A/N: Now, I know this one is outta date! This one is early! I know! However, I couldn't wait five more days to post this... Why? I'm just too damn proud of this one. HUGE character moments in this one. I myself think I've peaked with this one. It's only downhill from here! I'm not Project Moon who can consistently keep finding new heights with each Canto, but there's nothing saying I shouldn't strive to be like them! Thank you all who have been with me until now. I've grown both as a person and as a writer ever since I began with this fic. It's been a wild ride. Let's hope it keeps getting wilder!
Have at thee. We'll meet each other again... Next month.
"I'll close the unopened shop, then I'll go look for her," Bemaia said, quietly gathering Winter's dirty plate and silverware.
Wordlessly, he produced some sort of cleaning solution from behind the counter, poured the thing on the table, and scrubbed it clean with a small towel acquired from a nearby pile of small towels ready for use. Once done with the counter, he threw the used towel into a nearby bowl and moved on to the kitchen inside.
The heavy wooden door creaked slightly as Bemaia pushed it open, stepping into the dimly lit kitchen of Stalla Del Viggiattore. The familiar scent of spices and aged wood greeted him like an old friend, and a quiet satisfaction settled over him as he entered his domain. It was his space, his sanctuary.
The flick of a switch bathed the room in a warm, golden light, illuminating the stainless steel counters and neatly hung pots and pans that lined the walls. The floor was speckled with faint footprints, permanent remnants of the previous owner of the stall. Bemaia sighed quietly, a mix of weariness and pride filling his chest. The place was clean by most standards, but not by his.
He walked toward the large butcher's block at the center of the kitchen, running his fingers over its surface. The faint indentations of knives and the worn grooves from countless hours of chopping, slicing, and dicing were etched into the wood, telling the story of every meal prepared using the borrowed equipment. It was familiar, comforting in its imperfections. But it needed cleaning.
He grabbed a rag from a nearby hook, dampened it under the sink, and began to methodically wipe down the counters. Each movement was precise and deliberate. His wing's eyes glowed dimly, moving alongside his torso as he guided the rag over the surface with the practiced ease of someone who had done this countless times. The rhythmic motions allowed his mind to wander, but not too far; he always remained present in the task at hand.
As the rag moved in steady, circular motions, Bemaia's sharp eyes caught the small smudges of oil near the stove. He paused for a moment, frowning slightly, before bending down to inspect it closer. It had been a busy morning, but he was sure that stain wasn't his fault. He muttered under his breath, something about how you couldn't rely on anyone to deliver nice and clean equipment in Vale.
The smell of garlic and basil still lingered in the air, faint but persistent, clinging to the walls like the ghosts of meals long served. Bemaia couldn't help but smile at the memory of the dishes he had sent out back in the day... Rigatoni, pan-seared lamb, and some of the most varied seared goods depending on the time of day, all made with the finest ingredients. That was a distant vision, one he'd make sure to recover.
He moved toward the stove, kneeling slightly to run his hand beneath the burners, feeling for any grease or grime that might have been missed. His fingers came away with a thin film of oil, and his expression hardened. 'Sloppy...' he thought. Without hesitation, he reached for a steel-bristle brush and scrubbed the offending spot with controlled hatred.
Once satisfied, Bemaia rose to his feet, his eyes sweeping over the now spotless counters and the gleaming steel appliances. There was still more to do, always more, but this… this was progress. He wiped his hands on his apron, folding it neatly before hanging it on its designated hook.
The kitchen was silent now, the faint sound of his own breath the only noise that broke the stillness.
Bemaia wiped his hands one final time, the soft creak of the towel hook echoing as he hung the cloth back in its place. The kitchen was spotless, the counters gleamed, and every tool was back where it belonged.
As Bemaia made his way to the exit, he paused at the door, casting one last glance over the space. Clean, organized, and ready for service. Tomorrow, it would begin again; the chaos, the heat, the pressure. But for now, the kitchen was at peace, just as he liked it. And so he left, stopping right by the front.
But his mind wasn't settled. He moved to the front of the stall, turning the small sign from "Open" to "Closed" with a quiet flick of his wrist.
A moment of quiet contemplation was due. He quietly stood in front of his stall as students, Beacon staff, and vendors alike walked by. Though he was surrounded by the sounds of a busy workday, his mind was elsewhere.
'Winter.' That was one of two words circling his head. It made sense for that to be the case, Winter has a very 'outward' attitude toward the world, not caring too much about micing her complaints, not to mention her physical appearance... Bemaia refused to dwell too much on that topic, but he couldn't say it didn't have an effect on him.
The other word, however, was similar, yet different.
'Sophia...'
That was a whole different can of worms.
The night in the backstreets was nigh. Soon enough, Sweepers would be swarming everywhere.
The heavy rain was sure to drown out the screams.
Viggiattore was already closed shut. No one inside but me.
And yet, I could hear someone knocking on the front door.
Anyone else would have ignored it. Anyone would simply, turn away and take a warm shower if that happened to them.
I couldn't remember why I did it, honestly.
But right there and there, when I opened that door, my heart sank as I processed the scene.
Like an abandoned cat that's been out in the rain for too long, she stood by the door, shivering and wearing nothing but rags. Her damp dark hair clung to her malnourished face.
She was in a sorry state.
I did what I could to help. Brought her inside, gave her some of my clothes, and showed her the bathroom.
I fed her, and let her wait out the night inside.
For the first time in my life, I allowed myself to have someone else working in the Viggiattore.
She stuck around for a while longer and gathered her bearings, but eventually, she left.
Imagine my surprise when the Thumb came knocking months later. She'd become a Capo in that short window of time.
She would come to visit almost every day, bringing her colleagues alongside her. Soldatos I think were their names.
She'd even bring a SottoCapo once. Nearly made my heart stop when I saw 'em, but they liked the food anyway.
They promised protection.
Deep in my fixer days though, trouble came knocking once again. The Index... And the Emerald Leaf.
Despite my best efforts, Viggiattore was no more.
No aid came. No one helped. Nothing of that promised protection.
Did she abandon me? After all of that?
I did my research after the fact, before being forced into the new L-Corp. She was still alive. Only went missing.
What would happen if she came back to Viggiattore one day... Only to find out I'm gone? Would she feel that same feeling of abandonment I felt?
I couldn't allow it. But how?
I was caught on a great wave, being dragged away from the shore.
And now...
Look where I am.
Back at square one.
His eyes scanned the bustling campus, filled with students and Beacon staff, but none of them were who he was looking for.
'Blake,' he thought, her name sitting heavy on his mind. She'd been tasked with something simple, but it had been a while now, and her absence was starting to gnaw at him. The last time he saw her, he had told her to store the ladder in the communal shed, and now… now she was nowhere to be found.
The crowd around him buzzed with life, but he felt a distance from it all. He wasn't a part of their world, not in the same way. They walked by in a blur, focused on their own lives, but something felt wrong to Bemaia. A faint sense of unease started to grow in his chest, tightening his muscles. His instincts, honed through years of surviving the City, were never wrong.
His shoes crunched against the cobblestones as he made his way toward the shed. Each step felt heavier than the last, and his mind kept returning to the image of Blake, the quiet tension that always seemed to hover around her. The weight of what she carried with her was something he understood all too well. It was possible she just needed time alone, to reflect. But something about the situation didn't sit right with him.
As he neared the shed, nestled between the stalls and the edge of the designated area for the Festival's Food District, the feeling in his gut worsened. The once faint unease had bloomed into something sharper, darker, as though the air itself had thickened around him. His steps slowed as he approached the shed's weathered metal doors, the space larger than most, shared by all the nearby stalls.
It was quiet. Too quiet.
Bemaia frowned, his hand resting on the door handle. The silence felt oppressive, pressing against his skin. His body froze as the sensation of an invisible force washed over him, like a wave of dread crashing into his chest. His heart pounded harder, and his breath hitched as every instinct screamed at him to turn back, to stay away from whatever lurked inside. He had felt this kind of presence before, but only when he had faced Abnormalities back in the City.
Something was wrong, deeply wrong.
His hand twitched away from the handle, muscles tensing. He knew better than to dismiss the feeling. Whatever it was, it wasn't something he could take lightly. His wing, as if reacting to the unseen threat, flexed slightly, the eyes glowing faintly, scanning the surroundings with an alertness that mirrored his own.
Without another thought, Bemaia quickly pulled out his Scroll. His fingers moved with practiced speed as he activated the Rocket Lockers, sending the call for his weapons. He could already picture them flying through the air in their compartments, speeding toward him from the lockers stationed at Beacon. A soft sigh escaped his lips, not out of relief but focus. He wasn't about to face whatever lay inside unarmed.
He stepped back from the shed's entrance, his eyes narrowing as he took stock of the situation. The shed was large, roughly 10 meters by 10 meters, with plenty of space for someone to be hiding, or worse, for a fight to break out. Bemaia had seen enough in his time to know when a place could turn dangerous, and this was one of those places.
His weapons would be here soon, but time wasn't something he could waste. Blake could be inside, and if she was, if she had walked into whatever this was without knowing, it could already be too late.
His pulse steadied, each beat measured. The dread was still there, thick and oppressive, but Bemaia was used to it. He thrived in situations where others would have broken down, and this was no different. He would find Blake, but first, he needed to see what he was up against.
For now, he waited, standing at the edge of the door, the cool breeze brushing against his skin as he focused. Soon, his weapons would arrive, and when they did, he'd be ready.
Every faint rustle, every shift of wind, made his muscles coil tighter. Whatever was in that shed, it was watching, waiting. He could feel it. The invisible dread seemed to pulse with each heartbeat, pushing against his senses like a dark tide, threatening to drag him under.
Then, a sharp whistle cut through the stillness, faint at first but growing rapidly louder. Bemaia's head snapped upward, his eyes narrowing. A streak of light appeared in the sky, moving fast. His Rocket Locker.
Honestus Finis and Reliquit Custodiam were coming.
The whistling grew louder, more insistent, and the tension around him ratcheted up another notch. His grip on the Scroll tightened, his body instinctively shifting into a ready stance as he waited for the moment of impact. His eyes flickered back to the shed door, knowing that whatever was inside might not wait long.
Boom.
With a thunderous crash, the Rocket Locker slammed into the ground a few feet away, dust and gravel exploding outward as the metal container hissed open, steam curling from its edges. For a brief second, the world seemed to pause. Bemaia's senses heightened, his eyes darting between the shed and the Locker, waiting for any sign of movement from the other side.
The doors of the locker slid open with a hiss, and there they were, his lifeline in this moment of uncertainty. Honestus Finis its weight perfectly familiar in his hand, and Reliquit Custodiam, glowing faintly from the heat of the Dust it carried, ready for whatever lay ahead.
Bemaia's fingers moved quickly, pulling Honestus Finis from its compartment. The metal felt cool and comforting. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he checked the cylinder. Loaded. He snapped it shut with a satisfying click, the sound echoing ominously in the silence around him. The tension in the air pressed against him like a vice, but the revolver brought a sense of control back into his hands.
His eyes darted to the shed door again. The feeling of being watched hadn't left him. If anything, it had intensified, as though the presence inside the shed was aware of his preparation. The dread slithered through his veins, cold and unrelenting, but Bemaia steadied his breath, his focus narrowing to the task at hand.
He did feel ever so slightly safer as his hand scraped by his side. The texture of his suit wasn't as he remembered it being, and soon he found the answers as to why. Early he decided to wear Francisco's prototype suit. Would this be the day he tested it? Bemaia swallowed.
He reached for Reliquit Custodiam. The power arm's mechanisms whirred softly as it connected with his own arm, locking into place with a solid thunk. The glow of the Dust within the gauntlet grew stronger, pulsing faintly with each movement. His arm felt heavier, but that weight was reassuring. As the arm secured itself around him, the faint hum of its power vibrated through his skin, syncing with his heartbeat. He flexed his fingers, watching as the arm responded instantly, the Dust within it surging with power, ready to be unleashed at his command.
But the tension did not ease.
If anything, it grew sharper.
The oppressive feeling of the shed loomed over him, as though something within was watching his every move, waiting for the moment he stepped inside. His wing twitched, the eyes glowing faintly as they scanned the environment, picking up on every shift in the air, every sound.
Bemaia took a step forward, then another. The weight of his weapons gave him confidence, but it didn't dispel the darkness clinging to his mind. He could feel the presence inside the shed, something twisted, something wrong. His instincts screamed at him, telling him to flee. He would not.
A faint gust of wind blew past him, carrying the scent of something metallic, almost like blood, but older… staler. The dread in his chest deepened, an invisible hand pressing against his ribs, squeezing tighter. His body was on high alert, every nerve screaming as he approached the door.
Then, without warning, a sound, a faint rustle, almost imperceptible, came from within the shed.
Bemaia's grip tightened on Honestus Finis. His thumb brushed over the trigger, his other hand steadying the revolver as he pointed it toward the door. His power arm glowed with a faint, simmering heat, ready to strike at a moment's notice.
He was close now. Too close to turn back.
The door loomed in front of him, larger than it had before as if the dread was warping his perception. Each step felt like wading through thick fog, the tension wrapping itself around him, suffocating and relentless. Whatever was waiting for him inside wasn't human.
Bemaia's jaw tightened. His heart raced, but his breath remained steady. The weapons in his hands, the feel of the cold metal, and the humming energy gave him the focus he needed. He had faced horrors before, and he would face this one too.
The silence around him deepened, and as he stood at the edge of the shed, every instinct told him the same thing; Whatever was inside… it was ready for him.
With his Honestus Finis risen on his hand, Bemaia slowly opened the door, his aim traced at the ever-opening aperture between the door and the frame. He controlled his breath, pulling the hammer back with his thumb.
The inside was dark, there wasn't much he could see from his angle. Yet, something told him that there was something, deeply unnatural inside. The angle of the door widened, he could barely make out the shapes of a cabinet and some tools stashed inside. More importantly, he could see the light switch. He swallowed. The switch would wait for now.
Slowly the door opened. His revolver was ready to roar to life at a moment's notice, should anything appear from within. Eventually, the door reached its limit. It would open more than that.
So he did the only thing left for him to do. With measured steps, he made his way inside.
A rancid smell hit his nostrils. The air was thick with the sickly smell of toxoplasmosis, wet fur, and iron. When Bemaia noticed he could taste the iron in the air, he closed his mouth. 'Did something die inside?' That couldn't be it, if it was, there would be that signature rotting carcass smell.
Once fully inside the room, he reached for the switch. Despite the door being open, and the sun being out, he still couldn't see a thing in this dark shed. His finger pushed the switch, flipping it. Only, no lights would turn on. He flipped it again, and nothing. One last time, Bemaia flipped the switch. The door was slammed shut by something, and the loud noise echoed through the dark shed.
"What the..." He mouthed the last word, as he decided to keep himself quiet. His grip around the revolver tightened.
As his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, his other senses grew keener. He could smell iron all around him. He could hear liquid dripping to the ground. He could feel the air growing warmer. In but a few moments, he could somewhat see inside the shed due to the faint golden glow of his wing's eyes.
It was at that moment that he saw it slowly approaching him.
A toothy mouth opened and threatened to swallow him whole. Saliva dripping from the thing's gaping maw. He couldn't see much more. Was it a Grimm?
"Shit." He spoke, jumping away from the maw, as it snapped shut.
Wordlessly, he pointed his Honestus Finis at the creature, pulling the trigger. The shot found purchase, but not on the target he wanted. A clone of flesh and fur appeared where the monster used to be mere moments ago, its head exploded once the shot hit.
Pulling the hammer back, Bemaia turned around, lost. He couldn't see where the monster was.
Coming from his side, a clawed hand slashed at his, sending him rolling to the ground. His Aura stood strong, disallowing damage to be dealt. He shot in the general direction the claw swipe came from, but the shot hit the wall.
Undeterred, Bemaia pulled the hammer back once more. "Where are you..." He said aloud, not really expecting to receive a reply.
"Behind you..." A low feminine voice, more akin to a growl, spoke. The voice was all around him.
Upon hearing those words, Bemaia spun around and shot another bullet. It hit the concrete. Yet, before he had any time to curse himself for missing like that twice, another clawed swipe hit him in the back, throwing him to the ground once again.
"Soapy little shit..." Bemaia cursed, earning a low chuckle from the unseen enemy. He needed a plan, and quick. His Aura was holding, but it wouldn't last forever.
Dashing to the door, Bemaia watched as an entire fridge was thrown at him. He managed to duck at the last moment, but the electrodomestic now blocked the door, preventing his escape. Drinks began pouring out of the damaged fridge.
Scared, but not deterred, Bemaia rose to his feet, pulling the hammer again, this time he ran at the opposite side of the door. "Fine! I won't run away!" He declared. His senses worked overtime to maybe give him any information about the monster's whereabouts in this darkness, but it was no use.
Suddenly, Bemaia felt a large hand grasping his leg. He didn't have time to react before being pulled up by his leg. "I'm just like you now..." The creature spoke, as Bemaia hung upside down. "I'm strong enough..." The creature said, ready to deliver yet another blow to him.
Yet, Bemaia still had the presence of mind to point his revolver at the creature, pull the trigger, and for once, hit the monster. It did not scream, nor did it wail. It recoiled from the pain, but a glowing purple barrier managed to absorb most of the blow. It had Aura.
Still, the damage from Honestus Finis wasn't something that could be easily shrugged off. The monster recoiled and threw him away with all their might. Bemaia hit the other side of the room like a rag doll.
Yet, most interestingly, Bemaia fell right by a large barrel, filled with some sort of liquid.
Weighing his chances, Bemaia, while still lying on the ground, kicked the barrel down, making its lid pop right open, and its contents spill on the ground. He quickly got up and pulled the hammer on his revolver. His nostrils were filled with a horrible smell that almost made him nauseous. Fumes. Likely, very flammable.
Bemaia knew that if he pulled the trigger, he'd also be engulfed in flames. There wasn't anywhere for him to go since the door was blocked. Yet, he needed to see the creature in order to fight it.
He had already made up his mind at the moment he kicked the barrel.
"Forgive me for this, Ozpin!" He shouted, pulling the trigger.
The gunshot echoed like a thunderclap inside the shed. A flash of light erupted as the bullet found its mark, sparking the fumes in an instant. The fire ignited with a deafening roar, flames licking up the walls, catching onto anything flammable. Heat blasted across Bemaia's face as the fire surged, its crackling fury consuming the darkness around him.
For a heartbeat, everything seemed frozen-just fire and shadows.
Then the flames surged forward, filling the shed with blinding light, banishing the oppressive darkness that had concealed the creature. The heat was unbearable, and stifling, and the thick smoke began to curl around the ceiling, but Bemaia's eyes were locked on the form emerging from the inferno.
The creature stood at the center of the chaos, fully revealed for the first time.
It was tall, towering over Bemaia, its limbs long and gangly, covered in thick fur that now gleamed in the firelight, looking vaguely feminine with its well-pronounced breasts and posterior. An animalistic face akin to a disfigured cat that came with a pair of cat ears. A long and thick tail ran down its back. Clawed hands curled at its sides, fingers twitching as if ready to strike. Its eyes gleamed with an eerie amber.
But there was something else. Something that made Bemaia's chest tighten.
Perched atop the creature's head, nearly lost in the chaos of its monstrous form, was a simple black ribbon, that failed to conceal its ears. Delicate, almost innocent, it fluttered slightly in the heat of the flames, a stark contrast to the creature's savage appearance.
His breath caught.
"No… it can't be," Bemaia whispered, disbelief and horror washing over him as the realization slammed into him with the force of a freight train. His hands trembled, and his grip on Honestus Finis loosened for just a second.
But there was no denying it. The ribbon, the shape, the eyes, this wasn't just some monster. It wasn't a Grimm, nor an Abnormality.
It was Blake.
Now playing: Rightfully - Mili
The fire danced around her monstrous form, illuminating every twisted detail. Her once graceful figure was distorted into something terrifying. The fur-covered limbs, the gaping maw, the predatory stance, it was all her, transformed into a creature that reflected the feelings she had carried within herself. And that ribbon, still tied atop her head, was a haunting reminder of the girl Bemaia knew.
"Blake…" he muttered, the name slipping from his lips, but the creature didn't respond. It growled, low and feral, as though the name meant nothing to it now. She... It stalked toward him, flames licking at her heels, her eyes filled with a rage that seemed to belong to something far more primal than Blake ever had been.
Bemaia's mind raced, struggling to process what he was seeing. How could this happen? How could Blake, of all people, become this… thing? He knew about Distortions, he'd seen them before, but not like this. Not someone like this.
The firelight glinted off her claws as she raised one hand, preparing to strike again. Bemaia barely had time to react, throwing himself to the side just as the creature's claws slashed through the air where he had been standing. The power of the strike sent sparks flying, and Bemaia hit the ground hard, the flames biting at his skin as he scrambled to his feet.
"Blake!" he shouted, desperation creeping into his voice. "Snap out of it! I don't want to kill you!"
But the only response was a savage roar as the Distorted Blake charged at him, her speed unnaturally fast despite her size. She swung her claws again, and Bemaia barely managed to dodge, feeling the heat of her fury as she passed by him in a blur of fur and rage.
He raised Honestus Finis again, his finger hovering over the trigger, but his heart wavered. He was out of bullets and needed to reload.
The fire burned hotter, swallowing the room in smoke and heat, but Bemaia's mind was fixed on the creature before him.
"Damn it, Blake!" he shouted again, backing away as she charged once more. He sidestepped her, the heat scorching his side as her claws slashed inches from his chest. His power arm, Reliquit Custodiam, glowed with energy, ready to unleash a devastating blow if needed, but the thought of striking her down tore at him.
There had to be something he could do.
The flames rose higher, the heat becoming unbearable, and Bemaia's lungs burned from the thick smoke. His mind raced, searching for any sign that the Blake he knew was still in there, trapped inside the Beast.
And then, in the split second before she charged again, Bemaia saw it. A flicker-just for a moment. Her eyes, burning with rage, softened for the briefest of moments as if something inside was fighting to come through.
It was enough.
"Blake!" he shouted, taking a quick step back, his voice cutting through the roar of the flames. "I know you're still in there! I don't know what happened, but you've got to fight it! Or else I'll have to fight it for you!" He shouted, reloading his revolver.
For a moment, she hesitated. The creature's body tensed, claws raised, but there was a flicker, a pause.
The fire raged on, and the creature's eyes met his once more.
The flames roared louder as the walls of the shed groaned under the intense heat, but Bemaia's focus was sharp, locked onto the Distortion standing before him. He had tried to reach her, to pull her back from the abyss with his words, but it was clear now that it wouldn't be enough. She wasn't going to snap out of it, not on her own.
Fine.
If there was one thing he'd learned from the Library, it was that sometimes words weren't enough. Sometimes, people needed to be beaten back to their senses.
Bemaia gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on Honestus Finis. If Blake wasn't going to listen, then he'd just have to make her.
"Alright then, Blake," he muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing. "If you won't hear me out... I'll beat you down until you do."
He holstered his revolver for the moment and flexed his power arm, Reliquit Custodiam, feeling the surge of Dust energy coursing through it. The gauntlet hummed with power, glowing faintly as it responded to his will. The heat of the flames was nothing compared to what he was about to unleash.
Blake growled, her distorted form towering over him as she prepared to charge again, her claws flexing, amber eyes burning with primal fury.
Without waiting for her to make the first move, Bemaia launched forward, closing the gap between them in a flash. His power arm swung wide, slamming into Blake's side with a heavy crack. The force of the blow sent her reeling, staggering backward as she let out a guttural snarl of pain.
"C'mon, Blake!" he shouted, not giving her a moment to recover. He pressed the advantage, following up with a brutal series of punches, each strike landing with precision and power. His fists connected with her furred body, each blow a reminder of who he was up against. "I know you're in there somewhere!"
Blake roared in response, her claws flashing through the air as she swiped at him. Bemaia ducked low, avoiding the strike before delivering a crushing uppercut to her midsection. The impact sent her skidding back, crashing into a stack of crates as the shed groaned around them.
The creature, dazed from the blows, shook her head and growled, but there was hesitation in her movements now, a flicker of uncertainty behind the rage. Bemaia could see it, but it wasn't enough. Not yet.
"You think you can just run from it all?" Bemaia taunted, his voice sharp as he circled her, his power arm crackling with energy. "You think giving in to this is going to make everything go away? How self-absorbed must you be?!"
Blake lunged at him again, her claws flashing as she swung wildly. Bemaia sidestepped the attack and drove his fist into her back, the force sending her crashing into the ground with a thunderous thud. She let out a pained growl, but Bemaia wasn't finished.
"Hurts, doesn't it?" he shouted, grabbing her by the scruff of her fur and dragging her up, slamming her into a nearby wall. "Good. Maybe that'll knock some sense into you!"
For a moment, Blake looked at him and there was a flicker in her eyes again. Her claws lowered, and her breathing became more labored, almost like a sob caught in her throat.
But then the rage flared once more, and she lashed out with a roar, her claws tearing through the air. Bemaia barely managed to block the strike with his power arm, the force of the blow sending him stumbling back a few steps.
"Still not listening, huh?" Bemaia growled, shaking off the impact. "Fine by me." His lungs burned and his head spun from the heat, but he didn't have time to deal with those things right now.
He charged forward again, his power arm glowing with intensity as he brought it down in a devastating arc. The blow connected with Blake's side, sending her sprawling across the floor, her body crashing into the remains of the broken fridge. The firelight danced across her furred form as she struggled to stand, her growls turning into ragged breaths.
Bemaia stood over her, panting, his own body aching from the fight, but he wasn't done. Not until she was down for good, not until she was Blake again.
"This is your last chance, Blake," he said, his voice low but firm. "I'm not gonna stop until you get back up as yourself. So stop being such a softie, and grow a fucking pair!"
Blake's eyes flickered again, her body trembling as if caught between two worlds. For a moment, she looked up at him, her amber eyes softer, more human. Her claws twitched, but they didn't rise. The fire around them crackled, the heat pressing in from all sides.
He stepped back, giving her room to stand on her own, but kept his power arm ready. If she roared in rage once again, he'd hit her again. Harder, if he had to.
"Come on," he urged, his voice softer now. "You're stronger than this, Blake. Don't let that voice win."
Blake's body shuddered, her claws flexing and retracting as if she were fighting an internal battle. The monstrous growl faded, replaced by heavy, ragged breaths. Slowly, she rose to her feet, her furred form still hulking and twisted, but her eyes… her eyes were different.
They weren't burning with primal rage anymore. They were filled with pain, confusion… and recognition.
"Bemaia…" she whispered, her voice strained, barely audible over the roar of the flames. That feeling lasted for but a moment.
"Bemaia…" Blake's voice rasped from her monstrous throat, thick with pain and fury. Her amber eyes, now more focused, bore into him, not with the confusion of before but with raw, unbridled hatred.
Bemaia stood still for a moment, gauging her, but he didn't let his guard down. He knew better than to assume a few words meant she was back. The fire crackled loudly around them, smoke rising higher, filling the room with choking heat.
Blake's body trembled, her claws twitching, and then her voice, louder this time, cut through the chaos.
"I remember what you did," she snarled, her words thick with venom. "At Mount Glemm. I saw what you did to them… to my people."
Bemaia's breath hitched, but his expression remained hard. "I did what needed to be done."
"Needed to be done?" Blake's voice rose, and she stepped forward, her claws flexing, her teeth bared in a furious snarl. "You massacred them! You slaughtered them like they were nothing!"
"They were terrorists, Blake," Bemaia spat back, the memory of that day flashing through his mind. His grip on Honestus Finis tightened. "They were attacking your leader. I did what I had to do to stop them."
"Don't you dare justify it!" Blake screamed, her voice cracking with rage. "They were still people! And you… you didn't just stop them-you enjoyed doing it! You didn't care about who they were or why they fought. You butchered them!"
Bemaia felt a flare of anger ignite in his chest, but he kept his voice steady. "You think I enjoyed it? You think I wanted to be in that position? They were trying to kill me, Blake. I fought back, just like I'm fighting you now."
"It's nothing like then!" Blake roared, her body shaking with fury. "I trusted you! And you're just as much of a monster as Adam is!"
The words stung, but Bemaia didn't flinch. He couldn't. "I'm not Adam," he growled. "And you're not him either, Blake. You're better than this."
Blake's eyes burned with hatred, and before he could say another word, she moved.
Faster than he'd expected, she lunged at him, but just as he raised his power arm to block, her body shimmered and split. It was her Semblance. He swung at her, but his fist met only the afterimage of her form, and before he could react, the real Blake was on him.
Her claws raked across his side, throwing him off balance as he stumbled back. She darted around him like a shadow, her movements swift and unpredictable, using her Semblance to create clones, each one vanishing just as quickly as it appeared.
Bemaia grunted as he blocked another swipe from her claws, but she was relentless. Her speed, combined with her Semblance, made her almost impossible to pin down. She was everywhere and nowhere at once, her rage fueling every strike.
"We trusted you!" she screamed again, her voice echoing around the room as she vanished and reappeared behind him, slashing at his back. "I saved you! I unlocked your Aura! And that is how you repay us?!"
Bemaia spun around, swinging his power arm, but once again, she disappeared into a blur of shadow. Her claws cut through the air, grazing his arm and sending sparks flying as they scraped against his Aura. His chest heaved with exertion, his eyes narrowing as he tried to predict where she'd strike next.
"Blake!" he shouted, frustration boiling over. "I did what I had to! You're blind if you think they were innocent!"
"Shut up!" Blake roared, her voice feral, almost unrecognizable. She was on him again, her Semblance allowing her to dodge his every blow, her claws flashing in the firelight as she attacked with a precision that matched her fury. Bemaia barely managed to block her strikes, each one pushing him back, wearing him down.
For a moment, he thought she might actually overpower him. Her speed was overwhelming, and her anger only seemed to make her stronger. She was fighting with everything she had, every ounce of rage, every bit of hurt she'd been carrying.
But Bemaia wasn't finished.
As Blake darted toward him again, her Semblance creating another afterimage, Bemaia fired his revolver, the shot missing her by inches, but not on purpose. The bullet struck the ceiling instead, blowing a massive hole through the roof. Sunlight streamed in, and the smoke began to pour out, giving them both a moment of reprieve from the choking heat.
Blake faltered, her gaze snapping to the hole in the ceiling, her momentary distraction giving Bemaia just the opening he needed.
With a roar, Bemaia surged forward, his power arm glowing with Dust energy as he brought it down in a crushing blow. Blake tried to dodge, but this time, Bemaia was faster. His fist connected with her midsection, the impact sending her crashing into the ground with a deafening thud.
She coughed, her body shuddering as she tried to rise, but Bemaia was on her again, relentless. He grabbed her by the scruff of her fur, hauling her up and slamming her into the wall with a force that shook the entire shed.
"You want to blame me for everything, huh?" Bemaia growled, his face inches from hers, his voice dripping with frustration. "You want to act like you didn't play a part in all this?"
Blake snarled, struggling against his grip, but he didn't let her go. "You think I didn't do my research?! Your father created the White Fang! You've been with them from the very beginning! And yet you put the blame on me when you could have done anything to prevent them from turning into the terrorists they are today?!"
Her claws lashed out, but Bemaia blocked the strike with his power arm, his grip tightening. "If I'm the monster here, then you're one too Blake!"
With a savage growl, Bemaia threw her to the ground again, his chest heaving with exertion. Blake coughed, her body trembling as she tried to stand, but this time, she was slower, weaker.
"Come on!" Bemaia shouted, his voice hoarse from the smoke. "Is that all you've got?"
Blake's eyes flickered again, her body shaking as if caught in an internal battle. Her claws twitched, but they didn't rise. The fire continued to rage around them, but the smoke was finally thinning, escaping through the hole in the roof.
Bemaia stood over her, panting, his body aching from the fight, but he wasn't done. Not until she was down for good, not until Blake was herself again... Or when she was dead.
"This is your last chance, Blake," he said, his voice low but steady. "You can either keep fighting me and lose, or you can make up your mind. Make your choice."
For a moment, there was only the sound of the fire crackling and the faint groaning of the collapsing shed. Then, slowly, Blake's body shuddered. Her claws retracted, and her growls turned into ragged breaths.
And finally, with a voice that was still thick with pain, Blake whispered, "Bemaia… I hate you."
Her words cut deep, but this time, Bemaia didn't flinch. He simply stood there, his eyes hard but steady, waiting. "Not the first, nor the last time I'll hear that." And with that, he returned to punching her.
Bemaia could feel the exhaustion creeping up on him. Each punch, each swing of his power arm felt heavier than the last, and the heat of the fire gnawed at his focus. Sweat poured down his face, mixing with the ash and smoke that swirled around them. Blake wasn't slowing down, if anything, her attacks were growing more relentless. Her fury gave her a wild strength, and Bemaia knew his Aura was close to breaking. If only he could pull that trick he did with Adam... He didn't know how to.
But he wouldn't stop. Not yet. Not until she was Blake again.
"Tired already? No wonder you don't have a boyfriend!" he taunted, voice ragged but steady as he dodged another swipe from her claws. Blake roared in frustration, her amber eyes blazing with unbridled rage. She leaped at him, her Semblance creating multiple afterimages that blurred her form, making it impossible for him to track her movements.
Bemaia swung at one of the images, but his fist met empty air. Before he could recover, the real Blake appeared from his blind spot, her claws raking across his chest. The sharp sting of pain tore through him, and he stumbled back, his Aura flickering dangerously. He grimaced, wiping blood from his mouth, but he kept his stance firm.
Blake didn't give him a moment's reprieve. She pressed the attack, her Semblance making her a ghost on the battlefield, darting in and out of his reach, slashing at him from every angle. Her claws grazed his arms, his legs, and his back, each blow chipping away at his Aura until finally, with a crackling sound, it shattered.
Bemaia grunted as the last of his Aura faded away, leaving him fully exposed. His breath came in harsh, ragged gasps, and he could feel the blood trickling down his chest where Blake's claws had left deep gashes. Every movement sent sharp jolts of pain through his body, but he refused to stop.
Blake lunged at him again, her claws aimed for his throat, but this time, Bemaia was ready. Even without his Aura, he moved with precision. He ducked low, barely avoiding her attack, and surged forward, his power arm glowing with the last remnants of Dust still inside. With a powerful strike, he slammed his fist into her midsection, sending her staggering back.
"Not done yet," Bemaia growled through gritted teeth. Despite the pain in his body, he pushed forward, his movements fueled by sheer determination. Blake, reeling from the blow, tried to recover, but Bemaia was relentless. He grabbed her by the arm, yanking her toward him before spinning her around and pinning her to the ground with a heavy thud.
They both crashed to the floor, the impact shaking the already crumbling shed. Bemaia, breathing heavily, straddled her, his knees pressing into her arms to keep her pinned down. Blood dripped from his wounds onto her furred chest, staining the ground beneath them.
Blake thrashed beneath him, her claws scraping at his sides, her growls filled with raw anger. She managed to scratch deep gashes across his back, the pain searing through him, but Bemaia held on, tightening his grip.
"Enough, Blake!" he shouted, his voice hoarse from the smoke and the effort. "Don't make me do this!"
Blake snarled, her amber eyes flashing with hatred as she glared up at him. "You're just like him… you're no better than Adam! You're a killer! You destroy everything you touch!"
Her words hit like a punch to the gut, but Bemaia didn't waver. "Maybe I am a killer," he spat, his own voice filled with frustration. "Maybe I've done terrible things. But you? You're better than this! You're not me! You don't have to be this... Thing!"
Blake's chest heaved beneath him, her claws twitching as if she wanted to tear him apart, but there was something different. The fury was still there, but it was mingled with something else. Pain. Doubt.
"You think I wanted any of this?" she hissed, her voice trembling with emotion. "I tried so hard to be better… to change… but I can't! No matter what I do, it's always there! The anger, the hatred... It's always there!"
"And you think giving in to it will make it go away?" he shot back, his eyes blazing with intensity. "You think letting yourself become this will fix everything?"
Blake's breath hitched, her amber eyes flickering. "I don't know," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I just… I just wanted it to stop."
For a moment, there was silence between them, broken only by the crackling of the fire around them. Bemaia, still pinning her down, stared into her eyes, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths.
"You can't run from it, Blake," he said, his voice softer now, but no less firm. "You can't just give in to the worst parts of yourself and expect it all to go away. You have to struggle. You have to fight for the person you want to be."
Blake's body trembled beneath him, her claws slowly retracting as her growls faded. The monstrous form she had taken on seemed to flicker, as though the rage that had fueled her was beginning to wane. Her amber eyes, once so filled with fury, now looked up at him with a mixture of fear, regret, and something else...
"I…" Blake's voice cracked, and her body shuddered as if she were struggling to hold onto herself. "I didn't want this. I didn't want any of this."
Bemaia's grip on her loosened slightly, though he kept his guard up, just in case.
Blake's body convulsed, and for a moment, it seemed as though the beast inside her would take over again. Her eyes flickered with the amber glow of primal rage, but then, slowly… slowly, the light began to fade.
The fur on her body receded, her claws dulled, and the monstrous snarl on her face softened into something far more fragile. Her chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, her eyes wet with unshed tears as she looked up at Bemaia, no longer the creature she had become, but the Blake he knew.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. "I'm so sorry…"
Bemaia let out a long, heavy sigh, the weight of the fight finally catching up to him. His body ached, his wounds throbbed, and his chest burned from the smoke, but as he looked down at Blake he felt something else.
Relief.
He slumped back slightly, releasing his hold on her, though he kept one hand on her shoulder, just in case. "It's alright," he said, his voice softer now, almost gentle. "You're back."
Blake, trembling and exhausted, closed her eyes, her body sagging beneath him.
Glynda Goodwitch strode through the festival grounds, her purple cloak billowing behind her as her sharp eyes scanned the area. A column of thick black smoke rose from the direction of the communal shed, and her frown deepened with each step. It was her job to ensure that everything ran smoothly, and a potential fire hazard during the Vytal Festival was a disaster waiting to happen.
"What is going on now?" she muttered, heels clicking with authority as she marched towards the shed. Vendors and students alike hurriedly moved out of her path, sensing her mood.
As Glynda approached the shed, she noticed an odd sight: a large refrigerator was awkwardly wedged in front of the slightly opened door from the inside, blocking entry. With a flick of her wrist, her Semblance flared to life, and the fridge levitated smoothly into the air. She deposited it further inside with an irritated sigh. "Honestly. Students."
Smoke curled from the gaps in the doorframe, but it wasn't the acrid scent of a full-blown fire-more like the lingering stench of something burned and then left to smolder. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. This situation was growing stranger by the second. She braced herself, ready to assess whatever mess was inside and deal with it swiftly.
With a firm shove, she pushed open the shed door.
For a single, startling moment, her mind seemed to freeze.
There, in the middle of the destroyed shed, was Bemaia straddling Blake. The scene was a whirlwind of disheveled clothes, torn fabric, and… Glynda's face turned crimson as she took in the sight. Bemaia was crouched over Blake, his shirt was practically torn to shreds, his back bleeding in several places. Blake was beneath him, her face flushed, her hair a tangled mess, and both were panting, clearly exhausted from… Glynda's eyes widened.
Oh… OHHHH!
In a panic, Glynda slammed the door shut with a resounding thud.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she tried to process what she had just seen. Two students. On top of each other. In a shed. In the middle of the Vytal Festival!
"Oh, Brothers save me…" Glynda muttered, her face burning. Her mind raced, and despite her usual calm and collected demeanor, she could feel herself spiraling into shock. "What on Remnant were they thinking?! This is… this is completely… completely inappropriate!" She could barely breathe, her propriety clashing with the outrageous situation she believed she had walked in on.
For a moment, Glynda just stood there, her hand pressed to her temple, trying to think of what to do. 'I came to investigate smoke, not to catch students in… that.' She thought, letting out a slow, measured breath, trying to compose herself. "I can't let this get out. The entire festival would be in uproar if anyone found out… especially if it's… this."
Her cheeks still flushed, Glynda peeked back into the shed, cautiously cracking the door open. Maybe, just maybe, she had overreacted. Perhaps it wasn't what it looked like. Perhaps…
But as she opened the door just a sliver, she saw them again. Bemaia, still kneeling over Blake, one arm wrapped protectively around her. His back was scratched and bloodied, his shirt in tatters, and Blake's head was resting on top of his arm. Glynda's eyes widened even further when she saw the bruises and the ragged breaths between them. She quickly looked away before her mind could fill in the gaps.
The scratches… the exhaustion… Glynda's thoughts were racing now. 'They… they're hurt? No, that's definitely… oh Brothers, they've really been…'
The fire damage around the shed, the broken crates, the lingering heat; None of it registered to Glynda as her mind fixated on the scene in front of her. 'Of all the places to…' Her cheeks reddened even more. It was now beyond doubt in her mind. There was simply no other explanation for what she was seeing. Blake's trembling form, Bemaia's protective grip, the heavy breathing, it all screamed of one thing.
Glynda snapped the door shut once again, her face now a bright shade of red. "Unbelievable. Un-freaking-believable!" she muttered, now pacing in front of the door. "They couldn't wait until they were back in their dorms? No, they had to do… that in the middle of a public shed during the festival! Have they no shame?!" She could feel her carefully maintained professional image slipping as the absurdity of the situation hit her full force.
She took a deep breath, trying to calm her frazzled nerves. 'I can't make a scene. If people see this… it'll be all over the headlines.' Glynda massaged her temple, her head spinning from the potential fallout. The last thing she needed was a scandal involving students caught in a compromising position during one of the most important events of the year.
"No. I have to be discreet. Keep this under wraps."
Steeling herself, Glynda peeked in again, and this time, she caught sight of Bemaia gingerly adjusting his hold on Blake, who was still sprawled beneath him. The scratches on his back glistened in the faint light, further fueling Glynda's misinterpretation. "Good grief…" she whispered. "They're… they've really gone and…" She couldn't even finish the thought.
To her horror, Bemaia looked up as if sensing her presence. His tired, bloodshot eyes locked with hers for a split second, and Glynda's heart nearly stopped. She let out a tiny squeak, slammed the door shut, and took several quick steps back, mortified beyond belief.
"This… this is not happening," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. "This cannot be happening…!"
Desperate to maintain any semblance of dignity, Glynda looked around, and with a flick of her wrist, used her Semblance to levitate the refrigerator once more. She carefully wedged it back on the door, effectively sealing Bemaia and Blake inside the shed once again.
"There," she muttered, her voice shaky but determined. "That should… give them some time to… finish whatever it is they're doing."
Still flushed, Glynda wiped her brow and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling in her head. "I'll… I'll deal with this later. Privately." She turned on her heel, her mind still reeling as she hurried away from the shed, determined to forget what she had just seen, at least for now.
As she marched off, muttering about "youthful indiscretions" and "lack of decency," she couldn't shake the mental image of those two, tangled together in that destroyed shed.
"First thing tomorrow," she sighed, her face still beet red. "I'm definitely scheduling an etiquette lesson for those two…"
Bemaia groaned upon hearing the loud noise coming from behind him. He was too damn tired to even process the implications of such noise, nor did he care enough about that at the moment.
The fire is gone. Only the two defeated individuals remained in the ashes. Burned, bleeding, and currently breathless, Bemaia used the last of his strength to throw himself to his side so as not to collapse atop Blake. He groaned as his body hit the ground, his wounds shifting and opening as he attempted to get himself comfortable on the still-hot concrete floor.
His cuts didn't feel like they were too serious, not when Aura was an added fact. They felt like they cut through skin, maybe some muscle, but nothing else. His blood dampened the suit Francisco made for him.
"What a scam... It didn't even work..." Bemaia let out a pained chuckle as he analyzed the hags he once called a suit. "I'll... Have to file... A complaint to him..." He joked to himself, struggling to speak. His throat ached with every movement.
Bemaia lay there, his eyes slowly closing as his chest weaved up and down.
There was something he needed to ask himself. 'Why did I do this?' He thought to himself. 'Why didn't I just... Kill her?' He powered through the pain, raising his head to look at Blake.
She didn't look good. She's covered in blood stains, the tips of her hair are burnt, and there are some visible burn marks on the patches of exposed skin he could see from the angle he was in, and yet Bemaia felt relieved.
"..." Not a word left his mouth, instead he sighed. He brought a hand to his face, pressing his thumb and index fingers against his eyes. Although barely noticeable, a singular tear rolled down the side of his head.
Though a bit shaky, he took a deep breath. "I can't believe I care about this lost fucking cat." He chuckled to himself. "What the hell happened to me..." He asked, he received no answer.
Bemaia has had enough of lying about. Struggling, he raised his torso, sitting while trying to catch his breath. He lazily eyed the fridge, blocking the way out. How on earth was he going to open that thing? Glancing over to his Reliquit Custodiam, his only idea was quickly dashed away, for it was out of energy.
Still, he needed a plan to leave.
Slowly, he tried to get up. If he could get a better view of everything around him, maybe, just maybe, he could find a crowbar or something like-
His thoughts were quickly dashed as he felt a warm body tackling him to the ground. All he could see before his head hit the floor was a cute pair of cat ears. "Ow." He complained, thankfully the pain all over his body drowned out the pain of his head hitting the concrete.
Arms slowly coiled around his torso as a head found itself a nice resting place atop his weaving chest. Wasn't her arm broken? "Blake?" He asked, not feeling very comfortable being this close to another person. "What are you..." He stopped himself halfway through.
He felt sudden spasms originating from Blake's chest, and he also heard sniffing noises muffled by his tattered suit. It didn't take a genius to understand that she was crying. "Don't... Go yet..." He barely heard that through Blake's muffled sobbing.
Instincts kicked in as one hand was brought to her head and the other covered her back. "Fine." He spoke, as his Wing was compressed under his and Blake's weight. "I'll stay a bit more." He assured her, patting her head.
Suddenly, her weight didn't bother him anymore.
"I..." Blake tried to speak, but her strength failed her.
Bemaia let out a short sigh. "Take your time. I'm not going anywhere." He said, half joking, half serious. He was tired and couldn't lift her up even if he wanted to.
Through rushed breaths of air, Blake barely managed to get a word out. "Sorry..." That was all she managed.
Bemaia patted her head, caressing the bits of her hair that weren't burnt. "It's... Fine." He told her. "I don't mind it." He said, not really thinking about the words leaving his mouth at this point. Too tired to think. "We all need someone to kick our asses once in a while." He felt the arms around him tighten.
"I thought..." Blake spoke. "You'd kill me." She admitted, raising her head from his chest, glaring directly at his face.
Teary amber eyes reflected his black ones. Snot dripped down from her nose. Black marks of filth covered her cheeks. Blake was a mess. And so was he. "I thought so too..." He admitted as well. "I'd certainly kill you if this happened two weeks ago..." He spoke, truthfully. His hand caressed her hair, slowly and carefully. "I don't know why I didn't... Why I even tried to talk you out of that."
Silence soon filled the shed after that. Blake lowered her head once again, burrowing her face on his chest. If it weren't for the fact that he was hurting all over, he'd be having a physiological response right about now. His face simply blushed instead.
"What the hell is wrong with me..." Bemaia cursed himself. "Since when do I fucking care..." He went to move his hand away from her head and into his face to cover his embarrassment, but as Blake groaned in a non-friendly way as he began to move it, he opted to keep his hand there.
"By the wings... Fine." He muttered. As soon as his hand began to caress her head again, he began hearing some sort of tremor coming from her. It reverberated in his chest, so that meant it came from her throat and chest. "Wait..." He stopped for a second, and the tremor stopped. "Are you... Purring?" He asked in a mocking tone, smiling as he did.
Blake responded with something he couldn't really understand since it was too muffled. Still, that wouldn't deter him. "That's... Very cute." He admitted as he returned to move his hand through her hair.
After a few minutes like that, Blake finally raised her head. She wasn't crying anymore. "Hey..." She spoke, struggling to find the words to speak. "Since when did you know about my father?" She asked.
Bemaia stopped for a moment, thinking about his answer very carefully. "Since the day I first realized we'd be meeting the White Fang on Mt. Glemm." He spoke, watching her head softly move up and down alongside his weaving chest. "Searched 'White Fang' on the internet. The first result showed me that the founder was a man called 'Ghira Belladonna', Twelve years ago." He chuckled at himself.
"He must have done it to create a better world for his daughter. You'd be... Five years old at the time? It's safe to assume you got in young too, considering how passionate you feel about it, and how you seem adamant that their ways are 'misguided'. Feels like you believe they were good once. After reading it, they truly were."
He took a deep breath, it was difficult to breathe since his chest was being compressed. "That means you can't give Wiess shit anymore. You're just as much of a princess as she is. Menagerie, right? Ghira basically owns the place, and you're the heir I bet..." Blake didn't say anything, instead, she nodded. "I should have realized that sooner, I'll be honest. I'm forgetting how to be a proper Fixer... Damn." Blake could only hum in response.
"Thank you..." She said, burrowing her face in his chest once again. "For being here." Her words were genuine.
Bemaia mumbled something unintelligible in response, patting her head as he did.
Eventually, the two would leave through a hole Honestus Finis punched through the ceiling. It was already nighttime when they did. The duo would quietly sneak their way inside Beacon Academy, after all, It would bode well for them to get caught with their clothes half burnt and half ripped to shreds.
After a well-deserved bath Bemaia... Well...
Bemaia leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching Blake with an expression caught somewhere between exhaustion and exasperation. She was insistent, annoyingly so. Ever since their fight, Blake seemed to be glued to his side, even going as far as to wait outside his dorm room while he took a bath. He didn't understand why. Frankly, he didn't care to. But, she'd dragged him along to her team's dormitory, insisting he "just relax" for once.
And now here he was, standing awkwardly inside the empty Team RWBY dorm.
"Come on," Blake said, already settling onto the bed, her eyes half-lidded with a rare softness. "You fought a battle today. Take a break. No one's here." She gave the room a pointed glance as if to reinforce that they were truly alone.
Bemaia remained standing near the door, watching her curl up on the bed like a cat in the sun, pulling a book to read.
"I don't do this hanging-out stuff, y'know. Not with people." He made no effort to hide the annoyance in his voice, his hands fiddling with the strap of his now-scuffed weapon holster.
Blake only smirked, closing her eyes. "And yet, here you are." She didn't even bother looking at him. "Just sit down, Bemaia. You're not going to burst into flames if you stop pretending you hate company for five minutes."
Bemaia scoffed, but after a moment, he sighed in resignation and sat on one of the more 'safe-looking' beds in the room, and stared at the window. His body ached as he sat down, more from the fatigue than from the lingering cuts and bruises that his Aura hadn't fully healed yet. His back throbbed where Blake's claws had slashed him, and he winced as he shifted into a more comfortable position.
Blake, on the other hand, seemed completely unbothered, stretched out on her bed with her head resting on her arms. If she was still carrying any of that rage from earlier, she wasn't showing it now. In fact, she looked peaceful and relaxed in a way that seemed alien compared to the fight they'd had earlier.
Bemaia stared at the ceiling, trying to understand how he had ended up here, of all places. He wasn't sure how to feel about this, about her. For a brief moment, he glanced at Blake, who was now just lying quietly. Maybe she wasn't the wild animal she had been back in that burning shed, but still... he wasn't comfortable. Not like this.
After a few minutes of silence, Bemaia muttered, "You sure your team won't mind it when they realize you've brought a boy over?"
Blake chuckled, her eyes still closed. "I mean... I won't tell them... Will you?"
He grunted, not entirely reassured by that, but too tired to argue further. The room felt oddly still, the soft hum of Beacon's night-time preparations for the Vytal Festival outside the window was the only sound breaking the quietness. He stared blankly out at the city, his mind drifting in a rare moment of calm. He didn't even care when the girl decided it'd be a great idea to jump in the bed with him. Weiss' bed, mind you.
Time passed slowly. Blake, for all her earlier energy, began to drift off into sleep. Her breathing became slow and even, her body rising and falling with a rhythm that seemed to lull the tension from the room. Bemaia watched her with his arms crossed. He noticed the way her ears twitched slightly as she slept, her face now devoid of the worry and anger that had haunted her earlier.
"She's like a damn cat," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head slightly. "Wait, is that racist?" He asked himself, receiving no answer.
He had no idea what to do in situations like this. People relaxing around him? Falling asleep near him? It felt... weird. Unnatural. Yet, he didn't have the heart to wake her or pull away just yet.
He leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment, allowing himself the rare luxury of simply resting.
Then, his Scroll buzzed loudly, jarring him back into reality.
Blake stirred but didn't wake. Bemaia glanced at the Scroll on his belt, frowning as he grabbed it and saw the caller ID flashing across the screen: Jacques Schnee.
Bemaia's eyebrow twitched in annoyance. 'Why in the hell is he calling me now?' He hesitated for a moment, glancing at the sleeping Blake. Her breathing was soft, almost peaceful. He sighed and reluctantly stood up, slipping out of the dorm as quietly as possible so he wouldn't wake her.
Once in the hallway, he answered the call with a curt, "What do you want?"
"Straight to the chase," Jacques spoke. He didn't sound calm. "Where's my daughter?" He asked, his voice was definitely not calm.
Sensing the urgency, Bemaia didn't feel like playing any games. "She left on a mission. I don't know where." He answered, truthfully. "What's the matter?"
"The 'matter' is that some 'gang' in Rubica laid their hands on the SDC Heiress and I can't allow that to happen!" Jacques basically yelled over the phone. "No Klein, I don't need bloody tea! I don't need to calm down! Go bother Willow!" Now that was a shout.
Bemaia listened closely, silently. Waiting for Jacques' actual request.
"You're my closest contact to Rubica. Just an hour's worth of flight away. Go there, and free my daughter! Kill them all! These low-lifes won't get a cent from me!" Jacques commanded. That was his request.
Bemaia, however, was unperturbed. There was little the world could throw at him that would make him lose his temper, especially when Blake was peacefully sleeping near him. "Boss, don't worry about a thing." He spoke, calmly. "I know a guy. He'll take care of it. When the sun rises, whoever it was that caught your daughter will have been dealt with." Bemaia's voice was calm and restricted, he was careful not to wake the cat up.
"If this contact of yours fails, it's your head that will roll first." Jacques declared, finishing the call.
Bemaia shrugged, moving through his very empty contacts list. 'Bald Bastard.' He pressed on it, dialing the contact. His gaze moved away from the scroll for a moment and moved towards Blake. She was silent, but her Amber eyes were glued at his. He failed to not wake her up. "Sorry. I'm just calling my partner. You can go back to sleep..." He said, eyeing the door to the corridor. "I'll see myself out, so you don't-"
His words were cut by light being reflected off a bald head on the phone. He did a video call by accident. "Francisco," He spoke. As he went to speak, he felt an arm rolling over his chest, hitching his voice for a moment. "We've got a problem."
"What kind of problem?" Bemaia barely paid attention to Francisco's voice as he watched the fucking cat climb atop the frame. Bemaia sighed, rubbing his temple with his fingers. "I just received a call. From Jacques Schnee."
The mention of Weiss's father made Francisco frown. "What did he want?" Francisco asked.
"He told me..." His voice failed when he felt cold fingers reaching for his neck. His face scrunched up in discomfort. "He received a ransom message," Bemaia continued, his voice edged with something close to disbelief. "Claimed that Weiss had been kidnapped." His mind was elsewhere, as he watched the black cat.
Luckily, those words seemed to stop Blake. She stood still, trying to listen closer to the call, giving Bemaia some much-needed breathing room.
"Kidnapped?" Francisco echoed, his voice darkening. He glanced to the side, probably looking at someone. "That can't be right. Weiss is with Yang and Ruby just in the other room."
Bemaia's face hardened. "That's what I thought too. But Jacques sounded serious. He said he received a message demanding payment in exchange for Weiss's safety. He's panicking, and he's not exactly someone who panics easily."
"What's the plan?" Francisco asked, his voice steady despite the cold pit forming in his gut.
Bemaia's gaze sharpened a weary determination in his eyes. "I'm assigning you to deal with it. I don't care if it's a false alarm or a real threat. I want you to get to the bottom of this. If Weiss is in danger, you need to find her and bring her back."
Francisco nodded slowly, his mind already shifting gears. He couldn't ignore the possibility, no matter how improbable it seemed. "I'll handle it," he said firmly.
Just like that Bemaia turned off the scroll. He wouldn't be bothered by it any longer! "Sorry about that. Though... You probably heard it all, didn't you."
Blake nodded, it was dark, be he could still see worry in her complexion. "What happened to Weiss?" She asked, just to make sure she heard it correctly the first time.
Bemaia shrugged. "Her father called me and said Weiss' been kidnapped. I doubt it though... She's with Francis and the rest of her team, and Francis managed to answer the phone, so he's fine..." Bemaia sighed. "Probably just a really good scam."
Blake yawned. "Yeah... Probably." She rested her head atop the librarian once more. "They'll be fine..." Her voice trailed away as she put her weight atop him.
"Get up," Bemaia commanded, uncaring for the girl's shenanigans. "I can't be sleeping with a fellow student. Ozpin will chew me up if he finds out." He spoke, trying his best to get up from his position, failing too.
Though he struggled, Blake's breathing regularized. "What's your angle?! Wait… Did... Did you fucking sleep on me?!" Bemaia asked, incredulously angry. "What the hell is wrong with you?! We just-" He cut himself short once he noticed she wasn't waking up anytime soon. If she was even truly sleeping anyway.
"Fucker." He cursed, getting himself comfortable. "Do not get accustomed." He warned, resting his head on the pillow. "Just like a cat... Gets on your lap... And now you're stuck..." With his eyes glued to the ceiling, he quietly cursed. "You owe me for this... Fucking... Unbelievable."
A/N: ...?
The chapter is already over. Go do something else.
...
What? You still want more?
...
I... Got a thing in the works.
I can't post it here, initially at least.
Choose your own adventure type of fic.
I'll throw that in WattPad at first, then once the second chapter is out, I'll post the first one here...
RWBY x Disco Elysium (Because I just can't be normal and pick something cool like RWBY x Souls or Fate.)
However, I do have a question about it...
And I'd like to hear your thoughts on it...
I ask this here because, since you've stuck until the end, that means you care...
Should the protagonist be an Amnesiac like Harry was in Disco Elysium?
And also... Should I remake Iron Lotus of Remnant? I know what I said before... But I don't like leaving things unfinished.
That's all.
...
That's actually all.
Go home.
Get out of my house before I call the cops.
...
Please?