A Fairly Reasonable Crashout (RWBY Adam SI) ch 29

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Sienna stirred awake.

Her body ached in that sweet, deep way that spoke of being thoroughly undone. Muscles sore, thighs raw, lips bruised—gods, her legs felt like they'd been taken apart and reassembled incorrectly. But it was a good pain, the kind that lingered like a satisfied hum in her bones. She groaned low in her throat, shifting beneath the rumpled covers, one arm thrown over her eyes as light from the window sliced across the bed.

That's when she noticed he wasn't beside her.

She lifted her arm.

Adam sat at the foot of the bed, shirtless, hair damp—freshly washed by the look of it. He was hunched forward, elbows on his knees, one hand absently rubbing his jaw while the other turned something over between his fingers. A coin, maybe. Or a ring. She couldn't tell from the angle.

He glanced over his shoulder the second she moved.

"Morning," he said simply.

Her cheeks warmed—not much, but enough to feel it. Instinctively, she tugged the sheet higher across her chest, as though modesty meant anything after last night. Her voice came hoarse with sleep.

"Hey."

A pause stretched between them. Not awkward. Just quiet. He looked back down at whatever he was holding.

Sienna pushed herself upright, wincing at the soreness blooming in her hips. Her hair was a mess, her throat dry, her body still sticky in all the right places. She didn't regret it—not a second of it.

But that didn't make the morning-after any less... complicated.

"I'm not," she started slowly, "trying to replace anyone. Just so that's clear."

Adam didn't look surprised. He nodded once, like he'd been waiting for her to say it.

"That's true," he said. Then he turned fully toward her. "You can't replace her. You're not her."

His voice was calm, not cruel. But the words still stung. Sienna told herself she wasn't offended. She wasn't here for tenderness. She wasn't looking for a fairytale.

Still, something tightened in her chest.

"You're your own person, Sienna. That's why you can't replace her."

Ah.

And here she'd been—half-asleep, half-wrecked—thinking her pride as a woman was on the line. But even so, that twist of tension stayed in her spine. She leveled her gaze at him, sharp beneath the curtain of her hair.

"...Do you regret what happened last night?"

"No," Adam said without hesitation. "Not particularly."

Sienna let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Her grip on the sheet loosened.

"I don't either," she replied. "It's not like I find you reprehensible."

In a world like Remnant, apathy or hedonism were the best shields against the Grimm. Emotion brought risk. Joy—too much of it—could get you killed. Most people clung to joy anyway; better to die laughing than live numb. Sienna had always leaned the other way. Apathetic. Detached. Her passions were few and far between.

Now that she thought about it, that was kind of sad.

Gods, she was going to need a hobby after this.

"Nor I you," Adam said quietly.

"Thanks for the praise."

Silence. Not cold, just settling.

Sienna broke it first. "What happens next?"

Call it a woman's need for a label, or just the need for something to anchor to—she needed to know.

Adam leaned back, eyes drifting toward the ceiling. "I'm not looking for a relationship, Sienna. And I don't think you are either."

"No," she admitted. "Not really."

Revolution didn't leave room for romance. Not the kind that lasted.

"Then we continue that," Adam said. "I... I don't think I'm in a place to be with anyone anyway. Not really."

"Nor am I, Adam."

"Glad we agree."

He exhaled slowly, shoulders slack. "Is this going to be a one-time thing, then?"

Sienna hesitated.

On one hand, probably. That would be cleaner. Simpler. Safer.

But on the other hand…

Her gaze drifted down, past the folds of the sheet drawn lazily over her chest, to the still-warm mess of blankets tangled around her legs. Her thighs still ached. Her lips still tingled. And the ghost of his mouth, his hands, his weight—all of it clung to her like smoke.

She smiled, small and sideways, just to herself.

"It was fun," she said.

Adam blinked, brow lifting—not in surprise, exactly, but as if the word hadn't occurred to him. "Fun?"

"Yeah," she said, glancing up at him with that sharp little glint in her eye. "You're not just a manifesto with legs, after all. Who knew?"

He let out a breath of a laugh, rubbing a hand down his face. "Not the first review I was expecting."

"Don't be modest," she said, leaning back into the pillows. "I'm sore in all the right places. You'll be pleased to know you're very good at what you do."

He glanced at her sidelong, smirk faint but real. "Revolutionary work?"

"Rutting like a breeding bull," she deadpanned.

Adam snorted. "I seem to recall you asking me to—"

"Don't," she cut in, flushing. "I was... getting carried away."

He was quiet for a moment, watching her. Not with calculation. Not even with desire now. Just… seeing her. Seeing her the way she saw him. Not as a symbol. Not as a soldier.

Just Sienna.

And that just made her flush more.

"Stop looking at me like that," she muttered. "You're giving me the wrong signals, Taurus."

He snorted again but didn't argue.

Her voice softened. "But I meant it. It was good. More than good. I'm not going to pretend it didn't mean something... even if I don't quite know what that something is yet."

Adam nodded slowly. "We don't have to name it."

"No," she agreed. "But we don't have to pretend it didn't happen either."

Another beat passed. He reached for the edge of the blanket and brushed it over her shoulder with the back of his knuckles, light as breath.

"I'm not promising anything," he said.

"Good," she replied. "I'd think less of you if you did."

He nodded, standing. Sienna's gaze followed him, softening as she caught sight of the snowflake brand on his back.

On impulse, she reached out and touched him, fingers brushing his skin.

"Adam."

He looked over his shoulder.

She held his gaze.

"If it happens again," she said, "I won't stop it." 

"Casual about it, then?" Adam's voice was calm, almost detached, but there was a note of curiosity beneath.

Sienna blinked, caught off-guard by the question. Casual? Wasn't that the default? Arrangements like this weren't uncommon, especially among Huntsmen. High death rates, high risks—it created a culture freer than most. People lived fast, burned bright, and didn't waste time pretending permanence was guaranteed.

"Yes," she said slowly, studying him. "Why?"

Adam's lips quirked faintly, though whether it was amusement or something else, Sienna couldn't tell. "No reason. Just making sure we're on the same page."

She nodded. 

Good. 

Then, he turned. "This is the day we march you know," 

"I know," Sienna turned away.

"From this moment on, things will change." 

She turned back. Her heart stirred to see him looking at her as well. 

"Then let's get to it, then."

Adam nodded slowly. "Then let's go."

+++

When Onikuma marched into the camp, barking orders for everyone to rise, Quan knew it was time. The glint in the man's eyes—final, unyielding—said everything. Training was over.

"Clean up the camp!" Onikuma roared, his voice cutting through the crisp morning air. "Clean up and assemble!"

The volunteers moved with a quiet urgency, a strange tension gripping the air. It weighed heavier than the packs on their backs. Tents were folded and stowed, fires doused, supplies checked and re-checked with meticulous care. Overhead, the skies above Cius darkened as luminous clouds gathered, thick and foreboding, as though the heavens themselves braced for the coming storm. The air was damp, heavy with dew, and every instinct in Quan screamed at him to find cover. But orders were orders. He pressed on.

Beside him, Nerissa caught his eye—a grim, steady look that mirrored his own. She didn't need to say anything, but she did anyway.

"Ready?" she asked, her voice low and even.

"I hope so," Quan replied, though the certainty in his tone felt more like a lie.

The camp was dismantled with practiced efficiency, every trace of their presence erased within minutes. In the wilds, such skills were vital. You didn't leave signs behind for predators—Grimm or otherwise. Soon, the volunteers stood assembled, thirty of them in total. Their clothes were a mismatched patchwork of scavenged armor, leather, and cloth, but appearances didn't matter. Their eyes did. Each one of them carried the same look: sharp, focused, unwavering. They weren't soldiers. They weren't heroes. But they had a purpose—to end the cycles of violence that had scarred their world for too long. Whatever came next, they would face it together.

Quan adjusted the straps of his pack, feeling its weight dig into his shoulders. His bow was slung across his back, its specialized design allowing it to fire arrows infused with dust crystals of varying types. With a quick motion, it could shift into a double-bladed glaive—a weapon capable of both ranged and close combat. Beside him, Nerissa hefted her hammer, the steel head gleaming faintly in the muted light. She carried it with ease, though Quan knew it was anything but light.

"You fancy our chances?" he asked, glancing at her.

Nerissa's lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile. "A patchwork militia against Grimm and bandits?" she murmured, her tone dry but not without humor. "Sure, why not?"

"Your confidence is inspiring," Quan quipped.

The murmurs around them died down as a familiar figure strode forward. His presence alone was enough to command silence. The volunteers shifted, their mismatched armor creaking faintly as they turned to face him. The air grew heavier—not from fear, but from expectation.

Quan's breath caught as he saw him. Taurus.

This was the first time Quan had seen him again since the Fort. He had been getting things out through his associates but now, the man himself stood before them. Taller than Quan had remembered, broader too. His boots were caked in dirt, his belt weighed down by a sword that hung at his side. Blue eyes, sharp and unyielding, swept over the group, meeting each of theirs in turn. At his side, Sienna Khan, eyes ready.

Taurus stepped forward, his coat billowing in the wind. When he spoke, his voice was soft, almost gentle.

"I will not make a grand speech promising you the world," Taurus began, his tone deliberate. "You all know why you're here."

They did. None of them had come here lightly.

Adam paused, letting his words settle over them like the stillness before a storm. His gaze swept across the volunteers, piercing and unrelenting.

"We are here to end the world of violence left behind by those who came before us. As the fires burn in Mistral, we go forth to douse the flames. We do this because we love the ones behind us. To give them a future free from the tyranny of the past and the subjugation of the present."

He stepped closer, his voice softening but losing none of its intensity, as if speaking directly to each of them.

"I'm not your commander. I'm not your superior. I'm your comrade. I fight beside you, not above you. I bleed beside you. And I'll die beside you, if that's what it takes."

For a moment, the group was silent, the words hanging in the air. Then a faint murmur rippled through the crowd. Quan had heard stories about Taurus—about a northern mining town that rose in revolt and fell. The Atlesians had buried the truth, but the whispers persisted. And yet, as Adam spoke now, none of it felt like empty platitudes. This was the man who charged a bandit fort and lived to tell the tale.

"They will call us crazy," Adam continued, his voice rising. "They will call us radicals. But is it insanity to fight for a better future? Is it insanity to yearn for more than the life we've been given?"

"No, it's not!" Quan blurted before he could stop himself. Instantly, all eyes turned toward him. His breath hitched as Adam approached, his gaze steady, unreadable. Then, to his surprise, the man laid a hand on his shoulder.

"No... it is not," Adam said quietly, a faint, almost intimate smile crossing his face. Then he turned, continuing his speech as Quan's heart thundered in his chest.

"This is our world," Adam declared, his voice growing stronger. "When the first farmer tilled the soil, when the first miner struck the earth, when the first seamstress' thread span—where was the nobleman?"

Good question, Quan thought.

"Is there anything we share with the parasites who lashed our ancestors into serfdom? Who tried to crush us under their might?"

"We have nothing with them!" Nerissa shouted, her voice clear and defiant.

"Who plowed the frontiers? Who built the cities they trade in? Who dug the mines and forged the tools of their wealth?"

"We did!" Quan and the others joined in, their voices rising in unison.

"And who has taken that which they never toiled to earn?"

"They have!"

With a flash, Adam drew his sword, raising it high into the air. The blade gleamed in the dim light, a symbol of their resolve.

"Volunteers of Cius! Will you come with me to liberate Mistral from the lash of its torturers and the tyrants of the old?"

At once, the gathered volunteers drew their weapons and raised them high in solidarity. Their eyes burned with purpose.

"Will we buckle or yield when faced with the grim cruelty of this world?" Adam roared.

"No!" they answered in unison.

"Shall we push forward? Shall we scream out? SHALL WE RAGE!?"

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" they cried, their voices shaking the air. Adam's eyes seemed to glow with fire as he raised his sword higher.

"THEN LIFT UP YOUR HEART AND SOUL FOR THE CAUSE!"

"FOR THE CAUSE!" the volunteers shouted, their voices fierce and unrelenting. The cry rose like a wave, crashing against the stillness of the morning, reverberating through the trees, the valleys, and the air itself. It was not merely a shout—it was a declaration, a promise, and a defiance of the despair that had gripped their world for far too long.

As their cries reached out into the heavens, the clouds stirred, shifting like restless titans in the sky. Then, as if the world itself had paused to listen, the dense canopy of storm clouds began to part. A single ray of light broke through, cutting through the gray like a blade, golden and resolute. It fell upon them, illuminating their faces, their mismatched armor, their weapons raised high in unity. The light danced on the edges of Adam's sword, casting a fiery gleam, as though the blade itself had been ignited by their resolve.

For a moment, it felt as though the heavens answered their call. The volunteers stood bathed in that fleeting brilliance, their breaths visible in the damp, cold air, their hearts pounding with something greater than fear—purpose.

Quan felt it too, that strange, unshakable pull. The weight of his pack and the ache in his shoulders vanished, replaced with a swelling in his chest that he could hardly contain. He looked to his comrades—Nerissa, her hammer glinting like a sentinel's beacon; Onikuma, standing tall and unflinching; Sienna Khan, roaring and raging as a tiger should, and the others, their faces alight with determination. They were thirty and one souls against an unforgiving world, but in this moment, they were infinite.

The light lingered, wrapping them in its warmth, before fading back into the stormy sky. The clouds rolled inward once more, dark and foreboding, like the closing of a curtain. Yet, the volunteers didn't falter. The memory of that light stayed with them, etched into their hearts like a promise.

Adam lowered his sword, his voice calm but brimming with fire. "The storm will come," he said, his eyes scanning the crowd, meeting each gaze as though he could see into their very souls. "And it will test us. It will break against us, again and again, trying to drown us in fear, in doubt, in despair."

He stepped forward, his boots crunching against the damp earth. "But we are not the kind to drown. We are the storm, the storm that is approaching!"

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. There was no room for doubt now. No time for hesitation. The path before them was steep and treacherous, but it was theirs to walk. 

Quan tightened his grip on his bow, feeling the familiar grooves of the weapon beneath his fingers. He glanced at Nerissa, and she gave him a small nod, her jaw set and her gaze steady. Around him, the others began to move, adjusting their weapons, their packs, their armor. The stillness of the camp was giving way to motion, to life. They were ready—or as ready as they would ever be.

Adam turned, his coat sweeping behind him like a banner caught in the wind. He sheathed his sword with a deliberate motion, the blade sliding home with a sharp, final sound. 

Onwards now. 

Deep into the shadow of the valley of death, into the forests of Mistral, and beyond.

A world of bloody evolution. 

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[SPOILER="Title drop: This is the Day"][URL unfurl="true" media="youtube:_x9zjk2MgVQ"]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_x9zjk2MgVQ[/URL][/SPOILER]

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Sienna marched near the middle of the column, her footsteps steady but quiet, her sharp eyes scanning the dense forest around them. The towering pines loomed overhead, their branches weaving together to form a canopy that filtered the weak sunlight into fractured beams. The air was damp, heavy with the smell of moss and wet earth, and the occasional sound of rustling leaves or distant birdsong broke the silence. Yet, the forest felt tense, like it was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. Adam led them at the front, his tall frame cutting an imposing figure against the shadows of the trees. His coat billowed slightly with his strides. 

He hadn't spoken since they left the camp, but his presence was enough. It grounded them, kept them moving forward even as the weight of uncertainty pressed down on their shoulders. They all moved silently now, the earlier cries of solidarity replaced by the quiet determination of the march.

The forest seemed endless, its shadows growing deeper as the day wore on. The trees closed in around them, their twisted roots clawing at the ground like ancient hands. The air grew colder, sharper, and the faint metallic scent of blood began to mingle with the earthy smells of the woods. Sienna's steps slowed, her senses sharpening as unease prickled the back of her neck.

Then she saw it.

The convoy—or what was left of it.

The first sign was the broken wheel of a cart, lying half-buried in the mud at the edge of the path. Splinters of wood jutted out like jagged teeth, and the remnants of the cart's frame were scattered across the ground in splashes of dark, wet soil. Further ahead, more debris was strewn across the trail—shattered crates, torn fabric, and the twisted metal of what might have once been armor.

Adam raised a hand, signaling everyone to stop. The volunteers instinctively tightened their grips on their weapons, their eyes scanning the wreckage with growing dread. The forest was silent now, unnaturally so, as though even the birds and insects refused to bear witness to what lay ahead.

Sienna stepped forward, her boots crunching softly against the damp earth. The smell hit her first—a sickly, metallic stench of blood and death, so thick it clung to the back of her throat. She forced herself to keep moving, her gaze sweeping over the scene. The bodies were scattered haphazardly, their forms twisted and broken, as though they had been tossed aside without care. Blood pooled beneath them, dark and glistening, seeping into the ground like a grotesque offering.

It wasn't just the carnage that turned her stomach—it was the brutality. These people hadn't simply been killed. They had been slaughtered. Limbs were severed, faces unrecognizable, their expressions frozen in terror. One woman's body lay draped over a broken crate, her arms outstretched as if she had been reaching for something—or someone. A few feet away, a man's chest had been torn open, his ribs splayed like the broken hull of a ship.

The volunteers began to murmur, their voices low and filled with unease. Sienna caught snippets of words—"Grimm," "bandits," "monsters"—but none of it mattered. The result was the same. These people had been helpless, and whatever had done this had shown no mercy.

Sienna's jaw tightened as she crouched beside the remains of the convoy leader. His hand still clutched the hilt of a short blade, its edge chipped and dull. His face was pale, his eyes wide and unseeing, his mouth frozen in a scream that would never be heard

​Her ears flickered as Adam approached. 

​"Grimm?" Adam asked softly.

"Does it matter?" Sienna asked, standing up. 

"I suppose not," Adam replied, glancing at the bodies. "The day is barely over and we have a reminder about why this place needs some leadership." 

He turned to the others. "Take what you can from the convoy. Then we move on!" 

And so they did. 

When night came again, they encamped in a good place. The forest opened up just enough to reveal a small clearing, its edges framed by ancient trees, their gnarled roots twisting like sleeping serpents. A shallow stream trickled nearby, its quiet murmur a soothing contrast to the events of the day. The ground was soft here, covered in a thick layer of moss and pine needles, and the scent of earth and woodsmoke began to fill the air as the volunteers set up a modest fire at the center of the clearing.

The camp came together with the practiced efficiency of people who had little time to waste. Tents were pitched in a loose circle around the fire, gear was checked and adjusted, and weapons were cleaned with quiet determination. The volunteers spoke little, their earlier camaraderie tempered by the grim sight of the convoy.

Sienna took her time setting up her corner of the camp, her mind replaying the images of twisted bodies and shattered carts like a grim melody she couldn't silence. She forced herself to focus on the present instead—on the motions of unpacking her gear, on the warmth of the fire, on the faint glow of the moon filtering through the trees.

When the camp was finally settled, the fire burned bright against the encroaching darkness. Most of the volunteers huddled close to it, their faces illuminated in flickering amber light as they spoke in hushed tones or stared into the flames, lost in thought. Sienna hung back for a moment, her gaze sweeping over the camp. It was a fragile thing, this brief pocket of respite, but it was theirs.

Her eyes landed on Adam, sitting a little apart from the others, his figure silhouetted by the firelight. He was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his coat pooling around him like a shadow. His sword rested at his side, its hilt catching the light as he absently traced a finger along its edge.

Sienna hesitated, then made her way toward him.

Adam glanced up as she approached, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Sienna," he greeted, his voice low and warm. "Come to enjoy this spectacular day with me?"

She snorted, a short, sharp sound that broke the tension in her chest. "Spectacular, huh? That's one way to describe it."

He chuckled, the sound soft and genuine, and for a moment, it eased the heaviness hanging over her. Without waiting for an invitation, she sat down beside him, her thigh brushing against his as she settled in. The warmth of the fire mixed with the heat of his presence, and for a moment, the world beyond the clearing felt far away.

She leaned back slightly, tilting her head to look up at him. His features were sharp in the firelight, the flickering glow casting a golden hue on the planes of his face. His expression was calm, but his eyes were distant, thoughtful, as if he were seeing something far beyond the camp.

"What's on your mind?" she asked before she could stop herself.

Adam turned his gaze to her, his blue eyes meeting hers with a flicker of amusement. "Curious, are we?"

"Maybe. You've got that look again. Like you're planning something—or brooding over something." Sienna shrugged.

​He snorted, glancing up across the broken moon. "Just...alone in my thoughts, that's all. Nothing too important." 

"Care to share them then?" Sienna asked. 

"Will you stop asking if I said what they were?" Adam asked.

"Yes," Sienna hummed.

He sighed. "Just...thinking about how wild things have been. I thought I had a plan before this. Go make enough money and live a quiet life." 

"But here you are, being a revolutionary," she pointed out.

"Yes," he clicked his tongue. "In my world, there is a concept. 'One who tries to avoid his fate only ends up meeting it'" 

"How pessimistic," Sienna snorted. She turned to the camp. "So what you are saying is that you were doomed to be a troublemaker all along?"

He chuckled softly, the sound carrying a mix of weariness and resignation. "I guess that's one way to put it. Trouble seems to find me, no matter what I do."

She turned back to him for a moment, her expression softening. "You know, there's something admirable about that. You could've run. You could've turned your back on all of this. But you didn't."

"And let fate try to throw even worse character building moments? No please," Adam snorted, tossing something into the fire. It burned a little more, illuminating his eyes. 

"Is this surrender then?" Sienna asked.

​His eyes flickered. "If something is pre-determined to happen, might as well do it right." 

Sienna studied him in the firelight, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then, she smirked. "Do it right, huh? That sounds suspiciously like an optimist pretending to be a cynic."

Adam raised an eyebrow, the faintest trace of a grin tugging at his lips. "An optimist? Me? That's a new one."

"Well," she said, leaning back against a nearby log, "there's something kind of... hopeful about wanting to do things 'right.' Like you still care how the story ends, even if you think you're just playing your part."

He poked at the fire with a stick, watching the embers flare briefly before settling back down. "Maybe I care a little. I don't want the story to end with more people getting hurt than necessary. That's about as much hope as I can manage."

Sienna tilted her head, her voice quieter now. "That's not a bad thing, you know. Caring. Even if it feels... heavy sometimes."

Adam's gaze lingered on the flames, his voice low and reflective. "Heavy's one word for it. But I think—" He hesitated, then continued. "I think it's worse when you stop caring. When you just... let the world happen to you without fighting back. That's when you really lose."

For a moment, the only sound was the crackling of the fire. Sienna watched him carefully, as though searching for the right words. "You know," she said finally, "I think you're wrong about one thing."

He glanced at her, curious. "Oh?"

She smiled faintly, her eyes glinting in the firelight. "This isn't surrender. What you're doing—it's defiance. You might think you're just following fate, but I think you're shaping it as you go. And for what it's worth, I think you're doing it right."

Adam blinked, surprised by the weight of her words. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, Sienna stood and stretched, her tone shifting back to something lighter.

"Anyway," she said, brushing dirt off her hands, "if you're going to be all philosophical, you better get some sleep. Big day tomorrow, revolutionary."

He laughed softly, shaking his head. "Big day, huh? I'll try not to disappoint."

And he wouldn't.

​+++

The bandit woke to the soft glow of morning light creeping through the cracks in the wooden shutters. It was the kind of morning that should have felt peaceful, with birdsong in the distance and a gentle breeze carrying the scent of the sea. But something felt...off. It had felt off for days now.

He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and scratching at the stubble on his jaw. The straw-stuffed mattress creaked beneath him as he swung his legs over the side, his boots crunching faintly against the dirt-smeared floor. He couldn't shake the odd sensation in his gut—like something just beyond his sight was waiting to pounce. It had started a few days back; the villagers had been acting strange. At first, it was subtle. The usual smiles and forced pleasantries were replaced with tight-lipped stares. The food they brought them came later each day, portions shrinking bit by bit. And the ale? It tasted worse than usual, watered down, almost like they were saving the good stuff.

Rumors had been swirling among his companions—a story about a nearby town that had fought off a group like theirs. He'd laughed when he first heard it, brushing it off as drunken nonsense. Villagers didn't fight back, not against men like them. But now...he wasn't so sure.

He pulled on his belt, adjusting the dagger at his hip before grabbing his sword. The sound of raised voices outside made him pause, his unease sharpening. Groaning, he shuffled toward the window and peered out. A handful of men stood in the square below, shouting at each other. One of them was from his crew, gesturing wildly while the others looked like locals.

"Great," he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his messy hair. "More of this nonsense."

He stomped out of his room, the worn floorboards creaking under his boots as he moved toward the common room. A few of his companions were lounging around, half-asleep, their weapons propped up against the walls. He stopped in the doorway, scowling.

"Hey," he barked, pointing at them. "Why don't one of you idiots go shut that up before it gets worse?"

One of the men yawned, scratching his chest lazily. "Not my problem," he muttered, leaning back in his chair.

"Yeah?" the bandit snapped. "Well, it's gonna be all our problem when this whole damn town turns against us. Move your ass."

The others grumbled, but no one moved. He cursed under his breath and slammed the door behind him as he stormed outside. The sun was higher now, beating down on the square and making him squint. The argument had escalated, with more villagers gathering around, their faces tight with anger.

"Oi!" he shouted, pushing his way into the fray. "What the hell's going on here?"

Two men, faunus to be exact, were brawling, apparently, a semi-circle of villagers around them, cheering them on. As soon as he came out, they went ahead trying to beat the shit out of each other. 

What the fuck?

He turned toward the inn and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Oi! Get out here! All of you!"

It took a moment, but eventually, the door creaked open. His companions shuffled out one by one, groaning and rubbing their eyes. They looked as disheveled as he felt, their weapons hanging loosely at their sides. One of them, a hulking man named Corvin, stretched and yawned loudly.

"What's the damn problem now?" Corvin grumbled.

"These idiots are making trouble," the bandit said, gesturing toward the villagers. "Get them to shut up before this turns into a riot."

Corvin scratched his beard, squinting at the crowd. "Doesn't look like much of a riot to me," he muttered, but he stepped forward anyway, raising his voice. "Alright, break it up! Go back to your homes before we make you!"

They ignored him, continuing on. 

Growling at being ignored, Corvin marched on, yelling again, "Get out of here you fuckin anim-"

And then it happened.

BANG

A .50 caliber round fired forth from a hidden position, thrust through the air, and planted Corvin's brains and liquid matter into splatters. 

For a second, everything froze. The bandit stared at Corvin's body, his mind struggling to process what had just happened. Then the villagers surged forward, weapons in hand—knives, hammers, short blades.

"Ambush!" the bandit shouted, drawing his sword. "Get back inside! Now!"

But it was too late. The villagers were on them, their weapons swinging. The sleepy, half-hearted bandits scrambled to defend themselves, but they were outnumbered and caught off guard.

The bandit parried a wild swing from a villager's club, his heart pounding. "Fall back!" he yelled, slashing at another attacker. "Fall back to the inn!"

Some of his comrades managed to retreat, but others were quickly overwhelmed, dragged to the ground by the furious mob. The bandit tried to yell something out, but another .50 caliber round echoed. 

He was dead even before he hit the floor. 

​From his vantage point, Malik Ashina grinned. 

Part one of the plan was in motion. 

​Now part two.

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"Boss! Boss!" came the quick cries of his man, pounding a meaty fist against the door.

Danilo Green ignored it, focused instead on the soft, rhythmic suction of the faunus woman's mouth around his cock. Her ears trembled, pinned back in fear, but she worked as ordered, lips sliding dutifully along his shaft.

"Ignore it," Danilo growled, fist tightening in her hair. "Keep going."

She whimpered and complied.

Then—slam—the door burst open. Wood cracked against the wall. His men shoved inside, breathless, eyes wide.

The girl screamed, scrambling back in a mess of limbs and spit. Danilo shot to his feet, half-naked, half-hard, rage radiating off him like heat from a fire.

"You fucking idiots!" he bellowed, grabbing for the whip coiled at his side. "What the fuck do you think you're—"

"Boss!" one of his men interrupted, his voice frantic. "The town—the villagers—they're rising up!"

Danilo froze, the words sinking in like stones. "What?"

"They're armed," the man stammered, sweat pouring down his face. "All of them. Weapons drawn. And they've got someone leading them—a tall faunus. Wolf ears, gold coat, weird rifle. Says the town's not ours anymore!"

Danilo blinked, his mind struggling to process. "Rising up? You're letting a bunch of stupid peasants intimidate you?"

He yanked on his trousers, not bothering to buckle them, and shoved past the man. His whip slapped against his side as he strode out the door, fury boiling in his chest.

By the time he stormed into the square, the air was dead silent. Every villager in Catania was there, lined up like soldiers, shoulder to shoulder. They filled the streets, the balconies above, even the shadows between buildings. Farmers gripped axes. Fishermen wielded harpoons. Mothers clutched carving knives, and children held slings, their faces set with grim resolve.

At their front stood the wolf faunus. His cloak billowed in the wind, the sun catching on his gold-trimmed coat. He held a jezail rifle in both hands, its polished barrel gleaming. The muzzle pointed directly at Danilo.

The faunus's voice, calm and sharp, cut through the oppressive silence.

"Catania is liberated. You are not welcome here."

Danilo barked out a laugh, sharp and disbelieving. His men shuffled behind him, half-drawn weapons in their hands. The air reeked of sweat and nerves.

"You serious?" Danilo sneered. "I send my man out, my brother gets told what happened here, and he'll burn your shitty little village to the ground!"

He shook his head, a cruel grin curling his lips. "If you don't want your women raped to death or your children torn apart by Grimm, you'll surrender now, or I'll—"

"You will do nothing," the faunus interrupted. His tone was steady, his gaze unwavering. "You will surrender, or no mercy will be given."

Danilo's grin disappeared. His fingers tightened around his whip. "Fuck this."

He turned to his men, whipping his sword free from its scabbard. "Kill them all!"

The wolf faunus didn't flinch. His only reaction was a flicker of pity in his eyes.

A crack split the sky, sharp and sudden as a blade. It wasn't thunder—it was louder, closer, shaking the very stones beneath their feet. All heads turned upward as the clouds tore apart like fabric ripped by a violent hand.

Something fell. No... someone.

A streak of black and crimson plummeted from the heavens, trailing an aura that burned through the air like fire. The wind howled, the ground groaned, and the figure struck the center of the square like a hammer to an anvil.

The cobblestones shattered beneath the impact. Dust and gravel exploded outward in a wave, sending villagers and bandits staggering back. Silence followed, heavy and palpable, as the dust cleared.

And there he stood.

Adam Taurus rose from the crouch slowly, his coat whipping in the wind, his expression cold and merciless. His burning red blade gleamed at his side like blood made steel.

He said nothing.

He didn't need to.

Danilo staggered back, his jaw slack. "What the fuck—what the fuck is—"

A scream rang out from the rear. Danilo spun, his eyes widening as one of his men clawed at his neck. A whip, barbed and taut, was coiled around his throat. His face turned purple as he choked, his legs kicking uselessly.

Behind him stood a tiger faunus, her golden eyes burning with fury. Sienna Khan. She watched the man's life drain away without flinching, then gave the whip a sharp twist. The bandit's neck snapped with an audible crack, and his body crumpled to the ground in a lifeless heap. The rushing of boots echoed as more militia joined in, murder in their eyes. 

Sienna lifted her head, her voice cold, sharp, and commanding. It cut through the chaos like a blade.

"Now," she said. "No survivors."

The Volunteers descended.

The villagers surged forward, their weapons raised high. What had been a tense standoff turned into a slaughter. The bandits, disorganized and panicked, tried to fight back, but they were overwhelmed. A harpoon slammed through a man's chest, pinning him to the inn wall. A pitchfork impaled another, his scream cut short as he fell to his knees.

Adam strode forward, unhurried and unrelenting. His blade sang through the air, cutting down anyone foolish enough to stand in his path. A bandit raised a sword, but Adam's strike was faster, cleaner. The man fell without a sound, his weapon clattering uselessly to the ground.

Danilo stumbled back, his hand shaking as he raised his whip. "Stay back!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "Stay the fuck back!"

Adam ignored him. His eyes locked onto Danilo's, devoid of emotion. He raised his blade.

Danilo screamed.

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A/N: The expedition is going well. 

Let's fucking goo.

Next update gonna be Glory to Mankind