"There's two of them."

"Two of who?"

"Nothing, nevermind. Just…we are in Vale, so let's use the Valean custom. Kiryu is fine."

"Sure thing. So, I'm gonna guess you each were the 'old friend' that the other talked about. You were right, Kiryu. It's a small world we Yakuza live in."

Both older men laughed, the loud sounds booming in Jaune's hungover head.

I need to get out of here!

In a reverse from minutes earlier, he began calculating the best method to sidle his way out of the conversation. Meanwhile, Uncle Hei continued on.

"Kiryu spun quite a tale of last night, not least when he told me it was a young Yakuza by the name of Jaune Arc who fought by his side. Said I should see about getting that boy in my organization."

His voice held a touch of pride, and Jaune reassessed his new acquaintance. This was not merely an old associate his Uncle knew, but someone whose thoughts he personally held in high regards. His praises carried weight.

...that's great, but praises won't fill bellies. Jaune bowed.

"Thank you for your kind words. I actually have to go pick up breakfast for Melanie and Miltia. Once I've done that, maybe we can talk some more?"

A display of respect. A suggestion of prior obligation. A show of interest. The perfect trifecta to make his escape.

Bidding a hasty farewell before they could call him back, he made a beeline for the front entrance. Halfway there, a Red Axe gangster rushed through the doors, panic in his voice.

"Boss, Jaune, we've got trouble!"

Thoughts of breakfast vanished from his mind. Minions they may be, the footsoldiers of the gang were no slouches in combat. Against normal foes, that was. For this man to be here spoke volumes.

"There's this girl that won't leave. She says she wanted information. We told her we were closed and to come back later, but she insisted that it was important. Said she'll go through us if needed."

Cold gripped his heart. It sounded too familiar, like a prelude to his first hell.

"Twenty guys ready to throw down, and she didn't bat an eye. Stone cold, just stared at my throat like she wanted to rip it out."

That really, really was not a good sign. It spoke of someone with Aura, training, and bloodthirst on par with the Yang Xiao-Long of that night. Uncle Hei growled, bat-zooka in hand. Jaune, bereft of his knife, clenched his fist and prepared himself to charge out there first.

He won't let anyone destroy his home. Not again.

"Who is this, then," Uncle Hei hissed in anger, "that had the audacity to threaten my people and demand my time?"

The gangster opened his mouth to answer, but stiffened as a girl walked past him.

It was not Yang. In numerous ways, the girl was the opposite of Yang. Dark of hair, rather than a bright blond. Dour, not cheerful. Short, instead of tall. A bit smaller in… other aspects. Oh, and a capacity for violence that outpaced his friend's by magnitudes.

The girl called out to the room at large.

"I'm looking for someone."

Jaune blurted, "M-me?"

Wednesday Addams stopped short in surprise, noticing him for the first time.

"Not you. Although, it is an odd coincidence that I have seen you twice in one night. Do I have another stalker?"

Spurious accusation aside, the word 'another' implied there was a previous, actual stalker. How concerning.

"I'm not a stalker, I swear. But who-"

"That is what they all say. We can discuss schedules at our leisure. At the moment, however, I have a more pressing matter at hand."

He rather thought this was pretty urgent.

"My victims- excuse me, my sources said that this is where I can find Vale's foremost information broker. I am inquiring on the whereabouts of Enid Sinclair. Five feet three inches. Last seen in a uniform like mine, except blue and black. Blond hair, shoulder length, sporting blue and pink highlights. Nails colored like a deranged rainbow and may lengthen to claws when stressed. An obnoxious amount of puppy energy. Likes to howl at the moon."

A confused silence greeted Wednesday.

Her description of her missing friend started out promising, if still generic. In this vast city, a blonde teen girl could well be a needle in a haystack, but the few visual identifiers Wednesday listed, while not unique, should narrow down the search. The description has descended into the realm of incomprehensibility by the end, though. Leaving aside the question of who the girl was, Jaune wondered if the girl existed at all. Extendable claws, howls at the moon…

Jaune chuckled at the fanciful image it added up to.

"What is she, some kind of werewolf?"

Wednesday gave him a considering look.

"You may not be wholly useless in this matter, after all."

The backhanded compliment made its way through what he had termed The Wednesday-speak Filter, and came out as a glowing praise for his incisive comment. His hungover mind tried to alert him to another detail in her answer, something about his question and implications, but a rumble from his stomach reasserted his priorities. The faster she gets her information, the sooner he can go get breakfast.

"Do you think you can help her out, Uncle Hei? She fought alongside us last night."

"I will also vouch for her." Kiryu added. "Call it a favor for me."

Uncle Hei waved the offer away, a scroll already in hand. He flicked through his files with a finger.

"This girl a friend of yours?"

"A roommate." Wednesday answered quickly, as if on instinct. "Her claims of being quote friends unquote are mere unfounded allegations."

Jaune snorted at the denial. It was almost word-for-word how Weiss described Ruby. Wednesday and the missing girl were besties, no doubt. Better than the resties, even.

He lost his mirth upon seeing the grave face of Uncle Hei. The man put the scroll down on the counter and fixed Wednesday with a glare.

"I've got something on her, alright. A police report. The girl's wanted for questioning as the main suspect in a massacre two days ago. Seven dead right behind the Art Museum, one of whom possessed Aura and training. They were torn apart. Cameras caught your roommate leaving the scene...covered in blood. Jaune, I don't want you anywhere near this so-called 'missing girl'."

The atmosphere of The Club turned heavy. Various levels of concern and sympathy for an innocent girl in distress dissipated, and a wariness took their place. Serial killers, mass-murderers; whenever they come around even gangsters tread carefully. They tended to walk down dark alleys, after all. Those standing near Wednesday nervously backed away from her.

Sensing the newfound suspicion, Wednesday scanned the hostile faces arrayed against her until her eyes returned to Jaune. Teeth gritted in frustration (or bloodlust), she seemed to be searching his expression for something. Support, perhaps.

On his part, Jaune recalled the girl of hours ago. She was an oddball and a deathly terror he barely knew, yes, but the same could be said about a lot of people he had met and later found himself spending time with. She has also shown compassion in her own way. For someone who would risk her life to protect a stranger, he could extend a bit of trust.

He lifted a hand, twirling it in circles in a gesture for her to continue. Her guarded look loosened to the usual blankness, and she spoke to the wider room.

"I believe that there may be more to the story. Enid cannot stand the sight of blood. Furthermore, the incident in question occurred during the day." Jaune quirked an eyebrow at that strange detail, but did not interrupt. "Up until that point, she had been in my presence along with the rest of the Nevermore students, prattling on without end about all the the 'selfie opportunities' she would have in the museum. Never once did her words indicate a premeditation of murder. Had they did, I would have been much more invested in the conversation."

"So you can stop her, right?" Wednesday glanced away from Jaune. "S-so you can stop her, right?"

She continued on as if she had not heard him.

"So, you see, there are a number of salient details that the investigators have deemed irrelevant, and has been excluded from their report in favor of the answer that would allow them to declare the matter solved and head for the nearest coffee shop. Although, I suppose being corrupt and incompetent would be par for the course when it comes to enforcers of The Man."

It was everyone else's turn to glance away. They've always held the opinion that the Vale Police Department was a fine body of men and women, a sentiment backed by the numerous 'gifts of appreciation' the Xiong Family has sent to them over the years. Why, it could be said that the procedural excellence of the force's officers and detectives was a direct result of the 'staunch support' by those currently in the room.

"In any case, I would be interested in any information pertaining to Enid Sinclair you have on that scroll."

Uncle Hei locked gaze with Jaune, jerking his head at Wednesday. The meaning was simple to decipher. He would let Jaune decide.

"She saved my life a few times, Uncle. I'm willing to help her out." The older man nodded and gave a few taps on his scroll.

"Alright, I can't say I have anything concrete on her location. Runaway blondes are all too common in this city." He gave Jaune a look. Fair. "However, you mentioned an interesting little detail earlier."

A ding sounded on Jaune's scroll. He fished it from his pocket, and opened the screen to see a map of Vale marked with red dots.

"There's been a spate of nighttime howlings for the past couple of weeks. The news haven't really picked it up since it's mostly happening in the tenements of the old Vacuan Quarters. Some of my men have heard it on their patrols, and said it didn't sound like any dog breeds they know of. Could be related to your friend's hobby."

Jaune zoomed in to the largest concentration of dots, right on the western borders of Red Axe territory. Looking up, he yelped and nearly dropped the scroll. Right in front of him, inches from his face, Wednesday stared down at the screen. Without asking, she took another step closer and began adjusting the map to get her bearings. Jaune stood still with scroll in hands, for all intent and purposes serving as a desk. Behind him, he could hear whistles and catcalls from the mooks.

*click, click, click*

The sound of high heels drew everyone's attention (except Wednesday's) to Melanie and Miltia descending the staircase. On the last step, they posed with hands on cocked hips, taking in the scene. They zeroed in on Jaune and sauntered over in slow, languid strides to take up position by his side. Jaune noted the coldness in their eyes as they leveled glares at the girl dressed in black.

The intimidation act lacked impact, though, due to the cat-ears adorning their heads and the Halloween costumes they wore.

"Jaaaune, who is this girl?"

"Introduce us. It's, like, the polite thing to do, you know?"

The stranger to The Club gave the two sisters an once-over, then returned her attention to the scroll.

"No need. He and I will be leaving soon enough, and I wouldn't want to keep you from your work." She paused, and raised her head again. "On a related note, does Beacon Academy know you are using their image for such activities?"

The earlier tension ratcheted up again. The air between the twins and Wednesday seemed to crackle with lightning.

Melanie hissed, not unlike a cat, "It's called Halloween, bitch. Ever heard of it?"

"And say what you like, we look hot. Right, Jaune~?" Miltia winked at him, before resuming her glare. "But I guess you wouldn't know much about that. Black and gray? Ew!"

"That hair cut? Double-Ew!"

"I wonder what your school was thinking to make skirts that long."

"Right? She looks so -what's the word?"

"Old?"

"Frumpy."

"So not sexy."

Wincing, Jaune raised his voice to cut them off before they could really get going. There was retaliating to an insult, then there was pure vitriol.

"Mel, Mil, Wednesday, let's cool it-"

"Hm, perhaps I was mistaken in my assumptions." Jaune turned to Wednesday, heart swelling with hope that they might reconcile. "You should place a call to the kennels, Jaune Arc, and let them know about the strays. Their barking does so ruin the ambiance of this establishment. Once you are done with that, we can begin the investigation."

Nevermind, this side was no better.

The voices in the background have taken on a distinctly anticipatory tone. If he heard correctly, bets were being laid down for something. The minions, as befit their well-honed noses for entertainment, must have sensed the imminent violence. Not a single one stepped forward to rescue him. No, when he met their eyes, he saw what appeared to be...hatred?

Right about then, he realized how this looked to the spectators. One boy surrounded by three pretty girls. He wouldn't lift a finger to help a guy like that, either. Except... none of these three could be considered a typical pretty girl. One might actually enjoy seeing him in pain, and the other two would accept it as unavoidable collateral damage.

I'm in danger.

"Jaune's busy."

"With us."

Melanie and Miltia each clamped on to one of his arms, moulding themselves to his sides.

He would have blushed, but after spending hours on the dance floor together, this level of contact ranked on the tamer side of things. Instead, his face remained stoic...for all of a second before heat spread to his cheeks anyways and and he set off on a daydream. Memories of the party earlier surfaced in clear details and a happy grin found its way on to Jaune's face.

The impatient tapping of Wednesday's foot eventually drew him back to reality. It reminded him that as much as he wanted to continue enjoying the sensations of his teachers pressed so close against him, there was a job to do.

A person in need of help.

A debt to repay.

...Just a little more?

Dammit, Jaune. Focus!

In an act of supreme willpower, Jaune overcame worldly temptations to center himself. Taking charge, he adopted a stern expression and spoke the key words that were sure to interrupt his teachers' antics.

"Mel-Mel, Mil-Mil."

Two kitty-eared girls sharply turned their heads to look up at his face, one red with anger, the other wearing a shocked grin. Aggro successfully drawn! Now, to defuse them.

"I owe her this. Her friend's gone missing."

Melanie and Miltia gasped in surprise. They must not have heard about that part.

"We have a lead, and I could really use your help. Let's get changed and head out." They mulled it over, but ultimately nodded. "And Wednesday, I would prefer you do not insult my friends. They're truly sweet girls, barring a few (major) quirks, and will be lending you a hand." And could very well break your legs. "Have you had breakfast yet?"

Wednesday scoffed. "I see no reason to waste time-*groooowl*"

The protests of a stomach interrupted its owner. Three more growls joined in from the trio before her.

"Food, then search," Jaune insisted, "That roommate of yours wouldn't want you to starve while looking for her."

"Fine."

"And let's play nice?"

"Don't push your luck."

"With her? Fat chance, gopher."

"Ditto!"

Yeah, that had been a long shot anyway.

An epiphany slipped through his sluggish brain, showing a vision of the near future awaiting him. Hungover from the worst bender of his life, with twenty-three hours and counting since he last slept, he would have to keep the Malachite Twins and Wednesday Addams from killing each other as they run roughshod over Vale. There might be werewolves in this story.

Honestly, he stood better chances against the zombies.

A Thrilling Hall-Woe-ween

~Fin(?)~


Author's Notes: ~'Cause this is Thrilleeeer, Thriller Night~

Cameos to celebrate Halloween! Three protagonists were a tad overkill. Those poor zombies.

Costumes: Jaune in the same Shinshengumi outfit as in Holidays 01. Melanie and Miltia in Beacon uniforms (Nightclub ver.), with kitty-ears.

Credits:

Yakuza 0, for the character Miracle Johnson and the in-game substory 'Miracle on Tenkaichi Street' which inspired this chapter…Oh, and Kiryu-chan came from that game, too.

'Thriller' by Michael Jackson, which was the original inspiration for said substory in the first place, and a few lines here.

Netflix's Wednesday, for Wednesday Addams.

~Closing Remark~

Kiiiiryu-chan!