Author's Note:

Mmm, that Nora stuff sure is getting weird. It's probably only going to get weirder. But hey, tell me what you think of it! Also; tell me what you thought of the backstory. You know what, just tell me what you thought about everything. All of it. Do it.

Can you tell I want reviews? Give them to me.

Anyways, thanks for reading! If you've read this far, and have not followed/Favorited this story, you should probably do that. Just a suggestion.

Thanks again for reading.

As the caravan left the village that Naze had spent his entire life at, he looked back. He wouldn't be sad to leave it, but he knew already that he didn't like traveling. There were others who were going with the caravan to Golden Sands from his village to learn the ways of the book, around twenty or so, and mostly comprised of people that Naze had never seen before, either because of sheer coincidence or because of his isolationist tendencies. He was alright with that, though. None of them seemed particularly intelligent, and thus not greatly worth knowing.

His foot fell into a deep mud pit to the side of the path, and the thick brown fluid sucked his boot in almost half way up his leg. He let out a grunt of annoyance and started to slowly pull the boot out, his foot still in it. After a few seconds, the boot came free with a loud sucking sound, and he stumbled back to his feet before tumbling back down into the damp dirt that composed the path. His foot was now quite a bit heavier than it was before, but he knew better than to struggle to scrape the residue off of his boots. He would wait for it to dry, than crack it off. In the meantime, merely walking would do enough to remove some amount of the gunk.

One of the several people who were walking by stopped, wrapping their arms around one of his and pulling him back to his feet. "You alright?" they asked, giving him a cautious look. He nodded, saying "Yes. Thank you." In his usual, terse manner. The person nodded awkwardly and continued walking, and Naze did the same, glad that he wouldn't be forced to participate in a conversation that he had no interest in pursuing.

He looked down at himself, curious to see of the muck had gotten anywhere else on him. His dark robes were mostly untouched, save for the ends near his feet. The swamp had a special way of reaching everywhere, making everything damp. It would be a far cry from the desert that the group was headed to. Naze considered the change in environment carefully. The bogs that he had spent his life in were putrid in many ways, but it was also full of life. Many small things, like insects and molds, and things even smaller, like disease. The desert would be free of those things for the most part. He wouldn't have to go to such extremes to avoid them anymore, but would instead be assaulted by a new list of threats. He knew that his skin would blister much in the coming time, even people in his own village had heard tales of the vicious assaults the sun could lead. Dying of thirst in the swamp was unthinkable, but those who averted such a fate only borrowed time, for the murk of the bog made everything sick. It was said, in hushed whispers and dark rooms, that not even the Basilisk were able to escape the sicknesses that swam in those waters.

The strange cry of a bird echoed down from the green, ropy canopy above, making many turn and look, startled looks in their eyes. Many quickened their pace, and Naze was among them. He didn't believe the superstitions that surrounded many of the creatures that inhabited the swamp, but he did believe that they could be dangerous. His hand went to the small dagger that had been given to him before his departure. It was a small weapon, and he didn't know how to use it, but it would be better than nothing.

It wasn't long before he found himself near the head of the group, with the pack animals that carried the supplies they would need for the rest of the journey. It was going to be several weeks before they reached their destination, and he was sure that the journey would not be a very pleasant one. It took them through vast stretches of marsh, than through large stretches of arid nothingness before they were able to reach their end.

Naze put his hood up, not at all drawling comfort from the people around him. If worst came to worst, they would serve as distractions well enough. Some very few of them were physically strong, which would make them easy prey for anything that wanted to take them, beast or Basilisk. If this did happen, he wanted to be one of the last targeted.

Old pages flipped, stopping at another noteworthy point along the travel. Runes glittered, and memories became fresh again.

Naze came to a stop, watching the rest of the pilgrims make their way to the top of the tall hill that seemed to have a definite finality to it as the end of the swamp. The caravan had come across many clearings in the days that they had traveled, but this one was different. It went far above any of the landmasses that sat amid the still waters. This one had something that Naze had never seen before, and something that he thought he could get used to seeing. It looked greener, and finer than the grass of the swamp. That grass was dark and ropey, sometimes even sharp. This grass looked far softer.

A hand clapped his back, and he flinched and the loud voice of Rideat, the one person that he supposed he could call a friend in the group. He had been quite irritating at first, but Naze had quickly found himself counting on the man's company to help escape the monotony of the endless walking. And just as he found a use for the man, he seemed to find a use for Naze. He found Naze an endless source of puzzles and questions. It wasn't uncommon for him simply to launch into a series of questions, of both philosophical and practical in nature. It was an exercise that Naze had found somewhat enjoyable, allowing him many opportunities to flex his mind in ways that he had not had the opportunities to do before. If he knew Rideat as well as he thought he did, the wide smile on his dark face seemed to suggest that another one of these sessions.

The excitable man peered for a moment in the direction that Naze was looking before looking back at his pale friend and saying "What are you looking at?" In a wordless response, Naze pointed at the hill, a small smile coming across his face as he predicted Rideat's reaction. Just as he thought he would, Rideat made an exasperated noise and said "No, you know what I mean. What do you see?"

In a taunting voice, Naze said "Perhaps you should ask what you mean to ask. It would subvert much confusion." Rideat folded his arms and leaned back, the smile starting to fade slightly. Naze continued speaking "Anyways, you mean to ask my perception. I see a hill, larger than those we've come across so far. It would seem to mark the end of the land that I've occupied my whole life, and the beginning of what looks to be much less strenuous. Though, of course, I've not seen over the hill, so this could be entirely inaccurate."

Rideat smiled again, saying "Can't you ever be happy about anything? We're almost halfway there!" He gave Naze a light push on the shoulder, attempting to rile him up while simultaneously starting to jump around, demonstrating his own happiness. Naze looked him up and down while he did this before saying in an even voice "If that's what being happy does, I think I'll pass."

Rideat stopped his antics and gave Naze a different, more appraising look. He did this every time that he gave an unexpected answer, as if drawing a new measure. He looked back to the hill, trying to see it the way Naze did.

Naze started walking again, not waiting to see if his friend was following. Sure enough, several seconds later the hurried footsteps rushed up behind him, and he was again by his side. "Where are you going?" he asked jokingly. Naze looked at him out of the corner of his eye before saying "If I'm to be happy, I would at least want it to be when we are halfway, not almost halfway."

Rideat laughed, then said "I suppose if that's what it takes, I'll walk with you." There was silence between the two as the listened to their footsteps, the conversations of the others around them, or the light breeze moving through their ears. After this silence had grown too great for Rideat to bear, he turned to Naze again and asked "Hey, a while ago, I heard someone saying that you didn't really care about the Basilisk. It sounds insane, but I guess as I've gotten to know you, it seems more believable. I guess I just…" he paused, then continued "Well? Is it true?"

Naze stretched, pulling his thin shoulders back, feeling several of his joints pop satisfyingly as he considered the question. He continued to contemplate for several seconds before nodding and saying "Yes, I suppose that is accurate." Rideat waited for several more seconds before realizing that Naze had finished. "Well, why?"

Naze shrugged his shoulders and said dismissively "I don't know. They've never done much to me, and I find myself quite interested in the mysteries that they hold. They can do things that we could never even dream of, like throwing balls of fire from nothing but their palms, and constantly remind us that we can't possibly match that. But I find myself questioning that." He stopped speaking for a moment to organize his thoughts, than gave Rideat a short summary. "I don't hate them, but I certainly don't love them either. I would be just as happy to see them fall as anyone here, but not before I crack their mysteries. What good would killing them do if we're left in the same squalor we are now? We can't simply kill them, we have to replace them."

Rideat gave a vicious smile and said "Yes, and maybe put them in our place while we're at it. I'd like to see a Basilisk cleaning my boots." Naze however, shook him head at this. "No, than you've got the same problem they have with us now. If there's anything too this book that they've found, I think the Basilisk will regret keeping us around, no matter how much good we've done for them."

Rideat nodded again, saying "Yes, I think we can make sure of that."

The two of them came over the crest of the hill, affording an expansive view of the terrain to come. It was slanted upwards, and didn't seem to hold any surprises to come. Naze was quick to note to himself how quickly the ground seemed to lose its moisture. Just along the slope, it seemed that the vegetation choked and died. He also felt the sun starting to send its warmth through the fabric that covered his head. He was already starting to sweat. He didn't like it, but it didn't seem to sap one's strength in the same way the bogs did. Perhaps he might even like the desert more. It would come as a surprise, especially to him, but he might be willing to stay.

Pages again flipped rapidly, coming to a stop a small number away from where they started. Runes again glittered and gleamed with arcane light as the memories imprinted in them also came to light.

The distant glittering lights of the Golden Sands village shone out across the rolling planes like beacons, and they were all happy to follow. They had been traveling during the night, and resting during the day. Perhaps for short distances they could go, maybe for an hour, but to do any more would certainly be suicide. Naze's lips were cracked, and his robes were sweaty, but he still thought that the bogs were more dangerous.

Rideat stepped next to him, one boot in hand, pouring an immense amount of sand out of it while giving Naze a humorous look. He got the distinct feeling that the sand had been placed in his shoe on purpose. Naze smirked and turned his attention back to the village. It wouldn't be long now before he saw the book for himself, and then this entire journey would come to fruition.

He started to walk again, Rideat walking next to him again. "What do you think we'll find in that book? The call was not very specific. I think it will be some way to withstand their attacks, so that they can't even touch us. That way, there would be no way for them to stop us. What do you think?" Naze shook his head, saying "No, that's almost too simple. It must be a weapon, like how they throw fire at us. I just hope that we can be better at it than them."

Rideat clapped him on the back, in a habit he seemed to be getting used to, saying "Ha, well, whatever it is, I'm sure you'll get a hold on it just fine. Just be sure you give me a hand here and there, alright?" Naze nodded. It was the least he could do. They started walking, sliding down the sandy side of the dune, the sand under their feet falling faster than them.

The cover of the book slammed closed, and Naze pulled himself out of the nostalgic haze. What was he doing? Nothing but wasting time. He stood from the throne-like chair he was seated in and tried to shake the feelings off like a wet dog did to water clinging to its coat. But, like a dog, there was still quite some residue left behind. He only wished that there was an easy way to get rid of all of it.

His attention then went to his the orb in his hand. There were shades all over the world now, ready and waiting for his command to serve as his eyes, ears, and sometimes even his invisible hand. Through his orb he saw so much, and it all melded into one thing: change. Things were changing everywhere, and no one knew exactly how, not even him. It was clear enough, however, that people were taking sides. The Paladin was difficult to keep an eye on, considering his ability to impede the functions of Naze's less powerful minions, but they were managing. More came to him every day, first it was only reporters, wishing to hear more of his life story, and what he stood for, than people started to want to join him. At present the number was around ten. Not a very prestigious start, but it was a sizeable considering that Solace hadn't really done anything. There were some random acts of vigilantism here and there, but nothing that had awarded him any kind of extraordinary credibility. He also knew, however, that their numbers would grow much faster when they started to actually train and make themselves a force. Perhaps they would even rival the huntsmen one day.

But that day would be a long time coming. And even when it came, they could be little more of a threat. Right now, it was amusing enough to see the Paladin, so strong and dignified, scrabbling to accrue the means to recreate his Order. There were others scrabbling as well, but not for the same reasons. Groups were scrambling to prove that the undead were evil, and not to be trusted. There were those who were scrambling to prove that they were just as they said, and that they held the key to finally defeating the Grimm. And then, of course, there were the still undecided masses. Most people still didn't know what to think. They had reason to believe neither one, other than the words of those telling them about them. Soon Naze would have to hold to his word and start to teach them, if they were willing to learn.

There were more people trying to assert some modicum of control over the situation, such as General Ironwood or the owner of Schnee Dust Corporation, Weiss's father. Both had investigated the possibility of gaining some leverage over him, Schnee through formulating a plan to cut the undead out of the Dust trade which, as he probably saw it, would be a major blow to their integration. It wouldn't be, but Naze would let the man delude himself. At least his daughter didn't seem to share his foolishness. General Ironwood had taken a more direct approach. He seemed to think that the knowledge of Naze's puppet body was something that he could use for blackmail, as he had expressed several times in private. The notion was amusing, but it seemed to be giving rise to an undeserved sense of confidence.

Of much greater interest to Naze than Ironwood was Penny. The automaton, under his observation, seemed to behave in a way that he didn't quite expect. She seemed to feel guilt about what had happened between her and Naze when she had told Ironwood about his undead status. It wasn't her fault, if he had read her reactions correctly. Ironwood had power over her. He wondered if that wasn't something that he could do about that. If he could, than Penny might be willing to join him. Having such a unique member join them couldn't be bad, and it would yield useful information. If all that he had heard was to be believed, than she had a completely artificial soul. That was something that he had never looked into. There had never been a point. No shortage of souls had ever made itself a problem.

Perhaps he could contact her somehow. It wouldn't be difficult, the only risk would be that Ironwood would find out, and even if he did, there wasn't much that he could do about it. There was a gain, but there was also a potential loss. If he did that, and was caught, than Ironwood could decide to use the "blackmail" he had gotten, and while it wouldn't do much, it was still something that Naze didn't need to deal with. No, it would be better to turn his attentions to Penny later.

The more immediate concerns were with carrying out what he said he would do. As he waited even now, scholars were copying texts and planning lessons, all for anyone who could learn. Still, no means of distributing this knowledge had been set aside, but he was sure that someone would be willing to house classes. If things came down to it, he could simply rent, buy, or construct a suitable location. If that could be avoided, however, it would be nice. Those things took time, and seemed to give an air of haughtiness that he wanted to avoid. If he could find an upstanding member of the community to house his lessons, that would be much better, demonstrating the fact that the living and the dead could work together even in trivial matters. He had not yet contacted Ozpin about that. He had been busy with…

He wouldn't deceive himself, he had done mostly nothing. Reliving his past, indulging in some insignificant desire, brought on only by the unfortunate resurgence of his humanity. As much as he detested that component of himself, there was nothing he could do about it. So much he had to pay, just because of one small mistake he had made so long ago. One small imperfection, reflected now in a much more drastic form.

It was a week since the press conference, and all that Naze had done for the most part was waste time. Thankfully enough, however, none of his subordinates had fallen into the same trap. None had wasted any time. Yang had made several more public appearances, studies had continued, and lessons were prepared.

Now that he had risen out of his distraction, Naze was ready to continue execution of his plans. He had to speak to Ozpin about hosting the classes, but it was night, and he doubted that the man would appreciate any interruption during such a time. Waiting was not a difficult thing to do for Naze, and there were many things to occupy his attention until then. One of the shades, whom he had paid special attention to, seemed to call for his attention. He was willing to give it, and looked further into his orb.

What he found when he did was the dorm room of team JNPR. He knew what this meant. The demon that occupied Nora's soul must've been influencing her behavior again. He didn't know what end the little worm sought through Nora, but the matter was out of his hands. Ozpin had assumed responsibility for the situation, and though Naze knew that the man had no clue what he was dealing with, he wouldn't overstep his bounds. He would, however, watch with interest.

Nora got out of her bed, irritated and flushed. Her skin had gotten more sensitive, and she felt like she was prickling for a sensation that she didn't know. She looked around at her sleeping teammates. Jaune was asleep, turned over on his side, facing away from her. Pyrrha was sleeping similarly, slowly lifting the covers with every breath.

Next to Pyrrha, in the far bed, slept Ren. Nora couldn't help but let her gaze linger on him for a moment as she walked past him towards the door to the bathroom. How could she not? Ren was just so perfect, she was nothing but utterly helpless to him. If he asked her to jump off of a building, she would do it. She had to do it. She wouldn't be able to bear disappointing him in any capacity. And if he did ask something that she couldn't do, she would just have to make it up to him some other way.

She tried to get past him without disturbing him, she really did, but Ren was like a magnet. It was just not possible for her to resist him. She gave in, taking a few light steps in his direction, careful to not make a sound. As she reached the side of Ren's bed, she knelt down so that she was at face level with her sleeping master. Even if he didn't know it, that's what he was, and she wouldn't want it any other way. She could feel his breath against her face. It was hot, and seemed to sooth the tingling that she felt all over her. She wished that she could just squirm her way under the covers with him, but she couldn't. She knew that. But it was all that she wanted to do.

Tiny's voice went through her head, and she was starting to expect. He said in a quiet voice "Don't bother him yet. Just go to the mirror, I want to see how we look." Nora sighed, slightly hoping that the breath would wake Ren, and that he would open his eyes and embrace her. But, unfortunately, no such thing happened. She walked over to the bathroom, closing the door behind her and flicking the light on. Then, with a slightly anticipatory look on her face, she turned to look at the mirror.

She had changed in the past week. It was just starting to be noticeable, but the changes were sweeping. She was starting to get taller, and her body was starting to fill out in ways that it never had before. She had never considered what she would do if she were beautiful, except for win Ren's heart. And she was well on her way to this, her body starting to grow towards this goal. Maybe that was why her skin felt so feverish. It was calling for the one it was being remade for. Her skin did seem much softer than it had been, after all. That wasn't the only thing that she had noticed. Her muscles were getting tougher, and she was feeling overall healthier than she ever had before.

Her eyes were starting to change, just as Tiny had shown her, the pupils spreading out wide, even in situations where there was plenty of light. In spite of this, Nora had never felt so much as a sting of pain when changing lighting conditions like she thought she might, like walking outside during the day or flicking the lights on in a dark room like she had just done. Now that she thought about it, she didn't recall feeling any real pain recently other than the dull ache of her body growing again. She had written this off as a symptoms of her becoming stronger, but now that she thought about it, that didn't make much sense. Was it something that Tiny was doing?

Before she could level the question at him, he said "What about your mouth? That's important, you know?" She nodded, and opened her mouth, trying to angle it so that the light shined inside. After a moment of trying, she found the right angle, and she picked her lips and cheeks out of the way with her fingers.

Her teeth were starting to come to sharp points, starting at the back and working their way forward towards the front of her mouth. Because of this, no one would notice unless they took a good, long look into her mouth, which didn't usually happen. She ran her tongue over the teeth, feeling the smooth surface of her front teeth change gradually to the sharper points of the back. That was when she noticed another thing. Her tongue had grown longer, but so far lacked the split that Tiny had shown her in the mirror. She stuck her tongue out, letting it loll out and touch against the bottom of her chin without even stretching it. She asked Tiny "Wasn't this supposed to split?" in a curious way. Tiny gave off a kind of hesitant vibe before answering "Yes, I intended to bring that up." Nora didn't think that she liked the tone of his response, but continued to listen. "There's only so much that I can do in the manner I've been using. If I had some assistance in the matter, than I could manage it just fine."

Nora tilted her head. "Assistance? Like what?" A very odd sound came from Tiny before he responded "Well, I can't split your tongue for you, but I could certainly heal it that way." Nora realized what her friend was saying and recoiled slightly at the thought. "You want me to cut my own tongue like that?" the thought was startling, but Tiny quickly set about laying her fears to rest. "Relax. I could prevent you from feeling any of it, and heal it almost instantly. You wouldn't feel a thing, and you'd wake up with the tongue you want."

Nora tilted her head again. Did she really want a tongue like that? She shook her head. It wasn't about whether she wanted it or not, it was about whether Ren wanted it or not. She tried to think about why Ren might like that, but Tiny interrupted her thoughts, telling her why. Her cheeks blushed, and her breath tightened at the things Tiny whispered in her ear. They did a wonderful job of convincing her, though.

With a new, feverish enthusiasm, she cast around the room for anything that she could use to get the job done. There was nothing used for cutting in the room other than razors, and those weren't nearly good enough. She might be able to put a few slits in the surface of her tongue, but it would be a far cry from the spilt that Ren would like. She needed something bigger, and maybe even sharper. What was there that she could use?

She was already thinking about Ren, so the answer that she came to was natural. If she could get one of Ren's pistols, she was sure that it would be good enough to do the job. Ren always kept his weapons close by, but he was asleep. She had already gotten so close to him while he slept, there was no reason that she couldn't do it again. Slowly and carefully, she creaked the door open and stepped out, carrying herself as softly as she could. The floorboards creaked slightly, but no one so much as stirred. She crept her way back over to Ren's bed, going to the small table next to it, searching for the little green metal objects.

It wasn't long before she slid the drawer open, revealing them to the miniscule amount of light that shone through the door. The metal glinted slightly, and Nora grabbed one quickly, dexterously turning it as it came from the small space without delay. She quickly took the thing and leapt back, her feet nimbly breaking the fall and dispersing her weight silently. She went back to the bathroom urgently and pulled the door closed again, pulling the pistol up to her eyes.

The pistol shape fit well in her hand, and the blade glinted brightly in the light from above the mirror. She opened her mouth and again let her tongue roll out, placing it gently against the cold metal of the blade. A strange feeling jolted up her spine, and she noticed something that she hadn't before. There was no trepidation in her body, no hesitation at all. Instead, it seemed that there was a bizarre excitement running through her mind.

Without even consulting Tiny, she started to push her tongue against it, making sure that it was centered in the mirror. Blood started to leak from the wound, but she didn't feel an ounce of pain. Instead, it seemed that there was a massaging feeling to it, like the cutting was relieving stress.

The resilience that her tongue offered to the cutting was surprising, but she continued nevertheless. The edge of the blade started to run with warm blood, and it started to drip from Nora's hands onto the floor. She looked down, realizing that she should be doing this over the sink. She stepped forward, making sure that the blood was falling into the drain. She continued pushing, harder and harder, until the blade had slipped to around halfway down her tongue. She decided that that was far enough, and pulled the green blade from her mouth, being sure to keep any of the blood from going to the floor. Then, she held her tongue out to fully observe the wound.

To her great surprise, the blood was starting to run much slower, clotting and, if she wasn't mistaken, forming a new skin over the open wound. She was amazed at the process and brought her free hand up to investigate. Her fingers went to the middle of the two sides, and she touched the blood experimentally.

Her eyes widened as she became aware of a tremendous heat rushing into her fingers. She pulled her hand away quickly, making a muted squealing noise as she did so. She couldn't feel much in her mouth, but apparently her fingers were just as sensitive as ever. She closed her mouth, not wanting the fluid to get anywhere, and waited, knowing that Tiny would tell her if something went wrong. Nothing would go wrong as long as tiny was still helping her. After several minutes of waiting Tiny said "Alright, I'm done. You may inspect the new apparatus."

She opened her mouth, sticking her tongue out and feeling how strange the new formation was. She could control it perfectly, as if it were two fingers. Two wet, boneless, tasting fingers. The two ends, now able to move separately after having been split down the middle, had also narrowed down at the end, making them easier to control. Nora didn't know what she was going to do with this ability, but knew that it would come in handy eventually.

She recalled the blood that had fallen to the floor, and looked around for something to clean it up. Her eyes fell on a dry towel, and she went to remove the slowly spreading red spot from the light tile. As she bent over, beginning to scrub it up, she asked Tiny a question. "How come my blood was so hot when that was happening? I mean, it was practically boiling! Is that safe?" In response, Tiny gave another tittering laugh and said "Of course it is! With me here, everything is safe. You never have to worry about anything again. I will protect you, and you can live your life with Ren. I just want to make everyone happy." Nora smiled at this. She knew that she had made a good choice when she had met Tiny.

She looked back down at the floor. The blood was completely cleaned, but the towel she had used was ruined. She would have to find some way to get rid of it. Leaving it in the bathroom wouldn't do, someone would notice it there. Maybe she could stash it under her bed until finding a better place for it. She took the towel in one hand and turned back to the sink, using the other to turn the faucet on and wash what blood was left in the sink down. She also ran the blade of Ren's pistol under the flow, watching the residual fluid that still clung to its sides be buffeted off before going spiraling down the sink.

She turned the flow of water off and took the weapon from the sink, holding it with her other hand as she made her way back to the door. She gently hit the light switch as she walked past with the butt of the pistol, making sure that the switch had gone down all the way before opening the door again. Despite being thrust suddenly into almost total darkness, she could still see perfectly fine. She crept her way back to the side of Ren's bed, body taking a reverent manner. With some degree of struggle, she tore her eyes away from that of her obsession and put them to the drawer, again pulling it open and placing the weapon right next to its mate.

Her job done, she looked back to her own bed. Its covers looked warm and inviting, but the tingling in her skin was still present. If she didn't do anything about it, she would go crazy before the sun came back up. Her eyes drifted back to Ren, almost innocently. Maybe it wasn't her bed that she needed to sleep in.

Her knees bent, bringing her low to the ground as she crept along the rounded the bed, coming to the other side where there was more room. Ren slept on his back, but always to one far side. If she was careful, she could probably slip under the covers without waking him, and spend the rest of the night with him. She knew that that would at least do something to offset the feeling. It was starting to feel like a burning, even.

She lifted the covers by their top corners, peeling them up from the surface of the bed, than, with all the delicacy that her new body afforded, she placed one foot through the new crevice and started to slip in, lifting more of the blanket as she needed. It wasn't long before she was completely beneath the blankets, save her head. She had thought that being so close to Ren would slake the burning feeling. Instead, it just felt worse than ever. She couldn't stop herself, even if she tried.

Her arms reached out for the one sleeping next to her, and her legs did largely the same. She slowly wrapped both sets of appendages around him, bringing herself as close to him as possible without waking him. The warmth of his body set the itching to rest, and she tucked her head into the crook of his shoulder. She wished that she could stay here, but it would end eventually. She squeezed him just a little tighter as her eyes closed and she drifted off to sleep. The last thing that she was aware of before losing consciousness was of the feeling that she was being watched.

The dark room was quiet, which seemed to be appropriate. It reflected the tense nature of the situation. Although he hated to admit it, he needed the help of the criminal Roman Torchwick for what he was planning. He needed to find a way under the skin of the undead, and he knew that no one was better at that task than the infamous Roman Torchwick.

There was simply the small issue that he was in maximum security detention. Adam and the rest of his partners had brainstormed methods of springing him, but nothing had come up that wouldn't lead to a direct confrontation with military forces, which was something that the White Fang could not afford. Adam wasn't stupid, however, and he knew that he wasn't the only one who wanted that scumbag free. He had concluded his dealings with Cinder some time ago, but for such a worthy cause, he was glad to go digging through his old contacts and pulling a few strings. That was how he had come to the room he was in now.

It was a small room, out in one of the warehouses by the docks. It was a remote location, but he wasn't alone. He knew that Cinder wasn't stupid enough to try and trick him, but he would be stupid if he didn't prepare for such an occasion. Cinder wasn't coming herself, of course. They had worked out the whole deal already, and only the help that he was going to receive for the mission was going to arrive.

He knew next to nothing about her, but he had seen the girl by Roman's side quite frequently when the man was free, but he had never spoken of her, and she had never spoken at all. The only thing that he had heard resembling a name given to the woman was "Neo". Adam didn't even know if she could. All that he did know was that there was something very unnerving about her, even when she wasn't doing anything particularly strange. She simply seemed to give off an uncomfortable feeling. No one, not even Adam, felt safe around her. He didn't know how Roman tolerated her.

And now he was waiting for her to show up. Adam glanced up at the clock on the wall through the slits in his mask. He had said for her to show up exactly one hour after midnight, and it was barely thirty seconds from then. If she didn't show up, than he would leave, his opinion of Cinder going down quite a bit. The small second hand of the clock ticked slowly up, and Adam felt a small twinge of anxiousness. What was she doing?

As the second hand hit its mark, the minute hand also twitched up, finding its position as well. Just as this happened, the door to the room opened, and in walked the woman for whom Adam had negotiated the aid of strutted confidently into the room, a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth. Adam's eyes went up and down the woman's figure.

She had a strange choice of attire, that much was certain. The mixture of white, pink, and brown weren't colors that he would think went together very well, but her appearance proved him very wrong. She was very short, surprisingly so, but carried herself with a control that he might not expect. It took a trained eye to see, but every one of her movements was practiced, like she was trying to emulate something. What that something was, however, he had no clue.

She walked in and sat down in the seat across from Adam, one leg folding over the other as she fixed him with and expectant gaze. Taking this as an indication that she was ready to receive her orders, Adam leaned forward, putting his hands on the table and saying "Alright, you are aware of the situation, I presume?" The only reply he received was a blink and a slight tilt of the head. This caused him to stall a moment as he thought of what direction he wanted to take their partnership before he decided to focus on a strict business-like manner.

He cleared his throat before continuing. "Good. Now, Roman is being held in a maximum security cell, and there's only one way that we can get to it. Cinder told me that you are a master at stealth and subterfuge, so you have a clear directive. Your job is to get in, grab Roman, and get out. You may have access to whatever supplies you may need from the White Fang, including some men, but I cannot give you too many. If it becomes known that the White Fang is freeing dangerous criminals, especially human ones, there will be hell to pay. Is this clear?"

Her smile widened a little more, and she gave a short, solitary nod. "Good, now, I think it would be useful to go over the details of the situation; Roman's containment situation, the guards assigned to him, their shift rotations, every detail that we-" He was interrupted by the immense feeling that he was being watched, indicated by his aura practically ripping his attention to an abnormality in the far corner of the room near the door.

A pair of floating eyes, burning with an intense, fiery glow floated at about the height of a man. Around these eyes, he could see a vaguely humanoid figure, seemingly made out of a thin dark mist. Arms were present, but instead of legs, its bottom simply tapered off as if these were simply nonexistent. Acting without hesitation, Adam grabbed his blade and stood, overturning both the table and the chair he had been sitting on. The table flipped in Neo's direction, but she threw herself over the back of her chair, using one arm to help guide her smooth movement and support her weight. Adam leapt out towards the thin figure, drawing his blade and striking out in the same elegant motion. He made sure to focus much of his aura on the strike, not wanting to take the risk that this unwelcome observer would escape. The honed edge of the blade sang as it cut through the air between it and its target, and the swing built power as he focused more of his energy into the strike.

The blade hit its mark, drawing a horizontal line across the figure's upper torso, but the blade passed through it as if it were as incorporeal as its appearance suggested. Adam barely had any time to process his confusion before the thing simply seemed to fade out of existence, taking any trace of its presence along with it. Adam was left, blade and body tense and ready, waiting for another sign of where the phantom had gone. Seconds passed by like minutes as his brain grasped around desperately for any signals that could lend a clue. None came, and after a short time he moved to the door, not waiting to talk with Neo. He kicked the door open and cried out to his boys who were positioned around the warehouse "Hey, we've got an intruder! I don't want anything or anyone to step off this dock without my say-so!"

The men and women around the place moved into action, grabbing their weapons and starting to spread out in teams of three or more. If they found whatever that thing was, they would be sire to let him know. That accomplished, Adam turned back to Neo, who still had a wide smile on her face. What she was smiling about, Adam had no idea. They could've just been compromised. If something went down here, it could mean a significant blow to White Fang operations for some time. This warehouse had operated as a command center for a long time.

"Alright-" he said, righting the chair that he had toppled and sitting down again. "-let's continue." Neo regarded him with a look that was completely unreadable to him for several moments before blinking and retaking her seat as well. He started to discuss the specifics of the plan, when they would attempt it, resources that would be needed, anything relevant that he could think of. The whole time, however, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was still being watched. It could've been simple paranoia, but the sensation certainly seemed real.

Naze stroked his chin thoughtfully. He hadn't considered the White Fang in his plans. He hadn't anticipated that they would go to any extreme lengths to attempt impacting him. Now it seemed that he had erred. If they were to attempt the plan that they proposed, it would pose an interesting opportunity to heighten perception of his people. If they were to stop the freeing of this criminal, it would undoubtedly have very positive effects on their reputation. However, it could be difficult to do so in a way that wouldn't arise suspicion of how they knew so much. If knowledge of his shades became public, it would defiantly be seen as a violation of privacy.

People didn't like finding out that there was an eons-old sorcerer watching over them from afar. It tended to create tensions. Stopping the jailbreak would set him above the Paladins, though, who had yet to do anything to set themselves apart.

He was about to turn his attentions to that group when another call from a shade drew it first. He gave it, and found himself peering through the shade's eyes as it hovered hundreds of feet above the ground over a heavily wooded area. The area itself looked fairly unassuming, but Naze quickly became aware of an unnatural power in the air. It was one that he had not felt in a long time, and he preferred to keep it that way. It was the power of an artifact, older, maybe, than even he.

What kind of artifact it was, he couldn't tell. He would have to send either a more powerful servant, or travel to the area himself to figure that out. The power, although pervasive, was weak and faded. This told him that it was either a small artifact, or was far away. He directed the shade's vision to the ground, looking for any sign of geological activity. Items of such eldritch origin often found their way deep under the tectonic plates of the planet, and less commonly found their way back up. The weaker ones were usually destroyed by this, but that only served to filter them. The ones that returned to the surface were invariably some of the most dangerous things that a mortal could touch. He could count the number of resurfacings he had seen on one hand. This power in the air seemed to indicate that one would come up somewhere in or near this forest. Naze had never successfully captured one of these artifacts, but the scientific gain from attaining one would be immeasurably vast.

He sent a telepathic order for a team to be assembled to and for them to go and scout the area. A complement of two Death Knights and ten soldiers, more than enough to hold off any enemy they might encounter. Naze was willing to send so much power only because the potential gain was so high, and the losses could be immense were it to fall into enemy hands. While he didn't know what the artifact did yet, he did know that it could tip scales. They always did. Some granted an incredible insight, some bestowed terrible power. Some affected one person, some affected hundreds. They were unpredictable at the best of times. He needed to know more.

He took one final note of where the site was. The distant island of Menagerie, in a very dense forest. He made the preliminary guess that there wasn't much of a threat of the site being discovered by anyone else. Even if it was, no modern force had the ability to extract such an item from the undoubtedly titanic depths it was still at.

He stopped, and thought of his own artifact. He had never captured one, that was true, but he had made one. His phylactery still sat in the heavily runed and locked chest, deep in the bowels of the earth, though not nearly as deep as those that had been lost. He could go see it any time he desired, and he was sire the desire would arise sooner or later. It was natural that his phylactery be one of the central objects of his paranoia; it was all that held his soul together in the unnatural mangle that it had become. It was a price he had been willing to pay, though. If he could go back, he would do the same thing over again, though more carefully, of course. No one knew of his phylactery's location except him, and he intended to keep it that way. Enchantments and runes were the guard to his book, but secrecy was the shield of his soul.

The dead silence of his chamber seemed to press on him suddenly. The sudden pressure put him in edge, but it was no more than an illusion. Brought on by his nerves, of course. There was little other explanation.

There was still little that he could actively do until things started to move again. "Patience, patience." He chided to himself, sitting back on the throne and resigning to wait. There was nothing else to do.