Ashes

She cupped her hands in front of her mouth and exhaled, breath turning to fog in the frigid air as her second set of ears twitched. She flexed her fingers, trying to work the heat through them and rid herself of the numbness that had settled in her bones. Winter had only just started, and it was already shaping up to be a brutal one. Her breath steamed outward again as she once more attempted to warm her hands up.

She hated the cold. It was bitter and biting, and left her feeling hollow and alone.

At least, that's the way it had been ever since her sun had gone out. Amber eyes rolled and a head of thick black hair shook itself. Listen to yourself, Blake. You sound like some shitty five-and-dime romance novel. She pulled her trench coat tighter about herself and shoved her hands in the pockets. As sappy as it was though, she knew that the thought was correct. The cold had only ever begun bothering her since that day.

She narrowed her eyes at the sidewalk at she continued to stride, her boots scuffing lightly on the concrete. It was late, but Vale was not quiet by any means. Plenty of people were bustling to and fro, bundled up against the early Winter chill. Blake didn't spare them a glance, only one goal on her mind. She had already been all over this entire section of the city tonight in pursuit of it too, but thus far had had no luck.

She had checked all the places she had expected to find her target. The bars, the dives, the clubs. None of them had turned up anything. There was only one place left that she could think of. She looked up at shattered moon hanging in the sky as a sigh escaped her.

This was not going to be pleasant.

The man charged again, and she laughed as she spun around him, slapping the back of his shaven head as she did so. He stumbled before turning to her with a fierce, angry glint in his eyes. At least, she thought it looked angry. The whiskey was making her vision a little blurry, so she couldn't be positive. One thing she was sure of, though, was that her opponent was huge. More than six feet tall and well over two hundred pounds of rippling muscle. He was famous in the underground rings. Undefeated, it was said. The alcohol inspired a smirk as she leaned back against the rotten wood that formed the pit they were in; that record ended tonight.

The crowd around her roared as he once again pressed his attack. It seemed to have finally penetrated his thick skull that bull-rushing her wouldn't get him anywhere, though. He was taking this approach much more slowly, fists guarding his chin, eyes watching her carefully. There was a sheen of sweat on his bare chest as he closed the distance between them. His fist flew forward when he got in range. A quick, straight jab with his right fist, like she had expected. She leaned her head to the right a few inches, causing his attack to pass just by her cheek. Her own hand shot out lightning fast, smacking across his face with a resounding crack.

He barely seemed to notice, though, as he brought his left arm around, aiming for a devastating hook. Of course, she had seen that coming too. The man was strong, and fairly quick, but she had faced far, far worse enemies than him. She ducked under the fist and circled out behind him, once more cuffing the base of his skull tauntingly before dancing away on bare feet with a laugh. The gravel beneath her feet was harsh and coarse, biting abrasively into her skin, but she didn't care. The alcohol numbed her physical pains better than it did her mental ones. Which was why she was here.

First she had turned to the bottle, and when she had discovered that that hadn't worked, she found herself here, in the pits.

Something about being surrounded by the smell of tobacco and whiskey and the frantic yells as spectators gave and took bets or screamed encouragements and insults at the fighters helped. It took her away from this shitty world that she no longer wanted a part of. It was her escape, her solace, her answer to the questions she didn't want to face.

It was all so far removed from everything she had been, and she told herself that that gave her some degree of comfort.

That was, of course, until she saw a pair of golden eyes watching her from the back of the crowd, and the little isolated fantasy land she had built in her head crumbled to dust once more.

No sooner had the words passed her lips then the bartender was silently motioning towards a slim, wooden door set in the wall beside the bar. Blake nodded her thanks and moved to it. It was older than most of the rest of the establishment, by the look of it, its blackened surface rife with scratches, dents, and chips. Beyond, she could easily make out the din of a crowd. She drew a deep breath, and then opened the door.

The stairwell was narrow, and steeped in shadows so thick most would have had to fumble their way cautiously to the bottom. But she was not like most, and she had absolutely no trouble seeing the tall, rickety stairs. She pulled the door firmly closed behind her and made her way to the bottom, where another door awaited her on the left. This was one heavier, thicker, a crude iron circle the only thing resembling a means to open it. The air was cooler here, and Blake noted that she must have passed into the buildings foundation; the walls were stone now.

Her hand grasped the metal handle, almost shivering as it seemed to drain the warmth from her skin, and pulled. It took a bit of coaxing, but the heavy wood finally swung open with a groan of protest. She choked down a gag as the stench of cigars and alcohol assaulted her nostrils. The air was warm, but thick and sticky. She felt like she needed gills more than lungs in this place. None of these thoughts showed, her face an impeccable mask. Blake had learned to school her emotions long ago, in what felt like a different lifetime.

Her pupils narrowed, adjusting to the dim, yellowed lighting that permeated the haze, and the ears atop her head twitched as the noise hit her like a wall. Angry and elated shouts filled the air from too many people. The mass of spectators in front of her was like an ocean of skin, sweat, and testosterone, always in motion, always pushing towards the center. She didn't bother trying to press her way through the crowd; it wouldn't have been worth the effort. Instead, she circled the outside of the throng. No one took any note of her, which was something she had no complaints about. Remaining unseen had always been her preference.

Blake kept her eyes trained towards the pit in the center of the stone room. She knew it was there, even if her view was blocked by the wall of flesh and the haze of smoke that hung above them. The back end of the room was raised a good two feet above the rest of it, crudely hewn stone stairs leading up to the dustiest looking bar she had ever seen in her life. Still, she slid gracefully onto one of the barstools, waving off the bartender before he could ask her anything. He grumbled through his gray, bushy moustache and went right on cleaning a filthy glass with an even filthier rag.

There was a good view of the ring from here, and her eyes narrowed as she watched the fight within it. Though, calling it a fight would be like saying an Ursa versus an infant was a fair match. It just wasn't true. It was a one-sided game. She was toying with him. Blake had seen her do it many times before in the time they had known each other. There was a smile on her face, but she could tell that she wasn't actually happy. Blake wasn't even sure if she knew what happy was anymore.

Her body was still muscular and toned. The skin-tight, dark grey shorts and long-sleeved shirt attested to that. Just by watching, though, Blake could tell some of her strength had ebbed away. The fluidity and precision of her movements, too, was gone. Her attacks, open-palmed slaps, were crude and sloppy. Nobody else saw any of this, of course, but nobody else was a professional warrior like she was. Nobody else knew that woman like she did.

There was a bandage on her right arm, a white cloth strip wrapped time and again around her forearm. It disappeared underneath her shirt's sleeve just below her elbow. In the few times Blake had seen her since the Siege, she had never revealed the slightest thing about it, so Blake honestly had no idea just how far up her arm it covered, or what lay underneath of it, though she had a few guesses. Her hair was a bit longer than the last time she had seen her, reaching down to about her shoulder level now. She was still getting used to the sight. The first time Blake had seen it after it had been cut, she had nearly choked in surprise.

When she had asked her why, the response she had gotten was five hollow words,

"It was just another reminder."

She never spoke of it again after that. Then again, she never spoke much at all anymore. Those five words were probably the longest sentence Blake had gotten out of her since the Siege. She watched as she bounced away from her opponent, lilac eyes surveying the room around her while the hulking man cautiously stepped forward. When those orbs settled on her though, she saw them go wide, and surprise and fear flashed through them. Blake felt her stomach sink; it hadn't really been the reaction she had been hoping for. The man approached her, but her eyes were still glued to Blake. As it was, she missed the hand aiming for her throat.

Only her reflexes saved her. A small flash of movement in the corner of her eye was her only warning. Even with the alcohol buzzing through her system, she managed to juke backward in time to avoid the grasping hand. It wasn't quite fast enough though, and the man caught the crimson scarf wrapped around her neck, tearing it free. The knot had been loose, so the fabric didn't split. She stumbled back a step or two as the noise from the ring of spectators grew deafening; they thought she was on the ropes now.

The man tsked and repositioned himself, once more raising his fists, the right one now firmly grasping the red cloth. She reached a tentative hand up to her collar, as if wanting to confirm that it really was her scarf in the man's grip. Her fingers felt nothing, and her head dropped, a curtain of blonde hair falling over her eyes.

A harsh voice, raspy from lack of use and pulsing with a quiet rage, hissed at him, "Give it back."

The man smiled smugly. "I don't believe ye be in any position to be demanding, lass." With that, his right hand shot forward in another quick straight.

Blake sighed. The man should have just given it back.

Yang Xiao Long was not someone whose anger you wanted to incite.

Her head pulled back, and then she threw it forward, slamming her forehead directly into the approaching fist. There were several loud popping sounds, audible even above the din of the crowd. The man screamed, the cloth slipping from his broken fingers. He slid to his knees, cradling his hand against his stomach, while Yang snatched the scarf from the air. The skin on her forehead had split with the force of the punch, but the blood running down her face looked pale in comparison to the crimson of her eyes. She glared down at the cowering man, deliberately and slowly retying the strip of cloth around her neck.

Oh no. Blake shifted, her hand darting to her inside breast pocket. She pulled out her scroll and opened the device. Yang had snapped, and Blake had seen what became of those she took her wrath out on. She began typing up a message.

'Requesting a medical team to the following location:'

She put down the bar's address, and her eyes snapped back up to follow Yang.

'Victim: Middle-aged male.

Height: 6'8''

Weight: ~240

Injuries: Broken fingers on right hand,'

Yang crouched down, and her left hand cinched around his throat. She hefted him into the air as if he weighed nothing. He gasped, clawing at her arm. The crowd was growing silent now, realizing that things weren't going to end the way they had anticipated. Yang snarled and threw the first fist she had all evening, a brutal right that slammed into the side of the man's face. There was a harsh cracking noise, and Blake fingers flashed across her keyboard.

'Fractured jaw,'

A vicious kick slammed into the man's side as he lay groaning on the ground, and he doubled up. A cough rattled from his chest, blood splattering across the ground.

'Two ribs broken, three fractured,'

She wasn't done though, and grabbed the man by his shoulders, picked him up, and threw him backward. He crashed into the side of the pit, his head lolling against his chest. Yang spun and slammed the top of her foot into the side of his head. His face hit the gravel, and he was still. The blonde straightened up, twisted on her heel and stalked to the entrance to the pit. One of the men waiting outside numbly slid back the latch and pushed opened the wooden half-door as she approached. He held out a wad of papers to her with shaking hands as she stepped through, and she snatched them without even checking to see if the amounts were correct.

Nobody would dare cheat her after that. Not unless they wanted to be next.

'Cranial hemorrhaging.'

Blake hit the send button, and stood from her stool. Yang was nowhere to be seen, already vanished with her winnings. The crowd was beginning to disperse, the shock of the end of the match seemed to have taken away all of the energy from the room. A few of them were gathering around Yang's opponent, trying to shake him awake.

Blake didn't care though. She didn't even check to see if the man was still breathing. The paramedics would be here soon enough, so frankly she didn't really give a damn.

Her only concern was for the woman who had disappeared.

Her partner.

She bit her lip, and a worried whisper passed her lips, "Yang…" Her rage had consumed her, and yet her hair had not shone. No fire had appeared. Not even a single spark. Before, the entire pit would have become a maelstrom of flame. But now there was nothing.

Blake didn't know what she had been expecting. After all, the last time she had seen the barest hint of a flame from her partner had been in the Siege.

Four years ago.

A/N: I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!

Hello again everyone! and hello for the first time, to all you new readers tuning in (if there are any of you)!

The Rending Trilogy is back!

What did we all think of the first chapter?

I know, time skip's are cliche, but I have so many fun things planned, and so much shit went down in the interim that I look forward to revealing. Anyway, I hope you all didn't go too crazy waiting for this next installment, and I certainly hope you're as excited about this as I am :D

Oh, also, before I forget. A few of you are probably already aware of this, but I have posted both Yang and Blake's designs up on my deviantart account over this way (I forgot FF doesn't allow links, see edit). Please feel free to check them out (I'm particularly proud of Blake)

Until the next chapter, my friends! Welcome back, and happy readings!

*edit: so since FF doesn't allow links in the story, I now realize that the link I had to my deviantart with Yang and Blake's designs was just some empty parentheses (oops). Anyway, if you are interested in checking out the designs, my deviantart username is the same as my FF one. Kentethalion