Di Brillare Così Tanto
Cinder Fall scowled. Careful plans, plans so well thought out they went back years of her own life and so layered, so complex, all thrown out of sync because her trusted spy? Emerald, the street rat? Emerald, who would do anything for her? Couldn't do a simple reconnaissance mission right. It was time for the Vale theater of their shadow war. Cinder had acquired the services of the White Fang not just by beating the Bull Faunus so far into the ground he couldn't tell which way was up, but through something as simple as words.
Not even the promise of power, but just for the wanton destruction along the way to her and her mistress' goals had been enough for Adam Taurus. Had Cinder cared for the plight of Faunus, for her "Captain's" miseries in life she might understand just how badly the White Fang had it to agree to such terms. But they were easily brainwashed, happy to throw themselves into the meat-grinder and it was enough for it.
It was also disgusting, a true statement regarding their utter weakness.
All it had taken was receiving a mere half of what Amber was capable of and one fight when Taurus had had the audacity to scoff at Cinder Fall, ascended. Just once and the Fang was hers to use.
As was meant to be.
Then, while the current "season" of Huntsmen and Huntresses ended, so many graduating after their ten month year came to a close? Emerald had been sent into Vale. She didn't even have her weapons, the girl had made herself pathetic and a week inside had her scurrying back – Roman Torchwick was the crime boss in charge of Vale. Oh there were many others. Hei Xiong led his own crime family. There at least two anti-human extremist groups being led by an old Rhino Faunus that Adam Taurus had been deployed to absorb. Remnants of some form of criminal organization that Torchwick had fought against some time back, but Emerald had admitted nothing short of breaking into Vale P.D. would come up with anything on that venture.
And that was a risk they couldn't take.
There were outside elements as well – Emerald didn't see them, but Spiders were spread throughout Vale in the strangest places as if looking for someone or something and to Cinder's unease, there was at least one instance of the Solitas-born, scarcely known Bratva. Otherwise, Torchwick was spoken of as the King of Crime in Vale. A one-time gentleman thief, turned effective iron fist bleeding every other criminal enterprise dry.
Emerald spoke of personal skill – as an ex-Huntsman, Torchwick was formidable. She spoke of connections – likely absorbed from his war with the destroyed faction. Influence – because you don't become the most wanted man in a nation without having corrupted good men to your cause. Money, men, riches, drugs, the like – Emerald admitted it was a lot, but the man was in his early thirties.
The problem?
The problem sat across from her in the luxurious high-rise she found herself in, honestly impressed that Torchwick would have the balls to claim a piece of modern art that was the skyscraper of a building, entitled The Valean, politely eating his meal.
"What I don't understand," Cinder continued their conversation, lifting a piece of silverware that cost more than anything she owned, "is if you are who you say you are. If you're really a representative of the Tilean's, of Nostra Famigghia . . . why would you ever bother hiding?"
She allowed the lilt of the accent to color her words even as she twirled a bite of the frankly delicious spaghetti alla carrettiera around her fork, not yet giving the man before her the satisfaction of her full attention. The Valean was something built in the last twenty years and it showed. While primarily known for the 83rd floor she currently ate on, it was notable as a tower containing several businesses – the most notable outside Lu Risturanti being a series of bars on the 30th, 60th and the most expensive, lavish of all that were available to the public on the 90th. She knew there was a rooftop bar, but her Lady did not deem it necessary to "go quite so far."
It almost seemed to be a lien thing, but Cinder would never speak the thought aloud.
She knew there were several clubs, one casino on the fiftieth floor and at least two seven-digit businesses worked here.
And it was made to look as such. Polished dark wooden floors gleamed, flawless under the low, comfortable and intimate golden lights that softly cast the room into a beautiful glow. The walls were black marble, further accentuating the sparse but tasteful art. A gorgeous chandelier sat towards the center of the room, made of genuine gold, expensive glass with every single candle unlit. There was only their table in the entirety of the room and Cinder knew that having the dozens of other tables, each a personal island to those who could afford to sit in this place, being removed was a power play.
There was no one here aside from the two of them, a waiter, their chef and the admittedly stunning view to her left of the city of Vale at night. Tilean music played softly, enough so that Cinder could admit that the atmosphere, the food, to her distress, was working. She was more comfortable than she wanted to be.
She had stalked in, full of power and ready to intimidate whoever Torchwick "worked for" – she'd never forget the way he and his midget mute had laughed at her and she'd be damned if she forgot that this was Emerald's fault – and in short time, had her self-made heels insulted, her dress come dangerously close to being called "whorish" by an old, if well-dressed, woman and . . .
. . . Cinder crossed her right leg over her left. The new dress was beautiful. Simple, black, strapless, it drew attention to her mild cleavage, her collarbone and the flawless pale of her skin. It showed off arms that were far more toned than her usual showed and hung to her ankles, although a long slit ran up her left leg nearly to her hip and the black dress lightly sparkled. Heels worth more than her life now lifted her a few more inches and if she hadn't seen those eyes of his, as cold and restrained as the frozen tundras of Solitas before they took her in she might have believed she seduced him with the way he charmed her now.
Even without the "slight" makeover the old woman wanted she could have, she felt.
She chewed politely, amber eyes all but smoldering as she stared the man down. The man, who introduced himself as Jaune Arc. Don Jaune Arc, the apparent Godfather of Vale's own Famigghia. That Torchwick worked for and worked for happily.
Irritating laughter rang out, "oh that's just. Well, precious, isn't it Triv? I'd almost call it flattering but really, how's little-miss-burns-it-all going to come into a Famigghia-owned warehouse and mistake a public face like mine for the boss of an operation like this?"
Trivia Vanille, a small girl with mis-matched eyes and tri-colored hair "giggled" coquettishly behind a hand, eyes mocking.
Cinder's teeth grit. Said nothing about knowing the girl before her, recognizing her parents were very, very dead by unknown-if-incredibly-brutal means but still flashed a gout of flame that the man swung his cane through. He staggered and Cinder felt only a small amount of joy in that, because some of the flame did in fact disperse with the action.
"If not you, Torchwick, then who?" She'd snarled, furious beyond measure at Sustrai's fuck-up.
Arc, she noticed, looked her over but didn't speak. Finished his cod arracanato over the next few moments, her temple pulsing as she spoke of nonsense with him. The salads they started with, the state of the food (she did not lie and did not blush at the instinctive gushing she did for her own meal and anyone who said otherwise would only smell themselves cooking). Life around Vale and stories surrounding the Valean.
It was almost a half an hour, sitting side-by-side and enjoying a wine bottle on a small table placed between them, overlooking Vale that something shifted.
"Why would I advertise my presence, miss Fall?" Cinder froze with the glass to her lips, head unmoved but eyes on Don Arc in her peripheral. She hadn't given him more than her first name. "When I could shift everything to a known capacity? Or do you think Ozpin, all his little soldiers and the Vale police department would appreciate my presence, my organizations presence here in Vale?"
"How do you know my name," she croaked, throat dry.
"The Famigghia are often treated as kill on sight here in Vale, something about how we're one of the biggest causes of Grimm attacks," he tutted, annoyed. "And I'll give credit where credit is due, previous Don's did nothing to dissuade those nasty little truths. But I've been doing this since I was fourteen. Twenty-seven years a Miggioso, twenty-two a made man and fourteen the Don and for all the looking they do, these people can't find us. They can't—"
Cinder stood, wine glass shattered against the expansive window and had her right hand clawed, burning with flame ready to coat this man's form. She was done. She'd played the old man's game, now it was her turn.
"Answer me."
An eye roll, "unlike you, unlike your little scout, I do my research. Thoroughly. Was dinner not to—"
To his credit, he did not move as she screamed, launched a tremendous gout of flame against the chandelier and caused hundreds of thousands in property damage as it fell and shattered, breaking.
"Enough. You know so much, Don," nearly sneering the archaic, almost-forgotten term out, "then you know why I am here. You know what I've been doing. Possibly even some of my plans."
Cobalt blue eyes watched her without a hint of fear and it irked Cinder more than she could admit. He admired her dress, the body beneath it with detached calm, only spending seconds on the raging inferno in her hand.
"You came to Vale to . . . recruit, I suppose you'd say, my Consigliere. Roman Torchwick, no?"
Her brow furrowed, lips thinning. Her eyes stayed on his. Cinder knew the Famigghia well enough, who didn't? Ancient gangsters that the world thought dead for close to a century and if not dead, scared into less institutionalized crime. Where human suffering wasn't the name of the game, a constant beacon to the Grimm. At least as the last King of Vale said – the Bratva were only thirty years old and were hypervicious in their activities and yet there was no real indicator that they were a Grimm magnet, casting the Famigghia's true cause for disappearance into mystery.
But something was wrong, even as flames licked at the corner of her eyes, her magic fully on display now.
Don Jaune Arc? He was unimpressed. He certainly no longer spoke to her as kindly, but he watched as the expensive dress he likely ordered her in fluttered. Her anger grew, but she smothered it beneath how badly she could harm this relic of a man. He seemed to know everything.
She was left wondering how Emerald could be so-
"I did," Cinder purred, her voice filled with the desire to melt the man's face. "But the only contact, true contact she had with anybody who would know enough about Torchwick's whereabouts was Lisa Lavender.
Oh," Cinder laughed softly, noting the eyebrow raise from the older man. "Oh my, thought we didn't know about that?"
"It's impressive. Seeds were planted, to test the local Hunt and all that, but after . . . how long? A decade in my service? Lisa Lavanda decided to settle into her role as Lisa Lavender. They were clueless," Jaune replied, finally moving if only to cross a leg himself. "What gave her away?"
Cinder smiled and the Don sighed. In truth, it was pure luck. Emerald had erased herself from everyone in sight and followed Lavender after hearing the woman frantically answer a call from a "Manny" and it had paid off as Torchwick apparently wanted to slightly edit her speech on him for the following nights news.
"How?" Cinder asked, the flame in her hand now combining with her semblance for terrifying effect as it glowed brighter.
"Lisa's semblance. You Don't Say? I believe she calls it. For a reporter it's a hell of a tool – your girl came in with innocent enough questions, like a stray looking for a new boss but the problem is? You can't ask Lisa a question without your reasons popping up into the printed word in her vision. One long talk later and finding out everything there is to know about you wasn't anything challenging."
Cinder stared and noted that it was the truth. Arc wasn't lying like she thought he might. No misdirections, no aimless banter, just laying it all out for her. And despite her position of power, her stomach felt ill at ease. Something was wrong here. But she had her mission.
"I suppose taking him would be pointless now."
The old man smiled. "Torchwick is family."
Her semblance, combined with her magic, looked like a fireball. But she'd done so much compressing that it was more a bomb that'd surge through the entire floor. A miniaturized sun that certainly shone like one.
"Then you, Don Arc, now work for me," she replied, meaning every word. Uncertainty as to what was wrong or not, all Arc could do is submit. She knew his family and knew he was the one without power here.
"Oh?"
"And your Famigghia. While I myself am just one member of my Lady's court, my Lady commands more power than you can imagine. You will fall in line or everyone from General James Ironwood to the Headmaster himself, Ozpin, will know of your survival," she answered.
Don Jaune Arc simply stared back at her and Cinder kept her eyes on him. 41 years old and despite it, Cinder could admit he looked good for his age. Very good for his age, in fact. Aside from eyes that seemed a bit tired his looks were a truly fine blend of a strong chin, stronger jaw-line and features that could be called both pretty and handsome. A mixture of masculine shapes and sizes, with fairer features that served to color him. His blond hair hung mostly around his head, a strange choice of a bob haircut, his bangs currently blocking his right eye and streaks of ashy, almost white blond showed somewhat. She'd seen the ponytail held in place by a simple red ribbon, a surprisingly feminine choice when you combined it with the fact that he had a beard as well.
It was trimmed, kept neat and short enough to the face although it was significantly longer on the chin, reaching to about two inches. Between the soft, amused smile that seemed to hold a constant state of entertained thoroughly and the hard, unforgiving darker blue eyes he was attractive.
Tall at about six-one, he held broad shoulders and while not overly ripped like some chose for vanity or the attraction of lesser females than herself, Cinder appreciated that as he stood before her? He actually cut the image of a Miggioso. A charcoal gray suit coat, fitted to his frame nicely and beneath the buttoned coat, a jet black button-down shirt that was tight enough to let her know he was in amazing shape. A black bow-tie gave a professional look an almost jaunty feel and he wore black slacks in a modern fashion of slimmer rather than wider and a pair of black dress shoes that probably cost more than her, Emerald and Mercury's closets combined.
And he knew it. He smiled.
It was an unforgiving smile that suddenly held nothing but a vague sort of coddling condescension, as if she were beneath him.
"No."
"What do you mean, no," she hissed, hand aimed-
She moved, at the very last second with a great leap back as reality seemed to shatter like glass. Her eyes widened, seeing Torchwick's cane absolutely blaze through where her wrist just was.
"You—" Cinder had no time to speak, furiously extinguishing her fireball as Trivia Vanille in her neapolitan color scheme thrust a blade coming from a parasol at her once, twice and Cinder screamed, winds blasting off of her and sending the small girl flying back into Roman's arm. He caught her, spun her towards the stone-faced Don and spun to Cinder in one fluid movement.
BAM!
The rapport of his cane weapon was deafening, but Cinder was already done. Emerald hadn't picked up on being caught out. She had been humiliated by the ginger buffoon attacking her along with his little midget friend and now a Don of a criminal organization that would have a Kingdom-wide effort to end them was giving her orders?
No.
Fireballs spat out, superheated and exploded as they were shot, but she was on the ground from her floating position in a second, conserving what magic she could use. By the time the fourth second passed, she had accessed the small amount of Dust she wore on her underthings for situations exactly like this and two miniature versions of Midnight formed, terrifying knives that as she focused her aura with a burst of wind – something that already had her sweating like a pig, if it wasn't fire it left her exhausted – launched her at Torchwick.
The series of slashes traded with him tested the man's limits, which Cinder grudgingly admitted were close to her own. Not greater of course but he met every diagonal slash with lightning-quick reflexes and when she spun (intending for a double slash) he kicked her in the back.
The he aimed his weapon at her and Cinder sidestepped the parasol-blade that would have pierced her with a growl, her back-step leaving one foot bare. As intended and as she lost inches of height stepping back, her left foot trapped the shocked Vanille girl's blade and with an aura-assisted twist, Cinder was barefoot and she didn't hesitate, activating Scorching Caress and superheating the floor as the cane blasted again. But Cinder shoved aura into her Midnight dagger and deflected it into the ground in another burst of speed, the explosion being exactly what she needed.
Ignoring the ache from pushing her semblance to work with her magic from earlier, Cinder rolled towards Trivia, who had her parasol up and spinning like some form of shield and Cinder pulled her right hand back, superheating her dagger and chucking it hopefully through the Consigliere's chest and moving that same hand back, clutched the parasol.
She didn't wait even as the girl paled even further, pushing as much of Scorching Caress into the weapon as possible and the mute stumbled back, gloved hands close to her body, face twisted in discomfort if not pain. But Cinder knew there wouldn't be enough aura gone and chucked her other dagger in her left hand and waited-
-and grunted, wheezing horribly with her aura shakily holding up as her dagger exploded. A burned and somewhat battered Torchwick shot through the flames as they licked off his white coat, being the one who hit her and Cinder smiled, crushing the Fire Dust she'd nabbed off him and blew it forth into a massive explosion, a fireball that shook the room and she leapt through the flames afterward, fully prepared to down her enemies and smiled, in sadistic glee. Trivia had taken that explosion for Roman – or had tried.
The result was the girl's jacket, gone or burnt or melted in spots onto her skin or corset. She was out cold and Roman's face was hate, but as glass showered in front of her from the fight finally damaging the Valean, she saw the ugly grin on his face.
"End of the line, Cindy," and Cinder pushed the emptiness within her and almost screamed as wind exploded around her as the cane barked a shot twice as loud somehow, before hurled like a spear. She avoided the explosion. Her bare feet left trails of what looked like magma before her, steaming and she had used the shattered glass to recreate her weapons, full-scale. So the cane slammed into her skull, leaving her poor ears ringing and her head throbbing, her aura after all this too low. She'd been arrogant.
Roman howled as he stepped where she had, stumbled back and leaving melted footprints and with one final pump of aura she shot forth. One slash across the stomach, another the opposite direction and into a blindingly swift spinning sidekick, Scorching Caress leaving a brief footprint on his gut and a flurry of slashes that cut the chest, arms, knocked the stupid hat from his skull and she witnessed his aura shatter as two feet slammed into his chest, hot enough to melt stone and burn through his coat. She backflipped, pushed her semblance into her Midnight's and prepared to scissor off the Consigliere's head.
"Honestly," it was a voice of pure exasperation and Cinder allowed her eyes to flick to the weakling of a Don, even as she tensed leg muscles to leap towards the glass after she decapitated Torchwick. She did not want to fight a bunch of Miggioso's that Don Arc had likely called for.
Instead, looking over saved her life as she leapt back, a tendril of black whipping through the air in a blur that Cinder barely spotted in time. As it was the Midnight in her left hand shattered in a terrifying explosion of sudden force and only the intense heat put into her soles saved her a nasty peppering, actively melting the floor so she could spin even faster, the ground now liquid.
"I understand that Cinder here's a big question mark, Roman, Trivia, but you'd think you could at least handle a low S-class Huntress," Arc. It was Arc who spoke, his empty tone full of annoyance.
And S-class? What kind of ranking was this? Huntsmen, Huntress' received no official rankings inside the Kingdoms due to the enmity it could cause, but it was well known that outside Kingdom walls that they were often given stars, seven being the max and in bronze, silver, gold and platinum.
She grit her teeth, frustrated that the Don could fight but unwilling to give even an inch. Tendril generation was strange and unexpected for a semblance, but not impossible to beat. He thought himself better than her. Because he was the Godfather of a long-forgotten form of organized crime, one that had put roots deep into society and made all of Vale suffer for it. Salem, her Queen, had entrusted her to get someone in Vale who could manipulate the underground to their bidding. That had been Torchwick and had become the Famigghia, had become Don Arc and all those beneath him.
It would be even more formidable a catch and would make things so much easier, make her deserved power come to her that much quicker.
She had somewhere under half her aura left. Combining magic and semblance was exhausting, partially due to incomplete stores of the former and nowhere near enough practice. Judicious use of her semblance didn't hurt her, not until the fight was much longer – but Torchwick had come out of nowhere. He was obscenely strong, she could still see the shattered wooden floor and the cracks that spidered almost thirty feet in any direction.
"I suppose it's to be expected, given how—" she moved, charging and heating her blade, "—important she is to the other sides game."
Cinder's slashes came as quick as she could deliver and it would have left most eviscerated before they could get their auras up. Four, five, six, seven slashes were delivered in a barely visible storm and yet met a scarily fast tendril each time, the tendrils blurring from the speeds used.
"But," Arc continued, voice almost . . . supportive? "I trained you better than that."
He sighed and Cinder's eyes widened as he almost effortlessly pushed her palm strike to the side by her wrist. She wasn't unbalanced, she was too good for that – throwing an elbow back to the nose as she used his force to spin – but the fact that he saw it and reacted shocked her. If the elbow hurt he gave no indication and instead was simply gone as flame exploded from her hand and it was in a last second panic that she felt the air change, ducked forward into a roll.
Her thighs trapped his outstretched arm, burning his sleeve off immediately as she used her roll to flip him overhead, letting go at the last moment to drive him into ground. Cinder came to a hard stop and her eyes bulged.
"Well," he spoke cheerfully, a hand-clap following as he was already in front of her and standing, minus a sleeve and exposing a well-muscled bicep, arm, "can't predict everything, especially with these doomsday cultists."
"How do you know of us?!" It was hissed as she shot forward, frustration burning at her as the edges of her remaining Midnight clashed with the man's tendril semblance, the edge finally hot enough – white hot, in fact - that sparks flew and she cut through one. She kicked into his ribs, hard.
He stumbled. "We all have our eyes, our ears, our ways."
"Bullshit!" Midnight split at the middle and heat warped it into two long spikes with handle's fit perfectly to her hands. Her left hand forward, holding the spike in a reverse-grip while the right held it in a front grip. She gave a scream as the two spikes glowed with heat and with her right hand, thrust six times and felt her aura, her muscles buckle at however he blocked it with his palm.
Impossible!
"You'd know if it were my Famigghia," Jaune replied, finally beginning to move his feet to dodge a seventh stab – this one towards his eye – and then around several vicious stab attempts. "Is it really so hard to imagine what could possibly fool you, fool that ancient crone?"
She twirled and spun, hitting tendril after tendril and smoke rose from her long spikes and she took several chances at heel kicks and after another moment of getting closer and closer to breaking his defenses, she saw the opening. Subtly changing the makeup of each long, thin spike into long, thin blades with a wicked point, razor sharp edges, she thrust both forth and grinned maliciously.
They went through the Don's gut and she raised the temperature even further, willing to torture him more than a little for all of this and hoping his organs disintegrating hurt.
"How do you know of my Mistress, Arc?" she asked, satisfied as he stumbled.
"You kids these days," came the almost tired mutter and even as her eyes widened, Cinder couldn't get away fast enough and felt like a whip of solid steel hit her across the chest as a tendril smacked her, sending her soaring back – weaponless, before she bounced off the ground a few times, eventually landing on her feet wheezing and clutching her right arm which bled freely now. Cinder gaped. Both swords were in Arc's gut but he remained unmoved, seemingly unharmed and suddenly his defense was obvious as four tendrils curled around him, almost dancing about.
"Always me, me, me," Jaune answered back. The tendrils swayed. Four became eight became sixteen became thirty-two and Cinder felt her hopes plummet. She . . . she wasn't bringing the Don to heel like she thought she was. No, he'd been letting her fight because he had always been in control. His semblance seemed to cost nowhere near as much as it feasibly should.
Two slithered through the air, like snakes and removed her somewhat cooled weapons from his gut and spiraled around them until they shattered and despite the grievous wound in his gut . . . she could see the shadows of innards almost seeming to close.
To heal.
"H-how," she gasped out, taken aback for the first time all night. Unable to comprehend the sight before her.
"Never stopping to think that an age old institution of crime might have ways of noticing these things that could be useful when gathering information silently," and Cinder almost cursed Salem herself for the fact that she dismissed the civilian option that Don Arc was implying. "Never stopping to think that even when the average good Samaritan runs dry with info that you can't be followed into the same dark holes you crawl out of."
She wasn't losing. Not really. Her ribs hurt and the scratch was painful, but already her aura was healing it. But she didn't have much left. He did. He had healed, somehow. Without her red dress, her Dust and weapons, she was outmatched. Torchwick was holding a groggy Vanille up and seemed a mixture of ashamed and impressed at their fight. She cursed quietly, knowing she had no choice.
"See, that's why I left home, y'know?" How he could sound so friendly, Cinder had zero clue. "These . . . expectations, people have. I'm no world-class cook like Trey, in fact I barely rank in comparison to my brother. So why should I even bother, they'd ask? I'm no good with children, unable to hide away the sharper bits of my personality like Irene. Brand knows the ins-and-outs of seemingly everything he tries, what do little Jaune's foray's into business, into being the head of a trading company mean by comparison? And Alexander, oh his belief in his creator is such a thing of beauty but my belief in myself, since I was the only one who would, is selfish. Disgusting. Even Isabel is an impossible standard – I could adopt as many adorable little scamps like Trivia there as I could, give back in ways as selfless as possible but I'm no doctor. No mother to eight.
And as much as Nana may have made it clear that we could do no wrong, that she'd love us all equally . . . nothing I did was ever enough. Even becoming a self-made man able to buy my own home, my own cars, my own clothes as I ascended through the ranks of the Famigghia wasn't enough for them."
He was stalking forward, shoes clicking off the wood as Cinder focused on the emptiness in her soul and remembered Salem's instructions, her words, trying to ignore the approaching mob boss. She only had one shot left.
"So I left and y'know something? Best decision of my life," he claimed, smirking. "Left at twenty, never looked back. Then the twenty-first birthday comes and it's like life just had an apology for me and I accepted. Maybe I shouldn't have. Maybe it was selfish, but finally? I had something that had taken me from great to unforgettable."
It was like glass in her stomach, roiling and uneasy. Her remaining aura prickled in extreme discomfort.
"And to know that it wasn't that I was just plain old Jaune, middle of the road and forgettable but my siblings' own independence? My Nana's inability to spread her love, her attention five ways?" His arms were spread and the tendrils moved . . . strangely. Like they were protecting him. "It was like a weight had been lifted. Then the upward movement in the Famigghia? I was made on my own skills at nineteen, but now? Now I didn't just climb. I soared. I became indispensable and all these little things that I thought were just me . . . discovering that so much of it was this world pushing down on me had me pushing back."
Her eyes were locked on his even as she heard the booming silence of the Grimm pools, the deep burbles and thick noiselessness of a place beyond mortalkind. As she felt the hate. The rage threaten to consume her as the miasma of negativity took hold.
"Then five years roll by and it's not the same. I'm too good, I'm too successful, every move I make is a threat and . . . the Famigghia nearly dies in that little two day war. I didn't want to kill the old man or his family," Arc replied and in spite of herself, Cinder felt awkward to hear it. His face seemed sincere, but his voice lacked emotion. She wondered if he knew he was lying. "But if we were going to survive, thrive and bring the Famigghia into the modern era, the old ways needed to die with the old man. So I wiped 'em out, from the 92 year old Godfather right down the family tree.
It was a disgusting thing to do, but when days like today come around and we find ourselves that much closer to a goal that'd change the landscape of this planet?"
Cinder called on the remainder of her magic – something she usually only did around her Queen, who helped her recover – she forced the emotional onslaught of the Grimm into a point before her palm and pushed. She screamed, ignoring Torchwick shouting as her aura was devastated, as her muscles screamed and her mind became flooded with exhaustion.
But grinned a bloody-toothed smile.
Her Queen's emblem burned in the air in deep red, before blackening and a portal ripped open with Grimm – Beowolves, Boarbatusk, King Taijiti, Lancer and the specialty of this last resort Cinder and Salem had created for her, should she ever be overwhelmed or need an escape: a Cenitaur that screeched its readiness.
"It's so worth it," Don Jaune Arc replied and Cinder met his eyes, tired but victorious.
"Agreed," Cinder breathed, understanding. He was like her. He wanted to be known, to be powerful and had been for so long. Shame he'd been in her way. "Now surrender. Or embrace eternal darkness."
His smile twitched.
Good.
"I didn't know accepting Roman as my Consigliere would one day give me the opportunity to strike at the . . . pretenders, but I am thankful," the Don whispered reverently, eyeing her protectors that were surrounding her. "More than you know. A counter offer, Cinder Fall – work for me. Earn your place in my Famigghia and I promise you? This won't hurt a bit."
She laughed. She laughed long and loud before looking at the still friendly face, but the cold eyes.
"You somehow know who I work for. You know what Salem desires, you know—"
A 'tch' of a sound. "Salem is a step along the way, girl," and for the first time there was nothing in his tone, "a step towards a destiny greater than this planet deserves, a step where your cute little weapons?"
The tendrils disappeared into Arc and what came out looked like some type of webbing – but it touched each of the near twenty Grimm that would attack anything that would harm her. A split second later, the kind visage dropped and there was nothing on the Don's face but a terrible, cold wrath and Cinder's knees buckled.
It made her think of the Madam, her complete lack of care when Cinder had showed the popped blisters on her hands and how she'd slapped them down, barking at her to get back to scrubbing.
Then the Grimm screamed and her flesh crawled at the horrible sound as the webs snapped back dragging each Grimm with it and Arc screamed with them, arched his back as they let out a dying scream of what seemed like fright before becoming mere mist that funneled into a single plume of jet black that disappeared into his mouth before it snapped shut and her legs gave out.
This time she saw the pointed tendril take out the remaining lights around the room in a speedy, showy display of dexterity . . . and they were left in the pitch black of near 10PM. She could still make Arc out, if barely. He stared down at her, his face as alien as anything as Cinder had ever seen as she let out a terrified squeal as tiny, impossibly strong hands grabbed her wrists and yanked her arms back behind her.
"Gotter, bosserooni!"
"If I become a burn vic, can I be called Melty?"
She shrieked as her hair was grabbed, her head yanked back to lock eyes with the Don. "Ewww, human hair's disgustin'! S'all soft and silky!"
"It's supposed ta be that way, numbnuts!"
"Ha! Numbnuts, numbnuts!"
"SHUDDIT! Unless one'a you handholdin' pussies wanna switch!"
"Oi! We ain't holdin' her hands!"
"S'wat it looks like to me!"
Cinder saw what they were. Imps of some sort. Short, hunched over with fat little bodies, skinny little bodies, long clawed fingers on her wrists. They had dumpy, misshapen little heads with pointed ears and tiny, evil looking little yellow eyes that burned like an oil lamp.
Arc stalked forward as Torchwick watched, smiling in amusement and relief. Trivia's mismatched eyes gleamed with anticipation.
"Your greatest tool is food to me, girl," he spoke so calmly in comparison to the passionate replies from before that she couldn't remove her eyes from his shadowed figure. "You have nothing. No one. Your underlings think you're just enjoying a meal and Ozma's old bitch couldn't imagine a world where there's something worse than her.
Salem? She doesn't care about you, not truly. But I suspect even you know that. Have known that. The power she offers you though . . . that's enough for you."
Cinder said nothing. She didn't want to, couldn't, wouldn'twouldn'twouldn't die here but she would not give this monster the satisfaction of knowing the truth. Worse comes to worse, she can only hope her death will solve this particular riddle for Salem. If only so the Grimm Queen would wipe the Don out.
"I understand that. I was forgotten once too. Even now, even when Isabel has another brat going to Beacon and Trey's opening another restaurant it's still been seven years since I got more than the usual noises when we speak. After all, what's trading food, produce and all that between Kingdoms in comparison to what they do?"
"Forgive me if I don't find your tragic family situation all that interesting," she seethed, grimacing at the unbreakable grasp the little monsters had on her. Arc stilled.
"I suppose you have a point," he offered and Cinder choked as he took hold of her jaw, pushing back until her neck protested unpleasantly, vertebrae almost grinding against each other. "You want power. Salem wants humanity in chaos, warring so that when she collects the Relics and summons those two rejects, the Gods decide to wipe us all out so she can finally die."
Pure black slid off of the Don then as Cinder gaped in shock at what he'd just said and a second later, a storm of pure darkness swirled around Jaune Arc and solidified, becoming some strange, dark metal that clung to his body in almost solid black. On parts of the chest where the darkness whorled, stretched or otherwise slit open were strange bits of foreign yellowish-orange metal beneath. From the knees to the feet and clawed fingers to elbow were silvery greaves and gauntlets, more of the alien armoring colored in yellow beneath. His shoulders featured a spherical green gem, which was present on the side of his knees and in the center of his collarbone were the armor seemed to . . . shift.
It was alive and she trembled as something incomprehensible, something far more ancient and wicked made itself known to her. The blackness that covered the Miggioso's physique moved and twitched and slit open, showing more of the yellowish . . . under-armor? Cinder didn't know and looked away, desperately.
" . . . What are you?" she breathed, staring up at Arc's face after several seconds of silence.
The same gleaming silver metal that made up the razor-sharp, clawed gauntlets that held her in place covered his face, save for a small bit of his forehead. It seemed to be pieced together in many parts, like pieces of a puzzle with it being smooth over the mouth, with the most pieces being in the cheeks, the jaw, under the eyes like it was designed . . . to mimic . . .
. . . Cinder gulped as the "mask" moved like flesh might and found herself staring into yellow eyes, tinted orange and filled with seemingly nothing but malevolence for all that surrounded him. The blond hair was untouched, but it only served to remark upon how alien the mob boss now seemed.
"Jaune Arc, host of the Darkness. Me, my buddy here," Jaune spoke, his voice a rasp of anger and unknown metal, "we really take offense to the thought of some podunk little G-O-D thinking it holds sway over the void, the chaos before creation. So I want Salem to succeed. I want to take the seat that purple bitch is sittin' on. The Darkness? It lives on our chaos, our evil, our destruction and even as a primal force of the universe itself, it likes humans. It has no problem letting me seat on top of the scrap heap and drag this shithole you little fucks are trying to destroy kicking and screaming into the future."
Cinder gaped as he released her, stepped back. She couldn't move still, her knees were on the ground and wouldn't cooperate, but stared.
"What . . . what do you want me for?"
"Your closeness to the moron trying to kill us. Join our side? Fight our fight? I'll kill the Gods. You can kill the old lady once the magic dies with big purp. You want power? Imagine being an acolyte of a shiny, brand new god," and despite the absurdity, the unlikeliness of survival?
Those words brought on a full body shudder, nearly orgasmic in nature. She stared at him, hungrily. It was . . . it was insane. They could die. Horribly. She knew Salem.
But . . .
A God? With her as one of his faithful? Her bottom touched her calves, sat in sudden, slumped dogeza as she stared up at him.
"So, Cindy, whaddya say?"
A long pause before a pair of ravenous amber eyes met yellow, undaunted by the impossibility of the task he had set for him.. As mortal looked up at something that was seemingly anything but.
"I'm already on my knees. Teach me to pray, my Lord?"
End
So this idea is actually beyond friggin' ancient. I wanna say I first had the idea for a Darkness crossover in 2006 or so? I'm fairly certain that's the first time I got my hands on the first volume. I was full on writing Buffy fanfic at the time whenever I had the time and it boiled down to "Xander dresses as Jackie Estacado for Halloween and a few years later, Xander suddenly finds himself the host of the Darkness." It went forgotten because frankly, it was too basic of an idea. Lots of thought, none cohesive. Then I finished the third and final volume as it was released, finishing reading in 2013. On top of that I'd played both Darkness video games and it was just a fun, cheesy, corny, immature supernaturally-themed action movie of a comic series that is about as '90's as you can possibly get, I revisit the idea, make it better . . . it still needed a certain something. Which was honestly just "less vampires" and "more people" and something resembling a fair fight, which Buffy didn't have but when I went to put together a Knightshade fic where Jaune Ciaphas Cain's his way into becoming a folk hero for a fic . . . well, I thought: "hey, why not."
And here we are. Personally? I think it's got the makings of a fun, pure '90's idea but is a little rough around the edges. It makes sense because I'm style practicing with the RWBY combat style of writing it with the knowledge that it should look very fucking cool, which is much different than how you write anime-style fights and leagues different than comic book fights, too. Non-stop, in-your-face, largely melee and kinda melt your brain a little too. I also wanted to give Cinder, pre-Maiden a stab too. Which is hard, because she mentions feeling empty with only half the powers so I felt the need to exemplify that in-world with how it'd work and how much effort it'd put on her. Add in limited weapons and I wanted to present a Cinder who's every bit the overpowered enemy she's meant to be but I still somehow feel like I fucked it up somehow. Probably mostly because of the crossover - this is an entire AU and one of the things I did was amp Torchwick a bit so he'd fit as Jaune's consigliere, but I feel like I'll need to return here to practicing Cinder at some point. Anyways, if you're interested in my usual list of factoids, read below. It'll likely clear some questions up, hopefully.
References/Background info:
- "Di Brillare Così Tanto" is Italian for 'To Shine So Brightly", a partial line from the Francis Bacon quote 'In order for the light to shine so brightly, the darkness must be present.' A pretty self explanatory quote in regards to this fic in particular.
- "Bratva" is the Russian word for "Brotherhood", another word for the Russian mafia.
- Tilea is a peninsula located in the Old World in Warhammer Fantasy, a mixture of Italy and Rome and is the stand-in for Italy I'm using here. It more resembles
- "Nostra Fammighia" is Sicilian for "Our Family", which is a play on Cosa Nostra, "Our Thing" or "This Thing of Ours", what the Sicilian's referred to their mafia as.
- "Lu Risturanti" is Sicilian for "The Restaurant."
- This is an AU. Jaune is 41 years old and is the sibling of A.J.'s Trey, Irene, Alexander and Isabel Arc and the grandchild of "Nana" Arturia Pendragon. Jaune once again winds up the normal sibling, takes it okay. It hurts feeling forgotten, but he's got his own life, his own goals and is just embittered enough to continue a childhood mistake into adulthood. He hits 21 and come screaming through the RWBY "void" is the Darkness. Jaune becomes the host and over time, it darkens Jaune to the point he's at now. For reference, Jaune is - right here - about on level with endgame Jackie Estacado. An absolute fucking unit who's borderline unbeatable (although any Jaune v. the Gods would be interesting, because thanks to the God of Light Jauneisn'tso overpowered). But Jaune's still there - he's not out to end the world. Just ascend to godhood and put Grimm in the past. Save everyone. Idea? Good. Execution? . . . Meh.
- AU Element. Trivia Vanille, for those unaware, is the birth name of Neo. Here, Don Arc and the Famigghia got to her first. Offed the parents and took her in. She's heavily nerfed here, because Don Arc treats her like an actual assassin. Overusage of Overactive Imagination, her semblance, and striking from a place of a sureshot kill. Ipso facto, she's cheeks in a fight like the one in here.
- AU Element. Roman Torchwick works for Don Arc because Don Arc eliminated the man who forced Roman into his employ, an original character named Byzantine B. Wolff who is effectively white collar crime and the criminal element who rules over Vale prior to Torchwick showing up. Less "organized crime" and more "he's the boss because he has obscene amounts of wealth and his fingers in pies everywhere." He was originally created as an extra possible character to flesh out Ruby's allusion as Little Red Riding Hood, with Byzantine B. Wolff being an allusion to the Big Bad Wolf. He's the anti-Ruby, essentially. Torchwick notes the Famigghia is a better choice than independent contracting and shot up the Famigghia until Jaune declared him Consigliere about six years prior. Of the characters I picked for the Famigghia, he's fifth strongest. He got amped for this snippet - he's about equal to canon!Cinder strength-wise - Ruby would be losing her fight with him, but surviving before Glynda showed up and evened the odds in the first episode.
- AU Element. Nostra Famigghia members: Jaune Arc, Roman Torchwick, Neo, Dee, Dudley, Tukson, Lisa Lavender, Jupiter Vasilias (Neptune's elder brother), Nolan Porfirio, Scarlet David, Cardin's Father and Qrow Branwen. Roman is the fifth strongest, Tukson (one of Jaune's caporegime) is fourth with his claws and ability to scratch "through" aura, Jupiter (a soldier) is third with a crossbow/double-sided axe that works with lightning dust and a semblance to turn anything with water into vapor and second is Jaune's Underboss, Qrow, who gets amped to at least be strong enough to survive a round or two with Salem. Jaune's the strongest, because holy shit the Darkness is fucking overpowered.
- AU Element. Ozpin, as the Last King of Vale, held beef with the Famigghia and got them "eliminated" because he felt they would undo his work.
- Miggioso is the common term for a member of the Miggio (the slang term for Famigghia meant to mirror "mafioso" and "mafia").
- AU Element. Lisa Lavender is Lisa Lavanda in truth (Lavanda her canonical last name in Italian) and she joined young and remains, because of the career the Miggio have given her.
- AU Element. Lisa and Roman used to date. Ergo, "Manny." You can imagine why they ultimately failed.
- Jaune's appearance is that of his volume nine self, just a wee bit older.
- AU Element. Cinder is amped. I believe she should be strong as hell in the first place, this Cinder is less "can be fought by Raven and Vernal/Ruby and Goodwitch" and more "should have fought her with Raven, Yang, Vernal and Weiss for a chance/should have pushed Ruby out of there and fought her with Ozpin, Goodwitch, Ironwood, Winter and Qrow if they wanna kill her." I mean she was probably third final boss in the original series behind Salem and then the Gods.
- Non-Kingdom Huntsmen/Huntress rankings are just pure world-building fun for me, not anything to take too seriously.
- Cinder having a last resort spell to bring in some nasty Grimm/nasty numbers just seems like a practical thing to do.
- Yes. The Darkness can absorb sources of evil.
- What Cinder calls Imps areDarklings. They are horrible little monster in comic or game and are fucking hilarious.
-Jaune can summon The Darkness as a full-body suit of armor, much like Jackie can in the comics. The colors vary wildly and I personally think this one's just the best, overall.
- Cinder knew what she was saying. What? It's a crossover with a '90's comicbook that once did a crossover with Witchblade, which is "oooh, similar superpowers! The less armor she has on and the closer to naked she is, the more powerful she is!" What'd you expect, I'm just a man, dammit!
Anyways, saw that I missed a few replies over the weekend and I'll get to those when I get the chance sometime tomorrow or Wednesday. As for now? I hope somebody got enjoyment outta that. Also, while no dates will be given? I do owe y'all a lot of chapters.