Blake woke with a start. For the first time in over a week, she hadn't dreamt of Yang. She'd dreamt of herself, unleashing death and destruction. People turned to blood and viscera. The world becoming chaos and pain. A vortex of blood. And at its centre, was Blake. Revelling in the chaos. Blake opened her eyes, taking in her surroundings.

She was once again laying in a hospital bed. There was a dull pain coming from her chest. She pulled down the thin bedsheet covering her and looked at the bandage across her mid-section. A thought occurred to her. Her hand flew up to her head and she ran her fingers along her scalp. Nothing. Just two scars hidden by hair. For just a moment, she'd allowed herself the faintest hope that everything that had happened had just been some twisted dream. She closed her eyes and let a renewed pain wash over her.

She looked around the room. It was a different room then she'd been in a short time ago. She realized she wasn't in the hospital at all; this was Beacon's infirmary. Her injuries weren't as severe this time around. In the corner, curled up on a small sofa, just big enough for two, were Weiss and Ruby. Ruby was asleep, with her head resting on Weiss's chest. Weiss had one arm wrapped around Ruby, the other in a sling, and she stared down at the girl, looking barely awake herself.

Blake sighed. Weiss heard the soft sound and looked over, seeing that Blake was awake. She smiled weakly, then frowned. Carefully, she slipped out from under Ruby, laying her head down on the armrest. She stood, grabbed a smaller chair from next to the sofa, and set it next to the bed. She sat down, staring at Blake.

"How long?" Blake asked, rubbing her eyes.

"A little more than twelve hours," Weiss said, "They say you really overclocked your aura. Drained all your energy."

"Yeah..."

"Blake, do you... do you remember what happened?" Weiss asked, nervously.

Blake looked at her. There was pain in her eyes.

"Of course I do. I just... killed everyone."

"You blew up six people with your mind," Weiss said, "You just looked at them, and..."

"No," Blake said, "It wasn't like I was just looking at them. I felt it, Weiss. I saw them dying, and I could feel that it was me causing it. And I think I..."

Blake trailed off, deciding not to finish the thought.

"You saved our lives." Weiss told her.

"How?" Blake demanded, "How did I do that? What's happening to me?"

I think I might know," Weiss said, finally, "Have you ever heard of T.E.S.S.?"

Blake shook her head.

"Its a medical condition. More of a medical... event, really. It stands for Traumatic Emotional Semblance Shift."

Blake considered these words for a moment.

"My Shadow didn't work," She said, "That's how I got stabbed, I couldn't create a Shadow."

"There have been reported cases where, when a person goes through something terrible, when a single event is so emotional that it changes them as a person, in rare cases, with the right conditions, their Semblance changes with them." Weiss said.

"How?" Blake asked, "Why?"

"Our Semblances aren't just powers. They're representations of our soul. They're a reflection of... who we are. You told us once, Yang and I, about what you thought your Shadows said about you."

"That I run away from my problems," Blake said, nodding, "And leave others behind to take the hit."

"But is that you, anymore?" Weiss asked, "You stayed with Team RWBY even when your past with the White Fang caught up with you. You didn't leave us behind, you stayed and fought. You dedicated yourself to stopping them and Torchwick to make reparations for your past. Your Shadows were still you, but not as much as they used to be. And then... then all of this."

"But... killing people with my mind..." Blake said, "How is that a reflection of me?"

"When it triggered last night, it didn't just happen suddenly. We were about to die. You were in pain, and about to be killed. Maybe your Semblance turned all that pain and fear and grief into a weapon. Focused it and projected it at your enemies."

"Pain and fear and grief." Blake repeated, "No. That's not who I am."

Blake put her face in her hands. She was quiet for a moment, then made a sound; a sort of pained laugh.

"I kill people when I'm sad." She said, "When I get sad enough, people just explode."

"Blake, you're not-" Weiss began, "Blake, I-"

"Is it permanent?" Blake asked.

Weiss shook her head, weakly, "I don't know. It usually is."

Blake hung her head, fighting back tears. They'd taken her ears, they'd taken Yang, and now they'd taken her Semblance, too. What was left of her to be taken still? Was she Blake Belladonna anymore? All those years creating empty copies of herself in battle, and now it felt like she was one herself. A pale, empty reflection of the real her, only existing to take punishment and then vanish into nothingness.

"Those people in the warehouse, the ones who killed Yang," Weiss said, "That was you who killed them."

"Yeah."

"Did you know?" Weiss asked, "Did you know the whole time?"

Blake stared back, silently. Weiss sighed, and looked away.

Blake looked out the window, though all she could see through it was sky. It was a warm, sunny, cloudless day. A flock of birds drifted lazily through the sky.

"I'd been so eager to kill the Guardians," Blake whispered, "And now a bunch of them are dead and it all feels so wrong."

"You saved our lives." Weiss repeated.

"I want nothing to do with this Semblance," Blake said, resolutely, "You're wrong, Weiss. This... thing... is not my reflection. That's not who I am. I'll never use it."

"You don't have to," Weiss said.

"We keep fighting. Find Yang's killer. Make him pay. But I'm going to do it as me."

"Okay." Weiss said.

Blake laid back in the bed, closing her eyes. They sat in silence for a short time.

"So, what's next?" Blake asked, "I sort of... killed most of our leads."

"Not all of them," Weiss said, producing a scroll, "I grabbed a couple of these from the Guardians. Most don't have much on them. Text messages, voice-mails... I was hoping to glean some info, but I didn't have any luck. Until..."

Weiss pulled open the scroll, navigated through a few menus, then opened a document. She turned the scroll over to Blake, who examined the screen, curiously.

"Interesting." She said.

Jerry Chalk was whimpering, rocking back and forth slowly in fear. Tight wiring was cutting into the skin of his arms, holding them to the arms of the chair he was sitting in. He couldn't see anything due to the burlap sack over his head, but he could sense the room was dark. He was gagged by a piece of fabric that tasted foul, unclean. He didn't know how he'd gotten here. The last thing he could remember was lounging in the break-room at Freeman's Shipping, when they were suddenly attacked without warning. Blasts of Dust had sent him and the others flying. He'd been swiftly knocked out with Max's hook-sword. The next thing he knew, he woke up here, wherever here was.

He heard movement behind him. He squirmed in a vain attempt to get free. He shook his head about, hoping to throw off the sack. Suddenly, bright light struck him from above, penetrating the burlap.

"Hope you didn't mind waiting," A cold voice said, behind him.

Jerry made an effort to speak, but was unsuccessful due to the gag.

"Good," The voice said, "Then let's begin."

Jerry sensed the owner of the voice, who sound like a man, maybe in his twenties, walk around in front of him. There was a scraping of metal on the floor as the man pulled up a chair, and Jerry could faintly see a figure sitting down.

"You know, I gotta say, I'm lucky there was any of you left alive," The voice said, frighteningly casual, "I mean, I knew you didn't have a chance against her, but I really wasn't expecting her to turn you all into spaghetti sauce."

Jerry's heart started racing faster. Was his captor telling the truth? Was everybody at Freeman's dead?

"Full of surprises, isn't she?" The man continued, "Knew that since the day we met. Nearly as deadly as me, and almost none of my training."

Jerry made another hopeless attempt at yelling something.

"Yeah, I agree," The voice chuckled, "Attacking her was a huge mistake. Did you even know about her past? What did you think? That after what she did, I wouldn't care what happened to her? That you monsters could go and cut-"

These last words were quite a bit louder before being cut off. The man seemed to try and regain his composure.

"...And I wouldn't make you answer for what you'd done?"

The man slowly stood put and reached out for Jerry. Jerry panicked and helplessly attempt to pull away. With a swift pull, his captor yanked the sack from Jerry's head. Suddenly, the bright overhead lamp's light was uninterrupted. It burned Jerry's eyes. He squeezed them shut as he felt he gag being pulled down, left lazily hanging around his neck. He blinked, letting his eyes adjust. Once he could see properly, he looked at the man sitting in front of him, and was suddenly terrified.

He was tall, and wore a trench-coat of black and red. He had brushed-back brown hair streaked with red. His most noticeable feature was his mask. It was a white mask covering the upper half of his face, frighteningly similar to that of a Grimm. It was decorated with intricate patterns of red that covered the eye slits. Jerry's heart seemed come to a complete stop for a second as he realized just who he was facing.

"Let's talk about the Guardians." He said.