How long did she cry, just holding on to the feeling of that stupid Binding? How much longer would she? Had she fallen asleep at some point, only to wake up feeling exactly the same, unable to compare the time before to the time now? Had she died? Was Hell a rusted metal box with Weiss Schnee in it?

Weiss Schnee, garbed only in her clergy top and her leggings. All alone. The only other thing there was the ramen cup that her captor had left, no longer steaming. Her stomach let out a loud, painful rumble. Her throat was bone-dry.

As much as she wanted to perish, the body of Weiss Schnee did crawl to that styrofoam cup. The hands of Weiss Schnee snatched it. The arms of Weiss Schnee tipped it up. The mouth of Weiss Schnee took it.

It was cold. It'd sat out long enough to go bad, and now tasted like something between sour pencils and burnt hair. She gagged, but kept it repressed by pouring more down her throat, waterboarding her pitiful human needs. When it was all gone, now rotting in her stomach instead of in the cup, she tossed the refuse into a corner. She looked at her arms, folded in front of her.

Weiss Schnee, an empty ramen cup, and all of her scars— her proof. All these things in a rusty metal box: Hell.

Her body slumped fully over, then spread out so she could face the ceiling, extended and vulnerable. She hoped for a sign from God— preferably one that instantly severed her spinal cord and exploded her body, but He hated her and she never got nice things.

Doing the next best thing, Weiss Schnee's hand fell onto her sternum, fingers spreading, then clutching around where her heart would be.

"I have been captured," her mouth said, hoping against hope that the rest of her could muster even the barest scrap of intent to relay the words to Parley HQ. "The Vampires here are part of a coven named the White Fangs. They have killed my father, Jacques Schnee, and our third Huntsman, Qrow Branwen. I was captured from an underground tunnel network beneath building A of the defunct Beacon Heights government housing project. I do not know how much time has passed. I was transported to another location via ripgate upon capture, so I do not know where I am."

Her mouth kept working, so much better than her brain could.

"I am not in a safely Bridgeable location. Captor is highly knowledgeable of Parley SOP. In accordance with the Agent Capture and Information Control SOPs, I will now Self-Brand."

Her hand pressed harder into her chest. When she felt the warmth growing in her palm, however, it flickered. It sparked away completely.

Of course it did. She was Weiss Schnee, after all. Who else could fail to do the one thing she'd always wanted?

Her arm flopped back down to the floor.

How could someone manage to use a Portal, but not Brand— how could she? It wasn't a hard thing to imagine, she'd considered it a million times before: hand over chest, intend to Brand, then do whatever you need to do until it kills you! And dying wasn't even hard! Dying sounded great! She'd get to leave it all behind. Wouldn't have to go to dad's funeral. Wouldn't have to go to Qrow's. Wouldn't have to think about Winter anymore, or look at her dirty apartment and feel the pressure of its sorry state, or do whatever she was going to have to do if she wanted to make up with her classes, or think about what she'd done— what she'd done with— how she'd betrayed—

How many missed calls would be on her phone. How many texts.

(All from one person. Nobody else would.)

(So close, then far, then so, so close again.)

(And now look at you.)

"Ruby—"

There was a thump outside, jamming the sound in Weiss' throat. She skittered back to a wall and pushed up to her feet just before the door slammed open, silhouetting a brief glimpse of a figure in a dark hoodie before they closed the door behind them. Weiss' hand absently reached for the gun she didn't have.

The intruder flipped, placing their back against the wall. They looked up at her, but Weiss couldn't see their eyes through their sunglasses. A stillness formed between them.

Weiss' mouth started something, maybe a tepid noise or acknowledgement, but it was cut short when the person disappeared, then reappeared as a kinetic missile of black that plowed into her. Weiss was scooped up before she could hit the wall, then yanked back so suddenly that the g-forces should've pushed the rotten noodles out of her stomach. The arms around her waist squeezed her tight and spun her with glee.

Recovering from the surprise, Weiss thrust her palms against the person's masked face and covered eyes, trying to force them off her. The glasses slipped off under her hands. Silver eyes greeted her, flooding Weiss' body with a nightmare cocktail stress and reward hormones.

Which didn't make any sense. How the fuck would she— why the fuck would—

"Weiss!" Ruby squeaked. "I was so worried— I felt you with the thing, and— God!"

Weiss watched her, blinking. The girl was in all her befanged glory, her huge eyes twinkling with that ironically holy glow. "What… time is it?"

Ruby furrowed her brow and set the Huntress down. She flipped her phone out, briefly sterilizing the brown skin of her face with bright blue light. The Vampire squinted, answering, "Uh… it's, like, 10:30."

"Like 10:30 or it is 10:30?"

Ruby squinted as she checked her phone again, amending, "10:31. PM. 32, now."

"Oh. Okay."

The Vampire's features creased with concern, and she tilted Weiss' head around to check for injuries. "Aren't you happy to see me? Do you have a concussion? You look concussed."

"How happy can I be about anything? I've been captured by the Vampire that killed my sister, who I assume to be the recent replacement of this Coven's leadership— taken from one named Sienna. I ate a cup of well-expired ramen noodles, then decided to Self-Brand. This means my last meal would not only have been dollar-store noodles, but dollar-store noodles which were unfit for human consumption— that is, if I had not failed a task so simple as Branding myself, which proved slightly too difficult despite my high level of magical proficiency. In this regard I have violated the Agent Capture SOP, and will be forced to face a harsh evaluation of my ability to continue in any operational capacity within the Parley."

Ruby started walking her out of the room, slowing down to accommodate her apparently concussed companion. Weiss' legs heeded the directions on their own. Ruby's eyes stabbed concern into her left cheek. "That guy killed your sister?"

"Some two years ago, Winter and I were dispatched on a mission to eliminate a cult seeking Vampiric patronage. On this mission, we were ambushed by a Vampire who I recognize now— and who recognizes me— as the very same that killed my sister. I remember after I was forced to leave her, he chased me down and invited me to see her body one last time before I died, so that my failure would be the last thing that I ever saw. I do not think this was a genuine offer, but he was forced to retreat when my father and our Huntsman companion located my position."

"If you don't mind me asking, how did she—"

Weiss' head snapped to her. "How did you kill him?"

Ruby recoiled, blinking hard as if flashbanged. Another door was opened, and they exited out onto an old, cracked street. The night air greeted them thickly— overcast, because of course it was. A long-but-brief silence passed between the two, with Ruby cast furtive glances behind them— towards the dilapidated restaurant Weiss had been kept inside— before the Vampire claimed, "I distracted him with blood. We always fall for that."

"How did you not fall for it?"

Ruby's eyes softened at her. "Because I had something more important to—"

"He did not seem particularly blood-driven. How did you tempt him?"

The look fell away, making Ruby's silver gaze flee. Her cheeks darkened. "It's… really good blood."

"Whose?"

Ruby grimaced, pausing, before she strained to answer, "M-my own. I had to cut deep to get enough."

Weiss' brows puzzled. "He wanted your blood? How would you know that?"

The girl laughed nervously. "It's something we do for more power."

"And you just left it in a pool? He's not following your scent now?"

"I closed the wound, and probably not. He seemed to be particularly interested in mine— I'm special, after all." She giggled. "I saw him lapping it up off the ground like a dog."

"Where are you taking me?"

Ruby gave a soldiering look to the fucked-up road before them, determination steeling her voice. "The nearest place that isn't a ghost town."

"Which is?"

Ruby shrugged. "Dunno. Map said I should be able to follow this all the way to Philly."

"So we're in Pennsylvania."

Ruby stiffened, jerking Weiss to a sudden halt. "He's coming— I'll carry you out of here! Hold on tight!" She flipped Weiss into her arms and started to sprint, wind whipping them as she let out a burst of supernatural speed.

"You didn't think of that sooner?"

"What?" Ruby shouted over the wind.

Weiss didn't repeat herself. She let Ruby sprint. The surroundings passed in a blur. The sky did not clear— rather, the scent of distant petrichor started to permeate thickly. Ruby tutted, "It's gonna rain," which was obvious, before proposing, "I'll find us some shelter!"

Not needing to breathe, any Vampire could carry the Huntress with as much ease and blurring speed as Ruby did. The trip felt distinctly compressed, and before Weiss knew it Ruby had stopped at a motel— one actually in service, this time, and she took them through the process of getting a room faster than Weiss could reasonably comprehend through all the static.

Ruby flopped onto the bed, breathing deep just to let it out with a sigh. Weiss looked around the room, knowing a desk would be at the far end, and explored it. Little metal lamp, nondescript Bible, pens, legal pad, pencils, all where she knew they'd be. Standard hotel/motel layout. Lacking in roaches. Rats. Smell of evil.

She turned to Ruby. Ruby stretched out like a cat on the bed, hoodie already off her shoulders. The shirt beneath was white and thin, making her dead-rose areola visible wherever they pushed against the fabric. Weiss' eyes lingered, mouth drying as her legs took her to the bed. They'd left her bootless in the freezer, so she didn't have to shed anything in order to lie down.

"Ruby."

Ruby's eyes were shining silver. White gold. Purity. Hope. Faith and beauty. Her lips, twin wilted petals, parted with nervous excitement. "I'm so happy you're okay."

"Yes. Me too."

Ruby reached over, putting a hand on Weiss' shoulder. "I was worried about you."

"Oh. Even after I aggressively violated your consent?"

The Vampire tensed, then relaxed with a confident grin. "I'm a Vampire. I can handle a little roughhousing."

"I do not think I have ever hated something so much as I hate you in this moment."

"I loathe you too," Ruby giggled. Her hand trailed upwards, lifting, until her fingertips were awakening goosebumps along the side of Weiss' neck. "Be cruel to me. Show me where we belong."

"You are a stupid slut."

Ruby writhed, lips pursing with pleasure. Her fingers collapsed onto Weiss' face, subservience twinkling in her eyes, lust wetting her lips with a smooth, pink tongue, excitement peaking her pinkish-brownish nipples against the shirt. She shifted into the Huntress, one leg stretching out to pull Weiss' knee against her core. She pressed her face into the human's pale neck, teasing the flesh with the points of her fangs. "Weiss…"

The one being moaned for, that black-clad tangle of sin stitched within human flesh, pushed to place the creature beneath her, right where its ilk belonged. Ruby raised her arms, resting them limply above her head. She pouted with all the dignity of a vulnerable schoolgirl, her eyes big and faux-sad, masking her excitement.

Weiss shifted to mimic what the girl had done before, placing her knee back against her core. Ruby ground herself against the proffered muscle and let out strangled cries, biting her lip as she lifted her chin and presented her neck to the Huntress, the column of her throat trembling with restrained moans and whimpers. Weiss fulfilled her unspoken wish: hands; palms and fingers; a grip to enclose the place from which that Malevolent breed so often found its sole respite— a useless play for something which couldn't breathe, something which didn't pant from exhaustion, something which had no breaths for Weiss to steal, to be intoxicated by, which would never take in Weiss' own belabored air and stare with lidded eyes through the heady miasma in her own brain. Something which was wrong. Something which was an idiot in both head and heart, rather than solely the former. Her fingers tightened further.

"Did you know your sister is looking for you?"

Its eyes shot open, body freezing against the Huntress, then seizing as Weiss' grip collapsed its windpipe with a hollow crunch.

"I already sent her home. She'll be happy to see you."

Its arms shot upwards, fingers manifesting into claws against the Huntress' arms. Weiss was already shunting a pencil into its eye, graphite snapping against the hard orbital bone as it let out a wheezy, broken wail of anguish. Weiss shoved two more pencils into its chest, through the slot where ribs meet sternum.

For a third time it seized with pain, jolting as the impromptu stakes met its heart— but a Vampire this was not. As such, Weiss smashed her palm into its face, forcing it to stare at the ceiling, at the heavens beyond, Ruby's nose shattering into the crease of her hand with a thick and cartilaginous crunch. Her other hand slammed against its sternum, above the heart which would soon force out its shunts. A blue-gold glow, light that somehow seeped out like viscous mist, flooded outwards beneath her palms.

"Great Saint Michael, General of Angels and Archangels, whose title I draw from Seraphic Font," she invoked. "Return this one to sulphur."

Weiss awoke into a body surging with adrenaline. A naked, ram-horned, dream-leeching Incubus lay beneath her. Its mouth hung open, eyes wide to boast the pure white of its purification. Weiss pulled her hands away. Flesh stuck to them like melted cheese.

Breath caught up with her, raking out in a ragged cough before she heaved air desperately into her chest. The adrenaline's exodus was a pit that swallowed her— she collapsed off the body, entering brief freefall as she tumbled from a table, smacking the floor hard— she was naked— her arms were deeply scratched— claw marks raked up and down both arms, but halted completely in all the spots where holy seals had burned Enochian brands into her upper arms. The pain hit her. She flopped onto her front. Blood seeped out of more wounds on her upper chest. She vomited.

Her eyes stung. Something clawed out of her throat, ragged and raw and wet, just like the rest of her. She choked it, but the pathetic squeak of a sob hacked through her throat regardless. Weiss wrenched her head aside and sicced her scorching eyes on the world, demanding them absorb her environment— the restaurant— the one in— in the dream— with— with—

"Don't— don't think— of— don't—"

The words must've come out of some other mouth. Air from some other chest. Her ears told her otherwise, senses untrustworthy— or she was the one untrustworthy, after a Malevolence— a literal Demon tried— tried to— and in that body— in the—

She shook her head, nearly throwing her neck out. She pushed up hard and stood on her own two feet. The blood slid off her arms, over her sides, down her forearms, wrists, and thighs. Warm. Sticky.

Where she was: restaurant. Dining area. Tables and chairs toppled everywhere. Rusty. Dingy. Forgotten. Who she was: Weiss Schnee, Huntress. What she was doing: escaping capture. How she would do it: running away.

Nobody was around. Just her and a dead demon.

(Your things. Get your things— find them.)

She slapped the selfish idea out of herself— searching would waste time, time she could spend running. She needed to run. Follow the road. Tread in the footsteps of a dream.

(A dream with Ruby.)

She found, at the very least, her shirt and pants. No boots. Fuck it.

(Why isn't she coming?) "Shut up." (She said she'd protect you.)

She threw the clothes on and stumbled outside of the restaurant, scanning around. Nobody. Nobody, nothing, no signs, no help, just an old restaurant on the road. She could see broken glass on the asphalt. She hadn't found her boots.

(Wait for her. She promised.) "No." (Please.)

Weiss forced her legs to shuffle along in front of her. As her luck appropriately deigned, it was the middle of the fucking night.

(Hide until morning.)

She shambled down the road. She looked behind herself.

(Go back and—

She hit something.

"Hey, Schnee."

She didn't turn. (She did turn.) She didn't look at him. (She looked up at him.) Her eyes didn't water. (She started to cry.) She didn't beg. ("Please—")

He walked past her. He grabbed her by the hair, dragging her behind him like a heavy sack of wet garbage. She did not cry out and kick and whimper and yelp and claw at his hands. (She bleated and thrashed like an animal dying.) She was, after all, above that. (She was disgraced.) Above him. (Nothing to him.) To fall before him (prostrate) would be beneath her ken. (What she deserved.)

(Ruby, please.)

He threw her back into the restaurant, her back colliding with the table on which Miltia's 'dead' sister lay. She managed to bite down on all her pain and stay silent, stoic. (She cried out, curling her naked, bloody body into a tight ball, and she whimpered, "Ruby. I'm sorry. Please… help me.")

He dragged her up by the throat. She kicked and thrashed, striking him. (She hung limp like a dead fish.) "Say, Schnee, where's your fight?"

"Die." "Waiting for you to be worth it." "Right here." "Put me down and I'll fucking show you." "I'm going to sell your ashes to the Devil." "I'm going to fucking eat you." "Don't fucking touch me." "You can't hurt me." "I'm chosen." "I am an executor of the most high." "I am a warrior of God." "I've killed worse things than you." "I'm going to shatter your fangs and watch you starve." "I'm going to feed you living to the family hounds." "Show me your teeth." "I'll rip off your jaw and beat you with it." "I'll flay you alive and bathe you in salt." "I'll waterboard you with holy water." "I'm going to fucking crucify you."

("Please— Ruby—")

"Speak up, little girl. Show me you deserve to live."

"I deserve to feast on your heart."

("Father— Qrow— anyone—")

He pushed off the dead Incubus, muttering, "Stupid slut. So much for intel," before he slammed her down on the table and crawled over her. Seeing her thrashing was futile, the Huntress threw her hands over her heart and promptly Self-Branded, as she should've done earlier.

(She braced her arms against the table. She screwed her eyes shut. "Please don't kill me.")

He neared her neck, fangs bared. "You think I'm killing you?"

He would pierce her, and her death would trigger the Brand— in a glorious rapture of soulfire, her death would at least excise this Vampire from the world.

("H-hail… Mary… f-f-full of… g-grace…")

He said against her neck, "You're just as stupid as your dead sister if you think I'd pass up the chance to sire a Schnee."

"You're as stupid as all the rest of your dead leechings if you think you're going to survive."

("T-th—the Lord is w-with— thee—")

His fangs touched her neck. "Taurus red is gonna look damn good on you."

"I'll die white as the driven snow."

("Please— don't—")

"Welcome to the Brood."

She closed her eyes, a last prayer for mercy for this heathen on her lips, when there was a calamitous crack. He jerked away, looking, and she threw herself out of his grip and went for a chair, smashed it, taking the leg— security first— before her eyes went to the new intruder.

Dark hoodie. Dark glasses. Quick frame— a blur of movement, then her captor was crashing through tables just like she had before. The figure was latched onto his chest, punching and clawing with reckless abandon and feckless skill, putting him on the back foot solely by the speed and ferocity of their surprise attack.

The advantage didn't last long. He quickly took the intruder up under their arms and threw them off, shattering tables and chairs with their body. The figure reacted quickly, however, and threw themselves out of the way of what would've been a freight train of a kick right into their abdomen. They chucked a chair in his face, then another— he clawed them both from the air, reducing them into moldy splinters with ease, but the subsequent plume of chips and debris gave way to another dervish of desperate claws that raked over his face.

But he was a Brood lord, now: an architect of his own Malevolent phenotype. What would make others wither and squeal, to him, was unforgivably lesser— especially from another Vampire, and a Vampire this intruder certainly was.

He threw his arms around their waist, locking his hands behind their lower back, and pitched forward to drive them into the floor. The old linoleum shattered like plaster, throwing up shards that cut his face and left the intruder's back pouring blood— he lifted up, then threw them down again, again, again, until with a sickening crack the intruder seized. When next he lifted them, their spine folded over at an ungodly angle, and their arms flopped down limp like the rest of them.

He rose, leaving their push puppet corpse on the floor. He turned to the Huntress.

But the Huntress would never turn her back on a Vampire. Not till it's ash.

He opened his mouth, reaching out to the Huntress, unaware of the corpse behind him— of the glow, the rising light beneath their shaded glasses, so bright it looked like they had twinkling spotlights for eyes. They rose—upper half lifting, lower half dangling— and stretched their arms out until they looked like an invisible crucifix suspended them.

The glasses slid off their face— her face— and her eyes were a messy rainbow of iridescent irises: multiple irises, multiple pupils, crammed against each other and overtaking the whites. Red wept out of her eyes, out of her nose, out of her ears, from the corners of her mouth. He finally turned when her jaw simply ripped from her skull, sinews and flesh and veins and tongue hanging, bloodless. The skin sloughed away until only shining mother-of-pearl bone remained. The mandible rose, squishing, compressing, stretching, smoothing itself out into a shining white halo— a crown— that floated above Her bloody black hair. She said:

BE NOT AFRAID.

And from Her back, from Her ribs, from Her hips which did twist to fit again with Her spine: there was a great unfurling of wings, and through Her pores did come a hiss of marble smoke. She passed him, gliding to the Huntress as Her six feathered wings made to stretch and twist, ebbing with ease in the air. The wretched captor stared, transfixed in Her beauty, in Her purity, unable to contest when Her finger did lay between the brows, and his body shriveled in a great whorl, a crackling vortex of tendon and bone and red and white, until he himself was pressed into a singularity. And when the world would accept his presence no longer, he became naught.

The Huntress did fall to her knees, and that Angel's hands fell to her. The Angel's palms cradled her face. The Angel kissed her. Unto grace the Angel did deliver her, and the Parley did take her once more into the fold with open arms and accolades. The Angel, whose name was Ruby Rose, was ordained to live with her, and this gave the Huntress breath and meaning anew. The Angel, whose home was pleasant, whose bed was warm, and whose arms were a heated cradle against the cold darkness of the night, did lay in chastity with the Huntress. The Angel, whose finger the Huntress did offer a ring, deigned the Huntress sufficient to wed, and their love did reap a fruitful harvest.

Thus did the Angel and the Huntress live, and when it came to pass that the Huntress would live in body no longer, they ascended as tandem souls. They lived in the glory of His name forevermore.

(He bit her, and she died.)