Shadows of Vengeance - A RWBY Story

by EnriqueGurule

In this 3-Part story, Blake Belladonna returns to Vale 7 years later, seeking vengeance on Adam Taurus, the man who killed her friend. Weiss Schnee, now an Atlesian Specialist, is also after him—justice or execution, only one can win. Who will find him first?

2. Part 2 - Shadows of the Past

CAVE

Deep within the rocky outskirts of Vale, a masked figure carried an unconscious young girl through a narrow, winding cave. Their boots echoed against the damp stone, the air thick with the scent of earth and dust. The dim glow of distant luminescent fungi barely illuminated the way until the masked figure reached out, fingers pressing against a hidden switch embedded in the cave wall.

With a soft click, rows of overhead lights flickered to life, bathing the cavern in a sterile white glow. The shadows retreated, revealing a large metal door ahead. Without hesitation, the masked figure stepped forward, gripping the rusted handle and pulling it open. The heavy door groaned as it swung inward, revealing a hidden room deep within the cave.

The walls were covered in chaotic arrangements of newspaper clippings, maps with hastily drawn markings, and sketches scrawled in dark ink. Old photographs were pinned to the walls, each face crossed out with a bold red X. Scattered across the floor and tables were an array of tools—some mechanical, some more sinister in nature.

Moving with purpose, the masked figure carried the unconscious girl inside, past the haunting collage of their work. The girl's body was limp in their grasp, her breathing steady but shallow. She had distinctive chameleon-like scales tracing her arms, legs, and parts of her face, catching the light with a faint shimmer. Her dark hair, curling at the ends like a chameleon's tail, hung loosely over her closed eyes.

The masked woman approached a metal table in the center of the room and carefully laid the girl down. She took a step back, standing in silence as she studied Ilia Amitola's unconscious form.

The masked woman slowly reached up and removed her mask, revealing a striking contrast—her left eye a deep brown, her right a sharp pink. As she stared ahead, the colors in her eyes shifted, the pink fading into an icy white. Her hair, split in two hues of pink and brown, framed her face as her expression twisted into something cold and furious.

Neopolitan's gaze darkened as she turned toward the nearby generator humming in the corner. Stepping over scattered tools and cables, she grabbed a vase filled with refined Dust, the shimmering substance catching the artificial light. Without hesitation, she tipped the vase, letting the Dust pour into the generator. The machine hummed louder, stabilizing as the power surged through the underground hideout.

Her task complete, Neo's attention snapped back to the wall in front of her. Newspaper clippings and old photographs lined the surface, but her eyes focused on one image in particular—her old partner, Roman Torchwick. With measured steps, she approached the display, fingers tracing over a faded photo of him smirking in his signature hat. Below it, a headline confirmed what she already knew: "Infamous Criminal Roman Torchwick Dead in Airship Explosion."

The sight of those words made her grip tighten. Her breath quickened.

With a sudden, violent motion, she hurled the empty vase against the wall. It shattered on impact, shards scattering across the floor. The sound echoed through the cavernous room, but Neo barely noticed. Her hand twitched before she reached down, picking up a jagged piece of broken glass.

Her fingers curled around the shard as she turned, her movements sharp, controlled—dangerous. Ilia Amitola still lay unconscious on the table, unaware of the wrath approaching her.

Neo's steps were silent as she closed the distance. Her grip on the glass tightened, her knuckles white as she raised the shard above Ilia's unguarded form. Her mismatched eyes burned with fury, her breath steady, controlled.

She was ready to end her target.

A sudden, heavy thud echoed through the cave, stopping Neo in her tracks. Her eyes narrowed as suspicion crept in. With a silent exhale, she let the shard of broken glass slip from her fingers, the sharp edge clinking softly against the table next to Ilia.

Her attention now elsewhere, Neo turned and stepped out of the room, her boots making little sound against the cold stone floor. She peered down the dimly lit corridor of the cave, her mismatched eyes scanning the darkness. The silence felt thick, unnatural. Then—a faint blinking light flickered further down the passage.

Neo tensed. Someone was coming.

Her muscles coiled in anticipation as she positioned herself for a fight. But before she could react, something whistled through the air—a blade embedding itself in the rock wall beside her. The sudden attack made her flinch, her head snapping toward the weapon just in time to see movement in her peripheral vision.

Too late.

Blake struck.

Using the ribbon of Gambol Shroud to propel herself forward, Blake swung through the air like a shadow and delivered a powerful punch straight to Neo's jaw. The impact sent Neo staggering backward, her balance momentarily lost as she tumbled back into the room.

Recovering swiftly, Neo flipped onto her feet, her expression twisting into a silent snarl. Without her usual weapon, she had no choice but to rely on her agility and raw skill. That was fine.

Blake met Neo's glare, gripping Gambol Shroud—but after a brief moment, she made her decision. She wouldn't use her blade. This fight would be even.

Fists clenched, Blake charged, and Neo did the same.

Their movements blurred as they clashed, fists striking, dodging, countering. The room became a battlefield, the table shaking from the force of their fight. Ilia remained unconscious as the two warriors battled, determination burning in their eyes. Neo's fluid, acrobatic style met Blake's swift, precise strikes, neither gaining the upper hand as they fought across the underground hideout.

Neo hit the ground hard, skidding slightly as she attempted to push herself back up. But Blake was faster. With a swift, controlled motion, she lunged forward and delivered a powerful kick, flipping mid-air before landing gracefully on her feet.

Her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, amber eyes burning with fury. The tension in her muscles remained as she turned toward the table—toward Ilia. Seeing her former friend lying there, unconscious and vulnerable, a flash of emotion flickered across Blake's face. But the moment of distraction was all Neo needed.

With quick precision, Neo's fingers curled around a nearby knife. She wasted no time, lunging at Blake with sharp, rapid strikes. The blade sliced through the air, but Blake was already moving, dodging each attack with swift, calculated steps. Neo pressed forward, relentless, but Blake caught her by the wrist and forcefully shoved her backward against the table.

Neo snarled silently, twisting her arm to break free, but Blake didn't let up. Neo swung again, but Blake blocked, countered, and struck. Each of Neo's attacks was met with a fierce response, the fight growing more brutal by the second.

Then, Blake reached for Gambol Shroud.

With one firm grip, she grabbed Neo's arm, twisting it just enough to weaken her hold on the knife. Before Neo could react, Blake struck—once, twice—slamming the handle of her weapon against Neo's ribs. The force made Neo grunt in pain, staggering back.

As the two continued their clash, neither noticed the small movement from the table. Ilia's head twitched, her breathing shifting ever so slightly.

Blake steadied herself, muscles tense as she glared at Neo. Without hesitation, she lunged forward, slamming her forehead into Neo's skull with a brutal headbutt. Neo barely had time to recoil before Blake followed up with a sharp knee to her stomach, knocking the wind out of her. As Neo staggered, Blake struck again—driving the handle of Gambol Shroud into her ribs before finishing with a powerful kick to her face.

Neo crashed to the ground, momentarily stunned. Wasting no time, Blake turned to Ilia, rushing to her side. She placed a firm hand on her shoulder, shaking her lightly.

"Come on… wake up."

Her sharp eyes flicked to the ground, catching sight of used needles scattered around. Blake's stomach twisted—Neo had drugged her. Clenching her fists, she tried again, her voice growing more urgent.

Before she could react, a sudden movement caught her attention.

Neo, seething, pushed herself up with a sharp grunt. Her fingers curled tightly around her knife, and with a burst of speed, she lunged.

Blake barely dodged the rapid slashes, twisting and weaving as the blade came dangerously close. But Neo was fast—faster than expected. With a well-placed strike, she drove her fist into Blake's gut, then followed with another punch, sending Blake crashing onto her back.

Both fighters panted, sweat glistening under the dim lights of the cave. Neo, eyes burning with fury, glanced toward Ilia. Her expression darkened with cruel determination.

Without hesitation, she raised her knife, preparing to finish what she started.

Blake's eyes widened. In an instant, she acted—gripping Gambol Shroud and launching it. The weapon spun through the air, striking Neo hard across the face before returning to Blake's grasp.

Neo stumbled, but she refused to fall. Anger boiling over, she reached for a large, rusted tool from a nearby workbench. With a snarl, she swung.

Blake reacted just in time, catching the tool mid-swing. With a swift motion, she wrenched it from Neo's grasp and struck her with it, making her Aura flicker.

Neo hissed in frustration but retaliated immediately. Spinning on her heel, she delivered two rapid kicks to Blake's face.

Blake barely flinched.

Neo's eyes narrowed. For the first time, doubt flickered across her face.

Blake's fury ignited, her breath ragged as she let out a primal yell. She struck Neo again—once, twice—each blow sending her staggering back until she collided with the edge of a table. But Blake wasn't done. Her body coiled with unrelenting rage as she lunged forward, grabbing Neo by the collar.

With brutal force, she slammed her forehead into Neo's skull once more, the impact echoing through the cave. Dazed, Neo barely had time to react before Blake hurled her onto a nearby empty table. The wood creaked beneath her weight as she landed hard, her body limp for a moment.

Then, a sharp sound shattered the air—Neo's Aura broke.

For the first time, panic flickered in Neo's mismatched eyes. She scrambled to move, to escape, her hands grasping at the edges of the table. But Blake was faster.

With a fierce throw, she launched Gambol Shroud at Neo—not to strike, but to distract. Neo flinched, instinctively raising her arms to shield herself. That hesitation was all Blake needed.

With a powerful leap, Blake closed the distance, delivering a devastating flying kick to Neo's chest. The impact sent her crashing back onto the table, breathless and stunned.

Blake didn't hesitate. The fight had gone on long enough.

Snatching the ribbon of Gambol Shroud, she moved swiftly, wrapping it around Neo's neck. Her grip tightened, muscles trembling with a mix of rage and vengeance. Her amber eyes burned as she pulled, determined to end this fight once and for all.

Blake's grip tightened on the ribbon, her muscles straining as she pulled harder. Neo's body lifted slightly, her feet barely scraping against the table as the fabric bit into her throat. Blake's amber eyes blazed with fury, her breath ragged, her entire body trembling with unrestrained anger.

She let out a raw, guttural yell, pouring years of grief, guilt, and rage into every ounce of strength she had. She wanted to end this. To end her.

But then—a weak groan.

Blake's ears twitched, her rage momentarily flickering. She turned her head toward Ilia, who stirred slightly on the table, her head shifting. A faint sign of life. A reminder.

For a split second, Blake was trapped—caught between vengeance and the friend she had come to save.

Her grip on Gambol Shroud loosened. With a sharp inhale, she let go.

Neo's unconscious body slumped forward as the ribbon unraveled. Without the support, she tumbled backward, her limp form crashing down the four short steps leading to the cave floor. She landed in a crumpled heap, motionless, save for the faintest twitch of her fingers.

Blake clenched her jaw, her fists shaking as she glared at Neo's fallen body. The anger still simmered beneath her skin, the temptation to finish what she started gnawing at her. But she forced herself to turn away.

Sheathing Gambol Shroud with a swift motion, Blake stepped toward Ilia. The chameleon Faunus barely managed to open one eye, dazed and weak from whatever Neo had done to her. Blake didn't hesitate.

Bending down, she carefully lifted Ilia into her arms, cradling her bridal-style. The weight of her friend was light, fragile. Blake held her close, her expression hardening—not with anger, but with determination.

Without sparing another glance at Neo, Blake turned and carried Ilia out of the cave, leaving behind the battlefield of broken vengeance.

---

APARTMENT

Weiss sat at her desk, her fingers tapping idly against the surface as she stared down at the scattered reports and files before her. The words blurred together, none of them offering anything useful. A week had passed since her tense conversation with Blake in the diner, yet despite her best efforts, she was no closer to finding Adam Taurus. The lack of progress gnawed at her, frustration simmering beneath the surface.

She leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temple as she let out a slow, controlled exhale. Blake was out there, searching. Weiss had no doubt about that. And with each passing day, the window to find Adam before she did was shrinking.

Weiss had resources—military intelligence, surveillance, entire networks at her disposal—but Blake had something else. An unstoppable determination fueled by loss and anger. Weiss could picture it clearly: Blake, moving through the shadows, tracking every whisper, every possible lead, closing in with a single goal in mind.

To end Adam.

Weiss frowned. She wouldn't let that happen. She couldn't. No matter how much she understood Blake's pain, no matter how much she, too, wanted Adam to pay for what he had done—justice had to be served the right way. He needed to face trial, to answer for his crimes, not just vanish into the abyss of vengeance.

But even as she thought that, doubt crept in. What if she couldn't find him first? What if she was already too late?

Her grip tightened as she pushed herself up from the chair, as if movement could shake off the uncertainty. Her hand instinctively went for her rapier, resting against the desk. The weight was familiar, a steady reassurance. But as she turned toward the door, something made her pause.

Her eyes drifted across the room to Myrtenaster, lying disassembled on the coffee table. It was strange seeing it that way, its intricate mechanisms exposed and vulnerable, the once flawless construction now laid bare. She had been meaning to recalibrate it, to make sure everything was in working order. But every time she sat down to do it, something else called her attention away—reports, patrols, strategic meetings, or the lingering thoughts of a former teammate turned rival in pursuit of the same goal.

The unfinished weapon felt like an extension of her own state of mind—half-prepared, unbalanced.

She let out another breath, deeper this time, shaking her head. There was no more time for doubt. Blake was moving, and so would she.

Adjusting her grip on her sword, Weiss squared her shoulders and stepped toward the door, leaving the disassembled Myrtenaster behind.

---

MILITARY BASE

The sound of rapid gunfire rang through the air as Crescent Rose spun through the air, its sniper form sending round after round into each moving target. Ruby moved fluidly, adjusting her aim with precision, watching as each target turned red, indicating a direct hit. One after another, the 45 targets fell, each bullet dead center.

A group of soldiers nearby watched in awe, some recording her performance on their scrolls. There was a quiet murmur of admiration among them, their eyes following every move Ruby made.

Just then, a commanding voice broke through the chatter, cutting through the air with sharp authority.

"Why are you all standing around, doing nothing?"

The soldiers snapped to attention instantly, scrambling to put their devices away as Weiss approached. She was dressed in a military uniform, a sharp, dark blue coat with a high collar, and a freshly polished pair of boots. What caught everyone's attention, however, was the hat she wore—signifying her elevated rank as a specialist. It sat perched on her head, exuding authority and a certain icy composure that only someone like Weiss could pull off.

"Get in line," Weiss barked, turning to face the soldiers who hadn't yet straightened up.

They quickly formed a neat line, standing ramrod straight before her. Weiss scanned them, eyes narrowing as she took in their stances, their gear, their posture.

"Sergeant Arnett," Weiss began, walking up to one of the soldiers. "Your left shoulder is a mess. The seam's coming undone. Fix that. And your rifle needs maintenance—there's dirt in the barrel." She glanced over her shoulder, her tone as sharp as a blade. "You'll be on latrine duty for the rest of the day. Dismissed."

The soldier nodded swiftly, muttering an apology before quickly retreating.

Weiss turned to the next soldier in line. "Private Foster," she said, studying the soldier's uniform. "Your boots are scuffed. You've had enough time here to keep them in better condition. A soldier's boots reflect their discipline. Get them cleaned by the end of the day, or you'll be doing extra drills." She clicked her tongue before moving on. "And your stance. It's sloppy. Shoulders back, chin up. You're not a civilian. Correct it."

"Yes, ma'am," Private Foster replied, his voice tight as he stood straighter, clearly trying to hide his embarrassment.

Weiss moved down the line, listing a mistake in each soldier's uniform, weapon, or stance with precision and authority. Each time she pointed out a flaw, the soldier corrected themselves without hesitation, eager to please the higher-ranking officer. It was clear that they respected her leadership.

Ruby, who had been watching from the sidelines, stifled a laugh. "You're just like an ice queen when you do that," she teased, not able to resist. "I thought I'd find you yelling at soldiers like a drill sergeant."

Weiss smirked but didn't look at Ruby. "Discipline is key. You should try it sometime, Ruby. Maybe you'd finally get your act together."

Ruby chuckled, rolling her eyes. "Sure, but where's the fun in that?"

Weiss ignored her, continuing her inspection. The soldiers seemed to tense under her scrutiny, but their posture gradually improved with each passing comment. Weiss' gaze was unwavering, her cold blue eyes never missing a detail.

Finally, after going through each soldier, she stood at attention herself, scanning them one last time. "Fix your mistakes. We train hard, we fight harder. Dismissed."

The soldiers, now visibly more alert, gave her a sharp salute and quickly left to correct their mistakes.

Ruby, still standing by, grinned. "Well, that was fun to watch," she said, teasing. "You really do love being in charge, huh?"

Weiss shot her a knowing look. "It's called leadership, Ruby. Something you could learn from."

Ruby grinned and stretched. "Sure, sure. Lead the way, boss. What's next?"

Weiss looked over at her with a serious expression, her voice softening just slightly. "Follow me. We need to talk."

Ruby's smile faded, sensing the gravity in Weiss' tone. She gave a quick nod and fell in line behind her, wondering what kind of conversation awaited them.

---

OFFICE

Weiss led Ruby into her office, the door clicking shut behind them. The room was clean and meticulously organized, with sharp lines and neutral tones that made it feel more like a command center than a personal space. Weiss placed her weapon, Myrtenaster, gently down on the table beside Ruby's scythe, Crescent Rose, before walking to her desk.

Ruby, ever the energetic one, casually tossed herself into a chair across from Weiss, stretching her arms above her head. She watched as Weiss opened a drawer, pulling out a bottle of wine and a glass. Weiss uncorked the bottle with a swift, practiced motion, the sound of the cork popping ringing through the otherwise quiet room. She poured herself a small amount, the deep red liquid swirling in the glass.

Ruby blinked at the bottle, then at Weiss. "It's only 10am," she remarked, half-joking.

Weiss paused, glass in hand, and looked over at Ruby with an almost imperceptible smile. "I only allow myself one glass a day," she replied coolly. "Not like my mother. Willow's a different story entirely."

Ruby's eyebrows raised, but she said nothing, watching as Weiss filled the glass. Weiss looked down at the wine, her fingers tracing the rim of the glass, clearly lost in thought.

Weiss then glanced up at Ruby, the faintest hint of exhaustion and frustration in her eyes. She lifted the glass to her lips, taking a small sip before setting it down on the desk. She let out a sigh, as if the weight of the situation had finally hit her.

Ruby leaned forward, concerned. "You okay?" she asked softly.

Weiss hesitated for a moment before nodding, though her eyes didn't quite reflect the assurance of her response. "Not really," she admitted, her voice quiet, tinged with a mixture of frustration and uncertainty.

Ruby, always keen to notice when something was bothering Weiss, didn't miss the shift in her demeanor. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "What's going on?" she asked, her voice gentle yet direct.

Weiss exhaled slowly, her gaze flicking to the window for a moment as if looking for the right words. "It's Blake," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Ever since that meeting at the diner, things have felt... off. Tense. Like we're both walking a fine line."

She leaned back in her chair, her fingers tapping against the surface of the desk. "I've been trying to gather any useful information about Adam Taurus, but I haven't had any luck. I know we need to find him, and I need to do it before Blake does... but it feels like I'm running in circles. I'm doing everything I can, and still, I have nothing concrete. And every step I take, I know Blake's out there, moving just as fast."

Ruby studied her for a moment, her expression softening. "You're worried about getting to Adam first. Before Blake can... handle him her way."

Weiss gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "I know what Blake wants. She wants vengeance. She doesn't care about justice. But I do. I want to make sure he pays for what he's done, but I also know that if I don't find him first... if I don't stop Blake... things could spiral out of control."

Ruby watched her closely, feeling the weight of Weiss' words. The usual confidence that Weiss carried seemed to be slipping away, replaced by uncertainty and worry.

"Have you tried reaching out to anyone who might know where he is?" Ruby asked, her voice still calm, but there was a sense of determination underneath.

Weiss shook her head, the frustration clear in her features. "I've tried everything. Every lead, every source. But Adam's like a ghost. And every time I think I'm getting closer, he slips through my fingers." She let out a breath, her shoulders sagging just slightly as she took another sip from her glass.

Ruby sat quietly for a moment, considering Weiss' words. The silence between them was heavy, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Ruby wasn't sure what to say, but she knew one thing for certain: Weiss was struggling, and she wasn't used to it. Ruby leaned forward, her voice soft but filled with the same concern she'd always had for her friend.

"We'll figure it out," Ruby said, a little more seriously now. "We always do. We've got each other's backs, Weiss. Whatever happens, we'll make sure we don't let things get out of hand."

Weiss finally met Ruby's gaze, a small, tired smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "I hope you're right, Ruby." She sat back in her chair, staring at the glass of wine once more. "I just... don't know what happens if we don't."

Ruby watched Weiss for a long moment, her gaze filled with a mixture of concern and quiet understanding. Despite the familiar smirk that played at the corners of her lips, something in Ruby's eyes had shifted. It was subtle, but noticeable.

She was no longer the carefree, reckless girl who had once rushed into battle without a second thought. Ruby had changed over the years. Time had hardened her, and she had learned from the tragedies that had befallen them all. She was wiser now, more deliberate in her actions, and her words carried more weight than they once did.

"You know, Weiss," Ruby began, her voice softer than usual, but still carrying that underlying warmth, "I get it. I know it's hard. You want to do this the right way, catch Adam before Blake does, but sometimes... sometimes you have to trust that things will fall into place if you keep pushing. I mean, you're always so meticulous about your planning and... well, this is no different."

Ruby paused mid-sentence, her finger tapping against her chin thoughtfully. She stopped herself suddenly, an amused grin pulling at her lips. "Oh, wait," she added, her voice almost sheepish as she reached into her jacket pocket.

From it, she pulled out a small card, a nondescript piece of paper that she slid across the desk to Weiss. "If you're stuck again, if you feel like you're hitting a wall... go to this address. Trust me, it'll help. No questions, just... go."

Weiss glanced down at the card, then back up at Ruby, a skeptical look crossing her face. "I don't know, Ruby. Last time I went there, I ended up with a black eye and a broken arm. It doesn't exactly sound like the best place to visit right now."

Ruby's smile faltered as she recalled the incident, her posture stiffening slightly at the painful memory. It had been a rough day. The last time Weiss had visited that place, it had ended badly. Ruby remembered the worry and anger she had felt, but also the way Weiss had pushed through despite it all. It was one of the moments that reminded Ruby that Weiss wasn't just strong in battle; she was strong in spirit, too.

Weiss sighed, turning the card over in her fingers. "I'll think about it. But no promises."

"Fair enough," Ruby said with a small shrug, trying to mask the quiet concern still lingering in her voice. "But I promise it'll be worth it if you do."

Weiss hesitated for a moment before reaching into her desk drawer and pulling out a thick file. She slid it across the desk to Ruby. "I appreciate you accepting this mission. You've done a lot for me already, Ruby. Don't think I've forgotten that."

Ruby's hand went instinctively to the file, and she gave Weiss a small, knowing smile as she took it. "I owed you one," she said with a shrug, leaning back in her chair as she eyed the contents of the file. "Besides, I figured, why not help out my best friend, right?"

Weiss watched Ruby for a moment longer, her expression unreadable. But underneath the stoic façade, a hint of gratitude lingered in her eyes. "You've always had my back, Ruby," she said quietly. "And I haven't forgotten that either."

Ruby nodded, glancing down at the file in her hands. "We'll get through this. Together. We always do." She opened the file, her attention already shifting to the task at hand, but her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning.

As Weiss watched Ruby delve into the contents of the file, the weight of their mission loomed large between them.

Ruby scanned the contents of the file, her brow furrowing as she flipped through the pages. The first image that caught her eye was of Neo. She was standing with a hooded figure in a shadowy alley, their faces concealed in the dim light. Ruby's eyes lingered on the hooded person for a moment, a chill running down her spine. The faintest glimpse of a white mask with intricate red markings appeared in one of the pictures. Ruby's heart skipped.

"That mask..." Ruby muttered to herself, but Weiss had already picked up on it.

Weiss, her voice calm but firm, spoke from across the desk. "This is the only evidence we have of Adam Taurus being seen in Vale in the last five years. By the looks of it, Neopolitan has some sort of deal with him. We don't know what exactly, but it's not good."

Ruby nodded, her eyes narrowing as she continued to flip through the file. There were more pictures of Neo, each one showing her in different parts of Vale—entering stores, walking through alleys, and blending in with the crowds. But it was the final picture that made Ruby stop. It was a distant shot of Neo entering a cave just outside of Vale, the entrance obscured by foliage.

Weiss leaned forward slightly, her fingers tapping lightly on the desk as she spoke again, her voice quieter this time. "We think Neo's hiding in that cave. It's a possibility, but there's no confirmation. We need to find her, capture her, and somehow get her to talk. We can't let her slip through our fingers again."

Ruby absorbed that information, her fingers running over the photo of Neo. Her mind immediately began to piece things together. She knew Neo's fighting style too well. The quick strikes, the use of illusions to disorient and confuse. If they were going to find her, it would take more than just following a trail of photographs. It would require precision and patience.

Ruby looked up at Weiss, her expression determined. "So, we go after her. But… not too harshly, right?"

Weiss raised an eyebrow, a small, almost wry smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "I'll try to keep things civil," she replied dryly. "But I can't promise I won't want to take matters into my own hands when it comes to Neo."

Ruby chuckled softly, though it lacked the usual cheerfulness. She knew Weiss was holding back—her frustration evident in her tone, even if her words suggested otherwise. After all, this wasn't just about capturing Neo. This was personal.

Weiss leaned back in her chair and eyed Ruby, the intensity in her gaze sharpening. "Do you think you can handle it on your own? Do you need backup? Soldiers to back you up?"

Ruby took a breath, considering it carefully. She had no doubt she could handle Neo if it came down to a fight. But she also knew Neo wouldn't go down easily. The memories of their past encounters flooded her mind, making her grip on the file tighten.

"I remember her fighting style," Ruby said, her voice calm but confident. "I can take her if it comes to that. But if I do need help, I'll call for backup. Just… don't send too many soldiers. The last thing we need is a full-on assault if we don't know what we're walking into."

Weiss gave a slight nod, her gaze unwavering. "I'll trust your judgment on this, Ruby. But you have my full support. If you need anything—anything at all—you'll have it."

Ruby's expression softened, her eyes meeting Weiss's. "Thanks, Weiss. I won't let you down."

Weiss didn't respond immediately. Instead, she allowed a small, fleeting smile to play across her lips before turning her attention back to the file. There was no time for sentiment. They had a mission to complete, and the clock was ticking.

Ruby stood up from her seat, adjusting Crescent Rose on her back, the weight of the mission settling in. "I'll head out now," she said with a confident nod. "If anything happens, I'll contact you." Her tone was light, but Weiss could sense the underlying determination in her words.

Weiss watched as Ruby turned toward the door, her footsteps echoing in the quiet office before the door clicked shut behind her. As the sound of Ruby's retreating steps faded, Weiss lingered for a moment, staring at the space where her teammate had just been.

Her gaze then shifted to the drawer, where she kept the wine bottle. A small, almost imperceptible sigh escaped her lips. She considered the bottle for a moment, the temptation to pour herself a second glass lingering in her mind. Just as her fingers hovered over the bottle, Ruby's voice—distant but clear—floated back through the door, reminding her of the one rule she'd set for herself.

"One glass a day, Weiss."

Weiss smiled to herself, the warmth in the gesture brief but genuine. She closed the drawer gently, a soft chuckle escaping her lips at Ruby's thoughtfulness. The little moments like this, the small reminders, were what kept Weiss grounded.

After a few seconds, she turned back toward her desk, the weight of the situation settling heavily on her. Her fingers grazed the card Ruby had handed her earlier. She hadn't even looked at it properly yet, but something about it made her hesitate. Her eyes traced the edges of the card, the uncertainty creeping back in.

Weiss knew what Ruby had said about going to the address. And part of her wanted to follow that advice—to take a risk. But another part of her hesitated. What would it mean if she took that step? What if she couldn't find what she was looking for? What if she was just chasing a ghost?

A sigh escaped her lips as she set the card down, her eyes lingering on it. For a moment, she was lost in thought, weighing the options. The mission. The risks. The hope that she could catch Adam before Blake did.

The uncertainty remained, but Weiss knew she had no choice but to press on. Whether she considered it or not, something told her she would need to make a decision soon.

---

WAREHOUSE

The cold air of the dimly lit warehouse pressed in from all directions, the faint hum of an overhead light flickering erratically in the stale, still air. Dust motes drifted lazily through the gloom, swirling around the scattered crates and forgotten machinery. The warehouse was large but empty, its expanse broken only by a few shelves and the metal chairs that sat abandoned in the shadows. One of those chairs now held Ilia, bound tightly with rope, her head slumped forward in unconsciousness.

Blake stood nearby, silent and focused, moving with the kind of precision that came only from practice and years of experience. She leaned down to examine her own wounds—scrapes and bruises, remnants of the brutal fight with Neo. She wiped away the blood from a cut on her cheek with the back of her hand, feeling the sting of the wound, but it was nothing compared to the rage that had fueled her throughout the fight. She could still feel the heat of the battle coursing through her veins, the adrenaline, the fury, but it was fading now, replaced with an icy calm as she prepared for what was to come.

Blake's gaze flicked to her arms, noting the deep gash on her forearm. She winced as she applied pressure to the cut, trying to slow the bleeding. It wasn't life-threatening, but it stung like hell. Still, she didn't take her time to tend to herself. Every second she wasted was another second for Ilia to recover, and that wasn't something Blake was willing to let happen.

She found a small first aid kit hidden in a corner of the room, retrieved it, and methodically began to patch herself up. A few bandages here, some disinfectant there. It wasn't a perfect job, but it would have to do for now. Her mind was focused on something else entirely: the task ahead. Her thoughts kept returning to Neo and the fight, to what had happened in that cave, and to what needed to happen now.

After tending to her wounds, Blake stood up, her back aching from the intense battle. She looked at Ilia, still unconscious, still bound, and made her way toward her. The ropes held her securely, but Blake wasn't taking any chances. She needed information—and she wasn't leaving until she got it.

Blake dragged a nearby chair across the cold concrete floor with a scraping noise, setting it down directly in front of Ilia. She sat with the backrest facing her, her posture relaxed but alert. She studied Ilia's face as the woman stirred, groaning softly as she began to wake up. Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused and blurry at first, and she blinked a few times, trying to make sense of her surroundings.

"Wh-... who's... talking to me?" Ilia's voice was hoarse, weak.

Blake watched her for a moment before speaking, her tone calm, but there was an edge to it. "You know damn well who I am, Ilia."

Ilia blinked again, the haze of confusion slowly lifting. Her vision sharpened as she focused on Blake, a flicker of recognition appearing in her eyes. "Blake?" she croaked.

Blake didn't move. She remained seated, her expression unreadable. "Yeah, it's me. And you're not dead, so don't think you're out of the woods yet. Neo might've drugged you, but you're awake now. That means we're talking."

Ilia blinked again, trying to process Blake's words. Her head felt like it was swimming, but she could feel the ropes binding her tightly to the chair. She shifted uncomfortably, her body still groggy, but the weight of her situation slowly began to sink in. This wasn't some random ambush; Blake had been prepared, and she wasn't here to play games.

Blake stood up, her movements fluid as she grabbed a nearby cloth and wiped away the sweat and blood from her brow. "The drugs Neo injected you with are still in your system, so don't try moving too fast. You need to clear your head."

Ilia's gaze flicked nervously toward Blake, and her voice trembled with uncertainty. "What do you want with me?"

Blake moved closer, her tone hardening, her eyes locking onto Ilia's with unrelenting intensity. "I want answers. I don't care how long it takes, but I'm getting them. You're mixed up in this, and I need to know everything you know about Adam Taurus."

Ilia's throat tightened at the mention of Adam's name. She had been close to him once, but now, the thought of him sent a shiver through her. What was Blake planning to do with this information? Did she even care?

Blake's voice dropped lower, more dangerous. "Once the drugs wear off, you'll talk. You're going to tell me everything about him, and you're going to help me stop him before it's too late. I don't want to waste time, Ilia."

Ilia swallowed, her mouth dry. She could see the coldness in Blake's eyes, the resolve. This wasn't just about finding Adam anymore—it was about getting answers, and Blake would stop at nothing to get them. Ilia felt the pressure mount on her chest, the weight of the situation crashing down on her.

Blake stood silently for a moment, watching her, gauging her reaction. Then, after a moment of silence, she spoke again. "You don't get a choice. You're not walking out of here until I have what I need."

Ilia opened her mouth to say something, but no words came. Her mind raced, but she couldn't think straight. She was trapped.

Blake turned away, moving toward the table where her weapon was resting. Her hands brushed over the smooth surface of Gambol Shroud, her fingers lingering on the handle as she drew it closer. There was a steely focus in her eyes now, a quiet fury that made the air around her feel heavier.

Without turning back, she spoke again, her voice carrying a finality that sent a chill down Ilia's spine. "You're not leaving until you talk. So take your time, but you'd better think carefully."

Blake sat across from Ilia, the silence in the room broken only by the faint hum of the warehouse lights. She was tending to the cuts on her arms and legs from the fight with Neo earlier. The sting of the wounds made her focus, the pain a reminder of the danger that was always lurking, but her mind was elsewhere. As she finished cleaning herself up, she turned her attention back to Ilia, who was still groggy, her head heavy from the effects of Neo's drugs. Blake's eyes were sharp as she watched Ilia, her voice calm but demanding.

"Why was Neo after you?" Blake asked, her voice low and controlled. "Why would she risk everything to come after you?"

Ilia's eyes fluttered open, the haze slowly clearing from her vision. She looked up at Blake, her expression a mixture of confusion and frustration. It took her a few moments to focus, her mind still reeling from the drugs in her system. But when she finally spoke, her voice was clear, though tinged with bitterness.

"It was just Neo," Ilia said, her voice tight. "Adam wasn't involved, not directly. It was all Neo... She was the one who ambushed me. She's been hunting me down ever since I started investigating a series of murders."

Blake's brows furrowed, the mention of murder catching her attention. "Murders? White Fang members?"

Ilia nodded weakly, her body still recovering. "Yes. White Fang members, all across Vale. It looked like they were targeted, but I couldn't figure out by who. I got close, though, very close. I was starting to piece things together. I thought I had a lead, and that's when Neo attacked."

Blake leaned forward, her expression intense. "Why would Neo go after you? She was one of Adam's closest allies before... everything happened."

Ilia looked down, her voice growing softer, a bitter edge creeping in. "Because of what happened to Roman Torchwick. He was... he was close to her, and Adam might have had a hand in his death. Neo's been taking out former White Fang members because they turned their backs on Adam, trying to break away from his control. But it's more than that. She's hunting down people she believes were responsible for Roman's death."

Blake's eyes darkened at the mention of Roman. She had seen the devastation Neo had suffered, losing her partner. It made sense now—Neo wasn't just seeking vengeance for herself. She was hunting down anyone who had even the slightest connection to Roman's death, and the White Fang was as good a place as any to start.

"I was close to figuring out who was behind the murders," Ilia continued, her eyes meeting Blake's with a mix of exhaustion and regret. "I thought it was just a random killing spree, but then I realized it wasn't. Neo's been hunting down people she sees as traitors, as people who failed her and Roman. And she's doing it in Adam's name."

Blake's fists clenched at her sides, her jaw tightening. It was all coming together now. Neo's violence wasn't just about the White Fang. It was about vengeance—a rage that ran deep from her grief over Roman's death, and Adam was the one pulling the strings behind the scenes.

"I've been tracking Neo for weeks now," Ilia said, her voice weak but steady. "But she always stays one step ahead. The moment I got close, she caught wind of it, and she ambushed me."

Blake looked at Ilia, her mind racing. "Adam and Neo... they're both playing a game, using people like pawns," Blake muttered under her breath, her voice simmering with anger.

Blake turned back to Ilia, her gaze unflinching, cold. "I'm going to kill Adam. That's my mission now. This ends with him. He's too dangerous, and if he thinks he's going to get away with everything..."

Ilia blinked, her eyes wide with surprise, but there was no judgment in her gaze—only a flicker of something she couldn't hide. "You want revenge too, don't you?" she asked quietly.

Blake's eyes flashed with a fire that could match any of her previous rage. "It's not just revenge," she said, voice hard. "It's justice. Adam's twisted everything for too long. But if Neo gets in my way..."

Blake stood up, her fists clenched at her sides. "I'll make sure she gets what's coming to her too."

Ilia, still tied to the chair, watched Blake carefully. "You're going to kill them both?"

Blake's eyes were steely, filled with determination. "I'm going to stop them. And if Neo gets in my way, she'll meet the same fate."

Ilia's eyes slowly cleared as the drugs in her system began to wear off. She looked up at Blake, still groggy but more aware now, her gaze shifting uneasily.

"What about me?" Ilia asked quietly, her voice hoarse.

Blake, her expression cold and calculated, walked over to Ilia with Gambol Shroud still in her hand. The sound of her boots against the concrete floor echoed through the warehouse, a reminder of the tension in the air. She stood in front of Ilia, her weapon resting against her shoulder, eyes locked onto her former teammate.

Blake's voice was low, dangerous, as she asked, "The night Adam killed my friend... Was she a target?"

Ilia stared at Blake, her eyes flickering with uncertainty. Her hands were bound, but she didn't try to struggle. She knew Blake wanted answers, and she knew the truth would come out whether she spoke it or not. The weight of the question hung in the air, thick and suffocating.

Blake's grip on Gambol Shroud tightened slightly, her gaze unwavering.

Ilia swallowed hard, her voice quiet as she finally spoke. "No." Her words were firm, but there was a hint of regret in her tone, as if she were recalling something she'd rather forget. "She wasn't a target."

Blake's expression hardened at the answer. It wasn't the relief she had hoped for, but it also didn't change the fact that Adam's actions were still what had led to her friend's death. No matter how Ilia answered, the betrayal and the bloodshed lingered in her thoughts.

Blake's heart pounded in her chest as the anger she'd been holding in for years began to surge. Her eyes locked onto Ilia, and her grip tightened around the girl's neck without a second thought.

"So she was just someone who got in Adam's way," Blake hissed through clenched teeth, the words dripping with venom. She could feel the rage bubbling up, a storm of emotions swirling inside her, threatening to break free.

Ilia gasped for air as Blake's fingers squeezed tighter, her breath shallow and desperate. But Blake didn't let up. Her fury was consuming her, and as she spoke, she let the weight of everything that had happened flood her words.

"After that night... after what Adam did... everything fell apart," Blake said, her voice shaking with the force of her emotion. "Our team broke. We went our separate ways. I couldn't stay... couldn't be around anyone. I couldn't bear the thought of seeing them after what happened. Our friend... she was kind, she never hurt anyone, and Adam took her from us." Blake's voice cracked, the memories of that night flooding back in vivid clarity.

Ilia struggled to breathe, her face turning red, but Blake didn't release her. She needed to say it. She needed to say it all.

"We lost everything that night. Our friend's life, our team, our purpose... all destroyed by Adam." Blake's voice was low and filled with venom as she pushed her words through gritted teeth. "He will pay for this. I'll make sure of it."

Blake, in a burst of fury, shoved Ilia to the ground, her body crashing against the cold floor. Ilia gasped for air, her lungs aching as she tried to catch her breath, coughing violently. Blake crouched down, her expression cold, but with an underlying fury that burned through every word.

"Adam destroyed my life," Blake growled, her eyes narrowing as she glared at Ilia, who still struggled to recover. "He destroyed everything we were. But he will be found. And he will die... by my hands."

Blake stood up, her anger still simmering beneath the surface, but she surprised Ilia by cutting the ropes that bound her to the chair. The sharp blade of Gambol Shroud sliced through the ropes with ease. Ilia stared at her, wide-eyed, unsure of what was happening.

"Go," Blake said quietly, her voice hard but tinged with a warning. "Tell Adam I'm back. And I'm coming for him."

Ilia, still gasping for breath, slowly pushed herself up from the ground. Her eyes locked onto Blake, and for a moment, there was something like pity in her gaze.

"You think you'll get closure from this?" Ilia said hoarsely, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've seen it before... this mission of revenge. And it doesn't lead to closure. It just leads to more bloodshed."

Blake's jaw tightened at the words, but she said nothing. She only watched as Ilia turned and walked away, each step leaving Blake with more uncertainty than she cared to admit.

As the door shut behind Ilia, Blake stood motionless for a long moment, her thoughts a storm of conflicting emotions. Had she done the right thing? Letting Ilia live... Was it a mistake? Would it matter in the end?

Her fingers brushed against Gambol Shroud, the weight of her decision still lingering in the air.

Blake's heart pounded in her chest as the anger she'd been holding in for years began to surge. Her eyes locked onto Ilia, and her grip tightened around the girl's neck without a second thought.

"So she was just someone who got in Adam's way," Blake hissed through clenched teeth, the words dripping with venom. She could feel the rage bubbling up, a storm of emotions swirling inside her, threatening to break free.

Ilia gasped for air as Blake's fingers squeezed tighter, her breath shallow and desperate. But Blake didn't let up. Her fury was consuming her, and as she spoke, she let the weight of everything that had happened flood her words.

"After that night... after what Adam did... everything fell apart," Blake said, her voice shaking with the force of her emotion. "Our team broke. We went our separate ways. I couldn't stay... couldn't be around anyone. I couldn't bear the thought of seeing them after what happened. Our friend... she was kind, she never hurt anyone, and Adam took her from us." Blake's voice cracked, the memories of that night flooding back in vivid clarity.

Ilia struggled to breathe, her face turning red, but Blake didn't release her. She needed to say it. She needed to say it all.

"We lost everything that night. Our friend's life, our team, our purpose... all destroyed by Adam." Blake's voice was low and filled with venom as she pushed her words through gritted teeth. "He will pay for this. I'll make sure of it."

Blake, in a burst of fury, shoved Ilia to the ground, her body crashing against the cold floor. Ilia gasped for air, her lungs aching as she tried to catch her breath, coughing violently. Blake crouched down, her expression cold, but with an underlying fury that burned through every word.

"Adam destroyed my life," Blake growled, her eyes narrowing as she glared at Ilia, who still struggled to recover. "He destroyed everything we were. But he will be found. And he will die... by my hands."

Blake stood up, her anger still simmering beneath the surface, but she surprised Ilia by cutting the ropes that bound her to the chair. The sharp blade of Gambol Shroud sliced through the ropes with ease. Ilia stared at her, wide-eyed, unsure of what was happening.

"Go," Blake said quietly, her voice hard but tinged with a warning. "Tell Adam I'm back. And I'm coming for him."

Ilia, still gasping for breath, slowly pushed herself up from the ground. Her eyes locked onto Blake, and for a moment, there was something like pity in her gaze.

"You think you'll get closure from this?" Ilia said hoarsely, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've seen it before... this mission of revenge. And it doesn't lead to closure. It just leads to more bloodshed."

Blake's jaw tightened at the words, but she said nothing. She only watched as Ilia turned and walked away, each step leaving Blake with more uncertainty than she cared to admit.

As the door shut behind Ilia, Blake stood motionless for a long moment, her thoughts a storm of conflicting emotions. Had she done the right thing? Letting Ilia live... Was it a mistake? Would it matter in the end?

Her fingers brushed against Gambol Shroud, the weight of her decision still lingering in the air.

Blake's hands trembled as she set Gambol Shroud down on the table beside her. The weight of the moment seemed to press down on her chest, suffocating her with everything she'd been holding inside. Her breath came in short, uneven bursts as she tried to calm herself, but the anger, the rage, the heartbreak, it all came crashing down. She couldn't stop it. She didn't want to stop it.

Sitting down on the cold floor, Blake pressed her hands to her face, but it did nothing to hold back the sobs that shook her body. They came suddenly, violently, as though the dam she had built inside her had finally broken under the pressure.

The memories of that night flooded back, overwhelming her like a tide she couldn't escape. The sound of her friend's last breath, the way everything had happened so fast—too fast to even understand. That scream. The way she had tried to save her, but had been too late. It was a moment that had haunted Blake every day, a memory that burned deep in her soul. The guilt, the helplessness—it was all she had carried with her for so long.

Her friend, the one who had always been so full of life, so kind...gone. Just like that. Blake had never truly allowed herself to mourn, to break down, but now, with the weight of it all crashing down on her, she couldn't hold it in any longer. The tears streamed down her face, mixing with the anger and sorrow that filled her heart.

"I should've been there," Blake whispered through her sobs, her voice hoarse and broken. "I should've done something..."

The images of that night replayed in her mind—seeing her friend fall, hearing that final gasp for breath, feeling the world slip away as she stood powerless. Every detail was burned into her, and now, it felt as though it was all happening again, over and over, in the silence of the warehouse.

Blake hugged her knees to her chest, her body wracked with the sobs that she had never let herself fully express. She had told herself that revenge was the only thing that mattered now. That catching Adam would make everything right. But now, in the stillness of the room, she wasn't sure. Was this truly the way to honor her friend's memory? Or was it simply another cycle of violence that would never end?

"Why didn't I save you?" Blake choked out, her voice barely a whisper in the quiet room. But no answer came.

The sobs continued, and Blake let herself feel it all—the loss, the anger, the guilt. For the first time in years, she allowed herself to grieve.

---

CAVE

Ruby's footsteps echoed in the cavernous silence as she continued to explore, the beam of her flashlight cutting through the darkness. The walls of the cave were rough and uneven, and the air felt heavy with the weight of something unsaid. She moved deeper, her boots crunching lightly over the uneven ground, until she came across a section of the cave that looked disturbed, like something—or someone—had been here recently.

Her eyes quickly scanned the damage: broken rocks, scattered debris, and what appeared to be deep gouges in the earth, as if something or someone had been thrown or slammed into the walls with incredible force. The remnants of a violent struggle were everywhere—twisted metal shards, splintered wood, and what looked like remnants of broken weapons.

Ruby crouched down, her flashlight illuminating the jagged edges of the damaged floor. A chill ran down her spine as she took in the scene, her heart racing. She didn't know what had happened here, but it was clear that this wasn't a typical brawl. Something powerful and fierce had been at play. She frowned, trying to piece together the clues, but the disarray only left her with more questions.

Then, her light flickered across something dark in the corner of the room. Ruby stepped closer, her heart tightening as she realized it was a small pool of blood, dark red and still fresh. Her breath caught in her throat. The blood was too much to ignore—whoever had been here, they had been hurt.

The blood trail led deeper into the cave, weaving through the wreckage like a thread unraveling from a tangled ball of yarn. Ruby's curiosity grew, her instinct to follow the trail overriding any sense of hesitation. She carefully picked her way through the debris, making sure to avoid stepping in the blood, though the trail seemed to pull her further.

The more she followed it, the more unsettling it became. The blood trail didn't seem to stop or fade—it stretched deeper into the cave, leading Ruby toward a door slightly ajar, a room beyond that she hadn't yet explored. Her grip tightened on Crescent Rose, ready for whatever might come next.

Whoever fought here… they were hurt. Her thoughts ran wild with possibilities. She couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't just some random attack—it felt personal. The trail led her closer to the source of the violence, but she still didn't have a clear answer. All she knew was that someone was hurt, and someone else was responsible.

Ruby took a deep breath, preparing herself for whatever she was about to uncover. She stepped forward, following the blood trail into the next room, unsure of what she would find but certain it was something she had to see through.

Ruby slowly stepped into the next room, her flashlight beam trembling as it illuminated the jagged walls and the scattered debris. The blood trail led her further into the dimly lit space, and she felt the weight of the silence pressing in on her. The cave seemed almost alive with a sense of tension, the air heavy with something unspoken.

Knowing the space was too confined for Crescent Rose, Ruby holstered her scythe and drew one of her guns. Her grip was tight, fingers cold against the handle as her eyes darted around the room. She felt her heart race, a mixture of unease and anticipation in her chest. Every step was calculated, her focus sharp.

The blood trail seemed to lead her toward a door slightly ajar, the dim light from her flashlight catching on the edges of the frame. Ruby's breath quickened as she approached, her eyes scanning every inch of the surroundings. The blood was fresher now, the droplets becoming more concentrated the closer she got to the door.

Then she heard it. A faint, rasping cough from within the room beyond.

Ruby froze, her instincts kicking in. She quickly raised her gun, her hands shaking slightly as the weight of the moment settled in. "Who's there?" she called out, her voice steady despite the uncertainty crawling up her spine.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Ruby's eyes darted from side to side, waiting for a response. Then, as if on cue, the door creaked open just a few inches, and a familiar head poked out from the shadows—Neo.

Ruby's heart skipped a beat at the sight of her, but she didn't lower her weapon. "Come on out," she ordered, her voice firm and commanding.

Neo's head tilted slightly, her expression unreadable. There was a brief moment of hesitation, but then she nodded, as if understanding what was expected. Slowly, she stepped out from behind the door, revealing herself fully to Ruby.

Ruby's eyes immediately locked onto the marks on Neo's neck—deep, bruising impressions as though someone had tried to strangle her. She also noticed the bleeding cut on Neo's leg, the fabric of her clothing hastily tied around it to stop the bleeding, but it was clear that it wasn't enough.

Ruby's grip on the gun tightened, but she didn't pull the trigger. Instead, she took a cautious step forward, her gaze fixed on Neo. "What happened to you?" Ruby asked, her voice softer now, though still edged with suspicion.

Neo's eyes flickered briefly to the bloodstains on the floor, then back up to Ruby. She seemed to want to say something, but no words came out. Instead, she simply lowered her gaze, clearly injured and exhausted.

Ruby reached for her radio, her eyes never leaving Neo. But as soon as she pressed the button, Neo's eyes widened, panic flashing across her face. She gave a frantic nod, but the sudden movement made her wince in pain, her hand instinctively clutching her wounded leg.

Ignoring Neo's reaction, Ruby spoke into the radio with unwavering authority. "This is Ruby Rose. I've located Neopolitan. Wanted for fifteen counts of murder, five counts of attempted murder. Suspect is injured but conscious. Requesting a medic at my coordinates." Her voice was cold, precise, and unwavering.

As she clipped the radio back onto her belt, Ruby reached into her pouch and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. The metallic clink as she unfolded them echoed slightly in the cave's tight space. Neo eyed them warily but gave a slow nod of understanding, as if she had already accepted her fate.

Ruby, however, wasn't in the mood for false compliance.

Her grip tightened on the cuffs, and her expression hardened as anger flashed across her face. "Don't even bother," she snapped, stepping closer. She had seen Neo's tricks before—the fake surrender, the last-minute escape attempts. She wasn't going to fall for it.

Neo's eyes darted around the dimly lit room, her chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths. She shifted slightly, her stance adjusting as if weighing her options. But she was injured, exhausted, and cornered. There was nowhere to run.

Seeing Neo's hesitation, Ruby slowed her approach slightly, her voice firm but with an edge of forced patience. "A medic will come and treat your leg, but only if you cooperate." Her finger hovered near the trigger of her gun, just in case. "So don't make this harder than it needs to be."

Neo exhaled sharply, her shoulders sagging in reluctant acceptance. With a quiet, defeated sigh, she lifted her hands in surrender.

Ruby swiftly clasped the cold steel cuffs around Neo's wrists, the sharp click echoing through the cave. For a brief second, Ruby thought the hard part was over.

She wasn't expecting Neo's next move.

Neo's movement was swift and desperate, fueled by pain and sheer survival instinct. Before Ruby could react, Neo twisted violently, knocking Ruby's hand aside and wrenching the gun from her grip.

Ruby's breath hitched as the cold steel of her own weapon was suddenly aimed at her.

She took a step back, hands slightly raised. "Neo—don't," she said, her voice firm but cautious.

Neo's fingers trembled around the grip, her knuckles going white. Her breathing was uneven, her body wrecked from injuries, but there was still fire in her mismatched eyes. She was backed into a corner, and a wounded animal was always the most dangerous.

Ruby's gaze flickered toward Neo's shattered aura, the blood dripping from her leg, the way her shoulders barely held themselves up. Neo was running on fumes. But still, the gun stayed locked on her.

Neo jerked the weapon, motioning sharply. Down.

Ruby hesitated.

"Neo, listen," she tried again, voice steady but edged with warning. "The soldiers are already on their way. Medics, too. You won't get far. And you know your aura is gone. If you fight now, you're not walking away from this."

Neo's grip tightened, the gun trembling ever so slightly. Her breathing grew more frantic. She was weighing her options, calculating whether or not she could escape.

Then she raised the gun higher.

The barrel pressed against Ruby's forehead.

And in an instant, Ruby wasn't in the cave anymore.

She was seventeen again.

The world spun, collapsing into a nightmare she had spent years trying to forget.

Adam Taurus loomed over her, the barrel of his weapon digging into her skull. His eyes burned red, his voice a whisper of promises—of pain, of death, of control. The weight of the gun. The smell of blood. The helplessness.

Not again.

The memory shattered as Ruby moved.

Faster than thought, she surged forward, knocking Neo's gun aside. Her fingers clamped down on Neo's wrist and twisted.

A sickening crack rang through the cave.

Neo's scream tore through the air, raw and pained. Her knees buckled as she clutched her now-broken arm, gasping, shaking. But Ruby wasn't done. Her heart pounded, her vision blurred with rage, and something dark—something she didn't want to name—roared to life inside her.

With a violent shove, she grabbed Neo and slammed her into a weakened stone pillar. The structure crumbled, sending dust and debris scattering across the floor.

Neo barely had time to react before she lunged again, tackling Ruby despite her battered state. But Ruby was faster. Stronger.

She caught Neo mid-charge, pivoted, and threw her against the wall.

Neo's body hit the stone hard, a sharp thud echoing through the room. But Ruby didn't stop. She grabbed her again and slammed her into the wall a second time, even harder.

Neo choked out a weak gasp, her body barely holding itself up.

Ruby stood over her, chest heaving, hands clenched into fists so tight that her nails cut into her palms. But the rage wasn't gone. Not yet.

She grabbed Neo by the hair, yanking her head back.

Then, with a final, brutal motion, Ruby drove Neo into the ground.

The impact was devastating.

Neo lay motionless, gasping for air, blood trickling from her temple. Her shattered arm twitched uselessly at her side.

Ruby stood above her, breath ragged, every muscle in her body coiled like a spring ready to snap.

Still gasping for breath, Ruby staggered back, her body trembling with adrenaline and fury. Her hands felt numb, her mind clouded with a haze of emotions she could barely process.

With unsteady fingers, she reached for her gun, scooping it off the ground. The weight of it in her hands felt different now—heavier. As if it carried the weight of what she had just done.

Bringing her radio up, she pressed the button, her voice raw and uneven.

"This is Ruby… Neo is down. Critical condition." Her breaths were shaky. "I need medics here now."

Silence.

The cave suddenly felt suffocating, as if the air had been sucked out of it. Ruby turned, her gaze locking onto Neo's crumpled form on the ground. The once-deadly, untouchable Neopolitan—brutal, silent, unstoppable—now lay broken, struggling to breathe.

Her fractured arm twitched slightly. Blood trailed down the side of her face.

Ruby's chest tightened as the weight of what she had done finally crashed over her.

She had lost control.

She had become the rage.

Her fingers clenched around the gun as she took a shaky step back.

Then, everything inside her snapped.

All the pain, all the hatred, all the rage—the memories of that night, of Adam, of helplessness, of years spent running from this very feeling—everything boiled over.

A guttural, primal scream tore from Ruby's throat.

---

STREET

The street was eerily quiet. A stark contrast to the vibrant festival that had filled it with life just a week ago. Weiss walked along the pavement, her heels clicking softly against the ground. The colorful banners that once lined the buildings had been taken down, leaving only faint traces of their presence. A few civilians lingered, but they were scattered—shadows of the crowds that had once celebrated here.

Then, without meaning to, Weiss turned her head—and the past came rushing back.

The festival came to life before her eyes. The bright lights. The laughter. The music. The warmth of being surrounded by her team, by friends. It had been a moment of happiness. A rare one.

And then—

The gunshot.

A single, deafening crack that shattered the night. That shattered everything.

Her chest tightened. She could still feel it—the chaos, the screaming, the way her heart had plummeted as blood painted the ground.

As quickly as the memory had come, she forced it away. Weiss shut her eyes, inhaling sharply before shaking her head, dispelling the ghosts of the past.

She had a job to do.

Squaring her shoulders, she stepped forward, approaching a guarded building. A pair of soldiers and a few local police officers stood at the entrance, their faces grim. As Weiss neared, one of the officers stepped toward her.

"How bad?" she asked, her voice steady despite the weight in her chest.

The officer exhaled through his nose, his expression dark. "Five dead."

Weiss frowned. "Who?"

"All former members of Roman Torchwick's organization."

Her stomach twisted.

The officer motioned for her to follow as they entered the building. The air inside was heavy, thick with the scent of gunpowder and something far worse—death.

As they ascended the stairs, the officer continued, his voice low. "This wasn't random. The crime scene, the bodies—it was precise. Planned out." He glanced at Weiss. "Whoever did this, they knew exactly what they were doing."

Weiss said nothing, her grip tightening at her side.

The officer led Weiss down the dimly lit hallway, the faint scent of gunpowder still lingering in the air. As they approached the room, a few forensics officers were finishing their work, carefully maneuvering around the aftermath of the carnage.

Stepping inside, Weiss took in the scene with a sharp, discerning gaze. Five bodies lay in black body bags, their outlines barely visible under the fluorescent lighting. Blood stained the floor in erratic patterns, some pooled beneath where the victims had fallen, while streaks trailed toward the walls—evidence that at least one of them had tried to crawl away before succumbing.

The walls told their own brutal story. Bullet holes riddled the plaster, with some shots punching straight through. A shattered window on the far side of the room let in the cool night air, its jagged edges hinting at the direction from which the shots had been fired. Weiss stepped closer, her boots carefully avoiding the bloodied areas as she crouched near one of the bodies.

Her eyes swept over the details—the way the bodies had fallen, the pattern of bullet holes. There was no chaos here. No reckless spray of gunfire. Every shot had been deliberate, calculated.

From across the street, she thought. The angle was clean, the precision undeniable. Whoever had orchestrated this had done so from a vantage point that gave them full control of the situation.

Weiss stood, brushing nonexistent dust from her gloves before turning toward the officer. "Whoever did this," she said, her voice even but firm, "is precise. Smart. They planned every detail and executed it flawlessly." Her eyes flickered toward the broken window. "And they would know that someone like me would try to figure it out."

The officer shifted uncomfortably, taking in her words before hesitating. "Do you have a guess?"

Weiss cast another glance around the room, letting the silence stretch between them. Then, she exhaled slowly, her next words laced with certainty.

"I do."

---

AIRSHIP

Ruby sat in the dimly lit airship, her gaze locked onto the unconscious form of Neopolitan. The once-feared assassin now lay motionless, her small frame wrapped in fresh bandages. Her leg, arm, and head had all been treated, the medical team working quickly to stabilize her before the flight. The steady rhythm of the airship's engines hummed softly in the background, but Ruby barely heard it.

She swallowed, her throat dry. Her eyes traced over Neo's injuries—her arm twisted unnaturally in its sling, the gauze around her head stained slightly with blood. Ruby clenched her fists, guilt pressing down on her chest like a weight she couldn't shake.

She did this.

Exhaling shakily, Ruby pushed herself up from her seat and took a few steps away, pressing her hands against her face. Her fingers trembled as she dragged them down, trying to steady her breathing. But she couldn't stop the tears from slipping through.

This wasn't the first time she'd gone down this road.

That night, years ago, came rushing back in flashes. The gun against her head. The helplessness. The rage. She had sworn to never lose herself again, to never let that anger consume her.

But in that cave… Neo had forced her hand.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to shove the memory away. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She wanted justice, not vengeance. And yet, looking at Neo's battered form, Ruby couldn't help but question herself.

Was she still on the right path?

Or was she becoming the very thing she had spent years fighting against?

---

ABANDONED BUILDING

Weiss stood in the shadow of the abandoned building, her gaze flickering between the structure where the crime had taken place and the one across the street from which the suspect had fired. The air was thick with tension as she made her way into the old building, the faint scent of dust and decay hanging in the air. The broken windows and faded walls spoke of a once-forgotten past, but today, it was a place of grim significance.

Her boots echoed softly as she stepped through the dust-covered floor, joining the cops who were still processing the scene. They had already marked the spot where the gun had been found, an unsettlingly precise location. Weiss walked to it, bending down to inspect the weapon. She reached out carefully, her gloved hands brushing the surface of the custom-made firearm. It was heavy and fine-tuned, the kind of weapon designed for efficiency—and for someone who knew exactly what they were doing.

Her eyes narrowed as she looked over the craftsmanship. The design of the gun was familiar, but it wasn't until she took it apart piece by piece that it hit her. The barrel, the grip, the precision—it was all too specific. When she reached the stock, she froze. Embedded in the metal, barely visible beneath the scratches and wear, was an emblem: a yellow flaming heart.

Weiss' breath caught in her throat. No...

Her hand trembled as she slammed the stock back down onto the floor, the sound reverberating through the building. A wave of frustration surged through her, her anger bubbling over. She clenched her fists, her knuckles turning white. This wasn't just some random act. This was deliberate. And the person responsible—she knew exactly who they were.

"Damn it," she muttered under her breath, her mind racing. The gun, the design, the unmistakable mark—it all pointed to one person.

Her thoughts felt like they were spinning out of control, each thread pulling her in different directions. A dark reminder of a past that Weiss didn't want to confront. She hadn't spoken to her in years, not since everything had fallen apart. But now, standing in the ruins of this crime scene, the weight of what she knew hit her all at once.

She reached into her jacket pocket, pulling out the card Ruby had given her earlier. Her fingers lingered over the address, her gaze fixed on the name printed on it. Her jaw clenched.

Weiss took a long breath, closing her eyes briefly. If she was going to get answers, if she was going to understand what was happening, she needed to speak with Yang. The pieces of this puzzle weren't adding up, but they were pointing her in one direction—and it was one that she couldn't ignore.

Taking the stock with her, she turned away from the scene, her eyes steely with resolve. She had to get to her. Without a moment's hesitation, she flipped off her radio, ensuring no one could contact her. The last thing she needed was interruptions right now. With a deep breath, she headed out of the building, determined to face the person whose name had haunted her thoughts for far too long.

---

WAREHOUSE

A blade sliced through the air, embedding itself deep into the skull of a makeshift dummy. The impact sent a dull reverberation through the quiet warehouse. Blake exhaled sharply, her golden eyes scanning the dimly lit space. The surrounding dummies shifted on their hinges, mechanical limbs jerking as they mimicked movement.

Without hesitation, she launched into action. Her silhouette blurred as she dashed between them, Gambol Shroud flashing in sharp arcs. Knives flew from her grasp, each one finding its target with pinpoint accuracy. A wooden head splintered, another collapsed as her blade slashed clean through its torso. She weaved effortlessly, dodging their erratic swings, cutting them down with lethal precision.

The last dummy staggered forward, its crude, featureless face locked onto her. Blake tightened her grip, flipping Gambol Shroud into a reverse grip before driving it through the dummy's center. The construct jerked once before falling still.

Panting, she stepped back, sweat beading at her brow. The adrenaline still surged, but she forced herself to slow her breathing. She reached for a nearby water bottle, uncapping it with a flick of her wrist before taking a long, cool sip.

As she lowered the bottle, her eyes landed on something across the room. A familiar shape. A memory given form.

Without a second thought, she reached for another knife and threw it. The blade whistled through the air before striking its target with a sharp thunk.

Pinned to the wall, trembling from the force of impact, was a picture. Adam Taurus. His masked visage stared back at her, unchanged by time, untouched by guilt.

Blake walked toward it slowly, her breath steady, but her heartbeat thudding in her chest. Her fingers brushed the hilt of the embedded knife, gripping it tightly.

The memories came rushing back—flashes of that tragic night. The chaos, the screams, the scent of gunpowder. The single gunshot that ended a life far too soon. The moment everything shattered.

Her grip tightened. The anger she had buried for years clawed its way back to the surface.

---

ABANDONED GYM

Weiss scanned the alley one last time before stepping inside the abandoned gym. The door creaked on its hinges, the sound echoing through the empty space. The air smelled of dust and sweat, remnants of a place that had once been filled with movement but now stood still, frozen in time.

The gym was bare except for a few lockers pushed against the wall, a couple of desks that had been shoved into the corner, and a lone punching bag, slightly swaying as if it had just been used. A chalkboard stood nearby, covered in faded writing and old training notes. Against the far wall, a weapon rack held an array of firearms, knives, and blunt-force tools, some looking pristine, others worn down from years of use.

Weiss kept her steps light as she moved further inside.

"Hello?" she called out, her voice steady but cautious.

There was no response, but as she rounded the room, she caught sight of something—a thin stream of steam creeping out from the gym's old bathroom. The damp scent of soap and hot water lingered in the air. Whoever was inside had just finished showering.

Weiss took a breath. "Come on out, Ya—"

She didn't even finish before she was yanked forward, her back slamming into the lockers with a metallic clang. A hand gripped her collar, pinning her in place.

She gasped, her hands instinctively moving to push away her attacker, but she stopped when she saw them.

Wild blonde hair, still damp from the shower. Broad shoulders tense with restrained aggression.

Burning lilac eyes locked onto her, filled with something dark, something dangerous.

"Yang!" Weiss choked out.

The grip on her collar didn't loosen.

"Yang!" she repeated, more desperate this time.

Still nothing.

"Yang Xiao Long! It's me, Weiss!"

The name seemed to pull her back. Yang blinked, her shoulders dropping slightly as she realized who she was holding. Her grip loosened, then completely released as she stepped back.

Weiss exhaled sharply, placing a hand on her chest as she tried to steady her breathing. Her pulse was racing. "Dammit…" she muttered under her breath.

Yang remained silent, staring at the floor for a brief moment. Then, without a word, she reached for a nearby hatchet. She twirled it in her grip before turning and driving it into the wall beside Weiss' head with a sharp thunk.

Weiss didn't flinch, but she felt the force of the impact vibrate through the metal.

Yang's jaw was tight as she finally spoke. "What are you doing here?"

Weiss straightened, taking a controlled breath before responding. "I'm only here to talk."

Yang scoffed, shaking her head as she turned away. "Yeah, because you're just so good at that."

Her voice was sharp, laced with sarcasm and something bitter beneath it. Weiss clenched her fists, knowing this conversation was going to be anything but easy.

Yang reached over to a small table, grabbing a familiar orange bottle. Weiss's eyes immediately caught the label—painkillers.

"You're still feeling it, huh?" Weiss asked, watching as Yang popped the cap open.

Yang didn't answer. She simply shook two pills into her palm, tossed them into her mouth, and downed them with a sip from a nearby cup of water. Her expression remained unreadable as she set the bottle back down.

Instead of pressing further, Weiss exhaled and got straight to the point. "Five of Roman Torchwick's former henchmen were killed in one place," she said, her tone sharp, measured.

Yang finally turned to face her. Weiss reached into her coat and pulled something out—a piece of a disassembled gun stock. She held it up before tossing it onto the nearby desk with a soft clack.

"Guess whose logo I found on it," Weiss said coolly.

Yang's gaze flicked to the emblem—the unmistakable symbol of a flaming heart, burned into the wood. She let out a short, dry chuckle and leaned back slightly.

"Yep. I sure did it," she said without a hint of remorse. "Guess that means I'm under arrest?"

Weiss crossed her arms. "That stock is the only thing linking you to the crime. And lucky for you, I'm the one who found it first." She let that hang in the air before adding, "So, no. You're not under arrest."

Yang smirked faintly. "Aw. You're so thoughtful."

Weiss huffed, rolling her eyes. "You're welcome."

She turned and took a slow look around the room, hands in her pockets. "Nice place you got here," she remarked, a trace of sarcasm in her tone.

Yang, unimpressed, muttered, "Appreciate that."

Weiss made her way over to the weapon rack, eyes scanning the collection of firearms, blades, and explosives. She let out a low whistle.

"Impressive," she said, reaching out to brush her fingers over one of the rifles. "Been raiding Atlesian outposts again?"

Yang shrugged, her expression relaxed but her voice casual—too casual. "Atlesian military doesn't even notice when one or two weapons go missing." She smirked slightly. "In and out. Simple as that."

Weiss narrowed her eyes, but Yang just stood there, unfazed.

Weiss crossed her arms and tilted her head slightly. "Well, here's a thought," she said, motioning toward the weapon rack with a sharp nod.

Yang let out a long, exaggerated sigh. She already didn't like where this was going.

Weiss continued, gesturing at the arsenal in front of them. "You could use all of this to actually be of service."

That made Yang scoff. She let out a short, humorless chuckle, shaking her head. "Be of service, huh?"

Weiss stepped closer, her gaze locking onto Yang's.

Yang smirked, but there was no warmth behind it. "What about you, Ice Queen?" she said, her voice low, edged with something unreadable. "Are you of service?"

Before Weiss could answer, Yang's smirk twisted into something sharper. "Who am I kidding?" she said, her tone dripping with mock realization. "Of course you are." She took a step back and folded her arms, giving Weiss a slow once-over. "Atlesian Specialist, now?"

Weiss didn't respond, standing her ground.

Yang's expression hardened. "You prance around Vale like some damn detective, always looking for suspects to interrogate—but only after a bunch of innocent people get killed first."

Weiss's fingers twitched, but she remained still, her face carefully neutral. "I'm doing way better than the local police ever do," she said evenly.

Yang let out a sharp, bitter laugh, then gave a slow, mocking nod. "Oh, well thank you for your service, then." Her voice was thick with sarcasm, and to drive the point home, she gave Weiss a dramatic, exaggerated salute.

Weiss felt a flash of irritation but forced herself to stay calm. She wouldn't give Yang the satisfaction of seeing her crack. Instead, she inhaled quietly, steadying herself—keeping her anger just beneath the surface, controlled but present. Yang didn't need to know just how much she was getting under her skin.

Weiss exhaled sharply, leveling Yang with a firm gaze. "I mean you could go out there. Really go out there. Help people. Save them. Instead of just hunting criminals like some vigilante."

Yang's expression barely shifted at first, but then she let out a quiet chuckle. It wasn't amused—it was bitter. She spread her arms, motioning to the abandoned gym around them, the worn-out equipment, the weapons, the dim lighting that made the place feel smaller than it was.

"I did try that once," Yang muttered, voice low. "Helping people." She let her arms drop to her sides, shaking her head. "And here I am now."

Weiss scoffed, arms crossing. "Oh, yes, because clearly, the world spat you out for being a hero," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Yang's body tensed, her jaw clenching as her amber eyes darkened. Before Weiss could react, Yang grabbed a glass cup from the table and hurled it across the room. The glass spun through the air before shattering against the wall behind Weiss, shards scattering across the floor.

Weiss didn't flinch, but she felt the weight of the act—the raw frustration behind it.

Yang glared at her, chest rising and falling with sharp breaths. "I stopped being a hero," she growled, fists tightening at her sides. "The second I started doing this." She motioned to the room—the weapons, the stolen equipment, the grim reminders of what she had become. "And I don't regret it."

Weiss folded her arms, her voice calm but edged. "What's wrong with you, Yang? Why are you here? Hiding out in this rundown gym like some ghost?"

Yang's eyes flashed with anger as she took a step forward. "I'm not hiding from shit!" she snapped.

Weiss tilted her head, unimpressed. "Plotting your next kill, then?"

"Damn right!" Yang shouted, her voice sharp and unyielding. "I always have. Always will."

Weiss exhaled, shaking her head. "You'd better hope I'm the one finding all your little markings," she warned, gesturing toward the gun stock with Yang's emblem. "Because if the police or the Atlesian military catch on to who's been leaving bodies all over Vale, you won't be walking away."

Yang just smirked bitterly, but Weiss was done. She turned on her heel. "Sorry to waste your time. I'm out of here before you lose it again."

She had barely taken two steps before Yang's voice cut through the air.

"You're really here for Blake, aren't you?"

Weiss stopped dead. Slowly, she turned back to Yang, her expression unreadable.

Yang crossed her arms. "Yeah. Thought so." She leaned against the locker, her expression sharp. "I know Blake's back. Kept an eye out for her." Yang let out a low chuckle. "Had to persuade your man to stop following her around. Maybe that's why he wasn't reporting to you last week?"

Weiss narrowed her eyes. "What did you do, Yang?"

Yang simply clenched her fist, lifting it slightly. "This," she said flatly. "That's my persuasion."

Weiss exhaled sharply. "Damn it, Yang."

Yang ignored her frustration, taking a step closer. "Why is she back? White Fang? Taurus?"

Weiss hesitated.

That was all Yang needed. She smirked, nodding. "Okay... good. If Blake's after Taurus... then he dies."

Weiss squared her shoulders. "No. I plan to bring him in—alive."

Yang let out a dry laugh. "That so?"

Weiss nodded firmly. "And I promised Blake I'd stop her." She met Yang's gaze, her expression hardening. "I don't want to do the same for you, Yang. But if you interfere... I will."

Silence. Yang didn't move. Weiss turned and walked toward the door.

Just as she reached for the door handle, she paused and looked back over her shoulder. "I'm trying to save lives."

Yang's voice rang out one last time, biting through the silence of the room.

"How about that friend of ours, Weiss? Did you save her life?"

Weiss's hand paused on the doorknob, her fingers curling around the metal. Her breath hitched, and for a brief moment, the world around her seemed to tilt. The question cut deeper than any blade, the raw truth of it sinking into her chest like a heavy weight.

She didn't turn back. She couldn't.

Her eyes were fixed on the door, her jaw clenched so tight it hurt. She swallowed hard, trying to push the sudden wave of unease down, but it gnawed at her.

Yang's voice was quieter this time, but no less sharp.

"We all lost her that night."

Weiss's body tensed. Her breath was unsteady as she turned back to Yang, stepping toward her. "It's not about her," she said, her voice firm, but the slight tremble betrayed her.

Yang's eyes narrowed, disbelief flashing in them. "Then say her name."

Weiss shook her head, her expression darkening. "Stop. It's not about her."

Yang let out a harsh, bitter laugh before stepping closer, her presence towering over Weiss. "Say her name, coward! Say her name!" she roared, anger boiling over.

Weiss clenched her fists at her sides, her breathing heavy. Yang didn't stop. "It's not about her, huh?" she seethed. "You hate yourself. It's eating you alive, isn't it? Because you weren't good enough. You weren't fast enough. You didn't save her."

Something in Weiss snapped.

Her fist shot forward, slamming into Yang's jaw before she grabbed the brawler by the collar, rage and grief swirling in her ice-blue eyes. But just as quickly as the anger had consumed her, it vanished. She let go. Stepping back, Weiss cursed under her breath, shaking her head at herself.

Yang rubbed her jaw, watching as Weiss turned away, pacing in frustration, muttering under her breath—words Yang couldn't quite catch.

Then, barely above a whisper, Weiss muttered, "I'm sorry."

Yang frowned. "Why are you apologizing?"

Weiss didn't answer right away. She just stood there, her hands clenched, her shoulders tense.

Yang sighed, a sadness creeping into her voice. "You let it out, didn't you?"

Weiss hesitated, looking down. "It's not about her," she repeated, though now, it sounded less like a declaration and more like she was trying to convince herself.

She turned to leave, but Yang grabbed her arm, stopping her.

"All of this," Yang said, her voice softer now, but steady. "It's all about her."

Weiss froze. Her lips parted as if to argue, but no words came. She tried to keep herself together, tried to hold back the storm raging inside her.

Yang studied her, then, in a near whisper, asked, "She talks to you, doesn't she?"

Weiss sucked in a sharp breath, but it was no use. The dam broke. Her shoulders trembled, her hands curled into fists, and before she could stop herself, silent tears slipped down her face.

Yang watched Weiss struggle to keep herself composed, her silent sobs shaking her shoulders. But Yang knew. She could see it written all over her face.

"You hear her voice, don't you?" Yang asked, her voice quieter now, almost gentle.

Weiss didn't speak. She just nodded, her head dipping slightly as more tears slipped down her face.

For the moment, Yang let her anger go. She took a slow breath, stepping closer. "Every time I stop moving… every time I let myself rest, I hear her voice," she admitted. "I see her. And I hear the last words she ever said."

Yang's jaw tightened, the memory searing in her mind, as fresh as the night it happened.

"Help me. Please."

Those two words haunted her. Had shaped her. Had driven her to become the person she was now. "Those words stuck with me for years," Yang continued. "And that's why I do what I do. I go after the ones who hurt people. The ones who deserve it. That's how I save others."

She let her words settle between them before looking Weiss in the eye. "And I see it in you, too."

Weiss stiffened. "No," she muttered, shaking her head.

But Yang didn't let up. Her voice sharpened. "Yes, I do. Because you weren't good enough that night, and it's been eating away at you ever since. And there's no running from that, Weiss. No getting away from it."

Weiss wiped her tears with the back of her glove, swallowing hard. Her gaze drifted down to the floor, lost in thought. Then, after a long moment, she lifted her head, her expression heavy with something unreadable.

"I had him," she whispered. "Two years after that night. I had Taurus."

Yang's expression darkened in an instant.

Weiss let out a shaky breath. "I tried to run him down."

Yang scoffed, shaking her head as frustration twisted in her chest. Then, she turned away with an exasperated, "Oh, for fuck's sake."

Storming off, she waved a hand in the air, her patience thinning. "Your own little sy—You and your damn little system!" she shouted, the anger back in her voice, raw and unfiltered.

Yang's glare was searing, her fists shaking as she took another step forward.

"Because of what you did—because you let him go—Adam Taurus is still out there." Her voice was sharp, cutting. "Hurting people. Killing anyone he sees as weak, as human. And you know what he gets?" Her golden eyes burned with fury. "He gets to sit back somewhere, smirking, laughing at all the blood on his hands, while nobody has a fucking clue where he is!"

Weiss clenched her jaw, her body rigid.

"You feel good about that?" Yang demanded.

Something inside Weiss snapped.

"I HAD A CHANCE!" she screamed, her voice raw with years of anger, pain, and regret.

The gym fell into silence.

Yang froze, her expression unreadable.

Weiss stood there, her breath heavy, her hands trembling at her sides. Then, quieter, her voice broke.

"I had a chance…" she whispered, each word laced with guilt. "And I blew it."

Yang's fists tightened, but she didn't yell this time. Instead, she studied Weiss, her gaze sharp. Then, after a long beat, her voice dropped lower, but it carried even more weight.

"How about Velvet, then...Did she get a chance?"

The name hit her like a dagger to the chest.

Velvet Scarlatina.

The friend they lost. The friend Weiss couldn't save.

Weiss felt her breath hitch, her throat tightening like a noose. The world around her blurred for a second as memories she had spent years burying clawed their way back to the surface.

The streets had been chaos that night. People running. Screaming. Gunfire tearing through the air.

And Velvet—

Weiss saw her again, lying on the pavement, her body broken, her blood staining the concrete.

Weiss had been there. She had held Velvet, tried to stop the bleeding, begged her to hold on. But it hadn't mattered.

She still died in Weiss's arms.

More tears fell.

Seven years.

Seven years of guilt. Seven years of nightmares. Seven years of replaying that moment over and over again, trying to rewrite history in her head.

And the worst part?

It never got any easier.

Weiss muttered Velvet's name, barely above a whisper, as if saying it hurt.

Then, with a shaky breath, she spoke.

"Velvet… was the kindest, most pure soul we ever met." Her voice wavered, heavy with sorrow. "That's why I loved her."

Yang blinked. For a moment, the anger in her eyes flickered, replaced with something else—surprise. She had never known.

Weiss let out a quiet, bitter laugh. "After that night, I lost the need to love anyone else. Because I couldn't save her." She swallowed, her hands balling into fists behind her back. "People like me… like Ruby… Blake… maybe even you…" Her icy blue eyes locked onto Yang's, filled with a pain so deep it was suffocating. "We could spend a lifetime trying to be good. Trying to be heroes. But we could never measure up to Velvet's kindness."

Yang didn't have anything to say.

For all her fire, all her rage, all the walls she had built up over the years—she had nothing to throw back at Weiss.

She just stood there, watching as Weiss turned away, her back straight, her hands clasped behind her.

"Goodbye, Yang."

Yang didn't move. She only watched as Weiss walked out, her footsteps echoing through the empty gym.

Then silence.

Yang stood frozen, her jaw clenched, her breath unsteady.

And as the weight of it all settled in, a single tear slipped down her cheek—lost somewhere between her anger and something she refused to name.

---

APARTMENT

Weiss sat alone in her apartment, bathed in the faint glow of the city lights filtering through the window. The room was silent, save for the soft, unsteady rhythm of her breathing. In her hands, she held a worn photograph—one taken just an hour before everything shattered.

It was of her and Velvet. Smiling. Carefree. Blissfully unaware of what fate had in store.

Her gloved fingers traced over Velvet's face, lingering as if she could somehow reach through time and change what had happened. A quiet sniffle escaped her, and she quickly wiped her eyes before setting the picture down on the shelf. She couldn't keep looking at it. Not tonight.

As she turned, her gaze caught something else. Something she hadn't touched in years.

Myrtenaster.

The elegant rapier rested against the wall, its once-pristine frame now dulled by time and neglect. Dust clung to the intricate design, the chamber for Dust long emptied.

Weiss stepped forward, hesitation flickering in her eyes before she reached out.

Her fingers curled around the hilt, and as she lifted it, the familiar weight settled into her grasp.

But it felt heavier than it used to.

Or maybe, after everything, she had simply grown too tired to carry it.

---

Weiss stood on the rooftop of her apartment building, the cool night air sharp against her skin. The city below was restless, neon lights flickering, engines rumbling, but up here, it was quiet. Still. She tightened her grip on Myrtenaster, the weight of her old weapon settling in her palm like an old memory.

It had been years.

She exhaled, then moved.

A burst of Glyphs ignited beneath her feet, launching her forward. She shot across the rooftops, a streak of white against the night. Myrtenaster's blade sliced through the air as she twisted, cutting through the rusted remains of a long-forgotten sign. Shards of metal scattered, but she was already gone, landing effortlessly before pivoting into her next strike.

She weaved through the urban skeleton of Vale, carving through decayed wooden crates, splintering them like brittle bones. Old lampposts, broken and useless, fell beneath the precision of her rapier. With every strike, every movement, the muscle memory returned. She pushed herself harder, faster, leaping from Glyph to Glyph with the grace she once thought lost.

Finally, she landed back on her rooftop, breath steady, her body humming with energy. A small, fleeting smile touched her lips.

She hadn't lost it after all.

But as she turned Myrtenaster in her hand, the smile faded.

Her eyes fell on a tiny emblem stitched into the grip—something she had placed there long ago. A heart. Carefully sewn, delicate yet permanent. A reminder.

She lifted her gaze to the sky and sighed, letting the night air cool the heat in her chest. But something shifted.

A presence.

Her instincts sharpened. She turned, stepping toward the edge of the rooftop.

A few buildings away, a lone figure stood against the wind.

Blake.

She was still, Gambol Shroud in hand, her hair flowing slightly in the breeze. She wasn't moving, wasn't speaking. Just watching. Her golden eyes locked onto Weiss, unreadable in the dim light. But then, something in Blake's gaze flickered—her head turning, her body tensing ever so slightly.

Weiss followed her line of sight.

Across another rooftop, another figure.

Yang.

She stood with a rifle slung in her grip, her stance solid, unshaken. The wildness that once defined her had been reined in; her messy blonde hair now pulled back into a tight ponytail. A bulletproof vest clung to her frame, a grim contrast to the reckless brawler she used to be. She didn't react. She only observed—first Blake, then Weiss—before turning her gaze toward something else.

Weiss turned, her breath catching.

Another rooftop. Another figure.

Ruby.

Crouched on the ledge, Crescent Rose in hand, her hood drawn over her face. But she wasn't surprised. She wasn't confused.

She was angry.

The four of them stood apart, scattered across the rooftops of Vale, separated by distance but bound by something far heavier.

No words. No movement.

Just the weight of everything left unsaid.

END OF PART 2

WARNING: There will be a little time skip in the final part