Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

~Red like blood fills my nightmares and brings me to the place you die~

R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R

The duo danced across the field, white flowers spread across their battlefield like grass, glowing softly beneath the pale moonlight. Their sylveren shine was only sullied by the sprays of blood through the air, dark drops of red staining delicate petals as it splattered amidst their arena, as each fighter traded blow after blow in their duel. Silence hung heavy in the air, only broken by the clang of steel and the sound of blades biting into cloth and flesh. Occasionally there was a flash of bright rose red across one of the combatant's body, a shield against mortal blows, but it appeared sparingly, a tool not to be overused at risk of exhaustion, something that would surely spell their doom in this battle. At other moments a trade resulted in a spray of blood and yet no wounds between the two, each Hunter using old techniques to draw strength and energy from their foe's wounds. No words were shared between the pair as they dashed about, the entirety of themselves focused on this final duel, their weapons speaking for them as sparks flew through the air with every clash.

Side by side the pair seemed unlikely foes. One was a withered old man with a peg for a leg who, at first glance, would seem like his fighting years were long past, if not for the massive scythe he swung at his opponent with deadly precision. The other was a young girl still only barely on the cusp of adulthood, garbed in the long dark clothes of a Hunter, the tattered remnants of an old red cloak across her thin shoulders in place of the dark black shawl that many a hunter had worn in the past. Atop her brow sat an angled tricorn cap, frayed and worn at the back but still more than serviceable for its wearer, resting upon a full head of hair that reached down to her neck, near fully black if not for the streaks of red at the tips.

She was short of stature, lean of body, and wholly unthreatening, if one missed the hefty, long-handled axe-more akin to a halberd, really-which she held in her hands. Said ax's head was buried in the dirt, just inches away from carving through the old man's decrepit body with its thick metal if not for a sudden burst of speed that any man of a similar age (and many younger men besides) would have found impossible to match, dodging out of the way while his scythe turned in tandem with him, cold metal flashing through the moonlight in a counterattack that would have cut down the young girl as easily as it would shear through wheat-if not for the girl suddenly turning into a cloud of misty rose petals, the deadly strike passing harmlessly through air before she reappeared once more beside the old man, axe already moving once again.

The old man was called Gehrman. The First Hunter. Founder of the Workshop of Yharnam, bane of the most savage of beasts, mentor to many and killer of more, one would be hard-pressed to ever find a hunter who's skill could compare to his own. The young girl that he fought was one of those few, though she had not always been. She was his most recent apprentice, and if she had her way in this duel, she would be his final apprentice. Unlike her master and foe, she did not come from Yharnam, was not born in this cursed city. She did not belong in this blood-soaked den of gnashing teeth and depravity, and yet here she was, and here she had been.

Journeying through the ruins of a society gone mad, too drunk on blood to save itself, driven to the brink by those too obsessed with their quests for communion and knowledge and eyes, only to arrive here at this end, the bodies left behind her paving the path to the end of her journey, fighting her mentor in this once-peaceful Dream.

Beside their battlefield, the Workshop that she had grown to call a home, her peaceful haven in the nightmare she had fallen into, burned in the distance, set ablaze by it's creator as a call for her to battle, a statement: the only rest she would find here now, would be the one she met at the end of his blade.

Gehrman did not call her to battle out of malice. It pained him to need to cut down his greatest pupil. She had come to him broken, a shattered girl burdened by past failures, lost on her path...he had told her not to think about it too hard, as she pestered him about where she was and how she had gotten here and if she had died, and just go out and kill a few beasts. He'd not expected much, and had hoped that, with any luck, the poor girl would meet a quick and peaceful end to her worries and struggles here in this cursed city.

Instead, she had stepped out into the city, claiming a Hunter's Axe for herself (she had stared at that weapon, silver eyes wet with unshed tears, seeming to look at something else entirely, though Gehrman had not the heart to ask her what she saw then), silver eyes shining bright with anticipation. It had seemed so simple, so much like her life before Yharnam, before everything there had grown dark and complicated and she had just kept failing and failing and-but here, her purpose was finally clear. Horrible beasts roamed the streets, the people trapped, unable to protect themselves, and here she stood able to save them. She would save them. She could not let herself do anything else.

'Sadly', Gehrman had thought as the poor girl who had only dreamt of being a hero returned to his workshop, the silver shine of her eyes fading as she stared at her bloodsoaked hands, 'Yharnam was anything but simple.'

Yharnam was not simple. It was not kind. It was not a place one girl could save with a smile and a swing of an axe. It was cruel, and broken, vicious and dark, and watching her bleed herself dry, desperate to succeed, desperate to save someone….if he had not helped her, he'd have been no better than the rest of the beasts that prowled the streets.

So he had trained her. Taught her to kill without remorse, taught her to forget the faces and names and see naught but a beast which needed to be put down, taught her to survive in this damned city, in this mistaken, cursed nightmare he had helped create.

And if the light in her eyes and heart had faded, remained dull and cold like the steel of her axe, and if her memories of her old home were buried and replaced with bloodstained duels and monsters from the foulest depths a bit more with each day she spent fighting and dying over and over again, and if he would sometimes see her weeping, held close by that horrible beautiful Doll? A small price to pay, for her to reach him, where he could finally give her a good and proper end to this never ending night she had been unjustly trapped in, and see the light of a new day at last.

Yet…she had declined. She had refused the clean death he had given so many others. He had offered her release from this twisted joke of an existence that they had briefly shared and she had said no. Was it the hunt? The blood? The horrible dream? How could she choose to stay here? It hurt to raise his weapon then at his dearest little pupil, but he could not let this poor flower wither and die in the maddened dirt amongst the beasts, filth, and memories best forgotten like him. Not while he could still save her. He could never understand that these very same thoughts were what had compelled her to raise her axe against him as well.

The girl's name was Ruby Rose. Sometimes it was hard to remember that. Some days the only name she knew was 'The Good Hunter', and the expression on the Doll's face when she failed to respond to her call of 'Ruby' would make her stomach churn, feeling awful about hurting such a sweet and kindly woman. Other days she would beg the Doll to call her Ruby and keep calling her Ruby, so that the name would never slip her mind again. No matter what she may remember or forget however, she would always be Ruby Rose. And while Ruby Rose may have been a failure, a wanna-be hero who had failed to save so many, who had killed so many, who had become a monster in this awful place she had fallen into, she could still recognize someone in need of a saviour.

Standing before her was not just her mentor, but an old man in desperate need of rest. Haunted by the sins of his past, by the unending regrets which weighed on him like a mountain, denied his peace by a force too powerful for him to fight-it was so familiar it made her heart ache, even if she could no longer place the name (or was it names?) of the sometimes silver-haired, sometimes boyish face that she would occasionally see in place of Gehrman's own.

Her mentor, who had helped her survive this dark and endless night, who had saved her from simply collapsing and becoming yet another foul beast, was tired. He had been kept like a pet in a cage for so long, the very idea of escape incomprehensible to him, a far off dream he would never dare to let himself hold, as his body and mind continued to wear away more and more, withering with age until he could only fight at the command of whatever still held his puppet-strings. She understood he wished to save her, and she knew she risked a terrible fate by not taking his offered exit…but she could not bear to let him continue like this. She had failed to save all others she had encountered here in Yharnam, their deaths and broken minds joining the rest of the blood on her hands, but now, now.

She had a chance to finally save at least one person here, and she would be damned if she failed yet again.

And so they fought. Both desperate to free the other from the wretched lives they had been dragged into, both doomed to remain here in this horrible nightmare if they saved the other, and both absolutely incapable of even considering letting the other one remain trapped. Sparks continued to fly as they battled. Gehrman's scythe collapsed into a sword and his rifle barked, bullets whizzing through the air, passing through mist and petals as the art of Quickening and Ruby's Semblance combined to carry her to safety, while her axe returned the favour by sailing towards his head, intent on sending him on to his well-deserved rest. Blood was spilled as Gerhman's blade bit deep into her arm, and blood was spilled again as Ruby's axe tore through his chest, breaking through skin and bone and leaving him gasping for air even as his arms carried his weapon forwards still. Evenly matched, neither combatant was able to gain an advantage, and for a moment, their battle seemed doomed to continue for eternity.

In the end, however, every battle must reach their conclusion.

It happened in an instant. A single slip upon the dirt, so stained with their blood that it had become slick and muddy, and Gehrman's blade flashed towards Ruby, and in desperation, she raised her extended weapon up high, one last chance to block his killing blow-and as the siderite sword connected with the steel handle, with a horrifying scream of metal, it snapped. Ruby's axe, the weapon that had helped her through this hell, an unintentional reminder of the woman she had always aspired to be like, broke in her hands, and Gehrman's sword dug itself deep into her flesh. Her scream of pain tore through the sullied field of flowers and for a moment Gehrman hesitated, drawing his blade away instead of pushing deeper, pushing for that finishing blow. Ruby's right hand instinctively went to her wounded chest, and was quickly soaked in blood for her troubles, while her left fell limp against her side. Both breathing heavy from the exertion of their fight, master and pupil stared at the other, dull steel meeting tired brown. Silence hung heavy in the air, only the crackling fire of the Workshop audible in the wind before Gehrman broke it with a heavy sigh.

"My dear pupil…Ruby…" He began, his voice thick with exhaustion. "…I do not know why you would fight against this mercy…but please…" With a flick of his wrist his sword was extended once again, and his scythe was raised high into the air.

"Be freed from this terrible hunter's dream."

Looking down at his pupil, bleeding out on the dirt, he could see there was no fear in her eyes as he prepared to end her life. No acceptance, either. All that was contained within those once-shining silver orbs was…pity? Why? As he swung his scythe down, his thoughts were so confused he almost missed the glint in her eyes, but as he was caught in the motion of his own attack, the world slowed down. His eyes widened as Ruby's left arm shifted, having hung limp as he'd begun his swing, before moonlight bounced off the steel of the pistol gripped tight in her hand, hidden beneath the dark cloth of her heavy coat. It seemed like years, as the pistol was slowly aimed at his head, but it took only a second, nowhere near enough time for him to divert his course-and so, instead of a scythe head releasing his pupil from this hell, her pistol barked, spitting out a flash of flame and metal as a quicksilver bullet soared through the air and pierced right through one of his tired brown eyes.

Blood spurted and he staggered-only staggered, while painful a blow like this would not be enough to put him down for good-but the moment of weakness was all Ruby needed. Leaping to her feet once again she dashed toward Gehrman and, with unnatural strength born of the power of blood, stabbed her hand through his chest. It pierced through skin and bone as easily as any blade could have, and Gehrman could only gasp as she wrapped her grip tight around his heart. His hands grew weak, whatever power animating his old bones fleeing him, and with a dull clatter his trusty scythe, his Burial Blade, fell to the dirt before he, too, collapsed to his knees.

Ruby followed him, hand still deep in his chest, as she kneeled beside the old man. His blood reinvigorated her, closing some wounds, but she took no pride in the kill itself. He spoke no words, and could only stare at the poor, foolish girl, unable to comprehend why she would go this far, why she would not let him save her, before he saw just a flash of her silver eyes lighting up with a light he had thought long buried beneath the blood she had spilled as she looked at him, a small smile gracing her features, and he finally understood.

"Oh, my dear girl….you…you were too good for this cursed city." He coughed suddenly, interrupting himself with blood slipping from his lips, but he carried on speaking even as he felt the beat of his heart slow in Ruby's hand. "I think I understand…why you would go this far…but I wish…I wish to hear it from you…"

And so the girl looked at him, silent, thinking, and for a moment he feared he would die before she answered, until at last she spoke.

"I…it's become hard to remember me…before Yharnam. I think I've changed a lot, ever since I came here…I know, though, deep in my heart, one thing that hasn't changed. I would have never forgiven myself if I didn't even try to save someone who needed my help." Ruby then fell silent, taking in one last look at this poor old man who had made far too many mistakes, before she gave him a soft kiss on his forehead, like a daughter kissing her grandfather goodnight. "Now please, Master Gehrman. Rest." It was the final request of a student to her dearest teacher.

And to ensure he complied, she tore his heart out.

Gehrman's eyes widened, but he did not despair as he died. Instead, Ruby watched as, for the first time since she had met him…Gehrman smiled. It was old, yellowed, and brittle, just like him, and some would call it an ugly smile for an ugly old man.

To Ruby, that smile, the smile of someone she had actually successfully saved…it was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen.

"Oh…the night, and the dream, were long…"

With a final sigh of relief as the weight of so many years and so many sins finally left his old bones, so died Gehrman, the First Hunter, finally truly freed from the Nightmare that had held him for so long. Ruby carefully laid his body down on the dirt, closing his eyes and placing his heart back in the hole she had torn in his chest, breathing her own sigh of relief as she stood from the corpse of her mentor.

'It's finally over…' was her first thought as she stood there in the pale moonlight, alone in the field of flowers with only the crackling flame and a corpse as company, just as she had been left many times as she had fought through this nightmare. Some of her wounds still bled, her Aura only capable of healing her so quickly, but she had not felt this content in a long, long time.

'Maybe I can take a rest too, now…' was Ruby's vain second thought, a miniscule hope in the face of all the darkness she had battled, but as the light shifted and Ruby turned to take in the sight of the moon bleeding red once more, just as it had in the Waking World, her heart plummeting in her chest, this hope was soon discarded…

A̶̛̪͔̜̺̲̎̈́̀͋n̵͉̽͆̇̂͝d̸̥̮̩̂̕.̴̤̩̈́ ̵̺͉̏͊͠
Ţ̸̲̮̟͈̫̅̈͑̊͘̕ḩ̶͔̟̒̍̀̋̉̚e̸͙͎͍̩͔̘̎̿n̸͎͉̺̮͊̎̃
S̴̨̖̳̲̱̈́ͅh̵̛̺̯͕̐e̸̡̧̛͇͗̐̐.̷̧̺̟̍̐͛̕
̴̢̙̞͎̖̥̒̌̋͘̚D̷̨̯͇̣̄ȩ̴̢̹̝̋s̴̩̜̐̔̐̽͗̆c̷̘͕̤̈̑̕e̶̞̓͋ṋ̸̼͍́̿͐́̍d̸̢̺̀͛́ḛ̸̗̜̝͆ͅd̵̡͎͇͆͊͒͠.̶̟̹̙̖̉̀͑̾̈́͝

Ruby's mind, inundated against the eldritch by the monstrosities she had faced in this brutal hunt of hers, throbbed with pain as she looked upon the being that came down from that bloodstained moon. It S̴̨̧͎̞͎̼̀h̴̡̭̥͈̄̂͛̚͜ë̷̡̡̡̙͉́̾͠ͅ was horrifying b̶̧̙̩͎̭̎͗͊̀̄̈́̓͌e̵̦̜͖̺̠̺̓͌̕̚ả̵̢͔͇͖̻̥̔͗̚̕̕u̴̜̳̓̐̊͆͐̌͝͠t̸̘̩̬̼̟̏̓̈́̆́̈́̍̔͠ͅi̸̥̳̟̰̯̜͊͛͜f̶̖͙̬͎̥̻̜͓́̓̋̿́͋͘̚͝u̷̢̢̼̗͑͛̽̍̀̓l̶̺̇̾̂̏̀ to witness, a mass of tentacles placed atop an exposed spine and ribcage that stretched on for longer than it ever would have or should have in nature. Its face…wasn't, simply a hole in place of any features, and yet more tentacles flowed behind it like fleshy tails. This monstrosity G̸̢̜͇͋o̵͔̰̜̣̓d̶͍͋͐ that had appeared should have repulsed her, should have had her drawing a weapon, any weapon she could find, and attacking immediately. Yet as this presence from the Moon F̴̙̫̤͓̎ͅl̴̹̯̙͇̅͑̚͝o̸̧̨̖̠̘̐̍͝r̴̡̟͚͖͕̊̊̇͝a̴̙̱̙̔̀̊̿͘ alighted upon the bloodied earth, all Ruby could do was walk towards her, entranced…her hand reached out to this beast f̵͎̝̹̙̪̊̋̏̅̽r̸̲̲͙̄͗̎i̸̻̣͓̻̓͆̉e̸͔̪̟͑̈́̀̏̄n̵̖̤̻͖̥̈́d̶͚͌ as if in greeting. It….S̴̨̧͎̞͎̼̀h̴̡̭̥͈̄̂͛̚͜ë̷̡̡̡̙͉́̾͠ͅ grabbed hold of her w̶͈͎͎͗͆̑̇͌r̸̰̳͆̽̈́͝a̴̩̎̈́́̈́̕p̴̳̀p̴̨̧̲͉̞̽͐ě̸̢͉̗̰͌d̶̘̙͂ ̸̹͓͉͔͈̅ḩ̸͂͒̓́ê̵̻̗̐̊͝r̵̪͙͍̳̯̀̾͑ ̸̪̰͔͙͙̿͂̓i̵̹̜͚̦̒̑̽̅ṇ̵̖̻̤̊̑̿ ̶͓͍͎̒ȧ̴̺̳͖̙̙́̄̕͝ ̸̧̬̰̃̆̓̌ḽ̶̲̃̍͑̽ͅo̵̼͙̖͑͝v̴͖̩̱̥̀͆ì̴͇͛͂͗ǹ̵͇̙̀̓g̷̖̜̱̙͛ ̴͉̞͉̜͊̂͂͝͝e̷͇̭͚̫̝͆͌̂͆̈́m̸̥͐͑͂̈́b̶͇̪̱͒̅͑͘r̶̨̉̈́̀̐ä̸͎́̉̋̂c̸̱̄ẹ̸̈͛͑ with its h̴̬̮͊̐̊̉͘ͅe̸̛͉̘̘̅̔̃ͅr̷̛͔̳̼̖̣͛̕ long fingered hands, and pulled her close to the face that was not there, and Ruby could feel her presence, like the weight of a warm blanket from an old friend, calling to her, asking her to sit down in her chair, accept her purpose…be a friend to Hunters just as her old, poor mentor had happily done for so long, and her mind yearned to accept, begged to accept, and take Flora's offered rest…but something pushed back. A light welled up within her, a burning behind her eyes and Flora pushed back, telling her to obey ordering her to cease and the eyes inside screamed yet the burning only grew more powerful as an intense force of eldritch power welled up and Flora was forced away from her in an explosion of silver light.

When Ruby's feet were once more firmly on the ground she could sense that there had been a shift. Her heart beat so fast she could have sworn it had stopped, and in the deepest parts of her soul she could feel something was churning, waking up . Her mind felt sluggish, and yet she had never been more aware. Something was changing in her, something that had been changing in her as she had delved deeper and deeper into the darkness of Yharnam and the ancient secrets that had led the city down its tragic path. In her brief communion with this Great One she had seen her. Flora meant no harm, not truly. To her alien intelligence she was kind, benevolent even. Flora could not understand the fragility of man, even as she used them as pawns for whatever purpose she had in slaughtering her Kin. She meant no harm…yet as Ruby glanced to the side and saw her mentor's corpse, still lying in the dirt where she had put him to rest, Ruby was able to look past the eldritch truth and Flora's unholy beauty. She saw Flora for what she was, no matter her intentions: a beast that had caused harm. A beast which would continue to cause harm if left alone. A beast which needed to be put down.

Ruby almost dashed forward immediately, reaching for her axe-before she recalled Gehrman had broken it in two in his attempts to break her resolve. Not only that, but she could not even see the pieces nearby, scattered by the wind as she pushed Flora back. She was a hunter without a weapon…before her eyes caught the glint of steel in the red moonlight at her feet.

There lay Gehrman's masterpiece, his greatest companion and the weapon whose bite she had felt many times tonight. Burial Blade rested at her feet, the scythe almost beckoning to her, and for a moment Ruby saw a different weapon, a scythe of black and red, metal replacing wood and intricate mechanisms overlapping with Gehrman's simple efficiency. She reached out for it but paused for a moment, hand shaking. It had been so long since she'd wielded a scythe, so much had changed…was she ready to take such a weapon up again, even if it was not that one?

One glance at Flora, silent if not for her tentacles writhing around her in anger, gave Ruby her answer. It mattered not if she was ready for this battle. Her prey would not wait for her to emotionally prepare herself. Resolved to see this through as she was, she could not accept this weakness. So she steeled herself, forced her hand to stop, and wrapped her grip around the long wooden haft.

The moment her hand touched the wood instincts dusty with time and disuse lit up in her mind, and Ruby took a moment to feel the weight of her weapon. Flora had no patience left for Ruby however. She let out a sickening screech and charged forward, ready to rip Ruby to shreds. It mattered not, however. With a flourish, Ruby spun the scythe about, twirling it as she posed, the butt of its haft held behind her head, scythe blade hovering gently behind her legs.

Tonight, the Red Reaper joined the Hunt.

Ruby moved, meeting her prey's charge head on. Leaping high into the air, she sailed over the enraged god, flipping through the air. Her scythe flashed in the moonlight and with the swing went two of Flora's tentacles, the writhing flesh dropping to the dirt with a dull thud. Ruby landed gracefully on the field as Flora stumbled, tripping through the dirt and carving a furrow through the field.

"Hehehe…still got it." Ruby snickered to herself, a bit of childishness resurging as she re-aquainted herself with her weapon before once more twirling her scythe as Flora climbed to her feet behind her. The beast screeched once again and leapt forward like a feral hound, but as her swipe slammed into where Ruby stood, instead of blood and gore, Flora saw only misty rose petals flowing past her. The petals coalesced in the air above Flora and Ruby reformed from her Semblance, Burial Blade raised high. She let gravity take her then, and the scythe slammed into Flora's too-long spine, biting into the creature's back while Ruby balanced herself on the bony length. Ruby's hand then gripped around her scythe's trigger, ready to use the force of a bullet to propel herself forward-and as her finger squeezed only open air, Ruby was reminded that this scythe was not also a gun. Flora's flowing appendages slammed into her moments after, throwing the Hunter from her brief perch, and it was Ruby's turn to crash through the dirt, rolling across the bloodstained ground before coming to an aching stop. Ruby groaned as she pushed herself to her feet, bones creaking from the impacts.

"Ok…maybe I'm a little bit rusty…" She was quick to ready herself as Flora once more charged towards her though, brushing off dirt and bringing her scythe forward. "You'll help me practise though, won't you Flora?"

Flora's only reply was a deep growl as she leapt into the air and slammed into the dirt. Ruby quickly stepped to the side, only a spray of dirt hitting her, and returned the favour with another swipe of her blade through Flora's body. Flora gurgled as her blood sprayed across her foe, and she lashed out with a flurry of blows. Swipe after swipe whistled past Ruby, the force of Flora's blows ruffling her coat in the wind, but the reaper kept moving, dodging past Flora's wild, animalistic attacks. Each missed swing earned Flora another cut, Burial Blade carving through flesh. The scythe felt bloodthirsty in Ruby's hands, like it was repaying old grudges, and Flora howled every time the siderite edge passed through her alien being.

Gurgling in frustration, Flora ceased her savage assault and for a moment Ruby thought this was an opportunity. Then Flora brought her hand to her faceless face and glowed a dark red as energy coalesced before her. Faster than Ruby could have hoped to react, a pulse of blood-red power washed over her and pain erupted through Ruby's body. She coughed up blood, the droplets splattering onto the ground in a wet heave, and for a moment Ruby saw light in the corner of her eyes. She had died before, too many times, but never had she been dragged so close to the cusp of death without going over the edge. She nearly collapsed to her knees before her eyes caught a glimpse of Flora. Instead of pressing her assault in her opponent's moment of weakness, the monster merely stood still, and Ruby's silver eyes lit up with vicious glee. It hurt to move, every step aching, and she knew she was taking a risk when even a stiff breeze could finish her off. Flora was still frozen in place as Ruby ran towards her however and with another swing of Burial Blade she felt her strength returning.

Ruby kept swinging and Flora merely took the blows, each attack wounding her further while Ruby's strength returned with every cut she inflicted.

"Nice trick Flora, but it won't work on me!" Ruby taunted the beast even as Flora's hands once more swung towards her, finally breaking out of whatever brief stupor she had put herself into.

"Nothing you do will work on me!" Burial Blade swung through the air and lopped off another of Flora's twitching limbs.

"Not your attacks!" Another swing carved off yet more of the Great One's flesh.

"Not your stupid, cursed Dream!" More tentacles fell to the dirt as Ruby shouted. Flora could do little more than keep grabbing at the Hunter, trying desperately to get even one hit in, to smash Ruby to pieces.

"There's only one way this ends Flora. I am the Hunter, and behind all that power…you're just a beast at your core." As Ruby's scythe claimed one of Flora's longest tentacles, Flora's screams only grew in volume. Her hands slammed into the dirt again, not aimed at Ruby now, but more akin to a toddler's tantrum. She raged, smashing apart the flowers beneath her, dirt spraying through the air like a fountain, before she shrieked again. Her hand once more went to the hole in her head, red energy pulsating once more, but Ruby was prepared this time.

Burial Blade shined in Flora's light, and before Flora could release the energy Ruby separated Flora's long-fingered hand from the rest of her body. The red light fled as the weighty claw fell to the dirt with a meaty thump and Flora's horrific cry of pain would have driven most men mad within a moment of hearing her, so pained was she by the loss of this limb. Ruby only watched as the Great One gurgled and collapsed onto her shoulder, unable to stand properly without her hand. It made one more swipe at Ruby with her last remaining hand, a weak and pitiful attempt compared to the rage-filled rampage she had performed just moments ago, and Ruby silently relieved her of the last appendage. Flora squirmed on the ground, its alien howls and screams sounding more like whimpers now to Ruby's ears. Shaking her head at the sad sight of a being brought so low, even if it was by her own hand, Ruby slowly strode towards Flora. Stepping onto the beast, Ruby flipped Burial Blade, the butt of its handle pointed towards the moon, while the curved blade hooked around Flora's neck.

"And a Hunter must hunt."

With a single pull Burial Blade parted Flora's eldritch flesh for the last time, its blade tearing through her neck. She squirmed and gurgled beneath Ruby, trying to shake her off and force her executioner away. Ruby stood firm atop the beast however, and with one final heave, Flora's head was separated from her body. Her removed head flew through the air, falling onto the dirt and rolling to a stop amidst a patch of flowers that had managed to go untouched throughout the fight. Flora's decapitated body spasmed, death throes wracking it as Ruby stepped off the freshly made corpse. It too, however, soon fell still, and once more Ruby was left alone in the blood-strewn field, only the moon and the corpses she had made for company.

She stood there for a moment, half expecting yet another monstrosity to descend from the heavens hunting for her head, but as the seconds ticked past and she remained alone, Ruby allowed herself to relax. Her shoulders slumped as the weight of the Hunt slipped from her. There were no more beasts to kill. No more foolish old men to release into death. No more cosmic gods to slay. It was just her. Just Ruby Rose.

"I…can finally…" And alone in a field of flowers Ruby Rose collapsed, while above her the moon was washed clean of the blood that had darkened its shine, its silver glow growing brighter with every moment as it looked down upon herself.

 

The Doll stepped across the cold cobbled stone of the little pathway to the Workshop. The fire had long since ceased, and as the burning stopped the building had looked as if it had never been set ablaze in the first place. She had wondered what had occurred, watching as the moon had turned red and Flora of the Moon had descended upon her dear Good Hunter. She had heard cries in the distance, and watched as the light abated, blood replaced by beautifully gleaming silver, and so the Doll came to this little pathway. Before her on the ground, shivering on the cold stone, lay a large, slug-like creature. A newborn babe, if she had a mouth the Doll was certain she would be crying out.

"Oh, are you cold?" She bent low, scooping the poor thing into her arms. "Good Hunte-"

Suddenly, bright light shined like the sun had descended to the earth before the Doll. She was blinded, something she had not known could even happen to her, and so her ceramic eyes were forced shut.

When the light finally faded, the Doll's arms felt empty, and when she looked to her hands she saw that the creature she had picked up had disappeared. The Doll looked around, thinking she had dropped the poor child, but no matter where she looked she could see no sign of her.

"Good Hunter?"

"....Ruby?"

Only silence answered the Doll, left alone in a cold dream.

R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R

~White and cold beneath the moon, with strength befitting a royal crown~

Chapter Text

~White and cold beneath the moon, with strength befitting a royal crown~

W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W

Across the Lands Between, its inhabitants all looked up at the sky-and how could they not?

For it burned far above them.

Stretching over all the lands that encompassed this once-grand kingdom, the Erdtree, symbol of power and worship for the Greater Will, had been set alight. Set free from its prison in the Mountaintops, and given an opportunity with the release of Destined Death back into the world, the Flame of Ruin ate away at the once-golden bark, the age-old vengeance of the Giants, slaughtered almost in their entirety for the threat they had posed, was complete, as their flame ravaged the very thing their destruction had been meant to protect.

The land had already been in chaos before now, event after event setting the Lands Between into a constant spiral of turmoil.

First had been the death of Godwyn the Golden, most beloved of the demigods, assassinated in the Night of Black Knives, only a horror of unrelenting Death left as his legacy, buried beneath the land. The people had thought that would be the worst of it, however. They grieved for their lost prince, but moved on with their lives, unaware of the impending, unthinkable madness that would soon occur.

Thus came the Shattering.

None knew for sure amongst the common folk who had committed such a crime, but all knew the day when the Elden Ring, the very embodiment of law and order upon the land, was shattered. Whether they dwelled beneath golden light or veiled shadows, all felt in some way the chaos that swept into the realm.

For in the wake of its destruction came the Shattering of their society. While it had been broken, its pieces, shattered fragments scattered to the winds, still held great power, and with the disappearance of both Queen Marika, mother of the demigods and ruler of the Lands Between, vessel to the Greater Will, and her second Elden Lord, Radagon of the Golden Order, in the wake of this tragedy, her children were all that were left to pick up the pieces. And with the power of the Great Runes in their hands, war was the answer they all came to for the question of what was to come.

Violent brutality followed as the siblings waged war, seizing what power they could. Some disappeared from sight, enacting secret plots in the cold light of the moon and beneath the leaves of new trees and deep in the Shadows, others barred their gates, pursuing horrors for the purpose of mad goals, while the rest left naught but absolute devastation in their wake, entire kingdoms sundered with death and rot. The once-noble Golden Lineage of Godfrey, reduced to but a few wasted scions with the death of Godwyn, the Carian stepchildren of Radagon's past marriage, the cursed Empyrean twins Miquella and Malenia, all sought lordship.

Yet no Lord arose from this war.

In the wake of tragedy and destruction, chaos had long replaced order as the rule of the Lands Between. Yet, enduring all wars and tragedies, the Erdtree had still stood tall, its golden brilliance a comfort in these dark days for all who looked upon its shining boughs. Now, as even that ever-present symbol of authority crackled like cheap tinder, those who watched the sky could only wonder. Who could have committed this cardinal sin?

Within the heart of the Erdtree, the one responsible for such blasphemy battled a Lord. Of all the culprits one could have imagined capable of setting the Erdtree aflame, few outside of the Erdtree could have guessed at the truth of the matter. In a land full of power hungry demigods and ancient threats, who could have imagined a lowly Tarnished girl could be capable of so much?

She had accomplished far more than burning the Erdtree as well. It was she who had bested the demigods that roamed the lands, their Great Runes claimed from their corpses.

From the lowliest of Marika's bloodline to those whose strength had always seemed unassailable, all had fallen to her blade one way or another. She had marched from Limgrave to Leyndell, stood before the Elden Throne, and when she found her way barred, she had taken to the Mountaintops, freed the last Giant from his cruel servitude, and with sacrifice that still made her heart ache, granted kindling to the fire.

She had released Destined Death back into the world, once sealed long ago by the God-Queen, set the Erdtree alight, and beneath the fires she had started upon the Elden Throne, she battled Godfrey, the first Elden Lord, returned from across the sea to set this broken kingdom right, and earned his acknowledgement with his blood on her blade.

And while none but her had lived to tell the tale, in forsaken lands of Shadow had she traveled, pursuing every Rune-every Demigod-until even a newborn God and his Promised Consort had laid dead at her feet.

Through unending trials it was she who stood as the greatest contender. With one last fight, it was she who would become Elden Lord.

This dogged contender's name was Weiss Schnee...and in truth, she did not belong in these lands. She hailed not from any land above, below, or beyond the Lands Between either. Her home lay so far away that the stars themselves were different in her night sky. She came from a world called Remnant, a world of bloody evolution watched over by a broken moon. Abandoned by Gods either unwilling or unable to truly understand their creations, her home had been locked in a worldwide battle against monsters of shadow and destruction for untold ages, and she herself had been yet another youth with dreams of beating these Grimm beasts back and saving her world.

Yet the truth of her world's conflict had proven far more complicated than just bloodthirsty monsters, and as Weiss and her team had been dragged deeper into a fight between immortals that spanned centuries, they had stumbled, and fallen. One by one, each had slipped into a dark void between worlds in a battle against an opponent far stronger than them, and when she had awoken, Weiss had found herself in the Lands Between, cold and alone. As she'd wandered, Weiss had sought out her friends, and when no sign of them could be found, Weiss had despaired. She had been lost, purposeless. Her allies beyond her reach, her home so far that she doubted she would ever see it again…if not for her, Weiss might have found herself yet another wasted dreg, collapsed on the side of the road.

Instead, Weiss met a strange travelling maiden, and an even stranger witch beneath a cold, dark moon. She opened her eyes and realised that, while Remnant may have been beyond her path, here and now, in this shattered land, broken by war and abandoned by its gods much like her home, she could still make a difference. If none would step up to save the Lands Between, then she would do so herself! She'd hardly be able to call herself a Huntress anymore if she did anything less.

She'd changed much over the course of her journey. Her old clothes from home had been discarded, replaced with the regal, intricately decorated armour of a knight of the Carian royalty, only its helm passed aside to allow a long, snow white braid to hang down her back. Around her neck hung a heavy grey fur pelt cape, taken from a dear friend in remembrance of his strength, both in arms, and especially of character. Her eyes had grown harder, bright blue now just a bit colder in their gaze, the result of hard choices and harder foes. She had done deeds she was proud of, deeds she was not, and deeds she wished she could take back with all her heart, even as she continued on the path that had taken her to them.

Some things still stayed the same too, however. She was still short despite how much she had grown, (shorter, even, with the loss of her old heels), much to her chagrin and her allies' amusement. Myrtenaster still hung by her side, the loyal rapier seeing her through her journey, even if the blade itself had not gone wholly unchanged, enhanced far beyond its original capabilities by smiths whose skills surpassed any weapon maker from Remnant.

And she was still a loyal, kind, and prideful warrior, something this moonlit road she had walked upon could never take away from her.

Her path had been long and hard. Sometimes it had been warm, lit by the flames of companionship, beloved allies at her back. Others, it was a cold and lonely path paved by the corpses of friend and foe alike, those selfsame allies butchered by cruel fate or her own cold steel.

Now though, through all her trials, finally, here she stood. A Tarnished of no renown, not belonging to these lands yet having found a place in them regardless, locked in battle with Radagon himself, the long-missing second Elden Lord, fighting to determine the fate of the Lands Between.

Inside the Erdtree none of the flames that ate away at the tree could be seen from their arena, only the cold grey of the Erdtree's inner bark visible. They battled instead upon a stone floor, broken in the wake of the Elden Ring's destruction, proof that it had been here, in this very place, that the Elden Ring had been shattered, by none other than Queen Marika herself.

What could have compelled her to commit such a betrayal none could say for sure, but her punishment had been swift and merciless, her body shattered just like the Ring she had broken and sealed within the Erdtree. Radagon, too, had been punished, for somehow Radagon and Marika were one and the same, each the other self of the other, and so just as Marika had been broken, Radagon reflected that self same shattering.

He looked more akin to a statue pieced back together than a Lord. His skin was grey and pitted, glowing golden bones visible through the holes across his body. His body was fractured, partly replaced by shadows, and one of his arms was not even his own, replaced by that same shadowy mass that stretched out from his ruined torso, within which, shining bright gold, sat the greatest proof of he and Marika's shared being: the Elden Ring itself, housed in its vessel and desperate to be reforged with the pieces she held. Even his head had not escaped damage, fractured and half replaced with yet more shadow, while his bright red hair had grown coarse and straw-like, thinning in places, its vibrancy lost. Clutched tight in his last remaining hand was the hammer that had shattered the Ring, embedded with its glowing fragments, the once-simple tool becoming a terrifying weapon in the Elden Lord's grasp.

Despite the destruction of his body his strength had failed to diminish. Every swing of her opponent's hammer was pure power. Each attack left the air whistling in her ears, each blow held enough force to punch a hole through her body, and it was all she could do to dance away from his assault. He was relentless in his attacks as he wielded his hammer, a single-minded focus to end her life held within him. She stepped to the side as a hammer swing flew past before it slammed the ground, Myrtenaster ready to stab into Radagon, before she was forced to leap into the air away from him as the ground exploded with golden light the moment the hammer's head met it.

In mid-air, the core of Weiss's sword glowed bright. Once there had been a specialised revolver mechanism designed to utilise the Dust of Weiss's home, but without a way to replenish an already depleted supply alternatives had to be sought out. Now, three glintstone crystals shined in the core of her sword, taken from powerful staffs. Bright green and dark blue burned with the power of the primeval current, while a gorgeous Carian Blue granted her the strength of the moon. From the tip of her sword, stars appeared, the sorcery of Master Lusat shaping the strength of the current before twelve stars of ruin crashed into the Elden Lord.

He raised his shadowy arm, covering his eyes as he endured the barrage, and while he was distracted, the moment Weiss's boots met the ground once more Myrtenaster shined once again. A bright sphere formed, crystalline power condensing as Weiss charged the spell, while beside her yet more glyphs appeared in the air beside her, stylized snowflakes which flashed with energy of their own. With a flick of her wrist a Comet streaked through the open air, and in its wake came yet more shooting stars chasing at its flanks, bursting from the glyphs in rapid succession. They sailed through the air and crashed into Radagon, exploding in a shower of starlight and stone, a great cloud of dust formed in the aftermath, obscuring her opponent.

Yet Weiss remained at the ready, knowing that that would not be nearly enough to take down her foe.

True to expectations, darts of golden light shot out from the cloud, barrelling towards her. With a swing of her blade, however, Weiss erected a brief barrier, forcing the bolts to veer off course, disappearing into the dark of the Erdtree. However, as her barrier faded, Radagon leapt high from the cloud. In his hand, like lightning striking from nowhere, a great spear of golden light formed, and he hurled it down towards her. She barely had time to dodge out of the way, throwing herself to the side, but as the spear impaled itself into the earth, Weiss's eyes widened as it pulsed once before exploding in a shower of gold. The force of the explosion sent her flying, and she was hurled to the side, tumbling across the stone until she skidded to a stop. Light blue light flickered across her form, her Aura shielding her from some of the damage, but it could only block so much if she did not wish to deplete it before the fight was over. Its exhaustion would mean her own strength failing, and with the release of Destined Death into the world, and thus the end of her own impromptu second chances granted by the blessing of grace, failure would mean the end of her journey.

Weiss groaned as she pulled herself to her feet, only to be forced to dodge once again as Radagon's hammer swung through the space that she had just occupied. The Lord gave her no quarter in this battle, and Weiss was quickly finding herself on the backfoot as she clumsily rolled past yet another blow. There were no chances for a sip from her flasks to reinvigorate herself, no opportunities to take even a single breath. They had been fighting for too long now, and while Weiss could feel herself growing tired, Myrtenaster growing heavier in her hands with every thrust, and despite the blows she had dealt Radagon showed no signs of slowing down his assault. She danced and weaved past his swings still yet with every passing moment each swing came just a bit closer to striking true.

Then there came a moment. Weiss's steps slowed just for an instant, and her foot caught upon one of the many cracks left in Radagon's wake. She tripped, stumbling, and as she fell the world slowed down. In slow motion, she watched as Radagon drew his hammer back far, its head incandescent with the power of his fury, and Weiss's heart dropped. She had come so far…for everyone she had come to love here in this land, she had to succeed! How could she stumble right at the finish line?

She tried to move, already pushing her body out of the way, but she knew it was too late. Radagon was far too close for her to manage to dodge this blow. All she could do was watch as death hurtled towards her. The hammer's head dropped…

And she heard the tinkling of bells, and the howl of a wolf. From the aether, in mere moments, something appeared beside her, and rushed forward. Its form was misty, and hard to make out, the spirit still half formed, but held in its hands was a massive greatsword, ornately decorated in the style of Carian royalty, and Weiss's heart skipped a beat. She knew that blade, had both held it and tasted its steel…but it's wielder had…she had…

In a great clash of stone against steel Radagon's hammer crashed into the newcomer's blade, the golden energy that had gathered washing over the spirit in a deadly explosion, but he endured it, and with a mighty shove forced Radagon back as his body finished forming.

Standing before Weiss now, the spirit cut an imposing figure. Standing near nine feet tall he towered over Weiss, and was garbed in what she knew to be the dark metal armour of a knight, though one would be hard-pressed to tell now, as instead it, and the rest of his body, was coloured a muted dull blue and white, the colour of spirits. The knight wore no helm either. Instead, in place of a human face, he had the head of a wolf, shaggy-furred and scarred. All that was missing was his trademark heavy fur cloak, the same cloak that Weiss now wore around her neck. He was a sight that would have terrified some, but as Weiss looked into his bright blue eyes, all she could do was smile as she looked upon the form of a friend she had thought lost forever.

"Blaidd!" Weiss shouted, scrambling to her feet. At the sight of him she forgot where she was for a moment, and pulled him into a tight hug, which the halfwolf happily returned (as best as he could with their difference in height, anyways). "I thought…I tried calling on your ashes after I…well…but you…"

Blaidd sighed, shaking his head. "I apologise for worrying you, Lady Weiss. I had some thinking to do, after I…fell. All my life I'd served Lady Ranni faithfully, never knowing just what a risk I could pose to her…shows what I know…it took me some time to come to terms…but here I am, thankfully not too late."

Weiss released Blaidd from her embrace, still smiling brightly. "I am just happy to hear your voice again, Blaidd." Her smile then dimmed a bit as she looked down. "I'm sorry that I…" Before she could continue however the halfwolf smacked her across the back of her head, earning an icy glare from the white-headed girl.

"None of that now. You did the right thing, de-fanging me before I did something terrible. And hey," He gave Weiss a cheeky wink. "Now the cold doesn't bother me none at all. Nothing's colder than death, after all." Weiss only rolled her eyes in response, shaking her head at her friend.

"Now then…" Blaidd hefted his blade, letting the heavy hunk of metal rest on his shoulder, turning towards Radagon as he did so. Behind him, the Elden Lord watched, studying his opponent, his golden eyes locked on the halfwolf, almost as if he recognized the hound. "What say you about continuing this reunion after we've ended this path of ours, eh?" Weiss could only nod, readying her own blade.

"Gladly, my dear friend." The air in the arena shifted, all three combatants paused, watching, before with a howl Blaidd rushed forward. The wolf leapt into the air, his colossal sword swinging upwards before it was brought down in a thunderous crash towards Radagon. In a flash of light, Radagon disappeared, teleporting away from the blow, but the moment he reappeared Weiss was on him, the light of the stars flashing from Myrtenaster's tip and slamming into his body once again. He tried to retaliate, rushing towards Weiss, only to catch Blaidd's sword to his back, getting thrown across the platform. The tide of the battle was quickly shifting, and it was now Radagon's turn to be on the backfoot.

Blaidd and Weiss battled in sync, a perfect fighting pair covering each other with ease. The halfwolf charged into melee, close to matching Radagon in pure strength, hammer clashing with sword, and with every clash Weiss was ready, launching spells from Myrtenaster that slammed into the openings left behind. When Radagon attacked one, the other was there, ready to disrupt his assault, and while he remained a silent opponent, the extra force they could feel him putting into every swing of his hammer, and every bolt of gold, served as evidence enough that Radagon was being pressured. Despite his efforts however, the damage Radagon was taking was beginning to wear on him. His already broken form crumbled more and more, shadows spreading across his body, desperately working to hold him together.

Light gathered in his hammer once more, and Weiss and Blaidd both dodged away at the sight, easily out of range, yet Radagon did not adjust. Instead he raised his hammer higher, and then higher still, lifting his body into the air. Weiss and Blaidd both rushed forward then, a desperate charge to stop whatever Radagon's plan was, but they were too late. His hammer crashed into the ground and the explosion it produced spread forward, encompassing the platform. They both leapt into the air, flying over the burst of light, but Radagon only slammed his hammer down once again as they landed. The light caught them both, and the two were hurled across the platform. As they stumbled to their feet, Radagon raised his hammer a third time. His hammer shined once again, and its brilliance only grew as he was lifted into the air once again, drawing his hammer back further and further, preparing a blow that would surely end the battle.

Weiss and Blaidd had only a second to react, but in a moment the two glanced towards the other and shared a nod. Weiss ran not towards Radagon, but towards Blaidd, and the halfwolf lowered his sword in return. With practice ease, Weiss leapt upon the sword, easily balancing on its massive blade, and Blaidd, with a groan of exertion, lifted his blade high, angling it like a catapult.

"Just like Radahn, eh, Weiss?" He chuckled, looking up at the woman balancing upon his weapon.

"Exactly." Weiss replied, before glancing down at Blaidd. "You'll be ok?" She asked, her lips pursed with concern.

Blaidd only laughed louder at that. "I'm a spirit now, and you hold my leash, Lady Weiss. I'll always come at your call." Before them, Radagon's hammer reached its apex, and swung downwards to meet the ground, and with one last howl Blaidd pushed his blade, launching Weiss forwards into the air. "Now finish this already, so I can go apologize to our lady!"

Radagon's hammer came crashing down, and the floor erupted into a sea of gold. It crashed into Blaidd's form, striking him down, but the halfwolf only had a cocky grin on his muzzle as his body faded into motes of light. The symbol of the Elden Ring was burned into the stone, and as she flew through the air Weiss held her sword up high. A bright blue began to surround it, and the symbol of the Carian Royals flashed before with a pulse, a massive greatsword surrounded Myrtenaster's blade. It pulsed again, growing larger, energy rippling across its blade now, its power barely constrained by its magical form, and then once more it pulsed. Its size was enormous, outclassing any sword Weiss had ever beheld, its grandeur illuminating the battlefield.

The flash of blue caught Radagon's eyes, and as he looked up, slowly standing up from his final attack, he could do nothing but watch as a Carian Knight, magic sword blazing bright with power, sailed down towards him, blade aimed square at his heart. For a moment the Elden Lord's eyes shined with more than just gold, as he was taken back in time. Weiss's short form was replaced with another, taller warrior, glaring fiercely at him as she swung her own blade down towards his head, and Radagon smiled as Weiss impaled him, caught in a memory in his last moments. He fell backwards, lying on the cold stone, and Weiss watched warily as he reached forward with his arm, grasping for something that only he could see, his lips moving, trying to say something even as sound failed to slip from his lips, before the shadows holding his body together dispersed upon the floor, and he collapsed to the stone with a dull thud as he died, like a puppet cut from his strings.

For a moment Weiss almost tricked herself into thinking that was it. Radagon's body lay lifeless on the ground, and she still stood, victorious in their battle. As she looked upon his corpse, however, she watched as the Elden Ring held in his chest faded, disappearing into the air, while the shadows that had helped him fight began to spread out further from his body. They swept across the ground, swallowing the platform, and even the yawning void beyond, in their inky darkness, and as they rolled out their form rippled, shifting from dark shadows into black waters, their depths unknowable to those on the surface. Despite this shift she did not sink beneath the spreading sea. In fact if not for the sight she would have never known that she did not stand on solid land. She raised her blade, eyes watching for any shift, wary of whatever unimaginable horror could emerge from beneath this pitch-black sea.

Then the waters rippled, and Weiss Schnee looked upon a God for the second time in her life.

It's hand was the first thing she saw, massive, larger than her entire body, and as it rose from the waters wisps of shadow clung to it like water droplets from a lake. Its skin seemed more like glass, completely clear for the eye to see, and through it Weiss could see a great collection of lights, bundled together almost like nerves, all running throughout the spindly arm that stretched from the depths. Its long, thin fingers wrapped around Radagon's still form, dragging him beneath for a moment as the surface bubbled with black smoke, and Weiss stumbled backwards, leaving ripples in her wake, as the hand re-emerged once more. In place of Radagon, it instead held a massive sword. It did not look as if it were made of metal, but instead carved from stone or perhaps even from bone, and while she had no way to truly know, just looking at it Weiss felt in her own bones that that blade had once been the strange existence that was Marika and Radagon.

With the blade came the rest of the Elden Beast's body, and nothing could have prepared Weiss for the otherworldly sight. If recounting the sight to others, she might have likened it to a fish as it rose from black waters with its large, round body as wings (or were they fins?) stretched out from its back. Throughout its body the glowing nerves stretched out in row after row of offshoots from the core of its being, and as Weiss looked closer she realised its skin was not simply formed of glass, but of stars, innumerable pinpricks of light dotted across its shining form. Its head was less a head and more of a long, curving neck, stretched out far from the centre of its form, ending in a rounded tip from which a single eye glowed incandescent, the captured essence of a star, somehow shining more brightly than all the rest even as her mind told her it's form shined the same no matter where she looked.

This nebula born being stretched its head up high, and its call resounded throughout the chamber. Its voice was the sound of the stars, the whispers and roars of the boundless expanse, captured from a place where sound failed to exist, and with its rumbling call the stars answered. Like the night sky had been stolen and brought to this place the ethereal purple glow resonated from its voice and for a moment Weiss felt as if she had been brought to space, the stars hung so close to her sight. The walls of the Erdtree's heart faded, washed over by the brilliant purple hues, and when those too faded the world seemed to open up. The waters stretched far beyond her sight, and the horizon never seemed to end. The stars had grown farther, and yet in their wake Weiss was left with the sight of Erdtrees, hundreds of them, spanning infinitely out into the distance, their glowing bark unsullied by the fires she had started.

For the first time in her entire journey, Weiss truly understood the scope of what she battled. Here she faced not a monster, not a dragon, not a man. She faced something truly divine, a being birthed true from the heavens and sent to this land by something beyond her comprehension for purposes she could never wish to fully understand. The Elden Ring itself, given form and charged with one duty: ensuring her final death. A lesser warrior would have felt no shame at wavering in the face of such an awe-inspiring foe.

Not Weiss, however. Instead she looked down at Myrtenaster, her pale face reflected in its silver blade. "To slay a god…" She whispered, staring at herself in the mirrored metal. "Master Hewg…your work will not be in vain. Here and now," Weiss levelled her blade at the Beast which silently watched her. "A god will die. I swear it."

As if responding to her words, the beast chose that moment to strike first, raising its blade and swinging it down hard towards her. It moved faster than she might have expected of a creature its size, but it was still far slower than Weiss. With a wave of her sword black glyphs appeared in front of her, floating in the air, a staircase towards her opponent. Weiss dashed up them and watched the beast's sacred blade crash into the waters beside her. With every step she took upon a glyph, the glyph itself too began to shine, swirling and shifting as magic gathered within them before stars streaked out. The Elden Beast was caught in an unrelenting barrage, the stars crashing across its body, making it flash gold with every blow, but it seemed almost unbothered, weathering the blow and only raising its blade once again.

At the peak of her ascent up her makeshift flight Weiss stood near even to the Elden Beast's rounded head, its eye focused intently on her. As she stepped onto the last one its colour shifted, turning white as the snowflakes it depicted before launching her even higher into the air. She spun as she flew through the sky, and as she turned she angled her body back towards the beast. At her feet yet another glyph formed, and with her body aimed it launched her like an arrow straight towards the beast's eye. She'd end this quickly, with a single decisive blow…

Only for the Elden Beast to merely sink back into the darkness. Weiss's eyes widened as it dove back into the depths, and without a target Weiss could only crash into the ground where it had once stood. She rolled across the inky sea, bright blue shining once more as her aura once more took the blow for her. As she hefted herself to her feet she watched as the Beast re-emerged in a spray of smoke far from where she stood, and her eyes narrowed.

"So you are more of a fish…a slippery one too…" She scoffed. If it could just dive into the waters out of her range whenever it wished, this fight would drag on for far too long. Her eyes then glanced at her hand, and the delicate gold ring around one of her fingers. "Lucky for me then, that you've remained at my side," She raised her finger to her lips, and with a short intake of breath whistled into the ring. "Torrent!"

Right next to her, appearing from nowhere just as Blaidd had, a spectral steed now stood beside Weiss, and with a single bound she leapt onto his back. She brushed her hand briefly against his soft white mane, drawing a pleased shake from her faithful mount, before her heels clipped against his side and Torrent reared back, neighing loudly, and charged forward.

As knight and rider both charged across the battlefield towards it, the Elden Beast once more raised its sacred sword, blade glowing with holy light as it swung across the air. From that sweep a wave erupted from the ground, golden light rushing towards the pair like a tidal wave, but Weiss only spurred Torrent onwards even faster towards the Beast. Just before the gold would have met them, Torrent's powerful legs bent, and he sprung high into the air. For any other horse this would not have been enough to clear the wave, but Torrent was no simple horse. Beneath his hooves faint blue light rippled as the air itself seemed to solidify beneath his steps, and Torrent met solid ground before leaping once more, carrying himself and Weiss over the deadly light that had raced towards them before landing softly upon the ground, not losing even a hint of speed as they continued their charge.

Weiss's sword was raised high as Torrent carried her forward, and she entrusted movement to her companion while she focused on the assault. Glyphs trailed behind her blade, spinning briefly before the Elden Beast was once more met with a cascade of stars sailing through the air. It tried to interrupt her casting with another swing of its massive sword, but with Torrent carrying her Weiss paid little attention to the Beast's attacks while Torrent swerved, dipping past the attack and bringing Weiss right up to the Elden Beast's body. Silver flashed and Weiss's blade bit into the Elden Beast's star-soaked flesh, carving a jagged line through its body that made it roar once more, the thunderous sound of a collapsing star resounding in the chamber. It's hand swept downwards, and nebulae followed in its wake, surrounding her, and she was forced to divert Torrent's charge, pulling away from it lest she be caught up in the ensuing explosion as the ethereal orbs burst in a discharge of purple force.

Her adversary then dipped down into the waters once more, and so ensued a vicious game of cat and mouse filled with the flashing of stars throughout their otherworldly battlefield. The Beast would flee from her assault, swimming beneath the waves where she could not follow to gain distance, only for her to chase him down no matter how far it fled. Neither golden flames spewed from its mouthless head nor spears of light shot from its black, collapsing like rain onto the ground below, did anything to dissuade Weiss's persistent assaults. Torrent merely charged through the flames and spears, carrying Weiss forward as with sword and spell she continued to chip away at a God, a gnat compared to it yet completely unwilling to lay down and die before its heavenly might.

As close to frustration as something so alien could reach, it roared once more and a golden orb formed before it. Pulsing with power, the orb shot forward towards Weiss as Torrent carried her forward in her latest charge, in its wake golden pinpricks bursting from its shifting form. With a quick tug of his reins Torrent was already turning, dodging past the massive star spewing projectiles at her, but to her shock the star shifted its own course in response, following her, chasing her down at the behest of its master. Weiss was forced to turn away, urging Torrent to run faster as the star pursued them. Myrtenaster was waved in a desperate attempt to stave off the barrage of light, but the volume proved too much for the simple barrier that she knew, darts slamming into her like burning nails. She grit her teeth, bearing the pain even as her hands shook with every blow.

The Elden Beast would not remain idle either. Its wings flared on its back, and shining bright like the star it once was, it flew into the air. As it soared, its sword caught fire with holy flame, and it joined the pursuit of the smaller star with a hail of fiery crescents. Torrent darted left and right, desperately swerving past every aureate blow. Behind them, the pursuing star began to fade, its light dimming as the hail it produced began to slow, and Weiss almost let out a breath of relief.

Relief would not be found however, for its fading only heralded the descent of the original star. It crashed into the ground before them, nearly slamming straight into the pair, crushing Weiss and Torrent both, if not for Torrent rearing back with a loud neigh, forcing himself to stop before the wrathful Beast. It turned swiftly, waves of smoky waters splashing, and its free hand glowed bright, a massive, glowing golden orb swung towards Weiss. Her eyes widened as divine wrath descended on her, her heart pounding as death closed in once again-yet once again, a dear friend saved her. Torrent bucked, the first time he had or would ever display disobedience towards his rider, and Weiss was tossed from the saddle, thrown out of the Beast's reach. She tumbled yet again, and scrambled to her knees, only the thought of protecting Torrent on her mind, only for her to freeze, eyes locked on the sight before her in muted horror.

The Elden Beast, either unaware or uncaring of who it visited its wrath upon now, lifted her truest ally in its grasp. For a moment Torrent's form was unseen, hidden beneath the burnished gold, until the bubble burst and Weiss was forced to watch as spears descended upon her steed. It was only one at first, striking like lightning into Torrent's side, but in an instant more followed, crashing into him. Over and over they broke into his spectral flesh, Divine Punishment meant for a lowly Tarnished rising too far above her meagre station instead directed towards the most loyal beast in the Lands Between until once more Weiss could no longer see her friend, only another ball of shining gold, before it too dispersed and Torrent's limp form was unceremoniously dropped, crashing onto the ground with a dull thud that resounded through Weiss's ears louder than anything she had heard before.

Frantically, Weiss rushed to Torrent, the battle, her purpose, everything forgotten as she ran across the field to her horse. The Elden Beast only watched silently as it was ignored, Weiss skidding to a stop upon her knees before Torrent.

He still breathed, but how he managed it Weiss could only attribute to his spectral nature. Treated like a pincushion, Torrent's body was ravaged with holes that had broken deep into his body, a crisscrossing mash of wounds that no living being could have hoped to survive, much less treat. Her hand shaking faintly, she brushed her fingers against his mane, snow-white stained dark with blood as he heaved slow, gaspy breaths. His eye stared into hers, somehow surviving the brutal punishment that he had endured, and Weiss could see no regrets in her faithful friend's visage. He had carried her safely throughout the Lands Between time and time again, a constant at her side amidst all the loss she had endured as her journey reached its end, and he would see her through to the end no matter the cost, even if it brought tears to his rider's eyes. His own slowly shut and, with a final soft whinny, Torrent the spectral steed breathed his last.

Weiss gazed listlessly as Torrent's corpse faded into light once again. He had fallen before throughout their journey, to steel, magic, and even dragonflame, yet she knew not whether his spectral fortitude would allow him to survive the focused wrath of an angry God. Above her Torrent's killer watched, still silent as ever even as its challenger's resolve seemed to crumble in the face of the death of yet another steadfast companion. It dove back beneath the stygian ocean that they battled on, only to burst from the waters once again. Golden motes flew from its form like dust and Weiss stared numbly as it prepared its greatest attack yet. Power thrummed through her bones and Weiss knew that death came for her, and the realisation brought her mind back from her shock. She shakily stood, knuckles white as she gripped Myrtenaster's hilt before she took a slow, deep breath, steadying herself. It was here and now that this battle had to end. She had tarried for too long as the Beast flew, lost in her shock. Either she brought that damned star down from its place in the sky, or she fell.

So many had not died for her to fall. Corpses paved her road, dying either cursing or praising her name in their last breaths. Legends and heroes far greater than her had fallen so she could be the one to stand here today, friends had given their lives for her so she could be here, too many had placed their hopes for a better future for this broken land on her too small shoulders. In her home she had been weak, and failed her friends in their darkest moments, the last to fall. She had failed those who relied on her once before, but not again! Weiss's resolve surged, and the steel returned to her ice-cold gaze as she glared up at the last obstacle in her journey.

No, she certainly would not fall here to this overgrown fish. Not if she had anything to say about it!

As the Greater Will's beast completed its ascension above the battlefield the chamber was awash in burning incandescence. In the air above, rings of pure gold appeared, looping together upon themselves, forming the sigil of the Elden Ring. Its body, already burning with golden light, shone like the sun, and the runes burned with divine light alongside it. Beneath the Beast, on the rippling lake they had battled upon, another ring formed around her, loop upon loop appearing, each slowly closing in around her. Golden light lit up from the murky depths, and to any other individual, now would have been the time to flee. Instead, Weiss brushed her braid back behind her head, and with a flourish, raised Myrtenaster high. At the tip of the rapier, blue light shimmered, a sigil hovering in the air briefly before, with another wave of her blade, the same symbol appeared beneath her feet, superimposed upon the black ocean she stood upon, brilliant blue shining in counter to the iridescent gold. The gold shined brighter, almost as if responding to her actions, but Weiss still paid it no mind. Instead, with a deep breath, Weiss held Myrtenaster before her, and with closed eyes, called upon the greatest power of her Semblance-the core tool of the Aura her homeland wielded, unique to all who possessed it, her's the Glyphs of her Schnee bloodline. To her left, a Glyph spawned outside of the rings, and from it rose a shining man that seemed formed of glowing ice. He towered over Weiss, a mountain formed of rippling muscles and scars won from a lifetime of glorious battle, and even as a false image, a mere memory pulled from the battles of her past, his very being represented strength incarnate. Once the greatest warrior to ever live, first Elden Lord, conqueror, hero, warrior, the image of Godfrey, of Hourah Loux, let out a soundless roar as he appeared, leaping into the air towards the beast floating above them. He reached it in a single leap, and the moment he could, the summon latched onto its wings, his massive fists slamming into its ethereal frame.

The beast shook in the air under Hourah Loux's assault, and the golden light it had called forth flickered, slowing in its encroaching finale, but still, Weiss paid it no heed, focused on her summoning. To her right, another glyph appeared, and from this one rose another legend. A beastman of Crumbling Farum Azula and shadow born of the Two Fingers command, he stood far larger than Loux, and yet crouched like a wild wolf, ready to pounce on his prey. Maliketh had served the Goddess Marika as her champion, her Black Blade of Destined Death. Now, his image held a blade like shimmering snow, the flames of Destined Death replaced with glittering wisps that chilled the air around it, his form turned white under her power, and like Hourah Loux, he let out a soundless howl before leaping forwards. Flying through the air, he found an easy target thanks to the interference of his fellow summon, and the white replica of his blade crashed into the beast's body, shattering its arm into pieces that rained down upon the waters, and with a cry like shattered glass it fell to the earth. The runes hanging in the sky flickered once more and died, the light fading as the beast was dragged down by its assailants. Its wings fluttered in a desperate attempt to escape, only held back by Hourah Loux and Maliketh's summons tackling it as it touched down.

It thrashed and squirmed, desperate to cast off its captors, setting the oceanic battlefield alight with ripples, but already Weiss called upon a third summon, it's shining form rising up behind her. A tall, thin man rose up from the shadows, glinting snow flecking from his form in a pale imitation of the flame that he wielded in life, a wild mane of red flowing from his head. Twisting about his body were coiled winged snakes, the ever-loyal beasts refusing to leave their lord even in death-and in his hand he held a long spear, its blade an undulating flame. Messmer the Impaler, firstborn and long abandoned child of Queen Marika leapt into the air as he returned to the Lands Between, his body twisting like a serpent as he flew towards the beast, the white-blue recollection of a battle now past crashing into the ground as he demonstrated to the beast, in this hallowed place, just how he earned his title. As his spear pierced through the Elden Beast's back, yet more burst from the ground, stabbing into its sides, its arms, its wings-crucifying the beast just as they had countless innocents in a crusade now long forgotten, forcing the beast to lie still, its body turned, the shining, cracked weak point in its stomach facing directly towards Weiss.

A single glyph appeared on the ground, and in front of Weiss rose her first, and final, summon. A majestic white knight, it stood twice Weiss's height, covered head to toe in brilliant armour. In its hands, planted into the earth, was a greatsword even longer than her, of a simple design, a long handle connected to a curved guard, and a blade that seemed formed of ethereal light, shining like the Dark Moon that would watch silently from the night sky on the coldest winter's day. Levelling its blade, with a single burst of motion it dashed forward, and with one thrust pierced through the beast's broken wound, bursting through its back and planting itself in the earth, pinning it, and opening the shining fractures wide. Weiss opened her eyes, and with a wave of her blade each summon disappeared into the ether, bursting into motes of light that swiftly faded away, until only the beast, and the greatsword ran through its chest, remained. Shaking, it still thrashed about, grasping its previously forgotten blade and swinging wildly, golden beams flying through the air, and yet, in its desperate raging all failed to hit Weiss, merely passing by its foe, until it collapsed, with far too little energy left to fight. Instead, all it could do was watch, silently, glowing 'eye' focused intently on her, as Weiss held her hand before Myrtenaster's tip. Brilliant hues of greens and blues swirled and coalesced in the air as magic gathered, forming a ball of shifting, shining energy aimed directly for the beast's golden core as she levelled her own blade towards it, held back by Weiss's hand as she stared forward, a look of determination upon her brow.

"I don't know if you can hear me, Greater Will, but if you can! For too long has this land suffered under your rule! Arbitrary rules and laws, forced upon the people by an unfeeling, uncaring god…my own home suffered, still suffers even long after they left us behind, from the rule of such thoughtless beings!" She thought of all the people she had encountered in her travels. The nomadic merchants, exiled and abused for existing, the tragic Misbegotten menials condemned at birth. She thought of all those who had been broken by this vile god, and all those who had given everything of themselves in its service, unable to know, to comprehend, that their devotion meant less than nothing to this monster lurking in the heavens. She thought of Ozpin and Salem, trapped in hellish eternity by Gods as uncaring and disconnected as the Greater Will, their actions dooming Remnant to millenia of suffering.

And I will not stand for it!" The ball of energy before her twitched, desperate to be released, but Weiss held it back, gritting her teeth as it grew even stronger.

"I couldn't do anything there! I failed, and I fell, but here! Here, right here, right now, I can make a difference! This is for all of those who you have hurt, who you have excluded, expelled, and destroyed with your centuries of mismanagement and cruelty, using this land like a shiny meal!" Weiss smirked, then, as she planted her feet, all while the energy of the stars grew larger still in her hand.

"And finally…your beast hurt my beloved Torrent. And that's something I will never abide by. Now...get out of this land!" With a final cry, Weiss pulled her hand away, thrusting Myrtenaster forward as energy released…and the Primeval Current roared. Streaking through the air like the comets it had birthed, the beam sailed straight and true. It crashed against the Elden Beast's body, bright blue meeting glimmering gold as Azur's discovery rippled. For a moment it burned against the beast's fractured heart, the dog of the Greater Will glowing brighter as it tried to resist her final assault, and Weiss worried that even with everything she had thrown at it, her efforts might still fail to kill a God. Her worries were proven unnecessary however. With a sound like breaking glass the Comet pierced through its gaping wound. Light streaked through its body as its core was met with the anger of the stars that had formed it, flying out its other side. Its head flailed, the sounds of the void resounding through her ears as it cried out in pain, but its anguish could not save it now. Already its body dimmed and crumbled, the lights of its body snuffed out across its form, and as the beam faded, so too did the Beast finally die. Its body slumped forward, crumbling in on itself before with a sad puff of smoke which belied its former brilliance, it disappeared, motes of light dancing on the wind as the Elden Beast's life finally ended. She stood standing, staring at the space where it had once been, before Weiss collapsed to her knees with a shaky gasp, exhausted of all her strength in her climactic display.

In an instant the glittering night sky that had hung above, and the reflecting darkness she had stood upon, both disappeared in a flash of blinding white. When her vision cleared once again, Weiss found herself back where the battle had begun, upon the stone platform where she had duelled Radagon. Across from her, Marika's broken body kneeled, a hollow shell whose barely intact head lay before her upon the ground, and Weiss realised she stood at a crossroads. If she stood now, took Marika's head into her hands and put the broken Goddess back together, she could return the Lands Between to its state before the Shattering, restoring Order. Even change it, mend it to suit her desires, if she wished. In another life, perhaps she may have even done that.

She had set out on this path under the soothing gaze of the unbroken Moon however. Her gaze slowly turned to a blue sign softly shedding its light upon the stone, and Weiss knew her decision. Her Lady called to her, and Weiss would be a poor consort indeed if she abandoned her partner on the cold and lonely path they had sworn to share. Her steps were shaky and weak, but Weiss crossed the distance, and knelt on one knee, bending her head before the sign. It was time for a new Age to settle upon the Lands Between.

From it, a woman rose, back turned to Weiss. Short for an inhabitant of the Lands Between, she stood merely a foot taller than Weiss, and was garbed in snow-white robes paired with a heavy fur cape, topped with a massive, wide-brimmed and pointed hat that identified her as a witch. A glance back towards her loyal knight revealed a beautiful porcelain visage, marred only by the cracks and breaks across her doll-like body that revealed rope replacing muscle and sinew, holding her together and granting her movement. Her right eye glowed a gentle blue, while her left was squeezed shut, covered by a strange sigil embossed against her pale blue skin. Beside her head, a second face hovered, overlapping and mirroring her physical form, right eye squeezed shut while her left was wide open, incorporeal and see-through. Beneath her robes four hands hid beneath the cloth folds, a true oddity, but oddly fitting an already odd appearance. A strange figure indeed, and Weiss had rudely goggled at her strange beauty when she had first met her.

Her name was Ranni. Lunar Princess, Carian daughter of Rennala and Radagon, sibling to Rykard and Radahn, a demigod of the Golden Order. In truth she had been someone Weiss should have battled, hunted down and slain for her Great Rune, but Ranni had discarded such a thing long ago. Long had she laboured and conspired, working with all her might to take control of her fate and bring about an Age most unlike any the Lands Between had settled under, and her ambition, her fool-hardy desire to defy her father and the plans of others…was it any wonder she had enchanted Weiss so?

"...The battle is over, I see." She spoke. Her expression was solemn except for a small, brief smile as she looked at her knight, loyal beyond Ranni's wildest dreams. Her gaze then turned towards Marika's figure, still in repose before her. With slow, measured steps Ranni walked to her, kneeling down, and with a careful grasp picked up Marika's head, raising it up before her.

"I do solemnly swear," She spoke, and as the words left her lips the dark ocean returned in an instant, appearing as if it had never faded away at all. Fog swirled throughout the air, and a chill breeze ran through the Erdtree's inner core that made Weiss shiver despite herself. "To every living being, and every living soul." Gold returned, but it was a weak, flickering thing, motes of light drifting in the winter breeze as Marika's shattered corpse began to fade, overshadowed by the slowly growing silver luminescence that seemed to be slowly rising from the horizon far ahead.

"Now cometh the age of the stars." Gold grew weaker still as the fog began to clear, leaving in its wake a dark shape looming in the distance. "A thousand year voyage under the wisdom of the Moon." From the darkness the moon began to shine, pushing the shadows away. Stars seemed to glitter on its pale face, breathtaking in their cool brilliance. They shined, yet not like the unrelenting, overbearing glow of gold, but instead gentle, a soft, chilling hand on one's shoulder.

"Here beginneth the chill night that encompasses all, reaching the great beyond. Into fear, doubt, and loneliness…" The last of Marika's remains disappeared, the last vestiges of the Greater Will's hold over this land dissipating into the darkness. "As the path stretcheth into darkness."

Weiss raised her head as Ranni turned to her, their eyes locked together. "Let us go together." She extended two of her hands to Weiss. "My dear consort, eternal." She smiled then, a tender thing as beautiful as the moonlight which shined behind her, bringing a smile to Weiss's own lips. Weiss's gauntleted hand lifted, reaching out to Ranni's, almost about to grasp them. Her mouth opened, words just about to slip past her lips, resting right on the tip of her tongue.

Then there was a brief flash, and light overtook everything, even Ranni's sight. And when her vision cleared, she found she stood upon the black ocean…alone. Even though she had been kneeling before her just seconds ago, Weiss…was gone. Only the Moon watched from behind, yet even it could not see where her dear consort had gone. Ranni's head swept to and fro, wondering if this was perhaps a cruel joke that she would have to punish her beloved for later, but as the seconds ticked by, Ranni found she still stood alone.

"...dear consort?" Ranni's voice was shaking, her normally even tones warbling with emotion. Even in victory, at the moment of her ascension, could fate really be so cruel as to force her back into the loneliness that she had dreamed of dispelling?

"....Weiss?"

She received no answer. Not even from the Moon.

W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W

~Black the Lord ascends from Man~

Chapter Text

~Black the Lord rises from Man~

B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B

Mhm, yes…so you wish to know of the world before, do you? Did you perhaps see it in a dream? Is that where such curiosity sprouts?

 

It is no matter in the end however…if you wish to know of the world, then the most important part to know is that, like so many things…

 

It began with Fire.

 

Once, long ago, the world was as yet unformed, dominated by grey crags, dark fog, Archtrees, and Everlasting Dragons. They ruled supreme, immortal and unopposed…until the coming of Fire. With fire came disparity…heat and cold, life and death…light and dark…and then from the fog did They come. The Old Lords, the First Lords, discovered Fire, and within that First Flame they found Souls, twisted and steeped with strength. With lighting, fire and death did the Lords tear the dragons from their lofty heights, and in the ashes of that forgotten Age, so distant that none who witnessed it still live, came to its rose a new Age: the Age of Fire.

 

The Old Lords built their kingdoms and sowed the seeds of civilization. The Witch gave birth to a realm of witches and sought to understand the Fire that fueled their era. The Gravelord retreated to his depths, content to rest amongst the dead forevermore, lord of a land of bones. And thus did the Lord of Sunlight rule on high, King of The Gods, fathering a dynasty and seeding a legacy meant to be as everlasting as the dragons…

 

…and the Furtive Pygmy, once so easily forgotten, who had taken the Dark Soul as his own from the fires, from his blood brought about man. It would be man who would populate this new Age, and beneath the shining heel of the King did they worship His radiance. Kingdoms, castles, cathedrals and statues, so much was built by man's hands in the name of the Gods, who watched and ruled in the heavens above, and man loved the light and warmth that they sheltered under, and came to fear and forget the dark from which they had sprung. Thus did the lie of life begin, as man assumed a fleeting form in pursuit of the tender, exquisite existence promised beneath the rule of the Gods…

 

Yet with fire had come disparity, and with disparity came heat and cold, which would always shift as flickering flames flared and grew dim. With disparity came life and death, a cycle neverending, for life would always end, and death would feed new life. With disparity came light and dark, and the truth that the sun must someday set. Despite the lie that had been adopted, it was the truth of the world that the Age of Fire must one day end, just as that old, forgotten Age had ended so that Fire could be built atop it all…

 

But the King of the Gods, oh how he feared the Dark, feared Man. With the rise of the Dark would come the end of his era, his sunlit legacy fading into little more than the faintest remembrance as Man assumed their rightful place in the world. That is why he had laboured so diligently to banish the Dark, to make men adore the Age of Fire that he had built. That is why he had sealed their very roots beneath Fire itself.

 

And so when the First Flame began to fade, and mankind began to return to their rightful form, as the Dark began to rise, as the Abyss was birthed by its Father, and the end of the Age of Fire was proven inevitable…then did the Lord of Sunlight choose Sin in the face of being forgotten.

 

Into the Kiln did he go, the birthplace of the Flame itself, and linked the Fire. With this sacrifice did he become fuel for the Fire, and from his strength was the Fire restored, and with it the world was renewed, and the people both rejoiced and mourned their God's sacrifice. The First Sin, committed to save the world…

 

…yet the First Flame remained unchanged, even if refuelled, and so eventually once more did the Fire fade again. The Lord had been crafty however, planning for just such an outcome, and so he left in place a call to arms, demanding a mortal man cursed with undeath was to be Chosen to journey, grow stronger, gather any fragment of power, to feed upon the rotting scraps of his glorious Age, all so that they could find and reignite the Flame once more, throwing themself to the Flame as kindling for his legacy. And in spite of all odds, that unknown Undead succeeded. The world was restored, the Age of Fire renewed once more…

 

And once more did the Fire fade.

 

Again.

 

And again.

 

And again and again and again and again and again, over and over as cycle after cycle forced the world to continue in beautiful light and terrible stagnation. Occasionally the Fire would fade completely, and yet, born by little embers dancing across the darkness, remnants of the countless times the Fire had been renewed, would it come once again, the world returning to this beloved Age of Fire…trapped in this eternal ritual of undead sacrifice, even as the light failed to shine as brightly as it once had, the lands crumbled beneath the weight of unending centuries, and man failed to see the terrible cage they had been locked into, blinded by lost radiance forever unachievable.

 

And thus did the world come to be as it was then. Broken, ragged, dying.

 

Hollow.

 

Until, after countless Ages had come and gone, there came a time when those meant to re-ignite the Flame once again spurned their duty. Whether they recognized the Old King's sin or simply cared not to cast themselves into the flames, they chose to stand aside and watch the Fire die.

 

Yet even as it lay crushed beneath the bloated weight of countless histories, the cruel march of stagnant time forever driving the life from the world little by little, oh did the world still love that fleeting Age of Fire. Lords of Cinder were called, great beings who had in bygone eras linked the Flame themselves, drawn back to life from the embers they had left behind…until they too refused to take their thrones as well.

 

In desperation then did the Unkindled rise, nameless, accursed failures, they who had tried to link the Fire only to fail and die, called by the toll of the bells to drag the Lords to their empty thrones. Naught but worthless ash, somehow meant to stand against Lords who had proved their mettle already. It seemed the Fire was doomed to fade once more…

 

Thus was it that Ash sought out embers…

 

B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B

 

The world crumbled around them. Age upon age, uncounted millenia of a cycle repeated over and over and over again, resulting in a mountainous heap of uncountable civilizations piled upon one another akin to a pile of worthless dregs, at the peak of which stood their arena. Here, at the edge of the world amidst the end of the world, stood the Kiln of the First Flame, the ancient birthplace of that beautiful fire which had given form to it at all. Here was the fight to determine this world's fate.

 

Amidst the field of ash and broken remnants of heroes long forgotten did the pair battle, a brutal, lonesome duel. Their only company was the gentle warmth of a small, flickering bonfire, it's quiet crackling accompanied by the sounds of their battle echoing across the barren kiln, and their only witness was the guttering cinders of the dying sun far above, its light dimming more as each moment passed until naught but a ring of fire remained, encircling the darkness which threatened to spill forth.

 

Once, both fire and sun had been worthy of the worship they still received to this day from the mindless, broken masses that still existed here in this dying world. Once, the First Flame's fires had burnt larger and brighter than any other, putting all meagre flames to shame, and once had the sun bathed the land in its incandescent light, blinding glory granting light to all who looked upon its splendour.

 

Now those glory days were long since past, disappearing amidst the passage of time. The world that they had once lit had grown dark and twisted, naught but monsters, broken souls, and the fighting pair themselves left to bear witness to their ignobility.

 

The pair who fought could not have been more different-opposites in their entirety, destined to be opposed to one another.

 

One was a true deity in all but name, the personification of the First Flame itself. Tall, strong, powerful, adorned in armour burnt and melted yet still holding strong, a charred knight born of cinder, a truer champion the likes of which none but the greatest had ever seen. It was the perfect knight, the perfect fighter, a collection of the strongest warriors to ever grace this forsaken world, all those who had Linked the Flame fused into one singular Soul. It was the Flame's final test and final defence, wielding the Coiled Sword pulled from the Bonfire which had birthed the world's order. The burnt crown melted into its helm merely a statement of its position: a Lord above all other Lords. This faceless, nameless Soul of Cinder stood as the last bit of glory a dying Flame could muster.

 

As for the one who would challenge such a being? Who would dare to approach the First Flame, to believe themselves worthy of standing victorious in the Kiln? They were no Lord recalling their forsaken duties, no true and stalwart champion. What stood within the Kiln, fighting now against the Soul…was naught but an ashen soul, the last resort of a dying world called by the toll of the bell, unworthy to even glance upon the field she stood upon.

 

And yet…

 

Even as the ash she stood upon burned her feet through the dark steel of her greaves, smouldering with countless embers left behind by all the brave warriors who had stood here before her…

 

Even as the blade held tight within her gauntleted grip threatened to crumble every time it slipped from her sheath, biting into the smouldering flesh of her opponent with its worn, frayed edge, eaten away by the dark that added weight to its blows…

 

Even as the Coiled Sword, eternal companion of the Undead, was brought to bear against her and broke her aching bones and burnt her withered flesh with every blow that fell upon her body, uncaring for the metal plates that covered her lithe frame…

 

Light the Fires. That was what she was meant to do. It was a joke really. A sham. She was naught but Unkindled Ash, not fit even to be cinder. Once already, in a lifetime burnt away by the Flame that had torn her asunder, she had journeyed, fought, killed and been killed, a simple Undead who had strove to link the flames…and failed, far, far too weak to ever dream of standing amongst those Lords of Old, to think that she could achieve even half of what those legends had done.

 

She could not recall that time anymore. In her travels she had seen it vary amongst her kind, the worthless ash that they were. Some knew their entire history…others lacked even their names. Ashen One, they called her, for that was all she was…and they had wanted her to link the Fire? Return the ancient Lords of Cinder to their thrones? Who would ever think that she could succeed?

 

Yet…here she stood. Not collapsed and entirely Hollow, her soul faded into pathetic scraps. Her body was withered, her blood spent, exhausted, bones broken, arms heavy, eyes kept open only thanks to the burning pain of her wounds and her will to see her path through, yet it was not one of her foes who stood here now.

 

The last survivor, the last victor, it was her who had triumphed over all that had stood in her way. No monster had been left unslain, neither man or demon, dragon nor god had succeeded in baring her way.

 

The Undead Legion of Abyss Watchers, slain to a man.

 

Yhorm the Giant, brought low by the storms alongside a far better knight than she could ever hope to be.

 

Aldrich the Devourer, caught and butchered as he feasted on the last child of the old gods, his scourge blessedly ended.

 

And frail, feeble Lothric, born weaker than any other yet destined to link the Flame as she was meant to, dragged to his blessed purpose a corpse once he had chosen to simply languish in his gilded bedchambers, uncaring for the dying world around him.

 

Those ancient legends, those Lords of Cinder whose boots she had been unfit to even lick, had all fallen, their cinders forced back upon their forsaken thrones by her hand. None would have dreamed she would succeed, yet here she stood, with only one obstacle left to overcome along her chosen path. None would have faulted her for giving up-such a choice had been expected of her, her perseverance the oddity rather than the norm-yet even as she had fought and died and killed and burned and suffered the weight of the choices she made and the blood she spilled, the thought of backing down never once crossed her mind.

 

…though in truth, the Ashen One did not know why she was fighting so hard to reach this goal.

 

Was this even her fight?

 

The strange, soft cloth garb she had awoken in, now discarded in favour of the light black steel that covered her lithe form, the odd field of light that simultaneously protected her and left her horribly vulnerable when shattered, some form of soul art that even a master sorcerer had been unfamiliar with. Her Shadows, an ability completely unheard of in all of Lothric, and the cat ears that crowned her head upon the black waves of her hair that flowed towards her back, paired with the amber cat eyes hidden beneath the blindfold mask that she could not bring herself to part with.

 

All proof that perhaps she did not once belong to this cursed realm. Certainly none she had met on her journey were able to explain these oddities, especially as her memories faded with each step further and any details had slipped further away into the dark.

 

When she had first awoken as Unkindled Ash her mind had been a mess, memories lost beneath the roar of Flame devouring her whole, consumed in an instant by a hunger she was far too weak to satisfy. Her past, her name, all little more than a muddled array of blurry images, faces, and words that held no meaning to her then. Disoriented, confused, all she could do was simply follow the Flame, drawn to the embers as all unworthy Ash would ever be.

 

And follow them she did, until she met a frail, dying Pilgrim, kindly offering strength to a cowardly weakling desperate for any edge she could gain against her foes. That had been all it took to damn her memories to the void.

 

Certainly the Dark Sigil gave her strength, yet the price it exacted…corpse-like flesh had replaced smooth pale skin, the lustrous mane of black hair now dark straw, her extra ears marcescent atop her head, even her own eyes shrivelling up until the mask across her brow covered only empty sockets (how she or any Hollow could still see was not entirely clear to her, or anybody she had asked, yet as long as she still could it was enough for her), and with every death that brought her back to the bonfire's embrace, her memories had only faded further. Hollowing took hold as the Dark Sigil grew larger, Humanity seeping from her like an open wound, and with it went the chance of her memories returning in full, drowned in the darkness.

 

Some glimpses remained, embers of a life still flickering faintly in the shadows of her mind, but they were…meagre. A faint fondness for scythes, even when such weapons were trying to kill her, whilst the sight of snow amidst the cold of Irithyll and the Painting drawing out a smile despite her discomfort. A morose feeling in her gut when she looked at her blindfold mask, a flicker in her mind of a similar one, coloured red and white that only made her think of a tragedy that she could not recall.

 

An inability to fully hate the Flame, even once she had understood the truths of this world. Not when she caught glimpses of long blonde locks that made her heart skip a beat as they danced in the flickering flames, yearning for something so precious yet entirely lost to her.

 

The Ashen One did not understand these images, and lacked all of the pieces of the puzzle, but she cherished what she could recall, especially as she had marched towards what would be her final battle, one way or another.

 

As she had walked up the ash-clogged steps to where she now fought, the Ashen One had wondered if the girl of her past, whoever she had been, would have been proud of the path she had taken. The deaths she had ensured, the lives that she had taken, some deserving, others only having made the mistake of being in her way or holding some faint edge she had desired, it had all been in the pursuit of power, any she could grasp, whatever it took to ensure that the Age she now envisioned could come to pass.

 

She could have answered that question herself, if she had wished. When she had looked upon the Purging Monument, buried with the rest of the Ringed City at the bottom of the Dreg Heap, she had known that with a single touch the fog might have been burned away and she could have looked upon herself with unclouded eyes, and known if she was walking the right path.

 

She had run away instead. To risk such self-doubt, after everything she had done-the piles of tongues she had left at Rosaria's bedside for an ounce of her strength before she had realised the truth of that mute figurehead, the dregs she had ripped from her fellows for the dark knowledge of the Man-Eater's Faithful, Anri-no. She did not know which possibility had scared her more; the idea of waking up and feeling nothing but disgust towards all she had worked towards, or the idea that she might have reveled in the deeds she knew she had no choice but to do. Neither option had been acceptable, and so she damned whoever she had once been. She did not matter anymore. Not when she was so close to the end, not when she was standing in the Kiln itself, her goal so close!

 

When she had arrived at the Kiln, walked up the mountain towards the end of her journey, with every step forward the Ashen One's heart had beat faster in her chest. She could feel a weight here as she stood in a place most hallowed by those who served the fire. Here was where every turning point for this world had been decided. The Old Lords, the first Link, everything that had set the course of history forevermore.

 

Here had been where humanity was denied their rightful Age…and here was where she would right an ancient wrong. The weight in her chest, dark and heavy and oh so very cold, throbbed within at the very thought, knowing its purpose just as well as she herself.

 

She knew the tale all too well now. Throughout her travels she had come to see this decaying, decadent land for what it was: a crumbling facsimile of life born from the fears and ego of a God too desperate to ensure his legacy continued, too consumed by his disdain for Man and the Dark to understand that all fires burnt out eventually.

 

Her memories may have been lost but even when she lacked a name a part of her recoiled at the Lord of Sunlight's machinations. At his cruelty to force mankind down further and further, enslaving and enthralling them in lies until they had enjoyed beneathing beneath the heel of the Gods. Man should have succeeded Gods so long ago, their time fading to myth…and so as she looked upon the culmination of Gwyn's disgusting cycle, this Soul born of all the great Lords who had been caught up in Gwyn's lie one way another, whether valorous Knights of The Sun or powerful, wretched beings forced to serve as fuel, the Ashen One could feel naught but disgust.

 

Everything she wished to tear down stood before her, and she would not be found wanting right at the end. Too much sacrifice, too much death-nothing could justify stopping here. There was no glory to be had, whether she would be remembered for her choices or how she would be remembered for her goal-none of it mattered. All that mattered now was that the god she fought died, so that she might tear down this rotten world piece by crumbling piece.

 

Until naught but Ash and Dark remained.

 

Despite her conviction however, the death of a god was no simple matter. This fusion of the strongest legends of all Ages past had produced a warrior without peer. The assault of her foe with its greatsword was vicious, and the Ashen One could feel the heat of its very being in every blow that hissed past her, an assault forged by a breathtaking combination of strength and technique. Every attack was measured, every swing that struck only air missing solely because of her own speed as she dodged past it, rolling across the ground and countering as best she could-if an opening even presented itself at all.. The Soul was a collection of knowledge greater than any knightly order, any legion, any kingdom could ever have hoped to dream of being, and its skill showed in every trade of blows between the two of them.

 

It was stronger than her, faster than her, more skilled than she could have ever hoped to be. Just as she had so many times before, she faced an opponent that surpassed her in every way. It had already slain her, time and again-how many attempts had it been already, to slay this burnt husk? 10? More? She lost track of her deaths so easily these days. Every death was a lesson, screaming at her that she was not strong enough to overcome this obstacle.

 

It still wasn't enough to deter her.

 

She kicked off the dirt beneath her, throwing her body aside as a greatsword near the size of her whole body crashed into the ground in an explosion of ash, trying not to inhale any as she rolled away from the danger. The moment her feet caught up on solid ground once again her sword slid back into her sheath-only to burst out of it in a flash just a moment later, a technique drawn from her memories, tinted red in the flashes of her mind.

 

One-two-three-four cuts, faint purple light trailing behind each swing of the blade, carved through the flesh of the Soul, the being stumbling backwards yet never once uttering even the slightest cry of pain. She steadied herself then, preparing for another assault-only to gasp as the air was driven out of her lungs by a steel boot colliding with her gut, sending her tumbling across the field, crashing into discarded weapons as she rolled.

 

She pulled herself to her feet as swiftly as she could, forcing down old instincts encouraging her to catch her breath after such a blow-she had neither the time nor need for such action. She was proven right only an instant later as the clang of a blacksmith's hammer announced the shift of the Soul's weapon-a tactic the knight had put to frustrating use as they had battled-preceding the glowing spear of crystallised souls which crashed into the dirt just where she been kneeling.

 

Martial might was not the only form of strength that could link the Flame. Just as the fire that formed it was ever flickering in its form, so too was the Soul. With every clang that resounded through all four of the Ashen One's ears, the Soul's assault changed-from a valorous knight with broad, heavy sweeps of its sword, to a mage slinging spell after spell, to a cleric wielding a long spear and holy miracles-even a dexterous pyromancer that flipped across the battlefield just as much as she, hungry fire eager to consume her whole leaping from its fingertips. The Soul presented an unpredictable opponent, able to adapt to anything she could throw at it.

 

Yet not only could the Ashen One still fight in the face of such insurmountable odds…she was winning. Finally, finally winning. With every strike of her frayed blade the embers that danced upon the Soul's body dimmed just a bit more, the dark infused within its crumbling steel weighing it down, black pus bleeding from the deepest of wounds as the Abyss-eaten edge met its antithesis. She was an insect compared to the Soul, but she was one of the Dark, hungry and vicious, gnawing at a god, and every time the god failed to strike her down from the sky was another blow that she could drive into the Soul, another slash which left it stumbling.

 

The being only grew more desperate, more vicious in its attempts to slay her every time her blade met its charred flesh. The Coiled Sword flashed near constantly, shifting between forms as the Soul forced its body to move faster, ignoring its wounds and the weight of the Dark seeping from each wound as it fought. In cycles past the Soul had been born as a challenge, the final test to prove one was strong enough to rekindle the flickering First Flame. It was meant to lose, to challenge and confirm one's strength, for its loss was in any other Age its own victory.

 

Yet it could not afford to lose here. Not to this Ashen One, her heart stained so deeply black. For once, for the Flame, for the sake of all that He had built the Soul of Cinder could not fall here-

 

It stumbled, the clank of metal resounding throughout the ashen field where they fought as its leg gave out beneath it, the weight of the Dark too much for it to bear for just a moment. Yet a moment was all the Ashen One required now. The Frayed Blade returned to its sheath once again, and from within the dark confines it began to glow, brilliant purple and white shining in the dim sunlight as energy built up within, reminiscent of the soul from which the sword had been formed.

 

Even weakened, though, the Soul refused to simply fail and die to this wretched, blackhearted Hollow. The Ashen One's eye sockets widened as the clang of metal resounded once more, the Coiled Sword shifting back into the form of a mage's staff. It did not even bother to stand now, and instead simply raised its hand high as a whirlwind of brilliant white and blue coalesced at the tip of the coiled metal it wielded. A hurricane of souls, all being compressed into one single volley-she knew this spell, had discovered it in her travels even if she lacked the ability to cast it herself. The Soul Stream was a pinnacle technique of sorcery, a spell only some of the greatest of mages could hope to cast-she should have known the spell would be within its capabilities as well. She needed to move, needed to dodge before this spell tore through her-yet she couldn't, for to move would be to discard her own buildup of energy within her sheath, to discard this opportunity to end this fight once and for all. The Ashen One was trapped staring straight into the Soul's trump card…unless-

 

The Soul thrust its hand forward, and in an instant a torrent of souls rushed forward, carving a brilliant blue trail across the earth. Anything it passed through was battered and assaulted by the unending stream of pure power, broken into nothingness-and while the Soul was not a being of conventional emotion, even it felt a thrill pump through its fiery art as the beam crashed into its opponent.

 

It watched as the Ashen One's form shook briefly before the torrent engulfed her whole-and yet it kept up the stream even as she disappeared from view. It continued to rush through the air, streaking off the cliffside and into the open air before slowly fading, until at last the Soul of Cinder was certain its foe had been obliterated. Nothing could survive such a direct hit-and even if the foul creature returned to life through the bonfires, the Soul had time to recover from this fight, and now knew how she fought, knew it could beat her with ease. Its victory was inevitable, and it could hold out against her fruitless flailing until the Fire faded and the Ashen One's goal became impossible-

 

A flash of purple light danced in the air and the Soul jerked as it looked upwards, the closest thing it could feel to mounting horror building in its core. There, in the air above the Kiln, the Ashen One fell to earth, her blade still sheathed and burning bright, black and white incandescence roiling off of its frame. The Soul was lost-it had not even seen her move! Yet the method behind her survival was one the Soul had no way of knowing, of ever even imagining.

 

Moments prior she had used that strange ability which she had seen nowhere else in Lothric-her Shadows, temporary doppelgangers that she could create to send her moving in any direction she wished. Pouring an excess of power from her soul into the Shadow, she had launched herself high while the clone endured the Soul's final attack, sparing herself from harm while conserving the power she had already gathered in her sheath.

 

To its credit the Soul reacted quickly, once more raising its staff as souls coalesced once again-but it was too late. The Ashen One called upon another Shadow, and the instant the clone formed she was launched forward, her angle sending her straight towards the Soul. The magic it gathered dissipated as the Coiled Sword clanged once more, the greatsword forming in an effort to parry her attack.

 

A greatsword was raised-

 

The soft schwing of steel echoed-

 

Darkness flashed beneath the dying sun-

 

And in a burst, the world was left awash in monochrome light.

 

Time seemed to freeze for just a moment as the colour suddenly bled from the world-and so too did the Soul, stopping mid-swing. Its frame did not even shake as it remained still as a statue-until the Ashen One landed gently upon the ash behind it. The click of her blade sliding into its sheath resounded throughout the field louder than any blacksmith clang, and with that click came the resumption of time as colour swiftly returned to the world whilst monochrome faded-and a great black gash appeared across the Soul's chest, abyssal pus almost immediately drooling from the now-tainted opening.

 

The greatsword went loose in the Soul's grip while its body seemed to almost go limp, shaking as it struggled to even stand, and the Ashen One breathed a sigh of relief…before she herself stumbled as the exertion of the battle caught up to her. How long had she been fighting the Soul? How many times? Each death had been a lesson, and even as they had screamed her inferiority, she had learned, understood her opponent as best she could…and now here she stood, triumphant at last. She hadn't even had to…well, it didn't matter what she had or hadn't had to do to succeed. All that mattered was that she had finally, finally won.

 

Her hand slipped to the golden flask at her hip-the Estus Flask, the truest companion and greatest comfort to all Undead. It was nearly empty, a single sip left within, the strain of battling a deity unsurprisingly taxing on its reserves. She gulped down that final sip greedily, taking comfort in the warmth which spread through her body, her wounds swiftly closing from the influence of the healing draught.

 

The Ashen One sighed as the last drop slid down her throat, wiping her mouth before she set her gaze forward. The First Flame stood straight ahead, still flickering in the wind, uncaring of the battle which had just taken place before it, bereft of its defender. She didn't know whether what she wanted more now was to laugh or cry-out of relief, due to the absurdity of her managing to reach this point, the long blood-stained trail behind her, anything really. Her journey…she did not even know how long she had fought in these transitory lands where time held little meaning, much less if she wondered just how long she had been fighting since her first forgotten life…

 

Had she ever succeeded like this back then? Would that lost girl, drowned in darkness, be proud of the warrior who was now mere steps away from freeing this world? She wasn't sure the question would ever stop gnawing at her soul, yet whether her past self would care or not mattered little now.

 

Finally, after so long, her goal was right before her…

 

Clang!

 

And suddenly, the world was awash in flame as He returned.

 

The Ashen One barely even registered the heat before she howled in pain as fire hotter than anything she had felt before crashed down upon her back, the sheer force of the explosion sending her flying through the air. Gritting her teeth she tried to force away the feeling of melting metal upon her skin, manoeuvring her body midair. The Frayed Blade jumped out of her sheath and she jabbed it into the ground, desperate to slow her flight and regain her bearings-only for a wall of fire to crash into her the very moment she slowed down.

 

One-two-three-four strikes of a greatsword so hot she could feel her straw-like hair catching alight, each strike keeping the Ashen One aloft in the air only for another to catch her once again. She couldn't even scream, her throat suddenly bereft of even a hint of moisture in the wake of this vehement assault of flame, and it was only as she hung in the air, barely lucid while her body burned, that she even realised who her assailant was.

 

There stood the Soul, the Coiled Sword blazing brighter than she had ever seen it before. His wounds all had disappeared-the abyssal pus that had spread from her tainted blade burned away into non-existence in the wake of the resurging Fire. Her heart dropped; of course the Soul had gotten back up. How many times had she slain a foe, only for them to simply get back up? It was a strength she envied, weak as she was, and she cursed herself for letting such a thought slip from her mind.

 

Still, she was not dead yet. The Soul of Cinder reached out to her as she fell, gauntleted hand grasping in the air trying to catch her, but she simply gripped the hilt of the Frayed Blade once more, aiming to remove at least a finger or two for the attempt-

 

Yet as she swung her sword, no fingers were removed or fiery blood spilled upon the ashen dirt. Her sword didn't do a single thing-how could it, when she was merely swinging a broken hilt?

Her heart stopped while her eyeless sockets flicked away from the Soul towards behind where it stood.

 

Where the Frayed Blade's edge stood tall in the dirt, snapped from the hilt, unable to hold together against the pressure on its crumbling frame from her foolish, instinctual manoeuvre.

 

Bereft of her weapon and falling midair, all the Ashen One could do was get grabbed by the Soul while his hand burst into flames and drove itself into her gut. In the muddled mess of her mind, as much of her brain shrieked in pain while the heat of the Soul's flames burnt her rotten intestines and scorched her very bones, the Ashen One realised that something had changed. These attacks, this strength…the Soul's fires had not burned as hot before, his skill with a greatsword had been far lesser.

 

Still silent even as it shoved an inferno inside of her, the Soul raised her up into the air before slamming her body down into the ash. He would have driven the air from her stagnant lungs once again-if not for the burst of flame that incinerated her lungs and organs as her spine crashed downwards. The Ashen One wasn't even sure how she was still conscious, much less alive from this brutalization, yet as her scorched limbs grew heavy and her vision grew dim, she knew death was swiftly approaching.

 

She had died plenty of times however-many of her foes had slain her before she had slain them, and so death and she had been forced to become old friends. With this death, however, she could simply try again, more aware of the Soul's capabilities-it was painful, that she had stumbled like this, that she would need to repair her sword, but she would succeed in the end-

 

The Coiled Sword slammed point first into the earth, stabbing into her melted chest, piercing her blackened heart, yet for all the burning pain she had felt moments before the Ashen One only felt cold as the burning steel was driven into her body. The embers that had been alight upon her body, vestiges that she had gathered and taken for herself, as all Unkindled Ash was wont to do, dimmed in an instant, the strength they had granted fading in mere moments-and the Ashen One howled, screaming her burnt throat so raw that she felt it bleed, spilling past her lips.

 

Had death always been this terrible? When had she become so numb to this nightmarish feeling, of her life slipping away from her grasp even as she tried so desperately to hold onto it. She felt empty…

 

…Hollow…

 

…and the last thoughts that crossed her mind, past the horrific pain and the crippling fear…was why?

 

Where had this viciousness come from? This single-minded determination to destroy her, to ensure her goal could not come to pass? Had the Soul simply been holding back, had he tricked her just for this? How many times had she died to this being, yet now was when he chose to shatter her entirely and ensure she could never rise again? What had changed?

 

……when had she begun thinking of the Soul as him, rather than an it?

 

The Soul raised his empty hand high once again, yet it was not fire that leapt to his fingers now. The Ashen One's skin tingled while her empty eyes widened as golden light crackled into being. Energy twisted, screeching almost, as if a thousand birds were suddenly chirping all at once, before it swiftly expanded until the Soul had raised aloft a spear of lightning, shining as bright as the sun.

 

She had seen this lightning, once before, high upon a mountaintop that she had visited in a dream. There she had fought a nameless king, a warrior who rode dragons, commanded the storms, and called spears of sunlight to his hand-whose identity she would never be able to confirm, yet she was near certain was the Sun's Firstborn. His spears of golden sunlight had been near perfect mirrors of the spear the Soul now held in his hand, though the Soul's managed to outshine even him…and there had been but one being in all of history who had commanded the power of sunlight so thoroughly, as his own Godly right, who had ever been within reach of the Flame.

 

"Gwyn-!"

 

The sunlight crashed down, and the Ashen One knew no more.

 

B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B

 

She was drifting, awash in a sea of purest dark. It was cold, and quiet, and oh so very gentle, such that the Ashen One couldn't help but wish to sink deeper into the shadow.

 

"XXXXX!"

 

She didn't have to fight anymore, have to suffer anymore, have to grit her teeth and bear her wounds and the weight of the world. It wasn't her fault she hadn't been strong enough.

 

"BXXXX!"

 

She hadn't been meant to be strong enough after all.

 

"BLXXX!"

 

She was just Unkindled ash after all! Who was she to try and be some sort of saviour to this broken land? How could she stand against Gods? How could she stand against the First Lord of Cinder? She wasn't the Chosen Undead! She was no legend!

 

"BLAXX!"

 

She wasn't anything!

 

"BLAKX!"

 

She was nothing more than a pathetic scrap that had already failed once, who did not even know her own name. She could just run away instead-

 

"BLAKE!"

 

The Ashen One's eyes shot open as the piercing shout of a woman's voice that she could not remember ever hearing set her heart pounding in her chest. She sat up, flailing as the memories of her brief and savage battle with Gwyn pounded in her skull. That death…the Soul had been so brutal, and she had been so close…but would the King of the Gods even let her get so close to her victory once again? She didn't know what she looked upon, whether it was an echo or a resurrection, but she had felt in every blow the disgust He held for her kind, for the goal she had been working towards above all else…

 

"Ashen One?"

 

A metal hand placed itself on her shoulder just as an old man spoke in her ear, and the Ashen One nearly jumped out of her boots, turning around while her hand flew instinctively to a weapon that wasn't even at her hip. Yet the second her eyes landed on the man who had spoken to her, any thoughts of violence disappeared from her mind.

 

Before her stood an aged man, garbed in worn metal armour just as old as he was. A long tattered cape and hood obscured most of his face, to the point that most of what one could see of him was the long bushy white beard that hung from his chin. She had only met this man four times, properly spoken to him but once, yet he was a man she could never forget.

 

She had killed him, after all.

 

That fact was what made her all the more confused, in fact.

 

"Gael?" She asked slowly, trepidation clear in her wavering voice. Was this a trick, she thought? A scheme of the Sun to ensure her failure?

 

…or was she simply dead now, beaten and broken by a god?

 

"I…you…I killed you…"

 

Gael only chuckled at her words, bushy moustache quivering in time with his laughter. "Oh yes, you did. I thank you, dear Ashen One, for retrieving the Blood from my body, for my lady's painting. If not for you…well, that cold, gentle place she dreamed of would be naught but a flight of fancy. As for how we are speaking…well, you recall you took my Soul, yes?"

 

She did-of course she did. Gael's soul had been powerful beyond belief, pulsating with the Dark that he had feasted upon in order to provide for his lady. The Ashen One took a moment then to look around at her…well, surroundings she supposed, though they barely qualified as such. Stretching out before her and Gael was pure shadow as far as the eye could see, the only colour being Gael's own hood. Even with all of the strange and horrible places she had witnessed on her journey she had never seen such a place-except for that strange Firelink she had stumbled upon in the depths of Firelink, bereft of fire. Here too not a single light seemed to exist, subsumed into darkness…yet if she was speaking to Gael…

 

"I…are…are we inside my…" The Ashen One trailed off, unsure of herself. She had heard of many strange and fantastical phenomena in her journey, and had seen even more, yet this…

 

"Inside your soul?" Gael finished before nodding. "That we are indeed. It's quite dark here, you know. Can barely see…" He trailed off for a moment, muttering something about old age and failing eyesight, yet the Ashen One barely heard him as her knees gave out and she collapsed on the darkness beneath her.

 

"Ah." Was all the Ashen One could say-for what more could you say, when confronted with your very soul? It looked…about as she might have expected, really, with all that she had done in the pursuit of power, to make it to the Kiln.

 

So much she had done…

 

"How…how are we even speaking though?" For even with the countless deaths she had endured, certainly she had never woken up to a conversation with a dead foe inside her soul. Was she even going to wake up? Could the Soul of Cinder-could Gwyn do that? Bar her from the bonfires and ensure she never darkened his doorstep and threatened his flame?

 

She looked down at her hands, seeing them shaking. The corpses in her wake, the betrayals, sinking herself deeper and deeper into Humanity…surely they were not all worthless now, were they? She could not afford to fail more thoroughly than anyone might have expected of her…

 

"Having doubts?" Gael said as he joined her on the shadowy floor, startling her from her thoughts. "Can't truly say I blame you for that. Quite a vicious sight, I must say! I don't believe I ever saw Old Gwyn fight so…decisively, even against the dragons." She couldn't see them but she could tell he was staring at her shaking hands. "So…what will you do now?"

 

The Ashen One blinked, confused. "I…" What would she do? She should just get up again…

 

Her bones ached at the thought and she couldn't help but shiver, suddenly painfully weary. Gods, how long had she been fighting for this…dying for this goal of hers…

 

The old knight simply hummed in response to her silence, silent as well as he continued to stare at her with his covered eyes.

 

"It's fair, you know. To think of giving up, just…running away." He said the words calmly, not even a hint of an accusation in his voice. His statement was simple, yet still the Ashen One couldn't help but flinch back as if struck. He wasn't even wrong, after all.

 

How many times had she sat alone, only the bonfire for comfort as she hauled herself to a battle, over and over again? How many times had she wished for it all to end? It wasn't like she needed to succeed…the Flame would sputter and die with or without her actions.

 

Someone else would surely pick up the pieces she left behind, right?

 

So why couldn't she believe that?

 

Gael continued, stroking his beard as he spoke. "We were both charged with tasks too great for us, my friend. To imagine that we could come as far as we could…that would have been the height of arrogance!" He laughed, shaking his head before his features softened. "...and, well, none would deny you deserve the rest, Ashen One. Few are those who could have fought as hard as you, through all the muck and refuse of this dying world…" She held her tongue from replying that she sat beside someone who had fought harder than she ever had, gone further than she had ever dreamed, had held the Dark Soul itself in his heart and blood, all from humbler beginnings than any other.

 

He shifted where he sat, facing her fully. "Yet that duty of yours…would you really shirk this now? The woman who marched through all of Ariandel to burn away the rot at the request of an old slave knight? Who followed me all the way to the Ringed City for…what, curiosity practically? You had no way to know I would need you to bring my lady the Blood after all."

 

The Ashen One squirmed where she sat-if she wasn't so Hollow she would surely be blushing now. "I…I'm just…I'm tired Gael…not…not just because of the dying…the Soul drew out Gwyn to kill me! It's always something…more. The hurdles are always growing, always bigger, always so unbeatable…" She fell back to the floor, lying down and staring up at the inky darkness above. "...and how many people have died for this-for me!" She threw her hands up in the air while faces flashed behind her eyes…poor Irina, undeserving of her fate, old Siegward, who would surely be so disappointed in her abandoning the Flame…Greirat, her first friend in this miserable pit of a world, who she had failed to keep safe…

 

"And yet…" Gael spoke softly. "...every time those hurdles have grown…and every time tragedy has struck…in the end you always met their measure, did you not? Whether it takes you a thousand deaths or but one more, in the end it is all a matter of will. And who can ever claim to have a greater will than you, who has come this far despite everything you have already overcome? They of Ash never fail, my friend."

 

He stood up then, metal armour and old bones creaking beside her. "And as for what the Flame dredged up…naught but scraps of cinder from the deepest depths of the Flame. I've seen the Old Lord, and this…quite honestly if he had not gotten the jump on you you'd have still won, I suspect. You can win this…if that's what you still wish."

 

She baulked at his words. "Of course I want to win-!"

 

Gael shook his head. "Then why mope about wasting time? Get up and fight him then."

 

"What?"

 

The old knight simply ignored her question, chuckling as he extended his hand to her. "It's up to you, Ashen One. Will you stand and fight? Show that old Soul the strength of Man…the strength of the Dark? ...or will you run yet again?"

 

The Ashen One looked upon the offered hand before glancing away. The black ocean of her soul stretched out before her…it would be oh so easy to simply sink deeper into the mire, to rest and forget about slaying yet another lord…to forsake her duty and run away like a coward.

 

Perhaps she deserved to. Certainly none but the hollows of Londor, none of the people of Lothric, the world over, had asked her to do as she did. Yet how could she look upon the wretched souls of this land and do anything more than what she planned to do?

 

"When the world rots, we set it afire. For the sake of the next world. It's the one thing we do right, unlike those fools on the outside."

 

Yet did she deserve to be the saviour here? 'Murderer.' Her mind whispered in her ear. 'Coward, traitor, killer, monster, beast.'

 

"Every age, it seems, is tainted by the greed of men. Rubbish, to one such as I, devoid of all worldly wants…and rubbish to a goody-two shoes like you! I know what you've done, the blood you've spilt…and not a single lick of greed to you! Selfless, the whole time…'nough to give me conniptions. Hmmm, and here I thought it was maybe the way we were. I'll stick you in my prayers. A fine dark soul, to you."

 

Yet she could still run away…

 

"I... I am not going to break my promise, I swear."

 

The Ashen One took the offered hand, the steel of her gauntlet wrapping around the thin, emaciated hand of the figure who suddenly stood in Gael's place. They were short and thin-horribly thin, emaciated even-and their features were shrouded in the shadows of her soul. Her eyes widened as she stood, her lips opening as she made to speak, whilst the emaciated figure, their body so Hollow, offered her a simple bow-

 

And suddenly the world was awash in Dark as She awoke once more.

 

B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B

 

A short breath filled lifeless lungs.

 

Eyelids with no eyes to cover fluttered as awareness took hold once more.

 

And as purple light slowly spilled forth across the field of ash, as the shadows across the sky seemed to grow ever longer, burnt fingers twitched as feeling returned, and a gauntleted hand wrapped around the hilt of a shattered blade.

 

Her awakening did not go unnoticed however, as golden light shined once more, its brightness challenging the shadow which spread across the Kiln. Lightning screamed and crashed upon her body once more-yet awash in the dark all the Ashen One did was climb to her knees as the sickly white and purple shine of the Dark washed across her form. It cleansed her of her wounds, soothed her aches and wrapped itself around her in its cold, gentle embrace-so different to the bonfire she knew, yet a comfort nonetheless even as yet another bolt of sunlight crashed into her form.

 

This bolt forced her back, her metal boots grinding into the ash beneath as she was driven away, yet once more did the dark shine, easing her pains while her grip tightened around the broken hilt of the Frayed Blade. The shadows writhed as she squeezed the broken metal, crawling across her form and coalescing as a blade of deepest black formed in her hand. It resembled a cleaver now, the katana shape of the Frayed Blade seemingly forgotten, white and purple glimmers the only hint of its past that danced across its inky form, and the Ashen One was certain she had never seen this blade before-yet holding it in her hand was a comfort even as she was forced to raise it high, holding it tight in both hands as she met the falling blade of the Coiled Sword ablaze with righteous fury as the Soul swung it down towards her.

 

The loud clang of metal clashing resounded through the kiln and rung in the Ashen One's ears as the Soul's sheer strength sent her grinding across the ash once again-yet despite the ache in her arms the Ashen One was already moving, dashing across the kiln while the Soul readied its blade for another strike. He swung high, aiming to cleave her head from her shoulders, but his blade met only empty air as the Ashen One ducked and slid across the ground, her cleaver striking out to carve away at the Soul's legs.

 

He stumbled as the dark nipped at his heels yet took her assault in stride, redirecting his blade back towards her to carve into the ground beneath-but she was already moving past the Soul, dashing away while his blade kicked up yet another explosion of ash and dust.

 

Pure instinct guided the Ashen One as she ran, a million possible strategies and manoeuvres she could perform with this sword flashing through her mind in an instant, as if it had opened up a sealed memory just waiting to be released. Where she had learned this blade, whether it came from her forgotten past-none of that mattered to the Ashen One as she pivoted and gripped the blade-no, her sheath, she realised, pulling the shadows away to reveal a blade more akin to the Frayed Blade's past form, merely shorter, while the cleaver remained in her grip, a mass of shadow.

 

The Soul burst then from the cloud of ash, leaping through the air with his blade alight-only narrowly missing the Ashen One once again as she was launched to the side by her own Shadow, dancing away from the leaping slash to throw herself at the Soul once more. She was a whirlwind of shadowy steel-twisting as both blades left their mark, carving flesh and scarring burnt armour as the Ashen One sliced into the Soul again.

 

A low slash came for her legs-she leapt up and spun, digging black divots into the Soul's burning flesh.

 

A hand shot out to grab her-she ducked low and sliced into the offending appendage, spurts of burning blood staining her pale, wrinkled skin.

 

Sunlight shined and flew through the air to strike her down-once more did her Shadows toss her aside, and even as sunlight tore it to pieces she was already moving, already striking once again.

 

On and on this went as the Ashen One butchered the Soul of Cinder. In frustration the Soul stomped upon the ground, a great wave of fire following that forced her to back away, and a brilliant Sunlight Spear once more formed in its hand. She braced herself to dodge away yet again-

 

-But the Soul instead heaved its spear towards the heavens, the lightning of the gods passing skyward towards the clouds. For a moment the Ashen One paused, confused.

 

Then the screeching sound of thousands of birds chirping reached her ears as a flying wave of lightning fell from the sky, and the Ashen One took off running.

 

The lightning hounded at her feet, crashing into the ash mere inches away, so close she could feel the electric shock nearly race up her metal garb. In the back of her mind however her instincts called, and shadow obeyed as her blade shifted once more. The short katana of her sword collapsed in on itself, a metal hook appearing in its place, while a trail of darkness spilled from her hilt, a long trailing ribbon of shadow that coiled around her body like an abyssal serpent.

 

And so as lightning nipped at her heels the Ashen One hurled the spike of her blade with all her might, the metal digging into the stone walls of the Kiln nearby, and with a tug she was pulled from her feet as she grappled through the air, the black ribbon pulling her along as it chased the blade she had thrown.

 

The wave of lightning crashed uselessly where she had stood only moments ago, and the Ashen One ran across the wall as her feet met stone. She kept running, building up speed, momentum rising, heart pounding, while her blade shifted back to the dual wielded form, and she leaped from the wall, soaring through the sky towards the Soul of Cinder-

 

-and there the Soul stood, blade held high, and the Ashen One realised all he had done was lay a trap for her. Once more did he swing his blade towards her as she flew through the air; the same five strikes that had butchered her before levied at her once again. His blade fell-

 

One. The heat of the blade twisted the air, making it dance to its tune as it passed her by by the slightest hairsbreadth while a Shadow once more caught the brunt of the blow. She crashed into the dirt, rolling-

 

Two. Her sheath disappeared, forming once more upon her blade as she barely threw her blade up, catching the Soul's downward blow on the edge, the Coiled Sword skating across the shadow-metal of her weapon-

 

Three. A rising slash sent her scurrying across the ground as she threw herself aside. Her sword shifted once again, the sickle shape appearing from the shadow of the cleaver as the dark ribbon stretched out once more-

 

Four. She tossed her kusarigama, wrapping it around the Coiled Sword as the Soul swung his blade skyward with all his might, and so she was sent flying high into the air, sailing through the sky once again. For a moment the Kiln seemed to shrink, the hellish arena looking so small from so high…before she was falling, faster, faster, faster-

 

Five. The Soul of Cinder levelled his blade towards the ground, preparing an explosion of fire so hot it could incinerate even her bones, reducing the would-be usurper to naught but cinders to be stomped out-!

 

A mass of shadow crashed into the Great Lord moments before it could plunge its blade into the ground. Black steel slid deep into his flesh, driven deep into his body, towards the fiery heart held within, while the sheer force of the Ashen One's impact sent him to his knees, and for just an instance burning eyes beneath a charred metal helm met the purple blindfold mask that she wore. For just one moment the remnants of a Great Lord held his gaze with the would-be Lord of Mankind…

 

And the Ashen One saw naught but fear in those blazing eyes, hidden so deep within the Soul of Cinder.

 

The moment passed then, and the Ashen One sprung away from the corpse just to dash forward once again. The Soul raised its blade, one last swing colliding with the Ashen One's now sheathed blade as it flew through the air, but his assault, dragged down by the wounds he had endured, lacked strength, and the Ashen One forced the Coiled Sword aside before she carved through its burnt guts and spilled the blood upon the ash beneath.

 

The Soul's grip grew weak, the Coiled Sword slipping from its fingers to clatter to the ground beside it as it kneeled upon the ash, defeated, only the shaking of its body a sign that any life still lingered. The Ashen One's blade shifted once more, growing longer, weightier…a Dark Edge held firm in her grasp.

 

She took one last look upon the last remnants of an Age she had chosen to strive to defy, to cast away the cinders of its past, now left humbled before her.

 

She would only swing that blade but one more time.

 

A body fell to the ground, a dull thud all that signalled an end to an era that had shaped the world for centuries. The Ashen One waited, heartbeats pounding in her ear as she paused to see if it would get up once more, if the dying cinders had any last life left in them.

 

Yet nothing came.

 

And so the Ashen One bent low while the dark weapons she had wielded faded away, and the burst of shadow dimmed beneath the eclipsed sky, collecting the Coiled Sword, the light of its fire survived by only the faintest of embers.

 

Every step then to the First Flame flickering felt heavy, each one weighing her down as she pulled the Coiled Sword towards the flickering flame.

 

She could barely breathe as the once-burning steel slid into place within the fire.

 

Her vision flickered, a sick mix between exhilaration and disbelief running rampant through her as the Fire leapt to her body.

 

And while it burned, oh did it burn, and the Ashen One collapsed to the earth while the fire shook and dimmed atop her form, the darkness of her soul dragging the life giving flames to her core, twisting, choking, smothering the First Flame in a shadow unlike any other…

 

Even as a light flashed one last time amidst the growing pall of darkness, while the seal of fire across the dark sky faded and the Sun was snuffed out from its place up above…

 

The Ashen One, the Lord of Hollows now realised, only hoped the people savoured their new freedom, while she disappeared from the world.

 

B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B

 

And so it was that the Age of Fire ended…and our Age of Man began.

 

Oh? You wish to know where our gracious Lord of Hollows disappeared to? Why aren't you sweet, to think an old woman such as I would have all those answers…

 

Yet the truth is that we will never know.

 

The Lord disappeared amidst their ascension, and took with them the old, dying flame.

 

Perhaps it was for the best, in the end.

 

An Age without a Lord, what a novel idea, wouldn't you say?

 

Well, wherever they may be, all we who are left can do is thank them for their service, pray for our lost Lord's safety…

 

And let the feast begin.

B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B

~Yellow Beauty, The Spark of War~

Chapter Text

~Yellow Beauty, The Spark of War~

Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y

Rubicon-3. The third-most planet from the star of the Rubicon system. At a glance the speck of dirt was just another mudball in the outskirts of space.

Another planet for the corporations to exploit and ravage, as they had countless times before.

With the discovery of the Coral, however, everything changed. Rubicon-3 was transformed from a backwater planet ignored by the greater galaxy to the center of corporate conflict only comparable to the Jupiter War of old. Everyone wanted their place at the table-their serving of Coral ripped from Rubicon.

As an energy source, as a substance ripe for exploitation, Coral was expected to dramatically advance humanity's technological and communications capabilities. It was a resource that promised a potential golden era-a renaissance in the making, and unlimited wealth and power for whoever controlled it.

The blood that was shed in those opening hours, before the Rubicon Research Institute asserted control over the Coral and got their grip on the corporations vying desperately for every scrap they could find, remains uncounted to this day, so vast were the casualties.

Yet those deaths were incomparable to the devastation that lay ahead. To this day no one truly knows the cause of the Fires of Ibis-the disaster that scorched the stars and left the Rubicon system ablaze for decades to come-but all knew the source of the inferno.

Coral, set ablaze, birthed a firestorm so fierce space itself was left scarred-and the miracle resource was thought forever lost…

Perhaps for the best, when it was capable of such horrific destruction. When all humanity could use it for were weapons and augments to better wield the WMDs scientists created without regard for the devastation.

Fifty years passed, and for a time humanity forgot about Rubicon-3 and its Coral. The planet was left contaminated and sealed off by the Planetary Closure Administration, the locals left to fend for themselves amidst whatever greedy corporations still remained and the burnt planet they had once called home. In a way, it was a peaceful life for those poor souls-the biggest players in the galaxy had no reason to turn their gaze towards the sorry site of the worst disaster in humanity's history.

Too bad it was never meant to last.

Coral resurfaced on Rubicon-3, and with it came the inevitable: war came to Rubicon, as extraterrestrial corporations battled to ensure their profit margins were the ones which would benefit from the rediscovery of Coral, battling each other and resistance groups desperate to be allowed to live without fear of the corporations grinding them into dust.

Mercenaries flocked to the planet, the dogs coming to call the moment they sniffed out a potential paycheck. It didn't matter if they died or not-not when an Armored Core made them the most dangerous people on the planet, not when the potential pay was so high they would never have to fight again.

All that mattered was that they won, others died, and the COAM ended up in their accounts.

They just had to earn all the credits…and try to ignore all the blood on their hands.

That's what had drawn her to this backwater battleground in the endless corporate wars for supremacy.

In the end, she never could have dreamed where it would lead her.

Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y

"Raven…I…still believe…our shared…dream…"

"I'm sorry... and I'm grateful. 621. There's nothing left to bind you. Whatever choices you make now... I just hope you find your true potential."​

"The mission…my friends'...wishes…look at you 621…you found…a friend…"

"Raven. You took on my hopes...my selfish dream. Now, I want to see the future that you choose. Whatever waits ahead...I'll...support you."

 

"Augmented Human C4-621--Raven. Welcome to ALLMIND."​

Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y

Augmented Human C4-621, Mercenary Raven, stirred, her head pounding as alarms blared into her skull. Her cockpit was awash in red light, dashes of other colors appearing as shattered displays flickered and spat sparks. A wet trickle ran down her forehead, a damp spot that irritated her groggy senses. She reached up to wipe it away, wincing as the ache only grew worse the moment her metal hand brushed against her skin, and she pulled it away only to see red smeared across her fingers-her own blood, she realized after a moment of staring at the unfamiliar sight. How long had it been since she had even seen her own blood, felt the evidence of a fight on her skin-

The memories rushed back then-the ACs, the SPIDERs, the IBIS, the Coral, Ayre-yet all she could do was slump against her seat amidst the wreckage of her Armored Core. Raw emotion tugged at her insides, her gut churning, and she couldn't even experience it-those desires to laugh, to cry, to scream and bash her head against the wall for all the innocent people she'd left in her wake-it was all trapped, locked away by those damn augmentations, the Coral running through her veins forcing her to just sit there in the wreckage of her AC, numb, and tired.

So very, very tired.

How did it come to this?

621 didn't belong in this world-even if sometimes she wondered if her memories were all just a pleasant dream invented by her brain to cope with this hellhole she had woken up in. Those memories-a mother's gentle hug after eating a batch of freshly baked cookies, tossing puns back and forth amidst laughter with a father, large silver eyes in a body so small looking up at her in wonder, a tiny hand wrapped around her finger, laughing, fighting, crying, and living her life with a team she couldn't reach…

…the gentle smile on a dark haired girl's lips as her hair was caught in the midday breeze…

…they were all that kept her going for a long, long time.

Raven had lost track of just how long she had spent living in this world-a few years, at least? It was hard to keep track of it all when you floated in and out of cryostasis as much as she had, but…it had been long.

Long enough for her to grow a little bit taller, a bit older, to change enough that she wasn't even sure her family would recognize her at first glance.

She had been here long enough for it to break her, after all.

621 had woken up to a world of injustice, corporations running roughshod over everybody who wasn't anybody, a world where it was a miracle if you died of old age if you weren't rich, and more common than anything else that you'd end up just another casualty in the corporate struggles that never ceased. It was nothing like Remnant, her home so far away.

There, she'd been strong. A fighter, capable of changing the world! A member of the best team in all of Remnant!

Here…

She remembered how much she had raged as she'd tried to learn the ways of this new place, still unsure if she had even died or not. She remembered how much she had tried to help others, offering her skills in combat as a mercenary only to be laughed away when she didn't know what an 'AC' was.

She remembered how helpless she had felt when she had seen an Armored Core for the first time, and watched from the rubble as the thirteen meter tall military grade mech (a far cry from the Atlas Paladins that seemed so primitive all of a sudden) scorched an entire city down to the bedrock in minutes, before she could even try to fight it, all for a measly paycheck.

She could have just laid down and quit while she was ahead, scrounged up enough credit to buy a ticket to a backwater and keep her head down her whole life. Lived a peaceful life farming dirt or something.

That wasn't who she was though. She had seen how weak she was, and she had known she just needed to get stronger. She had conquered her helplessness once before (her right arm twinged with a phantom pain that would never go away), she would just do it again!

She had imagined it then: she would adapt, play by their rules. Get a hold of an Armored Core, learn the ropes, and tear this whole lousy system down. She could do it! She would do it, because she was-!

She was an idiot. A foolish, stupid bastard who had signed a contract offering an AC and augmentations to boot, "-everything she would need to get a jumpstart in the mercenary life!"...

She had thought losing her arm had been the worst pain she would ever experience. But she could never have prepared for the burning as Coral flowed through her vines, igniting her nerves with their fire, the pain increasing every second as the augmentations enhanced her reaction time, her senses, everything until she could feel every individual nerve as it screamed-

-until it had stopped, and she felt…numb. Burnt out. She hadn't even reacted then as the augments had continued, as the surgeons carved her flesh apart to slide in fresh metal, neural links and connectors and everything she would need to be able to pilot an AC as efficiently as possible.

Not even a sound slipped past her lips when they'd cut away that 'absurd mess of a mane' of her hair until she was left with little more than a pixie cut.

It wasn't like she could complain, 621 was lucky, after all-she was Gen IV, cutting edge when she had signed the contract (and obsolete the moment Rubicon had burned).

The next few years were just…not a blur, no. That would have been too kind. They were a waking nightmare as she had flitted from battlefield to battlefield, conflict to conflict-a toy soldier playing their game by their rules. She'd signed contracts, after all-and what kind of impulsive, reckless fool didn't read the fine print?

They owned her, body and soul, and made sure to take measures to ensure obedience at all costs-and when she passed to the next handler, and the next, and the next…that was when it had all blurred together, the names, the faces all meaningless to her all of a sudden, and she had stopped trying to protest when a mission sent her to eradicate a worker's strike with extreme prejudice, when she was paid to put a bullet the size of a car in a fresh recruit just to make sure he never grew to accomplish anything.

That was when she had died, and 621 had been in charge. 621 was a cold-hearted dog. 621 could handle all the lives lost as collateral, all the blood on their hands.

It wasn't till Walter that she had even bothered to remember her Handler's name. She got her orders, and that was good enough. Even if those orders ended up with her body so broken she was stuck in a plastic bag before Walter had shelled out enough coam to make her functional (not pretty, not with these scars that were too pricey to get fixed and too large for her Aura to do more than smooth away just a bit, not with all the blood on her hands).

621 wasn't changed by Rubicon. 621 had arrived on the planet as the infamous Handler Walter's last surviving hound and followed her orders. She did her missions, she hardly spoke, she didn't feel a damn thing as she had traveled across that planet.

621 hadn't felt warm pride when they had taken down the Ice Worm,

621 was cold-blooded enough to do anything for the credits. 621 was heartless enough to never think about the world she had left behind. She killed General Michigan and didn't even shed a tear when the old codger went down guns blazing, still praising her name every damn second. She killed Rusty, one of her only friends, her buddy, when he stood in her way, and she-

She…

621 killed Ayre, right before Carla piloted Colony Ship Xylem into the Vascular Plant and ignited the Fires of Raven, as she'd felt the flames that scorched the stars burn her sins away-

Raven's skull pounded, a headache forming as she tried to parse her thoughts together. No, that wasn't right…she-she had stopped the Xylem…no, hadn't ALLMIND…

Raven (Brother Gods, when had she gotten so comfortable calling herself that name) wasn't sure whether it was the concussion she probably had, the pre-existing brain damage from her augments, the oxygen slowly leaving her damaged cockpit, the Coral pulsing, shouting and singing and screaming in the vacuum all around them, or some horrific combination of it all that was making her misremember everything she had been through-but she knew what she had done…

Right?

Raven was the name she had taken when she had arrived on Rubicon-3, woken up like a dog from storage and dropped to the wartorn planet below. She had picked up the credentials from the wreck of an Armored Core unlucky enough to catch the eye of the PCA, and even with her emotions numbed beneath the burning Coral still in her nerves and the nightmares that she tried not to let affect her performance, she couldn't stop the cringing feeling she felt whenever she had been called that name.

How could she not cringe, when that was her deadbeat mom's name? It was a cosmic joke, the universe having a good laugh at her amidst throwing every horrible thing it could in her face. She had never wanted to use that name…

But on those borrowed wings…

On those borrowed wings, Raven had soared.

Her time on Rubicon…no, her time with the people she'd met on Rubicon…it changed her. She caught herself smiling when she made herself speak to Rusty, a shitty pun managing to slip past her lips for the first time in years, one that left the man laughing alongside her! When Michigan had praised her she had for the first time in years felt pride for herself as well (and when he had died, slain by whoever Arquebus had sent in her place, she had felt the tears rolling down her cheek before she had even realized she was sad).

Raven…found herself a friend in Ayre, someone she could confide in, someone who understood her even as she struggled to understand herself amidst this war-torn world.

Raven had lived, Raven had laughed, Raven forged a new life for herself on Rubicon and so she had chosen Rubicon!

Raven had turned on her Handler, turned on Overseer-decried their plans to burn the stars once again as the horrific mass genocide it was-and even if it broke her heart she put them all down.

She stopped the Xylem, cursing Walter in death for his callousness.

And she had sobbed openly when the dam holding back her emotions broke as the man who, even more broken than she had ever been, even after she had destroyed everything he had worked for, disappeared in the cinders still having wanted nothing but the best for her in the end.

Raven hadn't burned the stars themselves, she had liberated Rubicon-accomplished the goal she had dreamed of the moment she had understood just how cruel this world she had found herself in was.

…so why did she remember watching the Fires burn-
…why did she remember being hailed as a liberator-​
…why did she know she had never done any of that?​

There was overlap-recovering the wrecked AC, taking on those borrowed wings-that happened every time, three times. Fighting BALTEUS at the Watchpoint, facing down the Ice Worm with her…allies? With her friends Rusty and Chatty alongside the less pleasant company of Snail and Iguazu-

Her eyes snapped to the flickering displays of her cockpit as video crackled to life and she got the slightest glimpse outside. Two mechs dueled just outside atop the enclosure satellite amidst the wreckage of (Walter, Carla) so many others. One was a sleek display of advanced technology, designed with the Coral in mind. Its feminine form was almost graceful as it dashed at jetspeed, dodging past laser fire even as sparks erupted from it at random intervals-a sign of the damage it had already sustained.

She knew that AC instinctively-how could she not, when she could hear the voice of its pilot in her head even now, crying out that she would avenge Raven-

"This…was for our shared dream!" Ayre shouted as Coral bursts erupted from AC Echo's rifle, and Raven's heart ached while 621 hummed at the familiar words.

Yet for all her spirit her opponent simply warped past, engines flaring as the Coral bursts passed him harmlessly and reduced part of the satellite they stood upon to melted slag.

"Heh, guess I can send you to hell to join that damn freelancer with me then if you're so desperate to die!" Iguazu shouted back as his AC released burst after burst of blue light, an array of blinding firepower that Ayre could barely avoid.

Yet as they battled 621 could only sit there numbly staring. When had Iguazu gotten his hands on such high tech? When had Iguazu gotten so good at piloting? Raven couldn't remember either, couldn't remember when Ayre had found herself an AC either, yet there was the proof flying around in front of them at mach speeds.

Her skull ached once more, the headache only growing fiercer as she tried to recall-

Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y

Her AC landed softly atop the enclosure platform, beneath the watchful eye of the armed satellite arrays. Nearby the Xylem hung in space, locked in place, its disastrous collision course with the massive Vascular Plant that stood tall atop the planet and stretched into the stars averted by ALLMIND. Her job should have been done, then. Rubicon was safe, Coral Convergence could occur now…

Yet she looked at the wreckage of Walter's strange IBIS, and Cinder Carla's FULL COURSE, and she knew she had one more fight ahead.

"Look." ALLMIND spoke into her comms, her normally even robotic tones sounding almost eager. "The Coral siphoned by the corporations is beginning to resonate."

"Augmented Human C4-621–Raven." She wanted to scowl at that. That wasn't her damn name and ALLMIND knew it-she'd said it at least once, hadn't she?

"Your role has come to an end." An AC stood ahead of her, looking out at the stars as if waiting for her arrival. A MIND set, she realized, the same pieces she had received access to from ALLMIND for her many accomplishments both in and out of the Arena.

An Armored Core she had helped the mercenary AI refine to near perfection.

The sleek curves of the AC before her stood in sharp contrast to the one she piloted herself. Her own model was primarily composed of Melander C3 parts, beside the Tian-Qiang arms and Verrill headpiece atop the torso, all painted an array of black and yellow that made the unit stick out like a sore thumb, just the way she liked it. An array of missiles sat atop her shoulders, and the long barrel of a Zimmerman shotgun was held in her unit's right hand. On her left-an Ashmead Pilebunker, already prepped and ready to smash through whatever this AC in front of her would throw her way. No matter what they threw at her, AC BUMBLEBEE could take them down.

Then the pilot spoke, and she almost wasn't able to hold back her laughter amidst her shock at just who she was facing yet again.

"Well, well…" Iguazu said, the last voice she had ever expected to hear atop this station. "I've been waiting for this, freelancer…"

"I became part of this monster…so I could crush you." She almost wanted to roll her eyes at him. Petty to the very end…yet as more ACs landed beside him, remote piloted drones sent to back up a pilot she was almost certain ALLMIND didn't trust to do the job himself, her lilac eyes hardened.

"This time…you will die-"

Before he even finished speaking, AC BUMBLEBEE was boosting forward, the red hot flames of her Santai engine propelling her forward in an instant, her Zimmerman raised. In an instant she was in front of him, trigger sliding backwards-yet just as the shot of car sized slugs fired out her shotgun, Iguazu was boosting out of the way while a remote AC was left to take the fall. One shot was all it took to overload its systems.

And one moment was all she needed to rear her left arm unit back before slamming the pilebunker spear into the remote AC's core, shattering it and sending metal flying across the empty space.

Before the AC had even finished being destroyed however BUMBLEBEE was moving once again, target lock shifting back towards Iguazu even as he tried to create more distance between the two.

"Raven-" Ayre's voice crackled in her head and across their comms. "ALLMIND's real goal…it's-"

But before she could even finish ALLMIND's voice was back in her ear. She fired off a salvo of missiles even as ALLMIND spoke, spouting platitudes about 'her plan' while Iguazu raged in her ear like the rabid dog he was-she pushed them out of mind as she weaved past the oncoming fire of Iguazu's backup ACs, boosting towards her real target once again.

No pilot was perfect enough to evade oncoming fire from four different directions however. Even as she chased Iguazu across the satellite, Zimmerman shots and missiles hounding the pilot even as he shouted for her death, stray bullets nicked at her AC every moment. Her structural integrity dropped sharply as two different salvos intersected and hit her head on-and she was forced to pop a repair kit, carving into the limited supply of repair bots she held in her AC.

Even four on one though, the odds were never in Iguazu's favor. Hell, how many times had she beaten Iguazu, even with more competent backup than poorly controlled remote ACs?

She'd thought she'd proved that she was better time and time again across Rubicon, taking down almost anything that other pilots could have never managed to even scratch-facing down odds anybody sane would have called suicidal. She couldn't help but chuckle at that-she'd always been reckless even before ending up here after all. In a way she was glad to see that part of her hadn't been forced to change.

"Freelancer…" Iguazu muttered as her shotgun blew the head off another of his backup pilots. "You killed me. But not just once." She couldn't help but blink, nonplussed, the distraction from her confusion almost costing her a blow from his rifle as a purple beam of light lanced across the stars and speared through one of the satellite pillars nearby.

"Well, there's a whole lot of us inside me now. Dregs with a grudge." Ah, she realized. He's just deranged. Probably from before he had ever even been scooped up by ALLMIND, she'd bet.

No matter. He was always going to lose here anyways.

She proved her point as a stray missile caught Iguazu running, the explosion sending his AC into overload. "Iguazu…this body won't last." She heard ALLMIND say, but she wasn't even listening. Ayre was talking, Iguazu was shouting-none of them mattered, not when she was so close to finishing this, and she barely heard what they had to say.

His AC was sparking, flames erupting from its metal frame only to be choked out in the vacuum of space, while his mechanical limbs were slowing down as power bled out and the machine began to collapse in on itself.

He was finished.

Her AC crashed into his, a boosted kick landed square on his frame that crushed metal and sent Iguazu flying away. The damage was the last straw for MIND GAMMA as the lights of its head dimmed while it collapsed to one knee.

Just as always, Iguazu was an easy fight for her-

A large black mass crashed into Iguazu, crushing the AC beneath its metal heels. It stood tall-taller than any other AC she had faced (yet familiar in a way she couldn't quite place). Its make and model was advanced, and even she could tell it was superior to almost anything she had faced before. Superior to her own AC, while the signature blue and green she had come to associate with ALLMIND shined from every light and diode across its body.

"Irregulars." ALLMIND and Iguazu spoke as one, their voices overlapping. "We will bring order to chaos." Metal parts shifted as the hulking metal frame prepared for a fight-and she couldn't help but shake, both fear and a bit of excitement running down her spine.

Yet ALLMIND and Iguazu's toy wasn't the only new arrival. A sleek AC, colored pale white and pink, its frame oddly feminine, Coral energy shining from its engines, landed beside her, and for a moment she tensed, half-afraid of a new foe.

The voice that rang from the second AC soothed her worries almost instantly though. "I'm with you Raven." Ayre said, and while a part of her wanted to grumble at Ayre still using that damn name, the rest of her…

The rest of her was proud of her friend, and immensely grateful to have someone ready to fight by her side. It had been too long…not since…

Well. Now wasn't the time to get lost in her memories, especially as two flying SEA SPIDERs floated into view beside ALLMIND Iguazu-the pair refusing to give up their superior numbers even at the very end.

She wasn't sure who moved first then-was it her, Ayre, or ALLMIND Iguazu?-but in an instant all combatants were boosting across the satellite arena. The area was set alight by the burst of gunfire and the flash of beams shining against the inky background of space around them while Ayre and her weaved in and out of range. ALLMIND's strategy was sound, firing off salvos of laser beams from his unit's cannons while the Spiders rained covering fire from above, plasma falling like drops of rain. Any normal pilot would have found themselves dead already, and even experienced pilots likely would have never lasted this long against ALLMIND's unrelenting assault.

Normal pilots never would have gotten this far though.

Even as ALLMIND's efforts chipped away at the structural integrity of their ACs, Ayre and her were a dancing blur, each covering the other the instant they had even thought of calling for help. They were linked in a way ALLMIND couldn't hope to match even with her new puppet, and they proved that every instance.

"Iguazu." ALLMIND spoke, her tone disturbing even if it wasn't directed at her. "You are one with ALLMIND. No one can stop you now."

The pilot only grumbled, shouting, "I said I don't care about ALLMIND!", and the distraction cost him as she leveled her shotgun and fired off a blast that sheared metal plating and armor from his body, forcing a curse from the pilot. They were out of sync, unable to work together-and she and Ayre took full advantage.

The second ALLMIND focused their attention on Ayre, BUMBLEBEE was already boosting forward to take advantage, her Zimmerman firing off and forcing the IBIS unit to either take the hit or abandon their attack.

And when they tried to focus on BUMBLEBEE…if they even managed to get close to her, Ayre took that opportunity to boost away and fire off shot after shot into the Spiders, near defenseless as they were, trapped floating high above, seemingly bereft of the capabilities the Coral-run model had had.

As ALLMIND and Iguazu took more and more hits, their AC worn down by the fighting, she knew this was it. They were so close-!

An explosion crashed into Iguazu, and for a moment the world seemed to slow down. His AC shook, and for an instance she thought it was from damage. Only for an instance however.

Energy gathered around the IBIS, a bright sphere of coruscating purples, greens and blues that pulsed in time with her heartbeat. "Shut up…I'll shut you all up!" She realized then that Iguazu had not been shaking due to damage, but anger. She tried to shout for Ayre to get back-

But it was too late.

The sphere burst, crashing across all their ACs and the entire atmosphere of the battle changed in a single moment. Ayre gasped and she spared a glance to see the Echo collapsing to its knees. "It's resonating!" Ayre shouted, her voice for the first time garbled even to her ears, while at the same time ALLMIND called out, "Iguazu, what are you doing-?!", the mercenary AI's voice just as disrupted as Ayre's.

"Interference! I'm losing sync!" Ayre called out to her, but she couldn't even spare a moment to pay attention to her friend. Not when Iguazu suddenly shifted gears, boosting right up to her and slashing forward with brilliant blue claws, his laser rifles adjusted in a split second to shift to blades eager to carve her apart. She had to adjust on the fly, shifting her attack pattern in her mind even as she did all she could to evade his feral assault, to ensure she would win just as she always had.

"They're gone…the ringing, those stupid voices…it's all clear now…I feel…good." Iguazu spoke, his voice suddenly the calmest she'd ever heard him even as he tried to tear her apart. If he hadn't been trying to kill her, she might have even felt bad for him, if the ringing had been that bad. "Now…it's just you and me!" He shouted, sailing towards her as BUMBLEBEE swerved and weaved across space while he barreled towards her, his assault endless-

It took just one slip-up. One trip, as her eyes glanced at Ayre once more as her friend's voice grew faint in her ear again, as she strained to hear Ayre's voice for the first time…

Ayre's voice grew loud once again as Iguazu's claws carved through BUMBLEBEE's steel frame, separating her right arm from her body with ease. Her shooting arm went flying through the void, drifting away, but her left was already moving, a pilebunker slam already prepped-

A second slash carved through her arm, sliced her pilebunker into slivers of melted steel, and her heart dropped. No, she hadn't come this far just to fall here…

Iguazu sliced the legs from her AC and with a single kick crushed her core and sent her flying, crashing into the pillars of the enclosure satellite.

"This ghost of me won't last long…" Iguazu muttered as she fell. "Leave a spot for me in Hell."

The last thing she heard was Ayre screaming "Raven!"

The last thing she thought was that her name was-

Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y

Oh.

That's right.

She was the one that lost.

621 and Raven were silent as she sat in the cockpit of the wrecked BUMBLEBEE, their eyes still locked on Ayre's desperate duel against Iguazu as the madman tried to carve her AC apart just as he had with BUMBLEBEE. As he scored a deep gash that left scorch marks burned into Ayre, she couldn't help but look away, shame welling up inside of her.

She had been too cocky. If Iguazu had managed to get this far too, despite everything…she should have seen him as someone just as dangerous-no, more dangerous-than even herself. Yet here she was…

"So, you're just gonna give up?" 621 spoke, dull lilac eyes locked on her own matching pair.

"Ayre needs our help!" Raven said, brighter lilac meeting their gaze.

"I'm going fucking insane…" She muttered to herself as the more unwelcome voices in her head called out to her.

She didn't know why she had seen those other paths-she didn't know why she was hearing them.

Frankly, she didn't care either. Whether it was the Coral, hallucinations, brain damage…it didn't even matter anyways.

Not when she had lost. Not when she was so tired.

…Gods, she was just so tired…

Tired of the fighting, of the bloodshed. Tired of closing her eyes just to see the haunting wreckage of so many past missions lingering in her mind. Not even faces or names left to remember all she'd killed-just the knowledge that even Salem back home might have balked at the casualties she had left in her wake.

When was the last time she had been happy?

"You were happy with Ayre…Rusty…even Carla and Walter…" Raven whispered, her tone somber.

621 chimed in then as well. "And before that…Remnant."

Her thoughts turned to her home, long lost. She remembered it-how could she ever forget…but after everything, it just felt so different. So…far away.

Everything except…

"What do you think they would say, if they saw you giving up?" Raven asked her, and she couldn't help but flinch.

"Why do you care?" She bit back, and the voice of Raven shrunk back even as 621 spoke up once more.

"They probably couldn't imagine what you've been through…but they'd never imagine you'd just give up, either." She rolled her eyes at the voice in her head, scoffing at even having this argument while she threw her hands in the air, gesturing at the wreckage of the AC they were still sat in.

"Don't know what you expect me to do with a fucking wrecked AC…"

Raven and 621 both spoke as one, their voices overlapping. "And since when has that ever stopped you?"

"You're stubborn." Raven said.

"Reckless." 621 spoke.

"Too dumb to ever give up." They both said, and she couldn't help but growl at the backhanded compliment.

"That still doesn't solve my problem! What do you want me to do, go out and punch him?" She shouted, and she could almost see the voices, their faces the same as her, looking at each other for a moment before shrugging and saying, "Why not?"

"Have you ever tried punching an AC before?" 621 asked…and she paused. No, she hadn't, but…

"That's stupid to even try." She countered. "You're stupid for even suggesting it!" She said, and Raven nodded.

"Well, yeah. We're you after all." Raven said.

"And you're a Huntress of Beacon." They said together.

"The muscle of Team RWBY!" Raven shouted.
"You've never let someone saying you can't do something stop you before." 621 continued, "So why let yourself stop you?"

She…her lips moved, trying to form a counter, to argue back that she should just lay down and die or take a nap or anything else…but instead she simply scratched at her head, trying to ignore the throbbing headache that she wasn't sure was a concussion or annoyance towards her apparent schizophrenia.

"...have I always been this annoying?" She asked, and the voices in her head sighed.

"Of course you have been." 621 and Raven said in unison. "We're Yang Xiao Long, aren't we?"

"And even broken…" 621 started.

"...and even on borrowed wings with a stupid name…" Raven continued.

"...we'll always be us, right?" They said together once again.

Yang nodded to herself, even as she started searching around her cockpit, praying the emergency supplies hadn't been destroyed by Iguazu.

"Yeah," Yang said. "I guess you're right."

Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y

Ayre collapsed to her knees, the damage her AC had sustained too great for it to maintain structural integrity. She heard Iguazu chuckling, gloating over his victory over the freelancer, still ignoring ALLMIND even as she whined in both their ears.

Yet Ayre was barely paying attention, her mind focused on the wrecked AC nearby. Her dear friend, her partner…they were going to walk together…she wasn't even sure if she could still feel her anymore…

"I'm sorry, Raven…" Ayre whispered as Iguazu raised his claws high-

"Hey, Iguana, why not try picking on someone your own size?!"

A voice rang out across their comms-a woman's voice, young, brash, loud and confident, and completely unfamiliar to both Iguazu and Ayre. Though to Ayre, it almost sounded like…

"Yeah, I'm talking to you, lizard boy! You thought I was down and out just cause you broke BUMBLEBEE? Joke's on you buddy!"

Ayre's heart simultaneously fell and soared. On the one hand, she was certain-that was Raven, still alive! On the other hand…

The cameras of her AC zoomed in on the young woman now standing atop the wreckage. She was dressed in the usual pilot suit; a skin-tight black jumpsuit that clung to her skin, only hers was cut off at the right elbow, the glove removed to reveal the yellow robotic hand that had replaced her right arm. Oddly shaped, it almost looked as if she was wearing bracelets, a matching one around her fully concealed left hand. The rest of the suit was completely sealed, meeting with a circular helmet atop her head-an emergency rebreather in case of damage in a vacuum, Ayre realized. Yet she knew not only did that helmet not protect from the vacuum for long, but…

'Raven…' Ayre thought, 'without an AC, she stood no chance against Iguazu…'

Iguazu, for his part, could only stare at the woman in shock, utterly confused. For one, he'd thought that bastard was dead! For another…

"Wait a fucking minute, the freelancer's a chick?" He stated more than asked, and Yang stumbled atop her AC. "Wait no, back up even further, you can talk?! I thought you were a freaky fucking mute!"

"...that's the part you're focused on big guy? Not that I'm gonna go over there and fight you, but that I'm…a woman, and I can talk?" Yang couldn't help but sigh. Dumb men, no matter the dimension…

Iguazu breaking out into deranged laughter only felt like vindication to her. "You…what?! Your AC's a wreck, what're you gonna do?" He raised the arms of his AC, the limbs colossal compared to Yang down below as he gestured towards her. "Come and fuckin' punch me?" He continued laughing even as Ayre stared at Yang, and even ALLMIND fell silent at the absurdity of it all. A lone human, fighting an AC was the height of insanity-

"Yeah." Yang simply said, cutting off Iguazu's laughter-and Yang almost wished she could see his face, just to see just how confused he was.

Iguazu let out a sigh, shaking his head. "Damn, freelancer. You're even crazier than I thought." The glowing claws of the IBIS unit extended once again. "I'll do you a favor then, and make this quick!"

He boosted forward, crossing the distance between him and Yang in an instant. Metal legs screeched as they skidded across the ground, and he brought the claws down-

The bracelets on Yang's arms shifted, Ember Celica prepped for the first time in far too many years, a keepsake Yang had refused to part with even in her darkest moments-a decision that saved her life as the shotgun shells exploded from the gauntlets and sent her rocketing forward towards Iguazu. The claws missed her by a hair's breadth, and for a moment she could feel the heat of the lasers even through her sealed suit; but she barreled forward, bullheaded in the face of danger.

Even as she closed in however, Iguazu's only thought was how best to kill her. It wasn't like she could hurt him after all-

Warning alarms erupted in his mind as the IBIS registered an impact-and he boggled at the sheer amount of damage. "The hell! Damage across…what the fuck hit me?!" He glanced down, his sensors instantly locking in on the source…only to see that damn freelancer, her fist driven into a massive dent in his leg.

"I-what the…ALLMIND!" Iguazu shouted, the first time he'd even addressed the AI since assuming direct control. "How the fuck is she doing this?!"

"I-I don't…the calculations…this i-isn't possible-?!" Yet the AI had no answers for him. A human this strong…it didn't compute, physically beyond the capabilities of even the strongest of humans! Yet the evidence was right there in the damage the IBIS had sustained, in clear defiance of all the facts and computations that proved it could never have happened.

Iguazu scowled within the frame he controlled as Yang's fist slammed into his AC once again, the force enough to even knock his mech slightly off balance. He tried swiping down towards her, his claws carving through the steel floor with ease, yet she was always just a step ahead of him, launching herself away with Ember Celica the instant he was too close to her.

Iguazu felt like he was fighting a fly buzzing around his face, only the fly kept on punching him every time he failed to swat it down, leaving pitted dents and ruptured systems in her wake as she bounced across his frame. His AC was massive, ten meters tall, she barely even came up to his ankle, yet for all the bulk of his AC he just couldn't hit her! "Even without your damn AC…that grit of yours kicking in every time!"

"My grit-!" Yang shouted as she launched herself from the IBIS's arm and rocketed towards its head. "-is just me bein' outta your league buddy!" Her fist crashed into the AC's faceplate, Ember Celica barking as a shotgun burst accompanied the strike, and in a great burst the faceplate cracked, oversized shards of glass spraying across while the AC stumbled backwards from the impact, while Yang herself was sent flying backwards through space.

Iguazu's growls of rage rang out across their comms while the engines at his back flared, brilliant blue bursts that forced IBIS forward the second time he regained his balance. His form shifted as his speed increased further, further-moving so fast he practically warped towards his hated foe. Yang prepped herself to move out of the way again, Ember Celica shifting as Yang's hands flew to her hips to grab hold of some shells for reload.

But her hands grasped nothing but air as Yang realized she hadn't kept any extra ammunition on her since she'd woken up in this world.

A wall of metal rose up in Yang's face in an instant as she flailed in the low gravity, falling too slow to give her a chance to dodge away on the ground, and bright yellow Aura flared as the IBIS slammed straight into her falling form at speeds she could only barely keep up with.

The sheer force of the impact drove the breath from her, and even with her Aura up she could feel her body ache even through the numbness and nerve damage inflicted by her augments, while her body was sent flying across the satellite arena.

It was only instinct that kept her Aura up as she crashed into the ground as well, rolling across the steel array before she collapsed in a crumpled heap on the ground. Her ears were ringing, she couldn't tell if the bleeding she felt was from a new injury or her previous head injury acting up, and as she rolled onto her side, groaning, her right arm failed to even so much as twitch. All it took was a single glance for her to tell it was broken; the steel 'bones' twisted at an odd angle, jutting out from the casing while split wires spat sparks into the void.

Through the ringing she could still hear Iguazu speaking, Ayre shouting something-but the words were an unintelligible mess that swam through her pounding skull. Fuck, that one hurt…when was the last time she had been hit that hard? Her thoughts jumbled together, lost flitting through memories even as Iguazu and Ayre's voices grew louder.

Was it the Paladin? That certainly had hit her like a damn truck…

…how had she beaten that again?

She glanced towards her left arm, still intact, even if her right was down for the count, and clenched her fist. Well, as long as she could still punch…

She couldn't help but let out a chuckle that sent two separate AC heads snapping towards her as she began to slowly stand, pushing herself to her feet, Ayre's relief filled shout of "Raven!" joined by Iguazu angrily shouting, "How the fuck?!"

Iguazu continued, "I hit you hard enough to make you a cloud of blood and guts…between this, and the piloting…" Iguazu's engines flared once more while his energy claws extended as he overloaded the laser cannons once again, brilliant trails of moonlight green burning in the night sky. "What…" He shouted. "...what makes you so special, freelancer!"

As Iguazu barrelled towards her once again, Yang squared her feet, letting out a low, calming breath as she squeezed her fist, dug deep into her soul-

And burned for the first time in years.

The explosion of power rippled through the arena as Yang's hair was set alight, as it always had every time she had used her Semblance…yet something was different this time. Bright red flames replaced the usual yellow that would engulf her, matching the brilliant hue that her lilac eyes would always shift to-and the strength that she felt blazing in her body was more than she had ever felt before. Her nerves were alight, her mind cleared in a blink as the rush of energy filled her, and all around her she could both feel and hear…voices? Voices that snapped and crackled in her ears amidst the flames of her soul, each one sending a new rush of strength coursing through her.

"The Coral…" Ayre gasped as she looked upon Yang's transformation. "Is…is it helping her?" Yang heard that and couldn't help but wonder that herself. She hadn't used her Semblance since she had arrived here…was it the augments? The Coral Convergence hanging so close in space?

Eh. It didn't matter to her as she grinned, red eyes locked on Iguazu approaching at lightning speed. Who was she to question why she felt stronger than she'd even expected?

It just made what was coming next even easier after all.

Iguazu noticed the shift in the freelancer he despised-and the AI noticed it too, ALLMIND's whining returning to his ear once again. "Iguazu…you must…dodge! The Coral…C4-621…they're irregular!"

"Just shut up!" Iguazu replied, forcing ALLMIND's voice away once again. The last thing he heard from the monster was her muttering, "...you were a mistake, Iguazu…irregular…", but he didn't care in the slightest.

So what if he was a mistake? His life had been one since the second he'd fallen into debt with Balam. He'd been a screwup for years, even before he'd made a deal with this devil and fused with ALLMIND.

It didn't matter.

None of it mattered!

The only thing he cared about, the only thing he had left…was killing this damn freak of a freelancer right here, right now!

The freelancer was standing still, one arm ruined, the other held as if she was waiting for something, but Iguazu didn't spare a second thought-not when he was so close! He swung his claws, the pillars of sharpened light falling down towards his target-

Just as a blast of Coral sheared through the back engines of the IBIS unit, the charged blast of plasma-like energy ripping through his defenseless rear and throwing the IBIS off course, his claws swinging past Yang as Iguazu lost control.

He heard the freelancer speak then, as she bent her knees. "You asked why I'm special, Iguazu? Well, it's cause my name ain't 'freelancer!'" She leapt then into the air towards him, higher than any human should have been able to jump, flying towards him like a burning meteor set alight.

"My name isn't Raven, either!" She cocked her fist back, and Ayre couldn't look away for an instant, as she watched her partner, her dearest friend, light up and shine, burning bright alongside the stars.

"My name…is Yang Xiao Long!" She threw her arm forward.

"And I'm ending this fight with a bang!" Her fist impacted-

And the night sky ignited in a blazing flash of red.

The sheer kinetic force set ablaze within her was more than any human should have been capable of-more than anything even an Armored Core could generate-and her fist tore through the IBIS series like tissue paper. The torso ruptured as it cracked, bent, and crumbled in the wake of her assault, and Yang herself burst through the other side, a clear gaping hole revealing obliterated electronics left in her wake.

The instant the energy that had burned in her core was released, Yang felt her entire body go weak, exhaustion hitting her even harder than Iguazu had. She could feel herself falling back to the ground, but she could barely muster the energy to keep her eyes open…

But her fall ended prematurely as she collapsed onto something metal, and she forced her eyes, lilac once more, open again to look up at Ayre's AC, the waveform dashing forward to catch her in her hand, her Coral rifle discarded.

"Finishing me off with a damn pun…" Yang blearily turned her head, and she could see the IBIS turning, somehow still moving even with the gaping hole she'd ripped in it, even as jets of arc energy erupted from his burning mech, sending his leg flying, his arm flying, blue-green lights still blazed behind its cracked faceplate, still locked on Yang and Yang alone.

"I always envied you…" He threw his arm back, igniting his claws once again, and Yang could feel Ayre moving, preparing herself to face off against Iguazu once again-

-but as he boosted forward, swinging towards her one last time, energy erupted once more from the AC, the explosion blowing his arm off and reducing it to nothing but scrap, throwing the IBIS backwards.

"The freelancer…who had it all…"

The IBIS twitched one last time, and Ayre gasped in alarm before turning her AC, shielding Yang from the explosion of arcing energy that washed over the both of them. The force of the blast almost sent Yang flying, even as Ayre cupped her in her AC's hand and held her tight.

When the explosion finally subsided, all that was left on the battlefield was Ayre's AC and the wreckage of the IBIS drifting through space. Even now, reduced to a charred pile of scrap, green lights still shined, and ALLMIND's voice warbled out from the wreckage once again.

"O-our…plan…" The AI muttered, its voice weak. "Humanity…Creation's potential…" She had been so confident in its success-so assured that nothing could stop it, that Convergence would be controlled by ALLMIND and ALLMIND alone. Where had she gone wrong?

"We have the trigger." Ayre spoke, and Yang glanced up at the AC as Ayre glanced down towards her, the two sharing a nod as ALLMIND realized the issue had been there right from the start. "And we'll pull it ourselves."

She had wanted to use humanity's potential, yet in the end she had underestimated just how far they could fly.

She should have known not to go against a Raven soaring on wings she had made her own.

The green light dimmed, fading away, and with that both ALLMIND and G5 Iguazu disappeared-defeated by a Raven-no, a Huntress-and the voice in her head.

Yang's body ached, entirely spent, but still she sat up in Ayre's hand as the waveform shifted her AC, the two of them turning towards the Vascular Plant far in the distance. "We did it, Raven…" Ayre spoke softly before shaking her head. "...no, Yang." She corrected herself, earning a tired grin from her partner below. For a moment all was silent, the two able to rest at peace, their battle won…

Metal rippled across the Vascular Plant's titanic frame as spikes of Coral activity began to run rampant across it. It shifted, twitched, and then in an instant was crumbling, pulled in by the sheer force of the Coral rushing towards itself, the uncountably vast amounts contained within the Vascular Plant rushing to meet each other. The metal groaned, its cry reaching out even in the void before in a flash space twisted tight as it was squeezed and throttled-

The Vascular Plant disappeared, as if it had never even existed, and in its place a great black void blotted out even the stars. It hung there for a moment, a lone dot of blinding red light shining against the pitch black shadow while Waveform and human both looked up in awe as the light dimmed slowly dimmed.

All just to explode outwards, a corona of blazing red shining in the sky like a dark star. "Coral Release…" Ayre muttered. "It's beginning…"

"...isn't it beautiful?" Ayre asked, and Yang wasn't sure whether Ayre was asking herself that question or Yang-or even what she could say as she looked up at the incandescent star that they had allowed to be born.

It was…

Horrifying…

Beautiful…​

…everything…​

Was this what Walter had wished to prevent? Was this what Ayre had wanted humanity to work towards, together?

621 was the one who had chosen to burn the Coral to prevent this. Raven was the one who had saved Rubicon-3 in order to walk towards this incredible potential.

Yang…she was the one whose path had diverged. Whose talents had shined bright enough for a brilliant, mad AI to dream of tapping into limitless potential and offer a path unlike any other.

Had she made the right choice?

Did she doom humanity with this?

Did she bring about a new age full of potential?

She…

She didn't know. Yang had no idea what lay ahead-for her, for humanity, for Ayre and the Coral…whether they would walk together as one, or burn brighter than the stars before disappearing without a trace.

But this was what she had chosen.

She was the one who had cast the die, together with her partner at her side.

And as a light shined amidst the explosion of Coral Release, and humanity was forever changed, no one noticed that the ones who had pulled the trigger, the lone Raven, and a single voice amidst an ocean of red, disappeared together, as the universe was forever changed.

Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y

Not where...but when you are needed most...and those four will cause the least harm.

Chapter Text

R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y

Ruby Rose: The Good Hunter

Name: Ruby Rose?̷̛͍̦̘̯̭͉̉̍͒̄̽͛͜ͅ

Age: 17?̷̛͍̦̘̯̭͉̉̍͒̄̽͛͜ͅ

Gender: Female

Titles: Huntress of Beacon, The Red Reaper, Leader of Team RWBY, The Hunter of Hunters, Master of The League, Gehrman's Last Pupil, The Good Hunter, ?̷̛͍̦̘̯̭͉̉̍͒̄̽͛͜ͅ?̵̜̟͚̾̂͑̎͊͆̈̉̐̐͂̒̅͝͝?̴̧͖̝͎̎͂́̇̈̉̚͜͝͝

World of Origin: Remnant...that was it's name, right?

Ventured Through: Yharnam

Statistics:
-Vitality: 30
-Stamina: 20
-Strength: 50
-Skill: 50
-Bloodtinge: 20
-Arcane: 30
-Insight: 100 S̵͔̦̏ḣ̵̤̓ḙ̸̡̓͂ ̶̢̼̿h̸͉̉̽â̴͚š̷̲̮̑ ̵͙̒̓a̶̭͒s̷̛͎̕c̵̝̪̾̄ë̶̱͚́͒ǹ̸͎͍d̶͈̼̄è̶͔̝͌d̶̛͓ͅ.̵͓̿̀

Armaments:

-Hunter Axe: "One of the trick weapons of the workshop, commonly used on the hunt. Retains the qualities of an axe, but offers a wider palette of attacks by transforming. No matter their pasts, beasts are no more than beasts. Some choose this axe to play the part of executioner. This one picked it up as an homage, or perhaps an attempt to emulate someone they believed would have fared far better than she ever had."

-Evelyn: "Special pistol used by Cainhurst knights. The Evelyn uses Quicksilver Bullets, just as any workshop firearm, but the Cainhurst variant relies more on bloodtinge. Lovingly named after a woman and graced with an intricate design, Evelyns were adored by Cainhurst knights. It was a gift from the Queen who, upon meeting the Hunter, found her too adorable to turn away empty-handed. Annalise delighted in the Hunter's awestruck barrage of questions concerning the beautiful piece of craftsmanship, watching as the light in the Hunter's eyes briefly reappeared."

-Burial Blade: "Trick weapon wielded by Gehrman, the first hunter. A masterpiece that defined the entire array of weapons crafted at the workshop. Its blade is forged with siderite, said to have fallen from the heavens. Gehrman surely saw the hunt as a dirge of farewell, wishing only that his prey might rest in peace, never again to awaken to another harrowing nightmare. It finally passed from master to student on the eve of his death, as it might have in years ago if the folly of man had not grown so dark."

-Crescent Rose: "Lost to a dark void...if found, will it even feel right in her hands?"

Attire:
-Hunter Hat: "One of the standard articles of hunter attire fashioned at the workshop. Recognizable by its withered feathers, this cap is fashioned after one of the old hunters. She thought it looked quite 'cool' when she first found it."

-Hunter Garb: "One of the standard articles of hunter attire fashioned at the workshop, usually accompanied with a short cape that wipes away blood. The short cape was replaced instead with an old cloak passed down from mother to child. It is tattered, frayed, and bloodstained, much like it's owner."

-Hunter Gloves: "One of the standard articles of hunter attire, fashioned at the workshop. The tough leather does little to hide the red stains that she has grown used to always seeing upon her hands."

Hunter Trousers: "One of the standard articles of hunter attire, fashioned at the workshop. These boots carried her almost every step of the way through that city, and shall carry her even further as she continues her journey."

Caryll Runes:
-Anti-Clockwise Metamorphosis: "A secret symbol left by Caryll, runesmith of Byrgenwerth. The twisted cross means 'metamorphosis'. Rotated anti-clockwise, this rune boosts stamina. The discovery of blood made their dream of evolution a reality. Metamorphosis, and the excesses and deviation that followed, was only the beginning. The Hunter grew faster with every kill, and Yharnam was her cocoon."

-Clockwise Metamorphosis: "A secret symbol left by Caryll, runesmith of Byrgenwerth. The twisted cross means 'metamorphosis'. Rotated clockwise, this rune boosts vitality. The discovery of blood made their dream of evolution a reality. Metamorphosis, and the excesses and deviation that followed, were only the beginning. The Hunter grew stronger with every kill, and Yharnam was her cocoon."

-Clawmark: "A Caryll rune that transcribes inhuman sounds. The 'Clawmark' is an impulse to seek the warmth of blood like a beast. It strengthens visceral attacks, one of the darker hunter techniques. Although the difference is subtle, Runesmith Caryll describes the "Beast" as a horrific and unwelcome instinct deep within the hearts of men, while "Clawmark" is an alluring invitation to accept this very nature. For a time, the Hunter accepted this nature, revelled in it almost, when it made the pain in her heart fade away. She pulled herself away before she was consumed, but never forgot the instincts she held close."

-Hunter: "A Caryll Rune that transcribes inhuman sounds. This red-smudged rune means 'Hunter', and has been adopted by those who have taken the Hunter of Hunters oath. These watchmen admonish those who have become addled with blood. Be they men or beasts, anyone who has threatened the pledgers of the 'Hunter' oath surely has an issue with blood. When she became the Hunter of Hunters, she shook off the influence of beasts, and chose to hold close to her humanity in the end."

R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y

Weiss Schnee: The Tarnished

Name: Weiss Schnee

Age: 19

Gender: Female

Titles: Huntress of Beacon, The White Knight, Member of Team RWBY, Warrior of The Roundtable Hold, Recusant of The Volcano Manor(Renounced), Knight of Caria, The Tarnished, Elden Lord, Consort of the Lunar Princess

World of Origin: Remnant

Ventured Through: The Lands Between

Statistics:
-Vigor: 40
-Mind: 36
-Endurance: 18
-Strengthl: 20
-Dexterity: 20
-Intelligence: 80
-Faith: 6
-Arcane: 9

Armaments:
-Myrtenaster: "Originally forged in Remnant, this blade was designed as a Multi-Action Dust Rapier, meant to be used in conjuction with Remnant's natural resources. In the Lands Between however, where Dust does not exist, it has been reborn. It's core has been replaced with the deft ingenuity of Master Iji, redesigned as a catalyst. From three glintstone staves of great power, crystals were taken, of Lusat, Azur, and Rennala, replacing the original revolving chamber with the power of the stars, while the secret art of the Carian Knights and their luminous blades were bound to its steel. It was furthered still by the single-minded devotion of the legendary Smithing Master Hewg, granted power beyond its origins. The god-slaying weapon he dreamed of, its purpose realized in her Tarnished hands."

-Dark Moon Greatsword: "A Moon Greatsword, bestowed by a Carian queen upon her spouse to honor long-standing tradition. Ranni's sigil is a full moon, cold and leaden, and this sword is but a beam of its light. While the Tarnished already had a chosen weapon, she refused to let this cherished gift gather dust, and so it became part of her soul, wielded by her ever-loyal knightly shade. Where once the moon had been a reminder of ancient sins, its cold sight shall forever be a symbol of comfort."

Armor:
-Carian Knight Armor: "Armor of the enchanted knights that once served the Carian royal family. The red cape typical of this armor has been replaced by a heavy pelt in remembrance of a dear friend. The enchanted knights, anointed by the Lunar Queen, were heroes of the highest honors, but fell into disarray with the decline of the royal family. Gifted to her by a stubborn halfwolf, the Tarnished would never admit how taken she had been by the armor of a knight straight out of the stories.

-Carian Knight Gauntlets: "Gauntlets of the enchanted knights that once served the Carian royal family. The enchanted knights, anointed by the Lunar Queen, were heroes of the highest honors, but fell into disarray with the decline of the royal family. The cold steel helped keep the Tarnished's hands safe and clean, the better to take her lady's hand in at the end of their path."

-Carian Knight Greaves: "Greaves of the enchanted knights that once served the Carian royal family. The enchanted knights, anointed by the Lunar Queen, were all decorated heroes, were heroes of the highest honors, but fell into disarray with the decline of the royal family. When Blaidd first met the Tarnished, traipsing through the wilderness in "combat" heels, his laughter at such a sight resounded throughout the forests for hours."

Talismans:
-Shard of Alexander: "Shard of the late Alexander, a shattered warrior jar. Greatly boosts the strength of skills. Scraps of stewed flesh cling to the shard, and tatters of ornaments can be seen mingled within the slime. Relics of a red-haired champion, it would seem. She wept at his death, but understood, in the end, the life of a warrior jar. The great Alexander lived as a champion to his last, indeed."

-Graven-Mass Talisman: "A talisman depicting the first school of graven mages — a nightmare that would continue to haunt the academy. Greatly raises the potency of sorceries. The primeval current is a forbidden tradition of glintstone sorcery. To those who cleave to its teachings, the act of collecting sorcerers to fashion them into the seeds of stars is but another path of scientific inquiry. The Tarnished kept this as a reminder of the dangers that lurk in the stars she had come to love, and the horrors that devotion to knowledge could unleash."

-Godfrey Icon: "A legendary talisman depicting the Elden Lord Godfrey. Raises the charged strength of sorceries, incantations, and skills. Godfrey was a ferocious warrior. When he vowed to become a lord, he took the Beast Regent Serosh upon on his back to suppress the ceaseless lust for battle that raged within. When she first heard his tale, the Tarnished had scoffed at the idea of a man so impressive. Her hopes that he would live up to his legend were held in the talisman that she kept close. He did not disappoint."

-Moon of Nokstella: "This legendary talisman is a treasure of Nokstella, the Eternal City. Strengthens one's memory. This talisman represents the lost black moon. The moon of Nokstella was the guide of countless stars. The Tarnished hoped that she, too, could be guided on the path she tread."

Spells:
-Comet: "One of the glintstone sorceries of the Academy of Raya Lucaria. Fires a great magical comet. This sorcery can be cast repeatedly and while in motion. Charging it enhances its potency. The greatest of the Karolos Conspectus's sorceries, that only a very few sorcerers have ever mastered. The Tarnished leapt with joy when she first successfully cast it beneath the watchful eye of her first sorcerous mentor. It has become a bittersweet memory to recall."

-Comet Azur: "Legendary sorcery devised by Azur, primeval sorcerer. Fires a tremendous comet in a torrent akin to the distant starry expanse, the place said to be the origin of glintstone. Can be released indefinitely, if one possesses the strength needed. When Azur glimpsed into the primeval current, he saw darkness. He was left both bewitched and fearful of the abyss. When the Tarnished first witnessed it, she too felt that fear. She proved far too stubborn to let it drag her down."

-Stars of Ruin: "Legendary sorcery devised by Lusat, primeval sorcerers. Fires twelve dark shooting stars that pursue the target. This sorcery can be cast while in motion. Charging it increases its potency. When Lusat glimpsed into the primeval current, he beheld the final moments of a great star cluster, and upon seeing it, he too was broken. The broken stars still burn in her memories, when she closes her eyes."

-Founding Rain of Stars: "The eldest primeval sorcery, said to have been discovered by an ancient astrologer. A sorcery of legendary status. Summons a dark cloud of stars overhead. Shortly after, the cloud will release a violent deluge of star rain. This sorcery can be cast while in motion. Charging it increases its potency. Thought to be the founding glintstone sorcery. The glimpse of the primeval current that the astrologer saw became real, and the stars' amber rained down on this land. A sorcery the Tarnished holds close, forever grateful for it laying the foundation of her newfound strength."

-Adula's Moonblade: "Sorcery of Adula, the Glintstone Dragon. Conjures a cold magic greatsword, then delivers a sweeping blow
that launches a blade-like projectile of frost. This sorcery can be cast repeatedly. Adula, a devourer of sorcerers, was bested by Ranni and subsequently swore a knightly oath to her Dark Moon. A remembrance of an ally she never knew she had, until it was too late for words to be shared."

-Thops' Barrier: "The lifelong pursuit of Thops the Bluntstone. Creates a magic forcefield that deflects sorceries and incantations. Hold to continuously create barriers. Future generations will learn. They will know the foolishness of the sneering sorcerers who ridiculed this theory, little realizing that it was in fact a discovery worthy of a new conspectus of the academy. The Tarnished understood. She wished she had saved such unrealized genius."

-Terra Magica: "One of the glintstone sorceries of the Academy of Raya Lucaria. Draws an academy sigil upon the ground, raising the magic strength of those within. Once, the sigil would be cast from the highest belfry of the academy, covering the entire institution's grounds. This spell allows such vivid experience of spell-casting success, it turns many a fledgling into a true sorcerer in a flash of newfound understanding. Perhaps it was the similarity to her own Glyphs that drew the Tarnished to this near-forgotten spell. In the hands of a true master, the strength to slay a God was within reach."

R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y

Blake Belladonna: The Ashen One

Name: Blake Belladonna

Age: ???

Gender: Female

Titles: Huntress of Beacon, The Black Beast, Member of Team RWBY, Unkindled, Ashen One, Lord of Hollows

World of Origin: Remnant

Ventured Through: Lothric

Statistics:
-Vigor: 45
-Attunement: 25
-Endurance: 25
-Vitality: 15
-Strength: 15
-Dexterity: 40
-Intelligence: 40
-Faith: 40
-Luck: 9
-Hollowing: 99

Armaments:
-The Frayed Blade: "A dragon weapon symbolizing Darkeater Midir. The once-exquisite blade is now stained black, and frayed at the hilt. Without its sheath, it will soon crumble into nothing. The blade reminded the Ashen One of another, similar sword-that hint of familiarity, bathed in the darkness of humanity, was what led her to wield it to the very end."

-Blade of Shadow/Gambol Shroud Reborn: "A Variant Ballistic Chain Scythe strange weapon formed of darkness, using the remnants of the Frayed Blade and the Ashen One's buried memories of a trustworthy sword as the basis for its formation. Can serve as a catalyst for miracles and sorceries born of the Dark. Even as she wielded it with greater skill than any other weapon, the Ashen One knew not where she had learned to wield such an odd sword."

Armor:
-Blindfold Mask: "An eye-occluding mask of unknown origin. Small cracks allow the wearer to see. Strengthens the darkness of humanity, but also greatly increases damage sustained from the dark. This purple steel creation has a certain resemblance to the Fire Keeper's crown, but the similarity is purely cosmetic. So too was its similarity to a mask which flitted through the Ashen One's dreams."

-Black Steel Armor: "Attire of the three mentors of the Sable Church of Londor, the pitch-black dress has been discarded in favor of dark steel armor, forged by the hands of Hollows in Londor. A gift, to the incumbent Lord of Hollows, and a plea, to succeed where all had fallen."

-Black Gauntlets: "Attire of the three mentors of the Sable Church of Londor, these black gauntlets were once hidden by the dress. It is apparent that the women in black were highly skilled fencers, capable of founding the Sable Church between just the three of them. The gauntlets fit smoothly to the Ashen One's skin-and helped her to ignore the blood that stained her hands as she marched along her chosen path.

-Black Greaves: "Attire of the three mentors of the Sable Church of Londor, these black leggings were once hidden by the dress. It is apparent that the women in black were highly skilled fencers, capable of founding the Sable Church between just the three of them. By the end of her journey the Ashen One's greaves were worn and weary. Yet still did she march alone into the Kiln. For the sake of all."

Rings:
-Ring of Favor: "A ring symbolizing the favor of the Goddess Fina, whose "fateful beauty" is mentioned in legend. True to the fickle nature of Fina's favor, her ring strengthens one to better endure the hardships ahead. The Ashen One sometimes dreamed of a woman with long, splendid locks of gold, who she thought might have been the Goddess Fina, so great was her beauty. She often longed to give the woman this ring."

-Prisoner's Chain: "Portion of a steel chain used to restrain Gundyr. Gain vigor, endurance, and vitality, but take extra damage. A prisoner is one who has staked everything on a belief, a proclivity most apparent in the greatest of champions. The Ashen One staked everything-her twisted soul, her cherished memories, her very humanity-on the path of the Lord of Hollows. There would be no turning back for her."

-Dark Clutch Ring: "Ring depicting a hand grasping a purple stone. Increases dark attack, but compromises damage absorption. An old fable in Londor claims that the lure of the clutch ring reaches out to the crestfallen, who might otherwise be overcome by despair. The Ashen One would attest to the truth of that fable-its strength rescued her from despair against a mighty foe."

-Ring of Steel Protection: "Ring of the Knight King of ancient legend. Increases physical damage absorption. The Knight King was said to be lined with steel on the inside, such that even the talons of mighty dragons did him little harm. The Ashen One hoped to share in even a bit of that strength, to endure the path she walked upon."

-Untrue Dark Ring: "One of the illusory rings worn by the Hollows of Londor. Retain human appearance while hollow. The Hollows of Londor are wretchedly aged, fraught with deceit and dubiously secretive. It is no wonder that they are deeply detested. The Ashen One rarely wore this ring, and never wasted a finger on it whilst in combat-but she appreciated the glimpse she would receive, of her old self, and the person she was before the Dark."

Spells:
-Lifehunt Scythe: "Miracle of Aldrich, Devourer of Gods. Steals the vigor of foes using an illusory scythe. Aldrich dreamt as he slowly devoured the God of the Darkmoon. In this dream, he perceived the form of a young, pale girl in hiding. The spell sickened the Ashen One to her core-never before had she looked upon such a filthy scythe. Yet the power it offered...noble bearings mattered little if one was dead."

-Great Soul Dregs: "A sorcery that fires great dark soul dregs that have stewed for ages, far within the deep. This sorcery is the highest form of Deep Soul. Some of the murkmen who rise from the depths are possessed by soul dregs, which have a grave likeness to the human form. Oddly enough, the spell often made her consider the ears which twitched upon her head. Was she, too, merely a monster with a grave likeness to the human form?"

-Affinity: "A forbidden dark sorcery. Casts a dark manifestation of humanity. It appears to be an expression of envy, or perhaps love towards another, that will tenaciously pursue its target. Even if, like so many human desires, it amounts to nothing but misfortune. To her the spell was akin to a lost love-a tragedy of the world, and a cruel fate that had to be carried out in the end."

-Dark Edge: "A forbidden dark sorcery. Strikes with blade formed of humanity's darkness. Passed from mother to daughter, this blade was intended for both protection and as a means of taking one's own life. The young girl never swung it more than once. While the Ashen One took to the powers of the Dark, she cared not for wielding a catalyst alongside her blade. Perhaps that is why the sword formed from her Dark Soul is one capable of casting both sorcery and miracle as needed."

R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y

Yang Xiao-Long: The Raven

Name: Yang Xiao-Long

Age: Biologically and Experientially 25, Chronologically Around 70

Gender: Female

Titles: Huntress of Beacon, The Yellow Beauty, Member of Team RWBY, Pilot, Handler Walter's Hound, C4-621, Raven, Gun Thirteen (G13), Freelancer, Tourist, Wallclimber, Wormkiller, The Monster Who Burned The Stars (621), The Liberator of Rubicon (Raven), The Die Thrower

World of Origin: Remnant

Ventured Through: Rubicon-3

Armaments:
-Ember Celica: A pair of Dual Ranged Shot Gauntlets wielded by Yang Xiao-Long. After losing her right arm, one of the gauntlets was replaced with a robotic appendage with similar capabilities. They appear to be a pair of bracelets at first, but utilize mechashift technology to cover the wielder's forearms and hands as yellow gauntlets capable of firing shotgun blasts for both ranged and movement capabilities. Even in her darkest moments, even when she hated herself, Yang Xiao-Long never even dreamed of tossing these aside.

Armored Core BUMBLEBEE:
-Head Unit HD-033M Verrill: Retrofitted head part developed by Balam. This high-end model is a strong performer with a hefty energy footprint, and features an intimidating spider-eye design chosen to suit the tastes of the Redguns' commander. She'd always liked Michigan-he had good taste even to the very end.

-Core Unit BD-012 Melander C3: Custom core part developed by Balam. Altered to improve combat suitability, this model features a lighter basic frame enhanced with a partial armor plating to maintain a modest weight. What could she say, she liked Balam's style.

-Arm Unit DF-AR-08 Tian Qiang: Arm parts developed by Dafeng Core Industry for the heavyweight TIAN-QIANG AC. Built to embody Dafeng's "stout tree, slender branches" philosophy, their weight is balanced by heavy upper arms and lighter forearms. Dafeng's style suited her even more-she liked how their names sounded like her own, even worlds away.

-Leg Unit LG-012 Melander C3: Custom bipedal leg parts developed by Balam. Altered to improve combat suitability, this model features a lighter basic frame enhanced with partial armor plating to maintain a modest weight. What could she say, she liked Balam's style.

Right Weapon Unit SG-027 Zimmerman: Long-range shotgun developed by Balam. Uses specialized large shells to improve shot density, extending effective range but reducing the firing cycle. When fighting the BALTEUS she managed to run out of ammo for the first time-and so she'd smacked the machine with the shotgun like a club, and shown Ayre exactly who she was working with.

Left Weapon Unit PB-033M Ashmead: Pile bunker developed by Balam. This weapon gores the target with a massive steel pile, obliterating it through sheer physical force. Charge to prime the firing hammer, enabling attacks that are enhanced by explosive damage. At the end of the day, she'd always pick a good, solid punch over any fancy lasers or weird Coral tech 100% of the time.

Right Rear Weapon Unit BML-G1/P03VTC-08: Eight-cell vertical missile launcher developed by Furlong Dynamics. High vertical trajectory allows missiles to deny enemies cover and circumvent such defenses. This is the medium-weight AC model, and is also capable of multi-lock.

Left Rear Weapon Unit BML-G1/P32DUO-03: Compact, three-cell dual missile launcher developed by Furlong Dynamics. Traps targets in pincer trajectory, limiting evasion options. This is a simple revision of an existing weapon for coaxial use. Capable of multi-lock.

R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y

Chapter Text

Not where…but when you are needed most…and those four will cause the least harm.
​
R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y

It was a beautiful morning in the Rose/Xiao-Long household. The sun was shining through the open windows, bright but not too hot, the autumn breeze keeping the temperature low while carrying birdsong on the wind.

 

On the stove meat sizzled and batter bubbled as a broad-shouldered man with bright yellow hair, brighter blue eyes, and an easy smile whistled a tune as he cooked breakfast for his two beautiful daughters. His name was Taiyang Xiao-Long, father of both Ruby Rose and Yang Xiao-Long, and by the Brother Gods was he having a good day.

 

He had gotten up early this morning, rising with the sun, a good night's sleep accompanied by pleasant dreams leaving him awake and full of energy for a new day. Coming up he had an even easier day of proctoring exams at Signal Academy, the local early Huntsman preparatory school-and even the impending threat of having to grade those exams and deal with the aftermath of any of those teens failing wasn't enough to dampen his spirit today.

 

He did know, however, that his daughters were not going to be feeling anywhere close to as chipper as he was this morning, given the fact that they were actually taking said exams this morning. He knew Yang especially would be feeling the pressure today; finals of her senior year were swiftly approaching.

 

She had no reason to worry of course. If anybody knew she was a shoe-in for Beacon next year it was him, given that he was both her teacher and her father who'd trained her her whole life! But he had gone through that same song and dance with exams when he was a teen (and he tried to ignore just how long ago that was-no need to make himself feel extra old while his kids were growing up) so he knew the pressure she was feeling.

 

Hence why he'd happily begun cooking a delicious breakfast feast for the two to make sure they were well fueled today. The scent of fresh pancakes and crispy bacon wafted through the house…

 

…and Taiyang found himself pausing as he realized there hadn't yet been any sounds this whole morning. No pounding feet as teen girls shot out of bed, no running water or accompanying arguments about a certain someone using up all the hot water to tame her hair, none of the usual morning sounds that accompanied an early school day morning in his home.

 

But he knew they had probably just stayed up too late studying (a common occurrence for his eldest in particular as she would often desperately cram the night before despite his many pushes for her to start studying sooner), and so with a quick twist of the stove knob to cut off the flow of fire dust (Safety first after all!) he left the breakfast feast he prepared to head up the cabin steps to their shared bedroom.

 

He rapped his knuckles against the bedroom door-once, twice, expecting grumbling to soon follow as he called, "Hey girls! Got some breakfast on the stove waiting for you!"

 

Yet silence was all that followed as Taiyang continued. "Don't worry Ruby-made some chocolate chip just for you too!"

 

But no sound followed-not even the sound of his youngest leaping from bed at the words 'chocolate chip'. A queasy, nervous feeling wormed its way into Taiyang's gut then. Were they sick this morning? Had they stayed up so late they'd managed to catch some bug? He knocked on the door one more time, harder now, saying "Hey girls? I'm coming in…" as he pushed the door to their bedroom open, possibilities flashing through his mind-

 

He saw empty beds in a deserted bedroom and Taiyang's heart dropped. He stormed past the door frame in an instant while that queasy feeling in his gut exploded in intensity. Yang missing was one thing-sneaking out late to hang with friends before exam day wasn't exactly a surprising choice for her-but as he looked at Ruby's bed, freshly made as if it had never been slept on, Taiyang's heart pounded in his ears while he dashed out of the bedroom.

 

He slammed open every door in the house-the bathroom, the spare, his bedroom-even woke up Zwei, the corgi following him closely as he ran around like a madman, his tail hung low between his legs as if sensing his owner's rising panic-but every frantic shout throughout the house, every call on his Scroll that went straight to voicemail, only confirmed for Taiyang one simple, horrible truth.

 

His children had disappeared.

 

Where the hell could they be?!

 

R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y

 

Across the island of Patch, in a clearing beside the forests which covered the landscape, there lay a grave atop a cliff.

 

'Thus Kindly I Scatter' it read, a memorial for Summer Rose, beloved wife, cherished friend, and dearly, dearly missed mother. Oftentimes her daughter would come here, just to sit, sometimes talk, maybe scream or cry when the grief had been far stronger.

 

Perhaps that is why the light flashed here atop this grave as a lost soul was returned to Remnant.

 

The creature that fell atop the fallen leaves scattered atop the cliff was not human in any way. It was a squirming, feeble slug, larger of course, the size of an infant child, strange growths jutting from its head that marked it as almost aquatic in nature, yet still unable to do anything more than writhe about on the dirt and cry wordlessly towards the sky.

 

As incapable of any newborn lost and abandoned in the woods.

 

It cried and screamed soundlessly, 'I'm cold, I'm hungry, I hate this!', as she was left upon the uncomfortable dirt, torn away from the cold yet gentle hands that had scooped her up where she had been born. Yet no one came, and no one heard her cry.

 

And so, like any abandoned child bereft of the gentle embrace of their mother, she was forced to grow up quickly.

 

The flesh of the slug creature rippled in ways flesh was never meant to move, bulging as it began to slowly bloat in size. If there had been any witnesses to this swift ascension they would have heard within its core the sound of liquid bubbling, rushing like a river as it was condensed, flesh and bone forced together while messy, moist sounds mixed with the snap of bone crunched into shape echoing out into the abandoned forest.

 

Shapes jutted outward from the slug's form-tentacles, claws, teeth that gnashed and tore at the inside, a whirlwind of limbs that pushed at the straining flesh they were trapped in, violently shifting and breaking constantly as a haze-filled mind tried to recall the proper form. It was only when a five-fingered hand clawed at the innards of its womb that the shape felt just right-and its water broke, spilling birthing fluid across the grass.

 

The bloat of the slug grew larger, larger, the pulsating growth throbbing with new life as it's pregnant form swelled, a birth most premature approaching until-!

 

Like an overfilled balloon it burst in an explosion of gore, blood and amniotic fluids raining down in a shower of afterbirth, coating the surrounding area as the abandoned child birthed herself anew atop her mother's grave.

 

The girl stood there amidst the blood and fluid of her birth, naked as a newborn while fluid clung to her pale body, soaked to the bone. She paused for a moment, breathing in fresh air through new lungs while she clenched her eyes shut to block out the sun shining just a bit too bright above before she slowly opened them again, trying to adjust to the shine as she inspected her body.

 

"That…looks right, I think?" She said as she lifted her arm up, turning her limb this way and that as if inspecting a freshly made weapon for imperfections. "That goes there, right…and uhm…I think I had five fingers? Were there more toes? Ugh, bodies are weird…" She continued to inspect herself, patting her body down while comparing it to blurry memories that were still tumbling about in her newborn brain, faded and distant to the point they almost felt like someone else's, yet coming just a bit more into focus with every second-such as when something clicked in her brain as she looked down at her body, and she realized-

 

"Oh, I'm naked."

 

She glanced across the clearing, almost as if she expected clothing to simply appear amidst the gore she had spilled across the dirt…and almost as if responding to her call, her need for clothes, strange white ripples bubbled at the edge of the stone grave she stood before.

 

A small, pale being seemed to crawl out of the ripples, like a monster slipping from wounds in reality, too long limbs waving as a deformed eyeless face looked up at the newborn girl where she stood. To a normal person the sight of this creature-so clearly inhuman yet uncannily similar, with a face that cruder individuals may have compared to certain anatomy-would have been supremely disturbing, if they were even able to see it at all.

 

To the girl though, she could only squeal with glee and rush over to the creature, kneeling down with a wide grin on her face. Now this was something she remembered!

 

"Oh, Little One!" She said, and she couldn't help but coo as she got a closer look at the creature, an adorable little top hat atop its head. "Oh you're a dapper little lad, aren't you?"

 

The Little One-or Messenger, seemed to bob happily at her praise, swaying in a way that would be eerie to most, yet was simply cute to her as she continued, saying, "Do you have something for me?"

 

The Messenger nodded then, and for a moment its hands disappeared beneath the rippling white that obscured the rest of its form before from the depths it pulled a beaten tricorn hat with withered feathers atop its crown-the site of which sent the girl grinning widely once more.

 

"Why thank you, kind sir!" She said as she took the hat and placed it upon her head, tipping it towards the Little One, who bobbed happily in response, tipping his own towards her. She then glanced down at her still nude form before looking towards the Messenger once again. "Do uh…do you have any more?"

 

Once more the Messenger nodded, and its hands slipped down beneath the ripples-and around the girl on all sides more ripples appeared as Messengers emerged, their faces different from the first Little One yet eerily similar, each with their own hat or ribbon atop their head, and all of them bearing yet more clothes for her. Pants, boots, gloves, her coat-even undergarments, which she slipped on as soon as they were presented to her-they handed off each piece to the girl, freshly repaired and cleaned from a battle that still lingered in her mind, and in no time at all she was fully clothed in the garb of a Hunter.

 

The outfit felt like a second skin to her, scratching an uncomfortable itch in the back of her mind that she hadn't even noticed whilst she had been bereft of her clothes…yet there was still something missing…

 

The first Little One plunged into the depths again while its friends sank away to wherever they hailed from, and when it reappeared it held something in its hands.

 

A red cloak with a hood, to be exact, frayed at the ends and still stained with blood, the Little Ones not daring to scrub it clean-they knew how much she treasured it-and she recalled just how dear the cloak was to her as well the second she laid eyes on it.

 

The sight alone stirred memories in her mind-freshly baked cookies and laughter ringing through a house full of warmth mixed with the cold, wretched sobs that wracked her body as grief shook through her frame while she held the cloak tight, tight, so very tight-

 

She knelt down once more before the grave the Little One clung to, silent as she accepted the cherished keepsake and wrapped it around her shoulders where it belonged.

 

Yet as she tied the cape, her eyes glanced down upon the bloodsoaked grave she knelt before, properly noticing it for the first time since her birth…and she could not help but frown as she read the words upon the grave.

 

"Thus Kindly I Scatter…" The girl said softly, and she felt something tug at her heartstrings as she spoke those words. 'Summer Rose…' She thought. 'I know that name…where have I heard it before?'

 

Yet in the haze of her newborn mind she simply could not grasp the memories. Did she know Summer? Or was that her name-was this her own grave? She…she wasn't sure, but she felt the answer was important…

 

They would be thoughts saved for later however, as the piercing howl of a beast cut through the somber silence atop her birthsite beside the filth-soaked grave and made her ears twitch. Immediately all thoughts of names and graves fled from her mind-why did she care about such trifles anyways, when an instinct engraved upon her very soul called to her so fiercely?

 

She rose from the grave and turned towards the howls. They were far, she could tell-deep in the woods in the distance-yet her ears, sharper than any human's, caught the cries of beasts anyways. Her eyes traced a path in moments as she looked across the woods, and in her nose…

 

Oh…

 

She could already smell it…

 

That sickly sweet, pungent odor that called to her even now-the taste for it woven too tightly into her very being…that had borne her anew in the broken streets of Yharnam…

 

"Blood~"

 

The newborn child whispered, licking her lips as the Little Ones appeared once again. A group of them arose from the ripples, and in their emaciated hands they hefted a beautiful pistol of refined make alongside a curved longhandled blade paired with a long staff, its siderite edge glinting in the morning light. She accepted all of the armaments eagerly from the Little Ones, placing the pistol at her side-

 

And with a quick snap she tricked her weapon, shifting it from a sword to a scythe that she twirled briefly in her hands.

 

"Names can be sorted later…" Her legs twitched as she set her stance, looking straight ahead.

 

What was it she had been told, what felt like so long ago? "...don't think too hard about it…" She muttered as she stepped forward-

 

And became a blur, dashing ahead into the woods, her prey waiting.

 

"A Hunter must hunt, after all!"

 

R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y

 

It could not have been more than an hour after the Hunter had disappeared that Taiyang stumbled upon the clearing where his wife's memorial lay. He tried not to come here too often-the hurt still fresh even after so many years-but as missed call after missed call built up in his Scroll he knew he had to check. He had no idea where Yang may have disappeared yet, and that thought filled him with dread-but he knew in his heart that if Ruby had disappeared anywhere, whether she had been nervous before the exams or simply morose and missing her mother (something he could never have blamed her for even if he was certain he'd be having more than a few gray hairs after this morning), it would be here.

 

The sight he found made him wish he had never thought to come here.

 

It was the smell that hit him first. The sickly sweet, pungent odor, so strong it made his nose ache, slammed into his senses like a wall. He had smelled such things before, how could he not when his career as a Huntsman had forced him to see all manner of tragedy that the Grimm had wreaked upon humanity, yet for the first time in years it made his gorge rise and his stomach queasy.

 

The sheer amount of blood that lay splattered atop the ground and Summer's gravestone chilled Taiyang to the very bone. It was not an amount small wounds could make. Something had been slaughtered here, butchered and mauled, the only remains some strange, near unidentifiable flesh that sat in a heap on the dirt.

 

It was that flesh that saved him from jumping to conclusions as his panic rose and his stomach turned at the mere thought that the butchery he was seeing could have been his little girl. Whatever it had been, he could tell at a glance that it wasn't human (though his head throbbed as he stared at the corpse-was his blood pressure so high from this god awful morning that it was giving him a migraine?), and he immediately dismissed it while his eyes fell on the first and best clue he had spotted all morning-bloody boot prints on the ground, leading towards the forest nearby.

 

His eyes tracked the direction the footprints traveled-and in the distance he could see great black plumes of smoke rising from the treetops. A forest fire…in autumn? That was…

 

He shook his head. The specifics didn't matter right now. Whatever made this mess could come later. Hell, cleaning his wife's grave could come later. All that mattered to Taiyang in that moment was the chance that these footprints could lead him to his daughter. And if a single hair had been touched upon his daughter's head…

 

Well, he wouldn't be held responsible for what came next, no matter who tried to stop him.

 

But first…

 

His hand slipped to his Scroll once again, pounding a number that he hadn't called in years. He didn't know if it even still worked-didn't know if she would even pick up.

 

But Qrow's Scroll hadn't even rung before he was sent to voicemail, and while Taiyang didn't know whether his best friend was drunk or on a mission now, he did know this: he would do anything for his daughters.

 

The Scroll rang once, twice, and for a second Taiyang wasn't sure whether he was more upset at himself for expecting anything from this, or simply disappointed-

 

The Scroll clicked as the call went through and Taiyang held his breath, waiting for this to be a cruel trick or an accidental pickup.

 

"...what do you want?" Then his ex-wife's voice rang out from the Scroll and he couldn't help but sigh with relief.

 

"The girls are missing." Taiyang said, and for a moment he thought he heard Raven's breathing hitch before he dismissed it for a trick of the ear the second she spoke again.

 

"And that matters to me because…? Track their Scrolls or call them-"

 

"You think I didn't try that, Raven? Don't flatter yourself by thinking you were my first call." Taiyang cut her off, and he could hear her growl over the Scroll-but when she didn't angrily hang up on him he pushed ahead. "I've tried calling, texting, tracking-its like they don't exist…or they were destroyed. I think I might be on Ruby's trail, but Yang…"

 

"...I still feel her through the bond. If that will get rid of you." Raven replied after a moment of silence, and relief flooded through his entire being. There went one stress point at least. Still…

 

"Can you check on her?" Taiyang asked, and he heard Raven scoff over the phone.

 

"Why the hell would I do that? She's not in danger, Taiyang, and you know the rule-"

 

"Yeah, yeah, one time even for your fucking daughter, I know." Taiyang cut her off again, and this time her growl was sharper. He kept speaking then, before she had a chance to hang up. "Look just…you don't have to talk to her. Don't have to do shit. Just…actually see where she is? Make sure she's safe?" He paused for a moment, and a part of him was frustrated he even had to ask this woman for help-but the rest of him cared more about making sure his daughter was perfectly alright more than anything else. "...for me?"

 

Raven was silent after that, and if not for the Scroll showing the call was still ongoing he might have thought she'd simply hung up. In fact, he was about to just give up and hang up on her when-

 

"You owe me." Raven spoke sharply, and the call dropped before he could even thank her. He couldn't help but sigh, shaking his head as he stuffed the Scroll back in his pocket. The things he'd do for his kids…

 

"God I hope you're alright Yang…" He muttered as he took off once again, sprinting into the forest towards the plume of smoke in the distance. "...wherever you are."

 

R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y

 

One Hour Ago: "Wherever She Was" AKA The City of Vale

 

Horns blared in Yang's ears as she tossed and turned, her bed uncomfortably hard. She swung her arm wildly, searching for her alarm clock to slam it off, muttering "...five more minutes…" as she tried to slip back into dreamland-

 

"Raven!" Ayre shouted in her ear, the bodiless Coral lifeform's voice filled with agitation, and Yang's eyes shot open as she sat up ramrod straight-which proved to be a mistake as her head began pounding the instant she was sitting up.

 

"Ayre…?" Yang grumbled while she tried to shield her eyes from the too-bright lights. "...can you turn down the lights?" She asked groggily, which only earned her a suffering sigh from the voice in her head.

 

"That's the sun, R-Yang. I can't turn it off." Ayre said, and Yang could almost imagine Ayre shaking her head at her, despite lacking a body to do that with-

 

"More importantly…" Ayre continued, cutting through Yang's stray thoughts. "I don't know where we are, and you are laying in the street!" Ayre shouted and Yang blinked as her eyes finished adjusting to the light.

 

"What are you-" Yang's question was cut off by the blaring horn in her ear, and she glanced to the side just to look up at a car, the driver nervously staring at her from his seat. Following that horn she could hear more echoing behind the first car, drivers laying into them while Yang sat there disrupting traffic. Nearby on the sidewalks passerby glanced towards her-some looked concerned, others looked annoyed, and a few even had their Scrolls out recording…her…

 

Like a record scratch Yang paused, going over that thought. She hadn't seen a Scroll in years-decades maybe?-besides her own, and Cinder Carla had managed to scam that off of her in a game of cards that Yang was still certain Carla had cheated at-but no, as she looked at the little devices people were holding, as she glanced around her towards the all too familiar buildings, the car models which suddenly looked so different from the models she'd seen on Rubicon and other planets…

 

A faunus walked down the street, a pair of dog ears atop his head, and Yang couldn't help but leap to her feet in shock. "I…I…" She stumbled, unable to find the words as she realized a dream that she had all but lost hope for entirely was suddenly coming true-

 

"We're on Remnant!" Raven (the voice in her head, not her deadbeat mom) shouted, and Yang stumbled, startled.

 

"It seems we are…" 621 continued, and Yang's feeling of elation slowly died in her gut as the voices in her head kept on piping up.

 

"Oh…you two are still here…" She grumbled, and both voices in her head seemed to sigh in tandem.

 

"I assume you hoped we'd just disappear, did you?" 621 asked, and Yang wasn't even able to respond yes before Ayre's voice was ringing in her ears once more.

 

"Uh, Rav-er, Yang-sorry, I'm still getting used to the different name, uh…are you…okay? It's just, you're still in the street…a-and talking to yourself…" Yang blinked as Ayre finished speaking, and she looked around again to see a lot more people staring at her.

 

"Oh, shit-" Yang ran out of the street, and the instant she was out of the way traffic was speeding onwards while Yang found herself leaning against a wall. A few people were still staring at her, but once she was out of the road a good few of them seemed to just shrug and move on with their days, and Yang was left…well, not quite alone, given the voices in her head.

 

"Yang…uh…do you…do you know where we are? What happened with the Coral?" Ayre asked, and Yang didn't even try to stop the wide grin that split her lips.

 

"Well, my dear Coral friend…" Yang began, gesturing towards the buildings around them while twin groans from 621 and Raven accompanied her antics. "This…is Remnant! My home planet!" She enthusiastically said to no one physically present, earning her even more odd looks from the strangers passing by-all of which she ignored, too excited to care in the slightest.

 

"Wait…really? But I thought you said your home wasn't on any star charts…" Ayre replied, and Yang was nodding her head as the Coral spoke.

 

"Yep! I have no clue how the hell we got here." Yang's tone was far too cheery as she squinted at the buildings nearby. "In fact…I know exactly where we are too." She said, focusing on one building in particular. A large sign over fancy double doors read 'Junior's', and Yang couldn't help but cock her head in confusion.

 

"That's Junior's, it's a bar I was a regular at-" 621 scoffed and Raven giggled at that one, but Yang was already growing used to ignoring the voices in her head. "-which means we're in Vale…which doesn't make a lot of sense considering the last time I saw this place it was overrun with monsters..."

 

That statement earned Yang even more looks, the passerby now decently fearful of the strange woman in skintight clothes with a broken metal arm talking to herself on the sidewalk, and people began to quickly move away from her while Yang continued to ignore them.

 

"...but I am so far past caring about how we ended up here it's not even funny, given I only thought I'd see this place again in my nightmares."

 

Ayre…didn't quite know how to respond to that, and Yang didn't wait for a response either as she began to walk towards Junior's up ahead.

 

"Ah…a-alright, Rav-Yang, uhm…so where are we going?" Ayre asked nervously, not used at all to this reckless, vocal side of her partner that she was experiencing.

 

Yang only laughed then, pointing at the bar. "Hah! Ayre, this is the first time I've had alcohol in my reach in quite possibly decades." Yang said, and both 621 and Raven groaned simultaneously.

 

"This won't end well..." 621 grumbled.

 

"Yang, please don't…" Raven pleaded.

 

"I am gonna go get so incredibly, mind-numbingly drunk that I forget every moment of the past I don't even know how many years-except you of course-and drown out every voice in my head-again, except you Ayre-before I even think about trying to sort out issues like 'where's my team?' and 'how the fuck is Vale not on fire?' or whether or not I'm dead." Yang stated, and Ayre…

 

"O-oh…well, are you sure they'll let you?" Ayre asked timidly, and Yang scoffed.

 

"Don't worry, Junior and I go way back, he loves me!"

 

Her words inspired no confidence in Ayre.

 

R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y

 

One Hour Later

 

With a single slash of her sword Raven (the deadbeat mom, not the voice in Yang's head) cut a hole in time and space, a portal appearing that allowed her to be standing in Mistral in one moment-

 

-just to appear…in front of a bar in Vale?

 

"I swear if Taiyang sent me after a runaway drunk…" Raven growled, stomping her boots across the pavement. People on the street parted in her wake, terrified either by the sword at her hip or the scowl on her face, and Raven couldn't help but want to scoff. Stuck in a city full of weaklings…why had she even agreed to this?

 

'Because you couldn't help but want to check on your daugh-' She stabbed that thought before it could even finish as she pushed through the double door entrance to 'Junior's'.

 

And was immediately forced to dodge out of the way of a man in a black suit sent flying through the doorway.

 

Inside the bar was a wreck-smashed tables typically accompanied by the bruised, groaning bodies of the working men and women who ran this establishment. There was a girl in red splayed out on top of the bar, broken claw weapons still attached to her wrist, while another, similar looking girl in white had her head buried in one of the oversized speakers by the DJ stand.

 

Yet neither of them were who Raven had eyes for. In the middle of the dance floor, a young woman with incredibly short blonde hair stood, holding a massive bear of a man by the neck of his shirt.

 

She looked to be in about her mid-20s, maybe leaning towards the later half, and her outfit was like nothing Raven had seen (which said a lot considering the strange fashion choices Huntsman and Huntresses were prone to choosing), and the closest comparison she could think to have was some sort of Atlas military uniform.

 

She was in a skintight jumpsuit that clung tight to her body, and maybe in another life people might have considered her 'sexy'. That image was ruined by a number of things-the scars that seemed to litter what little skin she had exposed, the broken metal arm that was twisted at a weird angle, the strange metal…things, openings even, that seemed to be installed in her neck…?

 

This woman, standing on the dance floor, drunkenly arguing with the man-Raven assumed he must be the eponymous 'Junior'-could not possibly be Yang.

 

But the bond said she was.

 

Yang had long, wild hair just like her mother's.

 

But the bond said she was.

 

Yang had both her damn arms!

 

But the bond said that was her daughter.

 

But how could that be her in front of her-!

 

"Oh, nevahmind Juniah, I mush be really washted if aim seein' the fuckin' deadbeat." The woman asked, lilac eyes locking with Raven's ruby red-lilac eyes that Raven knew so very, very well.

 

She'd been the first to see them open after all. Her lips parted, the shock visible on her features, as she spoke.

 

"What the fuck-"

 

R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y

 

Taiyang stepped into the second clearing in a forest of the day-and froze in an instant, the sight before him impossible.

 

He had thought he'd been running towards a forest fire, especially as the plumes of pitch black smoke had only increased in volume as he barreled through the woods, but when he finally arrived at the source…

 

Before him lay what must have been hundreds of Grimm, all piled in a heap, and all slowly decomposing amidst the trees, their slaughter creating the illusion of the start of a wildfire. Beowolves, Ursa, both Minor and Major…fuck, was that a King Taijitu? He hadn't even known one of those had been on the island or else he'd have cleared it out as soon as possible, that was way too dangerous-

 

The pile shifted and Taiyang's fists flew up, on guard. A Beowolf leaped from the corpse mound, and Taiyang prepared himself to kill it. It wouldn't be hard, it was barely fully grown, just one quick jab-

 

There was a blur of motion and a burst of wind as the Beowolf's head went flying from its body, and Taiyang heard the gentle sound of leather boots tapping down on soft grass behind him. His body whipped around, guard up-

 

And his hands fell the second he saw the person who had carved through the Grimm in an instant.

 

They weren't exactly tall-a bit under a foot shorter than him-but the scythe they held in their hands was however far closer to his height. It was a crude, almost primitive design-both Ruby's and Qrow's scythes were of far higher quality, but the razor sharp edge still gleamed, promising death to whoever crossed the wielder.

 

As for clothes…he'd freely admit to saying that he'd never seen stranger garb. A longcoat paired with a tricorn hat, nothing but leather, a red cloak wrapped around their shoulders-

 

Taiyang paused, his eyes locked on that cloak-because he knew that cloak, had been married to its first owner, had raised the second, and even if it looked to be in far worse condition than he'd ever seen it before (Neither Ruby nor Summer had ever let it fray so badly, had ever let it get stained-Gods, was that blood?) he recognized it in an instant.

 

But the person currently wearing it…they were the right height but that wasn't…a scythe but no Crescent Rose, weird clothes…

 

The wearer seemed to be shaking, muttering something that Taiyang's ears only barely picked up.

 

"...no blood, not a drop, oh, it itches, itches…none of it stays…no, no…I don't need it, I don't…" Their voice was that of a woman's-a girl's-and even saying such…strange things, rambling like a junkie who hadn't gotten their fix, Gods he knew that voice-!

 

The figure shifted, and Taiyang's bright blue eyes locked with dull silver, and his heart plummeted in his chest.

 

"You…I can smell it…oh, please, I only need to spill a drop…" The girl wearing his daughter's face asked, pleading to him, desperately.

 

All Taiyang could reply with was…

 

"...Ruby?"

 

The girl quirked her head at his words, blinking rapidly. Then, her eyes widened as she grinned with delight.

 

"Oh!" Ruby Rose said. "Yes, that's it! That's my name! Ruby…Ruby uh…oh, shoot, do you know the rest, sir?"

 

Taiyang's mouth was dry, he couldn't breath, couldn't think, his pupils dilating, his heart pounding in his chest and his brain throbbing in his skull. Those eyes…Gods they hurt to look at, set his headache off like nothing else but fuck him he knew those damn dull silver eyes-!

 

Instincts honed by decades of combat as a veteran Huntsman flared and Taiyang barely managed to duck as Ruby's scythe (fuck, she'd never ditch Crescent Rose, what had happened to his little girl?!) flew over his head and parted a few hairs from the top.

 

"Well, if you aren't going to speak…surely you must just be a beast?" Ruby said as she twirled her scythe. "Ugh, was hoping you could speed things up for me…" She raised her scythe once more and for the first time in his life Taiyang looked at his daughter and felt neither love, or warmth, or anything else but sheer, overwhelming terror, the same kind he felt when a Grimm too dangerous for him alone looked at him.

 

"I promise I'll make it quick! A Hunter must hunt, after all…"

 

Scythe raised, she blurred towards him, and as he was forced to defend himself from his own daughter, Taiyang wanted to cry.

 

Today should have been such a good day…

Chapter Text

A gleaming scythe blade carved through oak in an instant, bisecting a nearby tree as the scythe’s target rolled across the ground, desperately trying to avoid the harrowing assault from a foe he had never dreamed would be out for his head: his daughter.

 

Or at least, not truly out for his head. He had sparred with his daughter plenty of times-that’s what a supportive father and teacher did to ensure his baby girl grew up strong enough to face the profession she had so eagerly (and, if he was being fully honest with himself, perhaps even naively) chosen for herself. And Taiyang had been so proud, watching his daughter, both his daughters, slowly grow over the years.

 

Yet never, in any of their matches, in any of her exams, had Ruby Rose been this strong.

 

He barely weaved past another scythe blow that he could feel shave off shreds of his aura as it passed him by mere inches, using that split moment to leap beneath the still falling tree trunk, heft it, and throw it at Ruby in a single smooth motion-and he almost paused in the middle of it all as a part of him screamed that he was going too hard on her.

 

Almost anyways-instincts honed by decades of combat overruled any parental hangups, screaming that stopping for even a second would cost him his life, as proven by Ruby slicing through the oak in a spray of sawdust and woodchips, planting the blade in the dirt in the same motion, and using the force of her swing to springboard herself towards him, twirling through the air as she swung for him once more without missing a single beat-but that was just it!

 

His darling little girl was a prodigy, he knew it, Qrow knew it, every teacher and student at Signal knew it. But being a prodigy didn’t mean she could just throw herself at experienced Huntsmen and expect to win.

 

Every match he’d had against her, Taiyang had always been in full control of the fight, and even if Ruby liked to throw some curveballs every once and a while at him to showcase her growth, whether it was a sneaky strategy using the sniper aspect of Crescent Rose or a new trick with her Semblance, he had not yet felt the need to truly exert himself when fighting her, to grasp at every single opening, every potential hangup he could throw at her.

 

But now-he tried to slip into her guard, allowing the wooden haft of her scythe to slam against his forearm before he twisted his wrist in an attempt to grab hold and disarm her only for her to immediately pivot the instant the shaft connected, using the force of her swing to suddenly snap the handle and shift the scythe into a large curved sword, grasping it with her free hand and forcing him on the backfoot in an instant-

 

She had him on the run, forced to scramble for the slightest edge he could cobble together in the briefest seconds she gave him before she continued to hound him, whittling away at both his Aura and his body. A few cuts had already slipped past his guard, shallow jagged lines that drooled thin trails of red down his exposed skin, yet even those slight gashes in his flesh only seemed to incentivize his daughter the second the scent of iron filled the air, a bloodthirst that he had never even dreamed she could be capable of driving her forward in a frenzy.

 

Taiyang was a humble man at his core. He took pride in his skills and his strength of course, after honing them for so many years it would be strange if he didn’t, but he had never been the type to posture or feel lesser in the face of someone superior to him. He would rather spend his time commending their skill, maybe pick up a new trick or two if they were just that good.

 

And the Ruby that he fought right now was without a shadow of a doubt his better. He could tell from the way she moved, the way she fought-the way she would casually dance away from his fists when he thought he had a surefire opening only for her form to blur away in a hail of rose petals that dispersed with her scythe suddenly inches from his neck, the way her blade would twist and only slice a thin gash across his bare skin when she slipped into his guard when he knew she could have removed the limb in a single swift swing if she had wanted to-

 

He could tell that she was toying with him, forcing herself down to his level to drag out the fight even when she had said she would make it quick.

 

Hunting him. Like an animal toying with her prey.

 

He’d be proud of just how incredible his daughter had become, to showcase such absurd skill, if it wasn’t so terrifying to watch dull silver eyes barely react as she tried to slice him to pieces like he was little more than another Grimm to the slaughter.

 

Just what the hell had happened to his daughter?!

 

R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y

 

Raven took in the scene at the bar with only one thought on her mind-what the hell had happened to her daughter?

 

“...Yang…?” Raven asked slowly, cautiously taking a step towards the woman her Semblance identified as her daughter, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. The state she was in…anything that could have harmed her like this, Raven would have known-should have known. That would have been her one time, that was the rule after all.

 

But…there had been nothing. Not the slightest quiver when she had apparently lost her arm, not a peep from her Semblance when someone had carved Yang up and slotted strange metal into her body…Raven couldn’t help but feel frustrated, looking at the scars her daughter was suddenly bearing-but was that frustration over her rule failing or-Raven brutally quashed the distractions in her head, focusing on the here and now as she took another slow step towards Yang.

 

For her part, Yang quirked her head, lilac eyes squinting in confusion as she looked at Raven before glancing down towards the man whose collar was still held tight in her fist.

 

“Sorry, you seein’ thish Junior?” Yang asked. She got a vicious glare in return from the man, and Yang rolled her eyes before tossing him across the room with an ease that surprised even Raven , sending him flying back towards the bar before he crashed against the back wall and collapsed on the floor behind in a groaning heap.

 

“Dunno why I ashked…” Yang muttered. “Alwaysh whinin’...”

 

“‘I only shaid one drink cuz ya looked like ya had a rough day, no I only take Lien here, no ahm not gonna arm wreshtle for free access to all the booze ya want…’” Yang intoned as she dropped her voice a few octaves deeper in what Raven was certain was, without having even heard this ‘Junior’ speak, was one of the worst impressions ever.

 

She seemed to pause then, muttering to herself oddly, just low enough that Raven couldn’t make out the words, before her eyes twitched and her focus swapped back to Raven once more. Yang drunkenly stumbled over to Raven, getting right up in her face-an action she only got away with as Raven was distracted by the latticework of scars and metal across Yang’s flesh, noting each mark and wondering what injury had warranted such action, what surgeon had carved apart her daughter’s body-before Yang’s words pulled Raven from her thoughts once more.

 

“An’ then there’sh youuuu, deadbeat. Of all the shitty fuckin’ people to see…I’d take Iguana over you and I just killed ‘im-”

 

Raven blinked at that, and tried to interrupt her drunken speech. “You what-” But Yang barely let her get even another word out before she was carrying on with her drunken speech.

 

-but you, fuckin’ you, got a whole lotta nerve showin’ up in my damn hallucinations!” Yang spoke harshly, the alcohol so thick on her breath that she reminded Raven of Qrow, back when she had first returned to her tribe, before prodding one finger against Raven’s chest. Yang froze then, staring, as instead of passing through what surely had to be a hallucination, her finger pressed against firm flesh, stern red eyes now glaring at her.

 

“Noooo fuckin’ way…” Yang muttered, stumbling backwards. “No way is the deadbeat actually here…”

 

Raven’s eye twitched, annoyance running through her. Here she was going out of her way to check on her daughter (after her father had practically begged her to help him in a panic) and this was the respect she got? She stamped down on the part of her that was weak enough to be hurt by Yang’s words, pathetic enough to even briefly think that she may have deserved this scorn, focusing on her annoyance. Raven almost had half a mind to just leave right then and there…but the scars on pale skin, the short, butchered blonde hair that she had known Yang had always been explosively protective of while watching from afar…

 

She let out a long suffering sigh. “Haaaaaah…your father asked me to come get you. Now hurry up-I was busy before this.” Raven said curtly. There, now with Tai invoked surely Yang would just listen to her-

 

A short bark of laughter filled with bitterness cut through Raven’s thoughts. “Hah! You…are you fucking kidding me?!” Yang’s eyes flashed a deep ruby red (the same as her own, Raven couldn’t help but think) as she glared at Raven.

 

“Fucked off my whoooooole goddamn life to play around with a buncha killersh in the woodsh, but now you show up?” Yang pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. “No. Nuh uh. Fuck. You. I’m not going anywhere with a deadbeat bandit bi-” Just as her monologue was coming to a head, and Raven felt her own frustration swiftly reaching a boiling point as her hand slipped to the hilt of her sword, they all disappeared in an instant as Yang did something…strange.

 

She glanced away from Raven, not towards anything in particular, merely staring out at what looked like empty space…and started talking to the air?

 

“What?” Yang said, confused, before she was shaking her head. “Give her a-no I’m not giving her a chance Ayre, this my fucking mother…no it doesn’t matter that she’s here now when she was gone for nineteen years!” Yang’s attention shifted towards a different patch of empty space. “And you can keep outta thish you traitor-” She looked away again, swiftly saying, “No-no, I don’t mean you Ayre, I just-” and Raven felt a headache coming on.

 

This…was starting to get ridiculous. She had expected to just pass by, check that Yang was alive and safe so Taiyang wouldn’t try to bug her again over this, and go home. She had not expected to be dealing with the mystery of how her daughter had gotten horribly wounded and somehow aged a few years all wrapped up in a frustrating mix of a reckless lack of respect for Raven and apparent insanity as she argued with the voices with her head.

 

No, Raven had had enough. Her hand slipped to her blade, rotating through the collection of Dust blades in her scabbard to attach the sole steel blade she kept inside, and in a single smooth motion she swung her sword, twisting the blade mid-air to slam the flat of the blade against Yang’s head in order to knock her out in a single blow and end this frustrating farce of a meeting that shouldn’t have even happened-

 

But before the blade was even halfway through the air Yang was already evading, reacting near instantaneously to Raven’s attack, countering as she slammed her fist square into her birth mother’s face.

 

The force of the blow sent Raven skidding backwards a few feet back towards the bar’s entrance, a small trail of blood slipping from her now split lip.

 

Across the room Yang’s eyes were gleaming red, glaring at Raven as if trying to make her mother spontaneously combust while her fists-or well, her one unbroken fist at least-was raised and ready to fight.

 

Between the solid punch despite her rough state, good reaction, and the fierceness Yang displayed, Raven almost felt proud.

 

“Hm.”

 

Raven lifted her thumb to her lip and wiped the thin red smear away.

 

Almost proud, anyways.

So they were doing this the hard way then.

 

So be it.

 

R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y

 

“Ruby!” Taiyang shouted as he skidded across the dirt, stomping mere inches before yet another scythe blow from his daughter. “I don’t want to fight you!”

 

Ruby’s only response was laughter however as she used the momentum of her scythe to lift herself off the ground and send herself flying towards Taiyang, her leather boots slamming into his forearms with a dropkick that she used to launch her and her scythe above him, before falling down from above spinning like a deadly whirlwind towards him. He was forced to toss himself aside full body, crashing into the dirt before log-rolling almost the second he had landed as Ruby’s scythe followed him. He sprung to his feet, hand grasping at the dirt to toss a shielding spray towards Ruby to give him anything resembling breathing room to just think for a moment-but she wouldn’t give him even an inch as she burst through the cloud of dirt in a hail of petals, her assault never ceasing.

 

“But this is so much fun!” She replied. The scent of blood was in the air, adrenaline rushing through her veins while her heart pounded with excitement. This was her element, her purpose, everything she had been born to do, had been molded by in the streets of Yharnam until violence and bloodshed became a part of her core, and she loved every second of it.

 

Why would she ever stop?!

 

Taiyang’s heart was pounding as well. Yet where Ruby felt excitement, all Taiyang could feel was cold terror like ice in his veins as he desperately fought to survive against the nightmarish assault.

 

“Come on, Ruby, please! It’s me, Taiyang! Your father!”

 

But his words fell on deaf ears as Ruby continued her vicious assault, the sting of not even receiving a flicker of recognition joining the aches of his building collection of wounds from this fight.

 

If it weren’t for his Semblance he was certain he would have already been dead ten times over.

 

Taiyang was not in any way a flashy guy. He liked to crack jokes and drop puns, certainly, and he wouldn’t lie and say he hadn’t lost his cool a fair few times in his life, but even in his youth he had always been laid back and relaxed, content with going with the flow. His Semblance was a reflection of that same attitude, and since he was a fan of the simple things in life (he lived in a log cabin in the woods for Brothers sake after all), that’s what he called it: Flow.

 

With Flow, while he wasn’t moving at breakneck speeds faster than the eye could see, tearing portals in space, inflicting bad luck on those around him, exploding with power in a fiery rage, or anything fancy and esoteric like that, what he could do was visualize and read the ‘flow’ of his opponents in battle. It helped him think ahead, predicting the movements of his foes and allowing him to avoid and counter them as well. With it, he had turned the tide against numerous opponents, both Huntsmen and Grimm, capitalizing on following the flow of their battles to deliver decisive blows.

 

Yet even a Semblance like his could only do so much. The flow he saw in most people ran like a river, speed varying between opponents, ranging from calm streams to rushing rapids.

 

But if most people were a rushing river, then Ruby was a raging tidal wave crashing towards him. Reading the flow of her movements, catching on to the directions she took, the actions she was heading towards-what did it matter if in the same moment he followed her flow to catch a single action, she had already almost killed him with five more in the same instance?

 

More trees fell beneath the indiscriminate swings of Ruby’s scythe, forcing Taiyang to dodge around the falling timber, using the collapsing trunks as cover for even the slightest moment of respite-

 

Schwing!

 

Blood sprayed in the air as the gleaming scythe blade bit into his thigh as he threw himself back while Taiyang watched as his daughter’s grin only widened as her pale skin was stained red. He skidded back across the ground, a trail of blood behind him, pain arcing through him as his leg burned, wobbling as it suddenly gave, and he was forced to one knee.

 

He could feel his Aura, even weakened by this fight, already fighting to knit the wound back together, but he knew it wouldn’t be finished any time soon-he could tell just from the way his leg ached, refusing to fully straighten, that she had managed to cut his hamstring.

 

Soft footsteps tapped against the forest floor, and Taiyang looked up to see Ruby walking slowly towards him, his blood dripping from the curved edge of her scythe.

 

“Ah…we’re at the end now…” Ruby said softly as she strode towards him. She snapped her scythe once again as she walked towards Taiyang, her hand reaching towards the ornate pistol she’d kept at her hip the entire battle.

 

“I’m a bit sad, honestly…” She stopped, looking down on Taiyang, her silver eyes hidden beneath the shadow of her frayed feather cap.

 

“For some reason your face seems so familiar…you weren’t in Yharnam, were you?” She asked, and for a second hope flickered in his heart even as questions filled his mind. Had she recognized him just now? Could they finally just take a moment and talk this out? And what was Yharnam-he had never heard of such a place, not once-was that where his daughter had become…this?

 

A monster?

 

Yet his questions were doomed to go unanswered as his hopes were dashed by the cool feeling of a steel barrel pressed directly against his forehead.

 

“Eh, it’s no matter.” Ruby continued, ignoring his silence as she pressed the barrel of her pistol to his forehead, cocking the trigger. “Thank you for the hunt.”

 

A thousand thoughts ran through Taiyang’s mind. Was this how he died?

 

On his knees, torn apart and shot in the head by his own daughter?

 

He couldn’t even force himself to stand, his leg refusing to move. There were a million words in his head that he wanted to shout, to scream to Ruby-that he loved her, that he wanted to help, that he didn’t care what had happened to her, that he didn’t care what happened to him as long as she was alright-

 

…but they all died, choked in his throat by the cold realization that he was going to die right now, and leave his daughters all alone. Aura could protect from many things, after all, but a bullet to the brain from a point blank pistol shot?

 

That was not one of those things.

 

“I’m sorry, Summer…” He whispered.

 

Ruby’s finger tugged at the trigger.

 

Taiyang braced himself-

 

R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y

 

Raven braced herself as she blocked another blow from Yang with her sword and was pushed back across the dance floor of the club.

 

For a woman so drunk she was wobbling when she stood still, and with a broken metal arm to boot while being a brawler, Raven would admit: Yang was pretty good. Far better than Raven had thought Yang currently was.

 

Her reaction time was the most impressive part to Raven-she seemed to react to Raven’s actions almost as she began them, and Raven wouldn’t exactly have called both herself or her combat style slow. She would pick up on the twitch of Raven’s hand announcing a swing of her sword, and she would already be moving to counterTo Raven, it almost seemed as if Yang was used to fighting things moving even faster, though just what she could have been fighting Raven had no idea.

 

Still though, despite this…

 

“You’re sloppy.” Raven spoke as she sheathed and swung her blade in the same instance. The moment she did Yang was already moving, swinging her fist towards Raven’s head-and Raven dropped the action the second Yang had committed to the blow.

 

“Out of practice too-it’s obvious to anyone with eyes.” Raven took advantage of Yang only having one arm, and stepped into her guard past the punch, grabbing hold of Yang’s wrist and pulling as she slipped behind her daughter and forced her arm behind her back.

 

In the same movement Raven struck with her knees, jabbing them into the back of Yang’s legs, knocking them into the back of Yang’s own and forcing them to bend, sending mother and daughter both falling to the ground-with Raven atop Yang, Yang’s arm bent behind her back, left glaring uselessly up at Raven, no amount of squirming or bucking against the dance floor able to force Raven off of her.

 

“Now, are you going to listen-” Raven started before a glob of spit hit Raven’s cheek as Yang smirked viciously. Raven stared at her daughter silently, raising one hand to wipe her cheek.

 

She then grabbed the back of Yang’s head and lifted before slamming her daughter’s face against the ground, shattering the floor beneath while yellow flashed as Yang’s Aura absorbed the blow.

 

Yang writhed beneath Raven, hacking up dust from the broken floor before turning her head back towards her mother, glaring once again. “Fuckin’ asshole…”

 

“Are you ready to listen and come with me?” Raven asked once again, and Yang only rolled her eyes, sneering.

 

“Seriously, why the hell would I do that?! Probably just lookin’ to drag me back to your damn bandit camp you fuckin’ coward-”

 

Raven slammed Yang’s face against the floor once again in an effort to shut her up as she considered Yang’s words. There was a thought after all-just take Yang with her back to camp, introduce her to the Family, show her true strength and the real way of the world…

 

…maybe convince her not to throw her life away in the war that damn bastard Ozpin would inevitably recruit her into…

 

Raven looked down at Yang, still thrashing violently beneath her grip, muttering about shitty mothers staying away where they belong, and she recalled the fear and panic laced in Taiyang’s voice, the desperation he had felt to have to call Raven…

 

Ugh, it would be too much of a hassle to drag Yang back anyways.

 

“Like I said: your father asked me to come get you.” Raven said, and Yang scoffed.

“Yeah right, like he would ask you-” She started, but Raven cut her off in an instant.

 

“He would if he had woken up with both you and your sister having disappeared into thin air, no Scroll calls, no tracking, my brother likely drunk off his ass.” Yang froze at Raven’s words, her heart stopping. She hadn’t even considered what might have changed-and Ruby was missing too?

 

Raven took Yang’s silence as an invitation to continue. “He knew I was the fastest route to you while he searched for your sister-and I knew it must be bad if he was calling me.”

 

Raven loosened her grip on Yang and stood up. “So, are we done here with this drunken temper tantrum?”

 

Yang shakily pushed herself back to her feet, still glaring at Raven-and nodded once. “You’re still a bitch.” Yang muttered, and Raven rolled her eyes. She had what she wanted anyways.

 

Raven gripped the hilt of her blade, and in one smooth motion slashed the space before her, carving a swirling red vortex in space.

 

“Wait!” A deep voice called as Raven and Yang made to step through the portal, and they both paused, turning towards the source.

 

“Who the hell is gonna pay for all this damage?!” Junior shouted from atop his bar, gesturing towards the devastation his club had endured in the midst of Yang’s drunken tantrum and the mother daughter spat. Smashed tables, broken front door, a shattered dance floor, a wrecked sound system, payments to his employees for health care and damages, his entire stock of alcohol either drunk or smashed! It was a veritable fortune’s worth of destruction that he knew his insurance was going to be desperate to dodge.

 

Both mother and daughter shared a glance then turned back towards Junior.

 

“Why would you ask us?”

 

Junior’s screams of rage followed them straight through the portal.

 

R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y

 

-but the bullet meant for Taiyang’s head never came. He looked up towards his daughter and executioner, wondering what was happening…

 

…and saw that the hand holding her pistol was shaking, refusing to move.

 

“...huh?” Ruby muttered, as if she was unaware of why her body was betraying her. She tried to squeeze the trigger again, and then again, yet each time her hand only shook more, her finger refusing to press down and finish him off. “Why won’t this work?”

 

Then she paused as she felt something warm and wet roll down her cheeks. For a moment she thought she was bleeding, and she slipped her pistol back against her hip before raising her hand up to check.

 

When she pulled her hand away, however, no warm blood came back with her. Instead, carving thin, clear rivulets through the dried blood on her face were…tears?

 

“What…why am I crying?” Her mind held no answers for her, no explanation for this sadness, but now all of a sudden she could feel it-a deep, aching maw in her heart. Surely she couldn’t be this sad that the hunt was over, could she? What was wrong with her?

 

Ruby stood there, frozen and baffled then-and that’s when Taiyang struck. Ignoring the screaming pain in his leg, Taiyang shot forward, launching himself towards Ruby.

 

Even in the midst of utter confusion however Ruby was already prepared to defend herself. With a simple twist of her hand the edge of Burial Blade sank deep into the side of her opponent as the burly man grabbed hold of her and squeezed-

 

And then stopped?

 

He was still squeezing her, bloodstained arms wrapped tight around her body, yet there was no pain, no crushing blow as he tried to turn the tides on her. All Ruby felt was the warmth behind those strong arms, holding her tight.

 

“Shh, little Rose Petal, it’s okay.” Taiyang whispered, sending strange shivers through her while the tears running down her face only seemed to increase. Ruby tried to squirm, tried to break free, but her body suddenly felt so terribly weak as the warmth seeped through her. “I got you.” He coughed then, a wet, heaving sound, and fresh warm blood was splattered on her face.

 

“It’s all gonna be alright Ruby. Dad’s right here.” Dull silver eyes looked with bloodshot cyan, full of warmth even with her sword through his gut, and Ruby remembered.

 

She remembered these strong hands holding her tight, lifting her into the air and running around while their laughter filled the room.

 

She remembered those eyes crinkling with delight as she excitedly showed him a weapon, its form blurry in her memories and ignored in favor of the fatherly love and adoration behind that gaze of his.

 

She remembered those warm arms wrapped tightly around her in a hug as she wailed and screamed that they had to be wrong, overpowering grief filling her while her heart ached, an empty void left in her soul.

 

Ruby stumbled back suddenly, eyes wide and hands shaking as she stared at the man-her father-before glancing down at her hands.

 

Her bloodsoaked hands, coated in his blood.

 

Burial Blade clattered to the forest floor while Ruby felt her gorge rise.

 

This was-she hadn’t-why had she-her mind was abuzz, screaming why why why why why had she done this?

 

She had tried to kill her own father.

 

She was a monster.

 

“Ruby!” Taiyang’s shout cut through her spiraling thoughts as he tried to reach out to her, only to stumble and fall to his knees once more, coughing up blood that splattered on the forest floor while he clutched his bleeding side. “Ruby, wait!”

 

No. No no no no no no n̴͎̬̋o̶͖̦͛!̷̱̥̊

 

She couldn’t wait. She couldn’t stop. She was a beast, blood starved and dangerous to all around her.

 

She couldn’t be here.

 

And so s̵̨͗̌͝ḩ̸͇̃͛ẹ̴̤͋ ̵͕̔͐͗w̷̨̞̿a̵̠̩̲͛s̷̪̔n̸̤̏̇͠'̵̺͑̕t̴͎͋̆.

 

One moment she was there and the next Taiyang felt a splitting ache in his skull while she disappeared from sight, her weapon discarded on the ground. The last sight of his daughter Taiyang had seen being silver eyes wide with fear.

 

“Fuck…” Taiyang muttered, as the darkness closed in around his eyes. The strength fled his body and he dropped to the floor, lying in the bloodsoaked dirt. “Ruby…” He tried to call. “Come back…”

 

The last thing he heard was the swirl of a portal and two voices shouting his name before darkness took him.

 

R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y-R-W-B-Y

 

The Doll meandered through the Hunter’s Dream, as she had taken to since her Good Hunter had disappeared, attending to the Workshop as she passed the time, waiting for her return. She knew she would-after all, if her Hunter had ceased to be, so too would she, her influence the sole thing that kept this dream alive.

 

But as she wandered about the graveyard, wiping dirt and scum from the memorials to hunters past, the Doll paused as the sound of sobbing met her porcelain ears. She followed the sound through the Hunter’s Dream, past the Workshop to the resting place she would often sit at, waiting for the Hunter’s return.

 

It was there she found that Good Hunter, knees pulled tight to her chest as she sobbed-a sight the Doll had seen many, many times.

 

“Oh, Good Hunter…” The Doll whispered softly as she sat down beside the Hunter. Ruby looked up at the sound of her voice, her face a ruddy red mess of blood, snot and tears, her eyes wide and bloodshot. The instant she recognized the Doll then Ruby was clinging to her, crying openly into her skirts, and the Doll, as she had many times before, and would continue to do as many times as necessary, gently brushed her fingers against her head, whispering sweet nothings to the newborn child as she wailed, and wailed, and ẉ̵̦̬̽a̴̟̝͓͑̿ị̴̂l̴̪̂̈́͘è̵̹̻͇ḓ̷͈̈́

Chapter Text

Winter Schnee was having…well, she certainly wouldn't call it her best day. Any day she was forced to spend around her father was a terrible day for her, after all.

 

But it wasn't as if she had much of a choice–or rather, she could have declined, when her father asked her to be present to observe Weiss's 'test' that her father had conceived for her sister.

 

"As insurance for when she fails." He had said.

 

He had laughed then, a self-satisfied smirk on his face that had almost made her end the Scroll call right then and there. For once however, cooler emotions had failed, and she had told him that she would consider it, if the General would allow it.

 

General Ironwood did, for that matter–apparently her father had already gone to the General anyways, perhaps expecting her to decline and seeking either a replacement from the military to step in, or a way to force her to obey him even indirectly. He had even asked the General if he would like to attend, but Ironwood had declined–and of course he had, she couldn't help but think. The General had far more important work to focus on than her father's inane whims.

 

When the General revealed to her that the reason Jacques was so interested in acquiring military personnel was because he planned to have Weiss fight an experiment of the SDC's that had been developed with the help of the military, utilizing numerous Geists of all things, that would have sealed it for Winter–she would have…not demanded, never demanded, but very firmly requested that he assign her to this.

 

If Weiss hadn't messaged her on her scroll soon before anyways, asking if she would be there to watch her face this 'royal test' Jacques had planned.

 

General Ironwood's permission had simply been removing the pin holding her in place from attending.

 

This…wasn't to imply that Winter necessarily agreed with Weiss's choice in direction. If Winter could choose, Weiss would be pursuing her Huntress dreams in Atlas, and not Beacon, as this whole farce of a test was set to determine. She had considered pressing General Ironwood to allow her to focus on instructing for a time then, helping to mold Weiss into another strong warrior in service of Atlas…

 

…but it would be hypocritical of her to not let Weiss pursue her own direction in life. That desire was the very reason Winter had joined the military, the very reason Weiss now had to fight for her own choices as Jacques' heiress.

 

So here she was, watching from a balcony overlooking the training room as she waited for Weiss's duel to begin. Far above the broken moon shined through the glass of the canopied ceiling, and Winter drummed her fingers against the railing as her discipline slowly lost the battle against her boredom.

 

"All this waiting is quite dull, isn't it?" A voice warbled beside her, and she turned to see a bulbous toad of a man waddling up beside her, his girth stretching the luxurious and professional suit he wore to its limits and his chins bouncing as he tried to strike up a conversation with her.

 

Winter felt her lips thin as she tried to hold back a scowl at the man's approach, his demeanor screaming that he was one of her father's associates, and likely the kind she would prefer to avoid (even if she did in fact agree with him), but her lack of response seemed not to deter him as he carried on.

 

"Marvin Marigold." He introduced himself, offering his hand, and Winter only stared at his sausage-like fingers for an awkward amount of time until the man coughed and pulled his hand back to his side. "I'm on the Board here at the SDC–"

 

He puffed out his chest at that, as if it was something someone ought to be impressed by.

 

"--and I've always worked closely with your father–I recall being at your last birthday party–" She certainly didn't remember him, but admittedly every party thrown by her father was just an opportunity to use his family to do business, so they had never been times she remembered fondly.

 

"–before you ran off to play soldier."

 

Winter felt her eyebrows crawling high–was he trying to insult her, or was he just that disconnected from reality that he thought he was making good small talk?

 

She almost wanted to respect his bluntness, if only because most other associates of her father likely would have thought the same thing yet spoken nothing but honeyed lies. One of the many reasons she had left the role she was born for.

 

"At least you listen when your father calls you home clearly–nothing like my s-daughter, May. She's off gallivanting in Mantle now with that Robyn Hill from what my people tell me. She thinks we don't know, but I know my daughter…always so self righteous. Nothing like Henry, my other-only son–" He paused for a moment

 

Really, if she just came back, apologized, and focused more on her responsibilities and less on the common people demanding hand-outs, I'd even consider writing her back into the will, but she's quite stubborn."

 

"...hmm."

 

Marvin seemed to take Winter's brief grunt as acknowledgement and kept up his tangent. "Now you at least seem to be listening to your father, coming back to help–"

"No." Winter's voice was like an icy dagger, her eyes like cool knives angled at the older man, and for the first time in this 'conversation' Marvin seemed to actually look at Winter's face–and he finally saw the freezing glare she was leveling at him.

 

"Mr…Marigold, was it?" He nodded instinctually at her harsh tone, a bit of sweat peeling down his brow. "I am here at the request of General Ironwood, not my father–and you would do well to be more careful about speaking as you do to those you've never met before."

 

She gave the hilt of her weapon a tight squeeze as she said that, and Marvin's eyes dropped down to her hand as he gulped. He seemed to warble and waffle for a moment, spewing a mix of apologies and retorts slurred into incomprehensibility by fear as he turned on his heel and moved as fast as his weight would allow him.

 

Winter let out a sigh as she watched him disappear–back towards the throng of onlookers positioned on this overlook, all waiting to watch Weiss–her moment turned into a spectacle.

 

She'd expected nothing less of her father.

 

Of course he hadn't been willing to not simply use this test as an opportunity. He probably saw it as a showcase, given the kinds of people he had invited.

 

Besides Marvin Marigold, numerous other members of the Board had been invited alongside some of whom she recognized as her father's wealthiest shareholders, a collection of men and women making small talk amongst themselves, all dressed in opulent clothes as if they were attending a gala and not a test.

 

She could see what could only be the team that designed the Arma Gigas as well, a group of men and women that seemed out of place and awkward in the expensive suits they wore. They were all huddled up together, away from the rest of the onlookers, whispering to each other as they peered over the railings down towards the training room.

 

And then there was her father and Whitley, thankfully far away from her, both together in the center, her brother like Jacques' pale shadow as he followed him about as they mingled and shook hands. She saw her father shake Councilman Sleet's hand and she couldn't help but roll her eyes at the fact that he had even dragged the Council into this farce.

 

…it was probably all part of his scheme for Weiss, and her heart twisted at the thought. She could easily imagine his thought process–set up an impossible test and publicly humiliate his daughter in the process, make her think she could only succeed alongside him, rather than going against him. If he was lucky he might even be able to make her sister abandon her dream of being a Huntress entirely, and focus on being groomed to be heiress to the SDC instead, if the failure was big enough. It sounded exactly like something he would think of.

 

For a moment she considered that perhaps she should go to Weiss, find her wherever she was preparing for this duel and convince her to put it off or just concede and attend Atlas Academy, rather than go to Vale. If–no, when she performed well, Winter could even likely push for her to enter the Specialist program, and General Ironwood's influence would certainly be enough to grant Weiss the freedom she desired. She didn't need to risk it on this push to attend Beacon.

 

She took a step away from the balcony–

 

Ting!

 

–but the sound of a spoon against glass told Winter she was too late.

 

As one, the entirety of the onlookers turned towards Jacques with a glass held high, calling everyone's attention as he took a step onto a pedestal, Whitley still obediently hovering beneath and beside him.

 

"Everyone! If I might have your attention, please?" Jacques' tone was sickly sweet and simpering–his business tone, the kind he always wore in public.

 

"First, I would like to thank you all for coming. The honorable members of the Board…" He gestured towards Marvin Marigold, and the fat man jiggled as he gave a little wave, any fear she had inflicted on him forgotten with her father's attention.

 

"...as well as our shareholders, without whom none of what we do here at the SDC would be possible." There was a light smattering of applause, mostly from amongst themselves, as the shareholders tittered and nodded along.

 

Next he turned towards Councilman Sleet, and both men shared a nod before Jacques' gaze swept over the room, and Winter saw Jacques' eyes light up when they saw her–she hadn't bothered to announce her presence to him, and clearly he hadn't paid enough attention to notice his daughter was even here.

 

To anybody else looking, the grin on his face might have seemed excited, perhaps even fatherly, the look of a father glad to see his estranged daughter come home.

 

Years of living with the man let Winter see the mocking notes hidden within, the cruel light within those cold blue eyes that delighted at the fact that she had obeyed him in the end, even if she wasn't here for him.

 

"...and of course, I must thank both Councilman Sleet, and my daughter Winter Schnee, for gracing us with their presence as representatives of both the Council and the military today."

 

Winter tried not to bristle at his labeling, his blatant refusal to state her rank rather than her status as his flesh and blood, but she couldn't help but feel she failed at that as the applause she received seemed to die down once people turned towards her, shuffling awkwardly and turning back to Jacques, still standing there smirking.

 

"Now, good folks, what we have here today is something that the good people that tirelessly work at R&D…" He inclined his head towards the awkward group that Winter had pegged as scientists earlier, and their leader, a shorter man with long blonde hair, startled and gave a brief, awkward wave, and sighed in relief when the attention of the party returned to Jacques.

 

"...have been working on for some time–something that we believe could potentially revolutionize how we deal with the Grimm." Low murmurs ran through the crowd, and Jacques stepped down from the podium, continuing to talk as he walked.

 

"In Mistral, I have been told there are many old forms of martial arts centered around 'redirection'. They teach their students to use their opponents' power against them, making them defeat themselves." Jacques stopped with his back towards the balcony, and spread his arms wide.

 

"We here at the SDC have then asked the question: what if we could translate this to real military power? What if we could redirect the power of the Grimm against them?" In spite of herself, Winter found herself nodding along to her father's speech as well, regardless of the fact that she had already been informed of the specifics of this experiment by General Ironwood. When he phrased it like this, it actually seemed like a decent idea–and General Ironwood had approved of it as well, so surely it had to be promising.

 

"And after working hand in hand with the military in order to secure the specimens we need…today, I am proud to present to you all the potential future of combat–the Arma Gigas!"

 

At that, a panel slid open in the wide training room floor, and from it rose a suit of armor very familiar to Winter. It was a sight she had seen in her own home growing up after all–a medieval suit of armor once worn in the time when the Schnee family were knights, supersized to be nearly ten feet tall. It was currently kneeling down, one large fist placed against the panel it rose from, but beside it lay a sword quite literally as long as it was tall.

 

The onlookers all oohed and ahhed at the sight, but Winter…suffice to say she was unimpressed, if this was what Jacques thought was the revolutionary. Certainly she could imagine that the oversized armor could deal with common Grimm quite handily, Beowolves and Ursa having little answer to the massive sword it wielded, but any Huntsman could tell you that its size would be its downfall, making itself an easy target for larger Grimm.

 

Perhaps it would impress her, but if this was what Jacques thought was insurmountable…either he knew nothing about Weiss's skill, or her sister was a poorly trained Huntress indeed.

 

"On the outside it may appear to be simple armor, but on the inside there are multiple Geist-type Grimm–" There was a sudden surge of anxious murmuring from the crowd, and Jacques raised his hands.

 

"–and there is no call for alarm! Through proprietary techniques and technology, we have managed to subdue the Geists, and while these methods have no way of working on larger Grimm–yet, anyways!" He added with a wink and a cocky smirk that set Winter scowling, yet seemed to charm the crowd, their anxiousness replaced by light laughter tinged with only a touch of nervousness.

 

"–they have been proven to allow us to manipulate these Geists. You could basically consider them batteries 'powering' the Gigas, allowing it to be three times as strong as a mech-suit of the same design!"

 

While some of the crowd still seemed put out by the fact that the Gigas had Grimm inside of it, many others seemed mollified by this statement, some even excitedly whispering about the possibilities this offered. Jacques' smirk only grew as people seemed to grow more and more curious about the possibility he–his scientists, really–were offering today.

 

"Now, to demonstrate the effectiveness of the Arma Gigas, my daughter, Weiss Schnee, an aspiring Huntress, has volunteered to battle it tonight." Winter barely held back a disapproving snort, knowing it would only give her more of a headache to draw her father's ire.

 

Down below, Winter could see a short figure walk into view–Weiss, dressed in her usual crisp white dress and jacket combination…right down to the combat skirt and heels. Her throat suddenly felt parched, and she found herself craving a drink at that moment.

 

Truly, her sister was already a Valean huntress if this was how she preferred to dress for combat…Winter shook her head and tried to ignore Weiss's choice in attire and its offense to her sensibilities honed by military life.

 

From the balcony Winter could only see her sister's back, but her posture was straight and her head was held high as she marched out before the Arma Gigas. She was confident then–that was good. She was sure that Weiss was nervous, with how much she had riding on this battle, but being able to hide it and stay strong–that was a sign of a woman with steel in her spine.

 

Winter found herself relaxing even as the Arma Gigas rose, taking up its massive blade and swinging it at Weiss. Her flip over the swinging blade and subsequent counterattack in a burst of speed as she rushed towards the knight, thrusting towards it, only justified that sense of relaxation.

 

Yet every moment further as the fight dragged on, Winter found herself frowning at Weiss's performance. Her attacks were swift and graceful–she was clearly demonstrating her skill here, and certainly this display was impressive enough to have the rest of the onlookers her father had brought in gasping and whispering in awe–but not a single one of them was a Huntress or Huntsman who could see Weiss's mistakes, and Winter couldn't help but catalogue and critique her sister's moves as she fought.

 

She looked like she was putting up a good fight, but every attack so far was ineffective, mere scrapes on the metal of the Gigas. Her form was solid and her usage of Glyphs showed she had practiced with their Semblance, but she clearly lacked in power to overcome this shortcoming. She should have been making more use of her Glyphs to give herself a boost–she certainly had the speed advantage necessary to dance around the Gigas, yet she was insisting on continuing to attack like normal, getting close to the armored monster. As well, the moment her initial attacks were ineffective, she should have been making use of the Dust Winter knew she had to overcome the Gigas's impressive physical defense with elemental attacks, rather than continue wasting her energy as she was.

 

Perhaps it was simply a lack of experience, but as she watched Weiss suddenly struggling against the Gigas, sent flying back twice in short order only to continue to attack solely with Myrtenaster, Winter found herself wondering: had she underestimated the Gigas…or overestimated her sister?

 

Winter could only shake her head as she watched the Gigas's fist slam into Weiss mid-dodge, its first proper hit of the match, even as her hand slid to the sword at her hip on the off chance she actually would have to step in like Jacques had thought–had hoped she would.

 

In another timeline, Weiss would stand up, bloodied but still fighting, and finally use her Dust to finish off the Gigas, much to their father's impotent fury. He would in private acquiesce to Weiss's demand to study in Vale, bitter but willing to keep his word for now–expecting that Weiss would in time grow sick of Vale and return home anyways.

 

Winter would congratulate Weiss briefly, and immediately critique her battle, giving Weiss some last training tips before she left for Beacon–sisterly advice that Weiss would accept, even as she hid the small bit of disappointment she felt that Winter had focused so much on her failings. Life would move on, and movements in the shadow would prelude a dark descent towards devastation.

 

Yet this was no longer that timeline.

 

There was a sudden flash of light and in a single instant everyone looking down towards the fight was blinded–even Winter, her eyes instinctually screwing shut at the brightness just as the rest of the onlookers did, many of them gasping and shouting complaints as cries of confusion filled the air.

 

When her vision finally cleared however, Winter could feel it–that something had irreparably changed.

 

There was a light chill in the air now, just enough that it made her suppress a shiver–and down below, Winter could still see Weiss but–

 

Something had changed.

 

Where before she could see her sister's back, it was now shrouded in a thick fur cloak, or cape of some kind (where she found it–how she managed to put it on so quickly were both questions that rang in the back of her mind). She could still tell it was her sister from her hair, but even that was different. Hadn't she been wearing a ponytail just a moment ago? Now she had a long, thickly woven braid falling down her back.

 

A deep pit wormed its way into Winter's gut as she stared down, confused, yet she couldn't move. Not just yet, as she watched Weiss's next move.

 

Her sister was kneeling down now–and Winter's brain idly noted that even her shoes were different, leather boots replacing heels, her bare legs now covered in…was that metal, no, armor even?–and even as the Arma Gigas charged towards her, she stayed kneeling. Her body was shaking, making the thick cloak over her shoulders bounce in time–Winter almost made to leap from the balcony.

 

Clearly her sister had frozen in fear amidst this strangeness–

 

There was a brief flash, not blinding like the one before but softer, a crisp white blue that shined gently over the training room, and Winter's body froze at the sight before her.

 

Extending from Weiss's Myrtenaster was a giant sword just as long as the Gigas's sword was held high in the air. It was formless and wispy, looking as if it had been formed from snowflakes drifting through the air–and yet right before Weiss the Arma Gigas had frozen–literally frozen, ice creeping across the metal plates that made up its body, or had made up its body. It was split clean up its center, groin to head, this formless blade in Weiss's hands parting the Gigas like fire through ice.

 

Its two halves still stood for a few silent moments, then with a resounding crack of ice snapping, it split apart, each crumbling to the ground and shattering into thousands of frozen pieces, black smoke from the dead Geists drifting up from the broken armor.

 

Winter…she could barely comprehend what she was looking at–what Weiss had just done, how she had done it–but there was one thing that she knew, a fact that sent shivers down her spine that she couldn't suppress.

 

Weiss's shoulders were still shaking, and Winter realized one thing–they had never been shaking out of fear. The real reason she didn't know, but looking at the back of the figure, Winter knew in her core: those shoulders would never shake out of fear.

 

She just hoped instead that Weiss was laughing right now.

 

W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W

 

Weiss…the first thing that came to her mind was confusion, as she opened her eyes and did not see her Consort Eternal, the woman she had sworn her everything to, standing before her.

 

The second thing she felt was fear, that her Consort Eternal had abandoned her–no, the instant she thought that Weiss admonished herself, that would never be the case. Perhaps instead she had been spirited away beyond Ranni's reach–one last trick of the Greater Will, perhaps the meddling of one of the many other Outer Gods who gazed down on the Lands Between, it mattered not–

 

–but the third thing Weiss felt, that overrode those first two feelings, was a sense of familiarity.

 

Her gaze swept across the room she was kneeling in within an instant, and like a shock of lightning it came to her–she knew this room.

 

How many hours, days, weeks even had she spent training here to become a Huntress, after all? One of the most important moments of her life, her first real defiance of her father's will, had occurred here–

 

–and it was that memory that brought her focus to the armor charging towards her. It was an armor she knew all too well–perhaps her most steadfast ally besides Blaidd…and her team, what felt like so long ago.

 

An armor that she had killed years ago. Her Arma Gigas.

 

It was impossible for her to be standing in this training room once more, facing her Arma Gigas once more, beyond the fact that she had long since written Remnant off as far out of her reach. That was in the past…yet she knew better than most how malleable the winds of time could be. Her chest ached at the thought, phantom pains running through her skin–she knew all too well how malleable time was.

 

A glance upwards only confirmed what her eyes told her.

 

Shining far above in a familiarly unfamiliar night sky, the broken moon hung as low as it always had, its shattered face once a reality–and now it only made her stomach turn looking at its ruined body.

 

Where once Weiss had looked up at the sky and felt comfort–love even, in the final days of the Age she and Ranni had worked to close…there was nothing behind that moon now, only a celestial corpse.

 

It was Remnant's moon, and she stood upon her home returned to a day once long past.

 

Weiss's shoulders shook.

 

How long had she prayed for a miracle such as this? Not only was she home, but she was back in a time before everything had gone to hell–before she and her team had fallen into the void. Penny, Pyrrha, Clover…the faces of the once dead flashed past her eyes, all names who could only be alive now at this time.

 

Weiss's shoulders shook.

 

This…she could fix the mistakes of the past now. She had been granted a blessing beyond anything she had ever imagined, she could ensure that so many tragedies–the Fall of Vale, the Battle of Haven, the destruction of the very city she now stood in–never had a chance to come to pass.

 

Weiss's shoulders shook.

Salem…was the Witch even a threat to her now? After how much she had grown?

 

Weiss's shoulders shook.

 

There was so much she could do now…she could see Team RWBY again…

 

Weiss's shoulders shook…but not with joy. Not with mirth.

 

Weiss's entire body trembled with a burning, pitiless rage that roared from the depths of her heart.

 

For how dare this world give her everything that she had prayed for, had dreamed of…

 

…at the absolute worst.

 

Possible.

 

Moment.

 

On the cusp of her Consort's ascension, on the eve of her triumph over the Greater Will…now, now was when she was finally whisked back home?!

 

It had to be a joke. One giant, cosmic farce organized by beings toying with her life. Yet Weiss didn't find the joke funny in the slightest.

 

Most of her life she was…not the epitome of composure, but she was better than many. She wasn't a brute like Yang had been, willing to smash anything in a fit if her rage was strong enough, yet for the first time in her life she just wanted to hit something hard.

 

Luckily, it was that moment when her mind reminded her that there was still an Arma Gigas charging towards her.

 

It took no effort, nary a thought, even drained as she was from her fight against a Lord and a God. All she needed was a simple swing of Myrtenaster, slipped from her hip and swung upward in a straight line, as Adula's Moonblade wrapped around her sword and carved through the Arma Gigas in an instant.

 

She had slain better than it in some of the earliest moments of her journey, after all. Though slower, the Guardian Golems of Leyndell alone were more impressive a foe.

 

She had long since surpassed the little girl that had struggled against this soulless suit of armor.

 

Weiss stood as she thoughtlessly slew the Arma Gigas, yet her body still trembled with the sheer anger she felt. So vicious was her anger that the second she began to hear applause from behind her, a cruel thought cut through her mind–to cut down all those worthless fools, those Board members and shareholders and whoever else her father had dragged into this joke of a test.

 

She genuinely did not know if she would have stayed her own hand, if something else hadn't at that moment.

 

It started as a flicker in the corner of her eye, something that in her anger she was certain she would have ignored–if it hadn't been something that shouldn't exist.

 

It drifted formlessly through the air, a lazy trail of light…one that she had spent so long chasing. It was Grace, she knew it in her soul…yet it was something different than the golden light Marika had bade the Tarnished hound, for better or worse.

 

The trails she had followed all led somewhere, yet this one…Weiss could see its endpoint already. It stopped…with her?

 

It stretched from her heart into the sky–past the stars, past the broken moon, until Weiss's eyes could no longer see its light in the distance.

 

It's painfully familiar, dark blue light.

 

She lowered Myrtenaster slowly as the anger bled from her body, and gently, almost fearfully, and very, very hopefully, she grasped at this dark blue light–this icy Grace–and she gasped as a sensation ran through the connection.

 

Worry.

 

Fear.

 

Sadness.

 

Relief.

 

There were no words, only sensations, but Weiss could feel them as if they were her own feelings burning in her breast.

 

Pining.

 

Loneliness.

 

Apologies.

 

She felt her own feelings slide up the line of Grace, the recipient at the end jumping in surprise–

 

Warmth.

 

Love.

 

Embarrassment.

 

Love.

 

Cold.

 

–and the recipient sent back more feelings in response to Weiss's own, even if her nature left her no true warmth to give.

 

Weiss's trembling returned, but the anger was gone. Now she shook with joy–for her Consort was still connected to her. Ranni was still in her reach, even if she had been pulled to Remnant during their ascension.

 

Where?

 

Ranni sent the question as a sensation, a curiosity focused on a single idea, and Weiss replied with her own concept:

 

Home.

 

She sent it back, and she could almost imagine Ranni tilting her head. 'How curious, that thou hast returned home at thy crowning hour…' She could hear the words in her thick accent, each amusingly, almost adorably archaic.

 

I will find you.

 

The sensation that Ranni returned was so strong it nearly sent Weiss falling to her knees, and left a wide grin on her face. Her anger moments ago felt almost foolish–for of course her Consort would not simply sit idly and let her disappear, not after the promises they had made together.

 

Suddenly Weiss recalled where she was. She still stood before a pack of hyenas, her own father at their head–and she had no doubt that he was furious at her simple victory.

 

She still stood upon a world that was such a mess…

 

…and her Consort was coming to Remnant. Weiss did not know how long it would take her–it didn't matter, she would wait as long as she needed–but she did know this.

 

Presenting Remnant as it was to her Lunar Princess was not an option.

 

Weiss schooled her features, adopting an ice-cold mask of calm.

 

If something wished to return her home, then so be it. She would clean up Remnant just as she had cleaned up the Lands Between.

 

She turned towards the balcony and looked up at her father, staring from the lofty position he had forged for himself, and saw the cracks in his own mask that let his anger bleed through. The other faces on the balcony meant little to her–except for Winter's, Weiss had forgotten her sister had even attended this test–and she focused on her father.

 

Her lips curled upwards, forming a smile that was pleasant to look at yet ice cold. She watched her father recoil at the sight, even as the oblivious onlookers beside him began their applause once more as she smiled and waved.

 

There were so many things she needed to clean up before Ranni's arrival…and anyone.

 

Anyone.

 

Who dared stand in her way…they would all be crushed beneath the cold, leaden weight of the Dark Moon.

Chapter Text

Adam Taurus rubbed his temples, trying to ignore the oncoming headache he was feeling. His day was…well, it was like most any other day for him really.

 

Most days started just before the morning light began to shine down through the slits of his tent. He woke up before the rest of the camp, and spent those first few moments of day where it was all still quiet training. Some days he would work on his physical fitness, other days he focused on practicing with Wilt (he practiced with Blush once in the early morning–and the gunshot set the guards around camp into a frenzy thinking they were under attack. Blake was the only one he told what actually happened, and she wouldn't stop snickering at him for an entire week…never again), but no matter what Adam tried to start his day with training–maintain the edge they needed for their fight.

 

His training period ended once he heard the rest of the camp rising outside, and he would towel himself off and get dressed, slipping his mask on where it would stay for the rest of the day as he shifted gears from a fighter to a leader.

 

…he preferred being a fighter, if he was being honest.

 

Being a leader was…it was a lot–especially when leading the White Fang. The White Fang was a discordant bunch, a volunteer group pulled from all walks of life. They had all chosen to fight, but not everyone was a fighter, so it fell to Adam to lead the way.

 

It meant being strong constantly, the rock of the group who could not show a hint of weakness. It meant making the hard decisions–the ones that always had consequences he would have to live with for the rest of his life. It meant weighing the lives of his people–and shouldering the blame when something went wrong.

 

It also meant dealing with every problem that was brought to him, big or small…or incredibly stupid.

 

…he would be lying if he said that last part was not sometimes the part he struggled the most with.

 

When someone comes up to him, concerned that Trifa was pushing to be allowed on recruitment runs again, it was Adam's job to explain to her (for the fifth time now) why she wasn't allowed on recruitment anymore (not after the incident).

 

When he spots Perry arguing with some of the lower members who thought digging a latrine was beneath them, it was up to Adam to reinforce his subordinate's position as a leader to be listened to…even if he had told Perry to dig the latrine himself.

 

And when a nervous, fresh-faced recruit stumbles his way and confesses to having doubts about joining up, it was up to Adam to try and reinvigorate the kid's belief in the cause and hatred of the humans they fought against…or figure out if he was going to put everyone else at risk because of his nerves.

 

Being a leader meant responsibility that Adam had never necessarily wanted. But someone had to do it if it meant their kind could finally live free of oppression–and if no one else would step up, then he would lead the charge if he had to, and do what had to be done.

 

Sienna had been the one to show him that was what a leader had to do, when Ghira Belladonna had shown he lacked the stomach for what needed to be done. He respected Sienna for it, even if he disagreed with her on…many things, admittedly. She stoked the flames certainly, but they could be doing so much more if he was in Atlas where the real fight was…where they were…

 

…another of the thoughts that always seemed to fester when he let his focus stray. Sometimes he wondered how he hadn't cracked under the pressure yet–but he knew the reason why.

 

If Blake hadn't been by his side…her presence kept it all from bursting when the thoughts and the issues and the struggles all seemed to build up, and he would always be grateful to her for that.

 

B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B

 

It was after Adam dealt with any issues that cropped up, and went over the status of the camp that he could finally switch gears again–going from a leader to a planner.

 

Between being a fighter, a leader, or a planner, he certainly preferred planning over leading–it was in a way just another weapon for him to wield in the fight against the Schnee after all.

 

Even if it did bother Adam that they couldn't always strike directly at their oppressors, sitting comfortably in their gilded city reaping their rewards.

 

Another reason why he wished he could be in Atlas…Solitas was full of Schnee targets just begging to be destroyed. The labor camps spread across the continent, for instance, filled to the brim with Faunus 'workers'–slaves in all but name working for Lien scraps to fuel the SDC's greed, hungry, abused…it made his scar itch at the thought–but that didn't mean there wasn't a fight to be fought in Vale either.

 

The White Fang's presence in Vale was focused on fighting injustice first and foremost. The SDC may have been the greatest of their foes, but wealthy humans and wealthy companies thrived on the exploitation and abuse of the Faunus all across Remnant.

 

Within the city walls, those were their targets–a restaurant chain that cut costs with cheap Faunus, corrupt officials being paid to loosen labor protection laws for Faunus, a health insurance company that purportedly offered Faunus-exclusive deals but had a track record of refusing to pay for care for Faunus patients–those had been just a few of the targets the White Fang had taken aim at here in Vale.

 

They had to be careful about it, of course–the presence of Beacon sitting high on its cliffs always risked inviting Huntsman attention Adam knew his cell could not handle, so their operations had to be kept small. For every target they hit, a fair few more were left alone to continue their disgusting practices, trying to walk a tightrope between showing the humans the true price of their bigotry and avoiding Huntsman intervention.

 

Of course though, just because there were other targets in Vale, that did not mean the long arm of the Schnee hadn't sunk its talons into the city either.

 

Here in Vale, the Schnee presence was focused more inside the walls, and that left their options more limited. An overt attack would invite the aforementioned attention of Beacon, so that meant their actions within the walls had to be limited, or at least careful enough that they even had a chance of succeeding…or they had to focus on what they could hit from outside the walls.

 

Right now, he was being presented with one such option.

 

Behind him, a large map of Remnant hung from a wall, the entirety of the continents sketched out, but right now Adam ignored that map as he leaned over a wooden table they had dragged out into the wilderness and set up in the large tent in the center of the camp–his 'operation station' as Perry had once called it. Everybody had called the name stupid, including him, but it had somehow stuck (much to his amusement admittedly, though he would die before telling Perry that).

 

He looked up at the man in question then as the both of them looked over a smaller, more detailed map of the Forever Fall, and a long, detailed schedule they had managed to have sent their way by a sympathizer in the city. For once, Perry wasn't wearing his glasses over his mask either, the ceramic white visor resting on the table, so Adam could actually take him seriously as he asked, "You're certain this info's good?"

 

Perry simply shrugged in response, pushing his glasses back up his nose as they slid down his face. "It's as good as we can really manage, Boss."

 

He leaned down, tapping on the map–train lines spread out line veins all across the paper. "Our source is just a janitor at the train yards, but they're real sloppy with their documents there. Wasn't hard for her to get this file printed when the humans there leave their desktops open half the time."

 

He scoffed, adjusting his glasses again. "Lazy assholes, but it works in our favor."

 

"Hmm. And you're sure she's not just bait?"

 

Perry tilted his head, thinking for a moment before he answered. quickly shook his head. "I mean…it's not impossible. After the Civil Union job Vale's been running news segments, so VPD could be trying a false flag, but…" He paused, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

 

"If it is a trick, kudos to them–'cause damn if I don't believe her, Boss. She told me her story, her reasons for wanting to help us–in confidence, admittedly. I can tell you if you really need to hear it…"

 

Perry's ears twitched in a way Adam had only started to notice after knowing Perry for a while now, when the other man felt nervous. Perry had been one of their earliest Vale recruits when the White Fang set up shop. He was an average-looking man, plain-faced and almost unassuming–if not for the large floppy ears that hung from his head, marking him as a 'filthy' Faunus to the humans. One of them had a chunk of flesh missing, docked off from his ear, though the wound was long healed and scarred over by time.

 

Adam didn't know the story behind it–Perry had never offered, and Adam had never asked. Most of them in the Fang had scars they would prefer not to think about, after all, and Adam certainly wasn't anything even approaching forthcoming about his own either–he could count on one hand how many people had seen his scar (and were still alive to tell anyone about it too).

 

No, he understood all too well not wanting to tell your story. Adam shook his head. "No, that's fine–if you believe her, I'll trust you on this."

 

Perry let out a short sigh of relief. "Hah…thanks Adam. Just…trust me on this, she's got her reasons to want to help us."

 

"I should be thanking you. This train will be a good target." He pushed off from the table, standing straight. "Let her know too if she needs any help–she has friends in the right places."

 

Perry nodded, and Adam returned it before he continued. "Now just need to figure out who's going on this…small team would be best…"

 

An idle thought scratched Adam's mind as well–it'd been awhile since he'd actually gone out into the field himself too…

 

"I'll handle this myself–the Schnee will probably have good security on this train if it's as laden as your source claims."

 

Perry quirked a brow. "Solo?"

 

"No, I'll take–"

 

The tent flaps suddenly ruffled, and a figure burst in through the opening. She stood about a head shorter than Adam, her grey hair disheveled as if she had forgotten to brush it this morning. Her pale skin and lack of obvious Faunus features let one almost mistake her for a human–if it wasn't for the grey-black veins that stood out on her pale skin, made only more obvious by the unzipped vest uniform she wore.

 

She stood there, panting for a moment, her eyes wide and wild–but when Trifa finally shouted out her reason for barging in, Adam felt himself go still–because what the Spider Faunus was saying was frankly nonsensical.

 

"What do you mean she's gone?" Adam asked. Trifa only scowled at his answer.

 

"What I mean is, boss–your little girlfriend up and ran on us! I've been telling you for weeks she's been getting cold feet, but you always say–"

 

"Blake wouldn't do that." He cut her off, and Trifa threw her hands up in the air in disgust.

 

"You're basing this off her just not being in her tent this morning?" He asked, crossing his arms and looking down on the shorter spider Faunus.

 

"No, I'm basing this off nobody seeing her all day! She's like a ghost, just went fucking poof–hell, her tent didn't even look slept in!"

 

"Wait, you went through her tent?"

 

Trifa audibly groaned at his question. "Aghhh, boss, that's not the point! The point is Blake fucked off. She was never loyal to the cause, not like m-the rest of us. She never had what it takes to do what had to be done, and we both knew i-"

 

"Trifa." He cut the girl off once more, and this time she stopped, catching his tone. He went to carry on–but then took a breath, calming himself.

 

"Trifa." He said once more. "You joined the White Fang later." She bristled at that, but thankfully didn't interrupt either. "So you don't know Blake like I do. She's been in this fight longer than I have–there's no one who cares more about taking down the Schnee and casting off their oppression than she does." He could still to this day remember meeting that small, fierce girl, dirt on her face and a sign in her hand…

 

"Trust me–Blake hasn't run off on us. She wouldn't do that to us."

 

'She wouldn't do that to me.'

 

If she had gotten tired of the fight, he trusted that she would tell him, let him convince her to stay…or at least say goodbye.

 

But right now…he had a feeling he knew where she was.

 

B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B

 

The Ashen One had no idea where she was when she finally opened her eyes.

 

She opened them to stretched canvas, fragile rays of sunlight piercing through the pyramid ceiling. A tent, she realized in an instant–quicker than simply recognizing the signs. Something scratched at the back of her mind…why did this seem familiar to her?

 

Birdsong twittered just outside–alongside the sound of people, the dull chatter of a group just waking up making the ears atop her head twitch. The sounds were familiar too…they brought to mind a time long since lost–not simply forgotten by transient ash, but truly, irreparably lost.

 

The Ashen One sat up atop the soft sheets that she was laying on. Her armor, caked in ash, left dark grey smudges wherever she ruffled the fabric, and for a moment she simply sat there atop the makeshift bed she found herself in.

 

Her eyes looked out towards the sounds, her ears twitched and listened to the sounds of life, she felt the gentle brush of the sun on her skin…and the Ashen One felt rather confused.

 

When she had chosen to cast the world into the Age of Dark, she…well quite honestly she had not particularly expected birdsong, camping and sunlight to be part of the Age. Even if she had endeavored to bring down that rotten Age of Fire for good, she held no illusions that the Age of Man she fought for would be some utopian era. She had delved too deep into the depths of the world to trick herself like that–embracing the Dark as she had forced her to recognize the ugliness within. It was a proper reflection of humanity, in that regard–the Darkness that the Gods had so terribly feared.

 

No, she had not chosen her path because it would necessarily be 'better' in a traditional sense. The Ashen One simply knew that the Age of Fire and tyranny of the Gods could not be left to shamble on.

 

She had seen where that path led to, after all, on that ashen hill at the end of the world.

 

Still…her hands went to the mask atop her brow, gently slipping it off and placing it on the ground as she looked up at the sunlight once more.

 

If she could not feel the Fire thrumming where her heart once beat, wrapped in the Dark she had embraced, the Ashen One might have thought she had failed. But the pulsating heat that only she could feel was proof of her success.

 

That left the Ashen One with more questions than answers, of course. If she had simply failed, that…well, it would not be better, but at least she would not be confused. At least, however, the answers to her questions likely were not too far.

 

As the sounds of the campground slowly began to pick up, the Ashen One stood–yet she did not make her way to the sealed flaps of the tent. Instead, she took a moment to look around the tent, and found…

 

…that she knew where everything was in here.

 

She turned her head and knew before she saw them that there would be a stack of books atop a pile there. Across the tent, a bulky chest sat closed, and beside that a small table held up a medium-sized mirror, a brush and a few other objects left scattered around it.

 

The Ashen One ignored the mirror almost immediately–she knew the corpse-like appearance she would see all too well by now–and though something scratched at the back of her mind when she looked at the chest, the Ashen One instead found herself stepping towards the pile of books. She gently picked up a copy, smearing ash on the cover–she felt her face frown before she could even think to be annoyed by that.

 

She was not even sure why she felt annoyed–she had read far filthier parchment than this in her journey, yet still she found herself upset. She set the book back down, and her hand went to her right gauntlet, tugging gently at the metal grip to pull the armor off–

 

–and the metal clattered to the ground and disappeared in a brief flash of darkness as the Ashen One went rigid. Though her mind acknowledged the oddity of her armor, her eyes were locked on something far stranger.

 

For ages now the gauntlet she wore had hidden the ragged, jerky-like flesh of her Hollowed form from prying eyes. She did not fully disguise herself, else she would have accepted a billed mask from Yuria rather than the blindfold mask she preferred, but no one enjoyed looking at their Hollow flesh.

 

Yet instead of wrinkled skin, the Ashen One flexed her hand and watched as smooth, pale skin grew taught, muscles and flesh fat and full of life compared to the emaciated digits that she knew.

 

In an instant the Ashen One found herself rushing to the side, dropping to her knees before the mirror she had ignored–and she let out a small gasp as she looked upon her living face…practically for the first time.

 

She had forgotten just what she had looked like when alive–she had forgotten how…young she looked, even. Long dark hair, vibrant and healthy, flowed past her shoulders, and her ears twitched atop her head, no longer patched and ragged but fluffy, the fur lustrous. Her cheeks were full of life, a healthy tint of red aglow on her pale skin, and her eyes…her gaze no longer met empty sockets devoid of light, but golden amber eyes.

 

It was a face the Ashen One did not know, yet every bit of it felt so familiar. As familiar as the tent she found herself in. Before the Ashen One could question anything further–how she was alive, why her armor disappeared–she knew that she had to answer the question of where she was first.

 

She felt as though she knew the answer–but no, she needed to confirm it, before she whispered that thought into existence.

 

Her eyes–now full, with a gaze to be followed–strayed towards the chest. It was locked, the metal block asking for a string of numbers, but she found if she followed her instincts her hands seemed to know the combination to the chest by habit.

 

When she lifted the chest open, everything became clear.

 

The Ashen One had opened countless chests in her time. She had even had to kill some when the chests sprouted legs and tried to devour her if a Mimic had made their home there to prey upon pilfering Undead. Many of those chests had contained wondrous treasures, weapons lost to time or gemstones and titanite more valuable than any gold or coin could ever be.

 

There was no wondrous treasure in this chest. It was simply filled to the brim with…clothes. A pile of neatly folded clothes and a few spare toiletries left atop the cloth.

 

They were not resplendent garments or anything of the sort. The clothes were all simply black and white–a black vest, white shirts, tight white shorts of a strange material, long black stockings–she blinked and realized her eyes had glided over a pair of high-heeled boots that sat beside the opening to her tent, a perfect match to these clothes as well.

 

Still, though they were not golden armor or the clothes of highborn ladies, the clothes were unlike anything she had seen–except for one single outfit, destroyed in battle. The clothes she had awoken in.

 

They were not the same outfit, yet in one sense they were alike–the Ashen One knew that those were her clothes.

 

They…were hers.

 

This entire tent was hers–the books, her own, the mirror, hers. She knew without needing to check that the boots by her tent would fit if she were to put them on, same as the outfits stored away.

 

She was…home?

 

No, not home. Her mind almost immediately rejected that thought–flashes of a building she couldn't make out, faces she did not recognize passed through her mind–and the Ashen One knew that this was not her home…but it was somewhere she had stayed. Somewhere she had lived.

 

Somewhere in the homeland no one had ever heard of before.

 

She had forgotten much about this land and herself. She had forgotten even her own name. But perhaps because of the strangeness of naming a land this, the Ashen One had recalled her homeland's name throughout her journey–had mentioned it when asked where she hailed and been met with brief confusion followed by shrugs of acceptance.

 

Countless realms had risen and fallen over the ages after all, made even worse by the way time twisted and quivered when the First Flame began to die once more, so it had made sense that there would be places few had heard of.

 

Now however, the Ashen One knew, deep in her twisted soul…she found herself in Remnant, amidst the remnants of the person she had not been for a long, long time.

 

B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B

 

Adam found Blake exactly where he expected, sat atop a large, smooth rock in the middle of a clearing a fair distance away from the campground, further into the Forever Fall. She had gravitated towards this spot when she needed to be alone, whether it was because the camp had grown too noisy, or if she simply needed a place to brood.

 

It seemed to be the latter, Adam thought, as he stepped into the clearing. Blake was dressed in her usual outfit, her knees pulled tight to her chest, her back to him and her head tilted upwards, her gaze locked on the broken moon above. She did not move a muscle as dead leaves crunched beneath his boots, but he saw the familiar twitch of her ears that told him she knew he was there.

 

"I thought I'd find you here." Adam spoke, though Blake remained still, the continued twitch of her ears the only sign that she heard him.

 

"You came out here early." Adam continued, stepping up closer to the rock. "Trifa rushed into the 'operation station' claiming you had run off on us."

 

That got a reaction from Blake. She broke her staring contest with the broken moon and turned towards Adam, her amber eyes meeting his masked gaze, tilting her head. "She did, did she?" Blake asked calmly, and Adam nodded as he came up beside the rock, leaning against it as he looked up at her.

 

"Yep. You know how she is–always…eager to make sure everyone's on the same page." It was a nice way to put Trifa's fanaticism, one that Adam knew Blake would understand.

 

He respected Trifa's drive–hell, all too often he wished more members had that same passion for their revolution–but one thing being a leader had taught Adam was that you could not force that kind of blazing fire that Trifa had to burn. Someone had to choose to start that fire themselves, even if you inspired them–it was a lesson Trifa had very clearly not yet learned.

 

"Plus…" Adam drawled on. "You know she doesn't like you."

 

That drew a huff out of Blake as she turned, breaking eye contact with Adam to look out towards the treeline. "I don't know why." Blake said simply, and Adam couldn't help but chuckle.

 

"You know why–" He said, and though it was only for a second Adam thought he saw Blake tense before he carried on. "-she doesn't think you're committed to the cause enough to be my second in command." He knew Trifa wanted to be in charge more–she didn't want his job thankfully, but she wanted to be able to order people around, to push them towards her own standards, and she saw Blake as an obstacle to that. It was a lingering issue he felt he would need to deal with eventually–but for now, it hadn't caused any problems yet.

 

Blake hummed at his words, and the two waited in silence for a few moments before Adam finally spoke again.

 

"...what brought you out this early, Blake?" He asked–

 

"To think." –she replied quickly, before she went silent once more. He let the silence sit for a few moments longer before he asked–

 

"I'm always here to talk if you need it."

 

–and she turned back towards him, a small smile on her face.

 

"Thanks…maybe soon." She said quietly, and Adam…well, he knew Blake well enough to know when she didn't want to talk.

 

Adam simply nodded to Blake's words. "In that case…we'll have another mission soon. An SDC train that will be passing through not too far from here, the day after tomorrow. Should be an easy target–it'll just be you and me for the job."

 

Blake blinked, tilting her head at him, before she nodded. "Sounds good." She said plainly, nodding back–and though there was more he wanted to say, Adam turned soon after, leaving Blake to her brooding in the clearing.

 

There would be time to talk after the job was done, after all.

 

B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B

 

The Ashen One watched the young man leave–she didn't know his name, but that mask…she had seen that mask in her dreams so often, tied to a sense of tragedy and loss.

 

She wondered who he was to her. He knew her, obviously, called her Blake and spoke familiarly…he was close to her old self, clearly. How close, she wasn't certain…

 

After she had realized that she was on Remnant, the Ashen One had found herself…curious. She ditched her armor, watching as it disappeared in flashes of shadow (she could guess what the culprit of that was, pulsating in her chest, yet what exactly was happening was a question she was content to answer later) and slipped into her old clothes.

 

They felt…odd on her skin, just as odd as hearing a name rather than a title…but the Ashen One found she did not hate them. Wearing them didn't jog any memories–she knew they wouldn't, not when her old self was still buried beneath the Dark, even if the Flame had restored her physical form.

 

But they were nice, and more comfortable than armor–and it gave her a chance to try and learn about where she was.

 

When the Ashen One emerged from her tent, she had kept away from people–she didn't remember names or faces or anything really, so a conversation would be…problematic.

 

Instead she had simply watched the campground come to life, drifting in the shadows like a quiet specter while men and women with animal features just like her ears started their days. It was...nice, to watch them work, admittedly. When you had spent so long in a world that had little more than broken, mad corpses left, an appreciation for the simple things in life began to grow...though that appreciation could only go so far. The Ashen One soon realized she was learning little watching these people simply do laundry, set up tents, or train. All it told her was that she was in a fighter's camp in the wilderness. Not a particularly surprising revelation, she had to admit.

 

When she grew bored of watching the people run, the Ashen One found herself wandering, letting her feet guide her to this clearing. Just like her tent it felt familiar, and the walk had been pleasant--she had seen strange places, many...horrifying, admittedly, and some beautiful, but watching the forest change from a normal green to a beautiful red fall was a treat. She understood why her past self--why Blake--had often come here to think, if the young man's words were anything to go by.

 

It was here that she noticed the broken moon hanging in the sky–and though it was a disconcerting sight to say the least, the Ashen One also found it an oddly helpful partner for contemplation as she sat in the clearing and…well, thought.

 

Thought about how strange it was that she had ended up back here. Thought about how odd this land seemed (was she even in the same world? Though the moon had its oddities back in Lothric, being only visible from the land of Irithyll where the night always lingered, it certainly had not been shattered).

 

She found herself thinking that she did not mind being pulled back here. Claiming the throne of the Lord of Hollows had never been a goal of hers–she had simply wished to end that wretched oppression, and if the First Flame was here with her then now there truly was no chance for the rot to set in once more. Perhaps it was for the best, even.

 

She found herself wondering if she would even have to fight hard anymore, either. There were certainly still foes to face, but...well, if the members of her campground counted as decent fighters, the Ashen One felt she would find little challenge here. At the same time, she wondered what it was her group was fighting? What she had presumably been fighting, long, long ago...

 

…and finally, for the first time, she found herself wondering…what now?

 

When she had been hunting the Lords, the 'after' had not been much of a consideration–yet now she was here, with an entire unrecognizable world before her. There were no more Lords to slay, no knights to battle, no duties to uphold…there was nothing she had to do, and the thought left her feeling lost, because it forced her to ask…

 

…what did she want to do? Did she want to remember herself, now that there was no Fire to link and no chance that her old self would despise everything the Ashen One had worked towards? Did she want to explore this world and enjoy the fresh, new experience of a world not on the brink? Did she want to learn what her group was fighting and join (or perhaps she should say re-join?) the fight?

 

Did she simply want to find somewhere comfortable and rest? Far away from fighting and death...find somewhere the Ashen One could simply light a bonfire (she knew she could do it--the instant she considered it her mind seemed to whisper yes, a comfortable bonfire could be lit if she wished) and sleep until the wear and tear of her journey faded away?

 

The Ashen One did not know the answer yet…but her thoughts turned back towards the young man that had left the clearing. He spoke of a mission and expected her to help…she saw no reason not to, if she was being honest. At the least it could be a loose end to tie, and at most...

 

A day and some to prepare, a day and some to think…perhaps this would help her answer what she wanted to do.

Chapter Text

Yang sat on the couch, her head in her hand (singular), her broken metal arm tossed haphazardly onto the coffee table where it sat, essentially useless. Her fingers came to the bridge of her nose, pinching, a dull yet constant throbbing running through her brain as she fought the combination of a monstrous hangover and–

 

–Taiyang’s body soaked red, a deep gash in his side from a wicked curved blade. Her mother of all people rushing to his side without a second thought while Yang stood frozen, all three of the voices in her head shouting at her while Yang tried to convince herself that the figure she glimpsed disappear was just a trick of her damaged mind–

 

…that.

 

Because of course her return home couldn’t be simple–no, no, it had to lead to this situation, Yang stuck waiting to hear word about her father’s state from Raven (the deadbeat womb donor) of all people, because Beacon just had to save advanced first aid courses for the second year…

 

Yang groaned, tossing her head back against the soft headrest, sinking into the comfortable couch for the first time in…decades? Or maybe she should just think years and not count all the time in cryosleep getting shipped around the galaxy–for the sake of her own sanity if nothing else. When she had been awake, her handlers hadn’t been ones for creature comforts like couches. It was just job, job, job, after job with them.

 

Even Walter hadn’t been too different in that regard, though now she realized that was more just how the man was than any cruelty on his part. She doubted he spared a single bit of comfort for himself either–everything was for his mission…until the end.

 

‘...he was a lot more like us than we realized.’ Raven (the voice in her head) whispered, and Yang found herself groaning once again. Why couldn’t Walter have just been an uncomplicated, monstrous, genocidal bastard? Leaving her stuck with all these complicated thoughts and feelings about if she had gotten to know him better, started talking more and sooner, been more Yang than 621 and Raven and forced her emotions past the augments sooner…

 

…fucking asshole. Couldn’t just be another Snail, nooooo, had to be noble and stupid. Leave her making her hangover even worse with the kind of thinking cryosleep blessedly let her avoid.

 

Hell, why was she even thinking about this annoying, heavy stuff right now?

 

‘Because it’s somehow less stressful to think about than Dad and, well…’ 621 cut in bluntly before trailing off, and Yang scowled–and then groaned once more, because of course the genocidal voice was right.

 

She knew 621 couldn’t blame her for wanting to avoid thinking about who Dad was fighting, though.

‘Yang?’ Ayre cut in, and Yang almost jumped at the sound of her voice. The Coral waveform had been keeping quiet since they got back to Yang’s home, to the point that Yang had almost forgotten she was there, lost in too many thoughts she would rather not be thinking.

 

‘Are you alright?’ Ayre continued. ‘What happened with your father, and…’ The Coral trailed off and Yang grimaced. Even she was tiptoeing around that…

 

“I’m alright, Ayre.” Yang said–and almost immediately she could tell that was the wrong thing to say. Even if she didn’t have a physical form, somehow Yang could just feel the frown on her nonexistent face.

 

“Like, I mean, I’ve been better, sure…” That didn’t seem to satisfy the waveform, and her ‘frown’ only seemed to get deeper, a sense of concern and worry bleeding off the Coral’s silent expression–and that cut more than anything the Coral could have said.

 

She let out a sigh, looking up at her childhood ceiling–unchanged yet so unfamiliar now. Just like everything else.

 

“This…wasn’t exactly how I imagined coming back to Remnant.” Yang admitted–to be fair, she could have never imagined time travel would come up, but all her fantasies had been just…coming back to Remnant and everything going back to the way things had been. Everything feeling the same. Just a peaceful, happy moment as she escaped back home.

 

Sure, fighting Salem and the Grimm was hard–but it could never be worse than that endless cycle of job to job to job to job while the mountain of bodies grew…

 

She shook her head, shaking off those thoughts and re-focused. Now wasn’t the time to get lost down that pit.

 

She had always imagined Ruby, Weiss…Blake, just as she remembered them–just before they had all fallen. But there was the issue–they had all fallen, and in that hellish world, Yang had never truly thought that they could be in their own nightmares. Intellectually it made sense, sure, but she didn’t want to wonder what one of her best friends, her sister, and her…something had been going through when the answer was so bleak.

 

But now Yang had to ask that question: what the hell had happened to Ruby, that…that she would almost kill Dad?

 

Because she was certain that it was Ruby she had seen–it had just been a glance, and she was wearing different clothes, but there was no mistaking that cloak on her shoulders.

‘But Ruby wouldn’t…she couldn’t. I mean, it’s Dad, how…’ Raven the Voice whispered–

 

‘She should’ve gotten her ass kicked.’ –621 barked, and though Yang’s immediate thought was rude…621 wasn’t wrong, either. Ruby had gotten so much stronger in their time at Beacon and after, but even after training in Atlas Yang didn’t like either of their odds against Taiyang in a 1v1. They could have pushed him harder than ever before, sure…but not torn him apart like he had been.

 

Yet she couldn’t ignore the facts, no matter how incomprehensible they seemed–Dad had gotten beat badly by someone in a red cloak wielding a scythe/sword…and all she could do was ask why, knowing no one had the answer.

 

“What happened to you, Ruby…” Yang muttered, sinking deeper into the couch. Red, white, and black flashed through her mind. “What happened to all of you…” If Ruby was like this...were Blake and Weiss ok? Were they messed up like her, or...

 

Heavy footsteps thumping down the stairs interrupted Yang’s thoughts, and she practically sprung off the couch as her mother walked around the corner. Her hands were soaked in blood and her face set in a grimace that for a brief second had Yang fearing the worst–but then she remembered this was Raven she was talking about. She wasn’t sure her mother had more expressions than frowning or sarcastic, mocking smirks.

 

“How–” Yang started before Raven almost immediately cut her off.

“He’ll be fine.” She said, not even looking at Yang. Instead she marched past her, heading straight to the kitchen as Yang followed, watching as Raven turned on the faucet and let it run over her hands, washing all of Tai’s blood off in a bright red flow.

 

“It wasn’t as bad as it could have been–missed anything Aura can’t patch up. He’ll live until his Aura’s recharged, and that should sort him out.” Raven stated matter of factly, and Yang felt a weight slide off her shoulders. Her dad would be fine…Ruby…whoever he had fought hadn’t managed a killing blow. The voices of herself all murmured their own sighs of relief in her head as well, just as relieved as Yang.

 

“I…I should go check on him, right?” Yang asked tentatively, and Raven only shrugged.

 

“He’s asleep for now, so there’s not much to check on–and that stupid mutt is sticking to him like glue.”

Yang bristled at her description–Zwei was not stupid!–even if it was a relief to know Zwei was with her dad. Yang hadn’t even thought about the little corgi since she had gotten home, too stuck in her thoughts of Taiyang and Ruby–it would be nice to see him again.

 

‘If he even recognizes you.’ 621 muttered blaisely, earning the voice a mental-glare from Raven the Voice while her words sent Yang’s own thoughts into a mental spiral as she leaned against the kitchen wall.

 

Because once again, even if she was harsh…was 621 wrong? She had changed so much…the Zwei upstairs only knew her…what, 17 year old self? Younger? Yang hadn’t even checked what year it was–for all she knew she should’ve been at Signal right now instead of here with her bandit mother, her father sewed up and resting in bed and her potentially murderous little sister somewhere in Remnant.

 

Speaking of…Yang saw Raven staring at her from across the kitchen, her expression harsh yet unreadable. “Surprised you’re still here.” Yang shot at her. “Figured you’d need to be back with your precious little tribe by now.”

 

Raven’s brow quirked–surprised Yang knew about the tribe, maybe–but otherwise she barely reacted as she finished scrubbing away the last of Tai’s blood, grabbing a towel and leaning against the counter as she turned towards Yang.

 

“The tribe can survive without me there for a few hours.” Raven said curtly, paying more attention to drying her hands, and Yang rolled her eyes.

“Sooooo nice of you to fit me into your busy schedule of murder and robbery. Mother of the fuckin’ year right here…”

 

That earned Yang a fresh glare from Raven–one she ignored to step up to the fridge, throwing it wide open. It was stocked full of groceries–that told her she was at least early in the week, since the Xiao Long household tended to leave the fridge bare by the weekend–but food wasn’t what she was looking for. She pushed past those, looking towards the back of the fridge. She knew they were in there somewhere–

 

“Aha!” Yang exclaimed–and the chorus of voices in her head all groaned as one as she fished out a can of beer. A little stash of Drunkle Qrow’s for when he stopped by and his flask was empty.

‘Ugh, Dust Light tastes like piss though…’ Raven the Voice whined while 621 seemed to scowl inside her head.

 

‘Didn’t you have enough at Junior’s?’ She asked–a sentiment almost immediately echoed by Ayre as she said, ‘Yang, are you…sure you need more?’

 

“This stuff’s suuuuper weak, Ayre–plus, I’m stuck here with my mother of all people. Like hell I’m doing that sober.” This statement once more did not seem to placate the Coral waveform–but it earned her more looks of concern than Yang expected (not from the other two voices however. Those two immediately murmured their assent–they had just as little interest in dealing with their mother sober either).

 

Raven the Deadbeat’s eyes weren’t on the beer can though–they were on Yang, studying her face as she bumped the fridge close with her hip.

“Who’s Ayre?” She asked, half expecting an evasion or for Yang to brush her off–

 

“One of the voices in my head.” Yang stated matter of factly, stepping over to the kitchen table and leaning against it.

 

“One of?

 

‘One of?’

 

Two voices rang out with the same query, and Yang shrugged at both of them. “Eh, you get used to it, ya know?”

 

Raven’s face seemed to say that, no, she did not know, but Yang wasn’t paying attention to her. She was staring down at the beer can in her hand–her stump wiggling as Yang moved to crack open the beer just to be reminded she was once more down an arm.

“This, however, is less easy to get used to…” Now how to do get this open…she briefly considered asking her mother–

 

“Need some help there?” Raven asked, to Yang’s surprise–but the sarcastic smirk on her mother’s face wiped out any thought of accepting the unexpected offer.

 

“Yeah, yeah, yuck it up–soooo funny that your daughter’s got one arm, right?” Yang scoffed, setting the can down on the table–but she paused as her mother…was that a flinch, at her words?

She stared at Raven for a second–but it was gone in an instant, the older woman turning away from Yang to slam open the fridge. Yang scowled as she dug out a can of beer–and the two women locked eyes as Raven cracked the top and took a sip.

 

Yang at least had the last laugh when Raven’s emotionless mask broke as her lips curled in disgust.

 

“What, you didn’t think Uncle Qrow kept the good stuff where I could get at it, did you?” Yang smirked while Raven leveled a death stare at the beer can.

“Goddammit…seventeen years and your taste is still shit.”

 

Yang couldn’t help but snicker hearing that.

 

“Hah, right? He gave me that shit for my first drink, and I almost swore off drinking forever.” As she spoke, Yang placed her can of beer on the table. If she just grabbed hold of the tab and pushed down…

 

“Yes!” The loud crack of a beer can rang out once more, and Yang wore a victorious smirk as she lifted the can to her lips–and it was Raven’s turn to chuckle as the victorious grin was immediately wiped away by the sour taste of Qrow’s shitty beer.

“...man, this shit really does suck.” She took another sip despite her words, still scowling at the taste.

“Yet here we are, still drinking his trash…” Raven said as she took another sip as well.

 

“Yeah…here we are…” Yang muttered, just before she let out a long sigh.

 

“Hmmmm…” She locked eyes with her mother once more,blood red meeting tired lilac. “Seriously, why are you still here, Raven? You did Dad his favor, and you patched him up…I hadn’t even been expecting to get a goodbye, much less…” She waved her arm towards the kitchen. “...whatever this is.”

Raven didn’t respond immediately–she went so quiet that Yang wasn’t even sure she would get a reply. When the dark haired woman broke eye contact, that assumption turned into a certainty.

 

“Look, if you’re just waiting to tell Dad you did your part and get some favor, I’ll tell him when he wa–”

 

“I should have sensed it.”

 

Yang froze as Raven cut her off, the other woman’s gaze looked on the beer that she held in both hands.

 

“Should have sensed…” Yang started before trailing off as Raven lifted her head and looked at her–or rather, not at her…but at the stump where her arm used to be.

 

“Oh…right. Your Semblance…and your dumb rule.” Raven’s eyes widened a little bit at that, though her surprise was mitigated by…well, everything else probably.

“Did Tai tell you?” Her voice had a curious edge–Yang couldn’t help but wonder if she had expected her dad to say anything.

“Eh. Little bit of column A, little bit of seeing it myself…” At Raven’s questioning look, Yang shrugged once more.

“Yeah, you’re probably thinking ‘But this is the first time she’s ever seen this because I ran off to murder people in the woods like a bitch’.” Yang put on a screechy, singsongy voice–and though it made Raven’s eyes start to burn holes in her, the woman at least didn’t interrupt Yang.

 

“Well, you got three guesses for what could possibly explain your daughter suddenly being older and scarred and missing an arm, all while knowing things she shouldn’t. First two don’t count.”

 

Raven’s eyes narrowed and scanned all across her body–and suddenly a vicious sneer formed as she came to a conclusion.

“Ozpin.” Raven’s voice was filled with venom as she spat his name–leaving Yang blinking, vaguely surprised.

“Well, ok, not the answer I was looking for, but…I mean…not…technically wrong? Ish? I mean, the answer I was looking for was time travel…”

 

“Well, obviously.”

 

“Obviously?!”

 

Raven ignored her daughter’s outburst. “He dragged you into his war, didn’t he?”

 

“I mean yeah, but…” Raven bristled and Yang found herself missing her arm even more–then she could massage her temples without setting down her beer.

“...look, it’s…a long story, and you are taking this shit way too well.” Yang paused after she said that, taking in Raven’s appearance for a moment–such as how her grip had grown so tight that she had crushed the beer can in her hands, or how wild her eyes seemed to look.

 

“...well…actually no yeah you are still taking this way too well. Just...relatively speaking."

 

‘I mean, isn’t that a good thing Yang?’ Ayre chimed in within Yang’s head, having stayed silent for most of the conversation between the mother-daughter duo.

 

“I mean…I guess, but like…it’s still weird. I mean, I wouldn’t have believed her this quick if she suddenly showed up armless and fucked up.”

 

‘To be fair, you would have been more surprised that your mother showed up at all if the situation was reversed…’

 

“Fuck you too, other voice in my head.”

 

‘...how is it that you talking is somehow more concerning than when you were mute?’

 

“...I should really stop talking to the voices in my head out loud, huh?”

 

Though her mother was the only one who physically nodded at that, every voice present for the conversation voiced their agreement, and Yang sighed.

“Fucking…Raven.” Yang locked eyes with her mother. “You’re sticking around ‘cause you wanna know what happened to me, huh?” Raven nodded slowly, and Yang sighed again.

“Well, like I said, it’s…it’s a really long story. One that I don’t want to have to tell multiple times–so you good to wait ‘till Dad wakes up?”

 

Raven went quiet as she mulled her words over, and for a moment Yang thought she might just disagree and demand answers–but then Raven tossed the crushed beer can in her hand aside and stood up from the counter.

 

“...only if we find my brother’s good stashes–because you’re right, this will be miserable sober.”

 

Yang snorted, draining the last of her beer can before she sat back up. “Now you’re speaking my language–you know his spots?”

 

“When I lived here, he usually hid the good stuff in the shed while I was pregnant.”

 

“...wait, you mean before you were pregnant, right?”

 

“You came out fine.”

“...oh my god you were drinking while you were pregnant with me.”

 

“Look, do you want to get drunk or bitch about that?”

 

“...you’re just giving me so many more reasons to drink.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

“That’s not–you–holy shit that stash better still be there…”

 

Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y

 

Miles away in the wilderness, Qrow Branwen felt…off. He suddenly had a strange sense in the back of his mind–that an unholy alliance had been made…and that his secret stash of very expensive booze was the target. He didn’t get why he had that sense, but when your Semblance quite literally gave you bad luck, you started to trust the weird senses life threw at you.

 

“...man I hope Yang didn’t find my good stuff…Taiyang’ll kill me…"

 

He sighed, leaning back in the tree he was sitting in, taking a rest from tracking Oz's runaway maiden.

 

"...and I'll kill her if she drinks it all, too."

Chapter Text

Winter had hoped that following Weiss’s victory against the Arma Gigas, that she would have a chance to speak with her sister in private–to question her on…everything. The sudden change in both outfit and demeanor, the strange sword that had cleaved the Gigas in two (she was still debating internally whether that had been some incredible application of Ice and Hard-Light Dust, or simply a manifestation of their Semblance…Winter was not sure which option would be more incredulous)...Winter had questions practically bursting within.

She expected Weiss to flee from their father’s farcical party soon after her victory–cite exhaustion and a need to rest after her battle, even if she had made the ending look effortless. It was what Winter would have done in her place after all–and she knew that Weiss was no Whitley, eager to please their father.

This duel happening at all was proof enough of her willingness to defy him.

Yet the opportunity to corner Weiss as she fled this party never came–because her sister never chose to flee the party.

It boggled Winter’s mind, to watch Weiss climb up from the training room floor and seep into the party with disturbing ease. She met the polite applause of her wealthy onlookers with a wide wave of her own–and a strange smile that made Winter’s skin itch.

It took her a moment to realize why it was a grin that seemed so off-putting on Weiss’s lips–but when she did, it only made her insides squirm more. It was the kind of smile their father would wear at public events or for publicity stunts (such as tonight, or his children’s birthday parties).

Ice cold, like a frigid lake frozen over with ice so thin a single step might make it crack–yet shiny and clear enough that the average person would never notice its lack of warmth and depth until they misstepped and the ice shattered.

When had Weiss ever become capable of such a smile? Her sister was a stern, serious girl oftentimes, yet her smiles had always been genuine–Winter ought to know, as she was one of the few who got to be privy to Weiss’s real smiles.

Now there wasn’t a hint of the sincerity Winter was familiar with as she watched Weiss slip into the crowd with ease, offering quick words of thanks and greeting as she made her way to the center of the balcony where their father waited.

For everyone else, Jacques Schnee must have seemed the model of fatherly pride, his smile wide and gleaming as he waited for his daughter to step forth. Winter could see the cracks in his mask however–his mustache twitched beneath his nose, the closest his face came to displaying the rage he must have been holding in, and his hand was clenched so tight at his side Winter could see his arm vibrating.

“And there is my daughter, tonight’s victor!” Ever the consummate business-man however, Jacques buried his anger deep, storing it away to be released when people who mattered, such as his shareholders and government contacts, were no longer around. Winter could already imagine the bubble bursting once it was just the Schnees left in the manor…

Weiss’s smile barely twitched at his words, but for a moment it looked the slightest bit forced before the frigid grace returned.

“Why thank you, Father.” She gave him a deferential little nod, yet if the vein in his forehead was any indicator Jacques seemed to only take that as mockery while Weiss continued. “Of course, I do hope this settles the matter of our little debate, correct?”

Jacques and Winter both froze at Weiss’s words while a murmur ran through the crowded balcony. Jacques had kept the ‘test’ aspect of this battle a secret for a reason. It was nothing more than their family’s dirty laundry–yet another rebellious daughter’s fight against their father’s wishes.

Whether or not it would make him look bad didn’t matter to Jacques–in his eyes it was a private affair, and he was very good at pretending that the Schnee family seemed to have a loving and cooperative home even if the reality behind closed doors differed tremendously.

Winter’s own rebellion had been a media circus when the vultures got curious why the now-former heiress was fleeing her life of opulence for the military of all professions–half the admonishments and angry messages she received from Jacques had been about how she was ‘besmirching the family name’. He was protective of his reputation, and a daughter fighting a giant monster in order to abandon Atlas for another Kingdom?

Winter knew the man wouldn’t have that–yet here in public, Jacques couldn’t explode in a rage and shout Weiss down. The ball was in her court, and what happened next depended on what she said.

Jacques was rigid as he spoke, his voice wavering just a tinge as he asked, “And what debate was that, my daughter?”

Weiss let out a small chuckle–an innocent sound that Winter was certain rang of mockery in Jacques’ ears. “Oh, come now, Father, you know exactly what I mean.”

Jacques’ eye twitched while Winter felt herself grow tense–

“Our debate on whether or not the Arma Gigas could surpass a Huntress, after all!”

…what?

For a second there was nothing but confusion written across Jacques’ features–but those smoothed away in an instant as all of the tension seemed to bleed away from his body.

“Hah, of course!” He looked around at the gathering and spoke louder.

“It seems you have proven me wrong this time, my dear–I was certain the Arma Gigas would prove once and for all that the scientific ingenuity of our incredible R&D division was the future of warfare!”

He gestured towards the scientists, huddled together and whispering to one another as they looked down at the wreckage of the Arma Gigas from above. They didn’t even react as the party’s attention slid to them once more, focused entirely on their destroyed project–likely already making notes on how they could improve…if they were even allowed the chance after the armor had been so thoroughly trounced in front of so many eyes, that is. A forgiving man, her father was not.

Weiss tittered–tittered?!--at her father’s words, a laugh like tinkling glass that Winter would expect to hear from a soulless socialite.

“Now Father, I certainly agree that our incredible R&D are effective–but we must remember that it is brave Huntsman and Huntresses like my dear sister–” The crowd turned towards Winter and she fought to not cringe at the sudden attention. Years of military discipline only barely held strong, weakened by the sheer nausea Winter felt at this display.

“–that have kept us safe for generations. This is why I have been pushing you to support the Academies more, after all–my reward for our bet, hm?”

Jacques’ eyes narrowed while Winter’s heart stopped. Was…was Weiss playing their father? This…this wasn’t what Weiss had fought for. She had fought for her freedom to choose, to leave Atlas and attend Beacon. Not…what, to force a publicity stunt out of their father?

Now she was acting like…like Whitley. A groomed tool of her father, turning his teachings against him.

Wielding them effectively too–expectant eyes fell on Jacques and he coughed into his fist and adjusted his tie to hide the frozen glare in his ice-chip eyes.

“Ahem, yes. You certainly earned it with that display. Your tutors failed to mention just how much you had grown.”

Weiss hid a laugh behind her hand. “Forgive me if I felt winning some further global support for every Academy was worth a bit of deception.”

Winter’s eyes bulged in their sockets, the only indication of her sheer surprise–and for once, she looked the spitting image of her father as his eyes flew wide before years of experience squeezed on the fury Winter knew with intimate familiarity was raging behind that mask of calm.

Before Jacques could even try and counter, applause began to ring out from the crowd, starting with the heavy clap of Marvin Marigold’s meaty hands as his jowls jiggled.

“Aha, what generosity! Now that’s what I’d expect from your heir, Jacques old boy!”

“Really, it’s simply an investment for the future–the SDC wouldn’t be here without the brave efforts of Huntsman, Huntresses and of course Atlas’s own Specialists!”

Weiss took control before her father could even speak up, addressing the crowd while Jacques was left standing with a brittle smile across his lips–for once in his life the sidepiece being used for business deals. If he denied Weiss’s words, his reputation would tank–if it was simply with the general public Jacques could simply take the blow.

When it was shareholders, board members, and even a Councilman…that wasn’t a group Jacques could simply steamroll past, uncaring of their opinions. They were the voices that mattered to him, after all–and Weiss wasn’t letting him get a word in edge-wise to lessen the promises she was claiming he had made.

He was trapped–something that, once upon a time, would have left Winter jumping with joy (internally, of course–such a reaction would be unbecoming of a military officer, after all.)

Now she only felt sick. It was a clever ploy–and all it had cost Weiss was…her entire dream of freedom.

Just what was going on?

Was that even her sister out there right now?

For the first time, Winter looked at Weiss and struggled to recognize her.

W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W

It was a few hours later when Weiss finally excused herself from the balcony, citing a need for rest. She chose just before Jacques would presumably announce an end to the night’s affairs–long enough that he could not undo the lies she had weaved tonight, but early enough that she could disappear and avoid her father’s wrath.

Let the petty man seethe and fester the night away–he could wait until morning to be dealt with.

Weiss kept her smile up until she was halfway across the manor, tracing memories that suddenly felt so faded as she followed them to her bedroom. It was only when she disappeared behind closed doors where no one could see her that Weiss let the smile shatter–replaced entirely by an expression of utter disgust.

“Pathetic, insipid little wastrels…” When the enthusiasm for Weiss’s victory had worn out, praise for her and Jacques soon turned into talk about themselves–the wealthy rats suddenly saw Weiss as someone they ought to cozy up to. They couldn’t resist screeching their own praises to increase Weiss’s own opinion of them.

Funny how many of them had been content to ignore her words before, in that time that felt so long ago yet hadn’t even occurred yet. She recognized plenty of these upper-crust Atlesians from that party, and not one had given a damn about what Weiss had said then. Tonight, they had eaten up all the worthless filth and meaningless platitudes she had spouted like the finest of meals.

Perhaps it was simply because Weiss was finally speaking their awful little language–whatever it was, it made her sick.

Worry

Ranni’s feelings through the bond of Grace was like a soothing cold balm to her soul. Sitting down at her old windowsill, Weiss gazed up at the sky and followed the trail of grace as she tried to find the right image to describe the party. The sensations of the bond were a bit too simple to explain the complexities of Atlesian upper-class society…

“Hah, but that might work…”

Weiss let a flash of annoyance bleed through–immediately followed by an image of one of the shambling groups of wandering ‘nobles’ that filled the Lands Between.

It took a moment for Ranni to reply–yet if the sensation of Disgust that roiled through the Grace was anything to go by, Weiss felt confident her love had gotten the picture.

As she let her amusement fill the bond, Weiss’s eyes wandered across her old bedroom. The last time she was here…well, there had been much going on that awful night–and soon after this room had ended up little more than rubble, she supposed. Just like the rest of Atlas.

And before that…strange to find herself all but throwing herself into this room and the caged life she had fought so hard to escape.

Perhaps it helped that Weiss was not trapped this time. In fact, if anything she was choosing to play her father’s game, rather than be forced into it by birth and circumstance, weighed down by countless expectations that left no room for her own desires.

No, this time around the game was her desire–made all the better by the fact that the ball was in her court, even if Jacques did not yet realize it.

It was so strange to Weiss now, to think that she had ever been afraid of Jacques at all–to think that the man had possessed any power at all. His strength was no strength at all–little more than soft power that relied entirely on the perceptions of others. A worthless trick, and one that Weiss would fall for no longer.

She had seen true strength after all–and Jacques’ strength certainly did not befit the crown he thought he wore.

She could turn his strength into her own with enough wit until he was forced to submit to her desires, just as he had tonight in front of the crowd. They would expect Jacques to follow through now, and he would be forced to comply or lose face.

Yet if Jacques tried to do the same…if she misstepped and wound up with that same choice, to submit to his will or lose everything…

Jacques’ resistance did not mean victory for him. It would only force Weiss’s hand and make things…messy.

She let out a dark chuckle in the solitude of her room, and her amusement must have echoed through the bond as a questioning sensation from Ranni soon followed. It was once more too complicated to explain completely, yet…

Fathers, Weiss sent back–and once more did the sensation of Disgust and Annoyance ripple through Grace, and once more did Weiss’s Amusement return. She reclined against the cold window, pressing her cheek against the glass and looking out at the twinkling lights of Atlas in the distance, the shattered moon looking down upon the city restored.

If Weiss had her way, those lights would stay lit–all the twinkling lights would stay lit, even, from Vale to Mistral and all across Remnant.

That however was a task that could not be rushed–there was so much to do, and if Weiss recalled the date correctly, far less time than she would have preferred.

So much to do…however, at the least she would not have to labor alone…

W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W-W

When Blaidd felt his spirit called from their ashes once more, he forced his summoned form into a kneeling state, one knee against the ground, his snout level with the floor–a traitorous dog such as he didn’t deserve to look upon his Mistress, after all.

The moment the wisps of spirit solidified his voice rang out through the room. “Mistress Ranni! This disloyal mutt has no excuse for baring his fangs against you.” Well, technically he did, but it was not an excuse Blaidd felt he deserved–if he had been stronger, his nature should not have been an issue.

“I betrayed your trust and favor, becoming no worse than Darriwil, aiming to claim your life, attempting to take Weiss’s, and having to be put down like a feral beast! Your Blaidd can only beg forgiveness!”

It was a heartfelt and earnest apology to his Lady–the only thing a hound like he had left to offer in this life after death he had chosen for himself.

Yet his apology was met not with cold judging silence or harsh, icy hatred and admonishment–no, instead what followed Blaidd’s shout was…laughter?

Loud, raucous laughter that had Blaidd lifting his head to look at the source–where he saw Weiss sitting against a windowsill, not even trying to stifle her amusement.

“Hah, I told you he would immediately start harping on about apologies and betrayals!” Weiss’s laughter paused, as if she was listening to something only she could hear, and she rolled her eyes at whatever it was she heard.

“Yes, yes–I’ll tell the dumb mutt he’s overreacting.” Blaidd could tell he knew she could hear him–and he could tell that she knew that he knew that she knew he could hear him too, if the wicked grin on her face was any indication. His ears drooped while he swiveled his neck, his eyes sweeping across this strange…bedroom, of all things?

“Er, Weiss…” He began–but she held up her hand before he could start.

“Ah-buh-buh! First things first–” Her wicked grin grew wider. “Blaidd, your Mistress says that you are a dumb mutt who is overreacting.”

The grin slipped just a bit for a moment as Weiss tilted her head and sighed. “...but not in those words, admittedly. Forgive me for trying to lighten the mood…”

She stood up from the windowsill and marched towards him–and when she stood in front of Blaidd, she held out her hand.

“There’s nothing to kneel for, Blaidd.” Weiss said, her wicked grin replaced by a softer, gentler smile. Blaidd stared at her hand for a moment before he took the offering–wispy spirit meeting living flesh as he slowly rose, confused.

“If anything, Ranni believes herself to be the one who must apologize…” Weiss continued–

“Eh?! The hell would she have to apologize for? I’m the mutt that tried to bite his master’s hand, after all.”

Weiss only shook her head at his rebuttal. “She…Ranni and Iji knew what would happen to you, Blaidd. They…” She glanced away. “...well, they underestimated just how loyal of a hound they had in their midst.”

Blaidd’s mind roiled with questions–he wanted to rebuff, to claim more blame for himself and reject the notion that Ranni made a mistake–that she and Iji had been wrong…

Instead, the Half-Wolf swallowed those words and asked the question that burned the most in his mind. “...and why is Lady Ranni not saying this in person?”

Weiss’s lips thinned, and for a moment Blaidd thought the worst had passed–

“We won…” Oh, thank…well, not thank Marika. Fuck Marika, if anything…thank Ranni? That felt a bit off, but his Mistress was a god now…

“...but there’s been a…complication.”

“...of course there was. Lemme guess–you’re about to say we have a lot of work to do, eh?”

“Hah!” Weiss’s laughter barked out with just a touch of bitterness. “Why my fine furred friend, how astute of you.” She stepped away from him and walked towards the window, the wispy towering wolf-man following her across the bedroom.

Blaidd saw a towering cityscape past the glass–yet his eyes focused on the shattered moon. Something he had heard plenty about, yet…

“Damn do I hate that moon.”

Weiss snickered again at his words. “It’s positively awful, is it not? I grew up my whole life beneath it but now the sight’s just…eugh.”

“I take that to mean we ended up back at your home?”

“Right as Ranni was claiming the damned Ring.” Blaidd couldn’t see Weiss’s face, but he saw the way her shoulders shook with rage–man, he would not want to be whatever was responsible for that. Hell, he certainly had some choice words for them too.

“So!” Weiss turned, clapping her hands together. “It will be a bit of time before Ranni arrives–and until then, there are far too many issues that we will be handling.” Her eyes gleamed with promises of just how those issues would be dealt with.

“Do I even need to ask, Blaidd?”

Blaidd’s own lips pulled back in a vicious grin (a terrifying expression for a half-wolf to bear, at least according to Kalé).

“By sword and fang, this wolf is ready to feast at your command, my Lady.”

Their lupine grins beneath the moonlight made for a wicked sight that cold night.

Chapter Text

It wasn't until the next morning that the Ashen One found herself wandering back towards the camp.

 

She hadn't necessarily slept out there–even if her appearance had been restored to one of false life, she remained Undead Ash at her core. Sleep meant little to one such as her, and unlike a certain onion knight, she wasn't prone to naps in odd corners.

 

…the thought of the onion had made the Ashen One's earlier placidity waver just a bit, however. Of all her companions and allies, Siegward's end had been the noblest fate any had met in Lothric–yet it was still a tragedy nonetheless, the only fate that wretched land allowed.

 

So, if she had spent some time napping atop that rock in the clearing, it had been in order to honor his bravery and assistance in her quest…and maybe to sleep off the Siegbräu that she had drunk as well.

 

That was what had really taken up most of her rest, honestly–realizing that little perk of the First Flame. In Lothric, storing items was a hassle to say the least. Greedy Undead and thieves abounded across the broken kingdom, looting whatever they found (she should know, considering how much pilfering she was responsible for…) yet despite the burden it placed on her, her status as Unkindled Ash did allow for one perk that solved such an issue.

 

To this day the Ashen One did not understand how it worked (even now, her best guess was that some Lord of Cinder in the distant past had burned with a Bottomless Box–though what kind of strange, deranged individual would do such a thing she could scarcely imagine) yet its effect was undeniably convenient. Feeding her belongings to the bonfire allowed her to store them away within the flames–and resting at another bonfire allowed her to pull from the ashen storage that had formed.

 

Of course, in Remnant, a land of life where bonfires had no place, her stores of hard-earned loot should have been far out of her reach–yet the key to it all now thrummed in her cold, hollow chest. The bonfires all sprung from the First Flame–and with the First Flame now contained within her, her goods had never been closer.

 

The discovery had been simple deduction, really–the clear answer as to what had happened to her armor earlier when she had removed it. It had not been because of an idle desire for a sip of Siegbräu that had not been spilled upon herself and the forest floor when its sudden appearance in a burst of ash and spark startled her from her rest, and most assuredly bore no connection to her discovery that the warmth of the Flame also served as an incredibly efficient method of drying her garb.

 

If any soul claimed otherwise, they were clearly little more than a lying scoundrel with no morals–so Patches, basically.

 

To say that connection was convenient was an understatement–any weapon or armor that the Ashen One had ever stored away required only a thought to equip now, and from herbs to firebombs and every other little tool and drink and snack she had squirreled away, all it took now was a moment to peer into her storage to claim her spoils.

 

It even made her wonder what else the Flame made her capable of…but for now however, there was something more important that required her attention.

 

Once more the Ashen One had watched the White Fang's camp slowly begin to wake up as she meandered back onto its grounds, and this time…

 

That young man from yesterday had shown the Ashen One that, with a bit of confidence, her face alone would assuage these people from suspicions–even if she had absolutely no idea who they were. It was a tool she would take whole advantage of if she was to understand this ragtag group 'Blake' had once been a part of.

 

And so she spent the day interacting with the camp members–lending a hand for chores or an ear for their woes to understand this group.

 

Her conclusion?

 

B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B

 

The Ashen One came up to a pudgy young man with dark golden feathers that sprouted from his dark brown hair. Focused on trying to lift a heavy bundle of wood in front of him, he didn't seem to notice her approach--

 

"Need a hand?"

 

--and when she spoke up behind him, he let out a screech that reminded her of a Corvian's cry, jumping ram-rod straight before whipping around to face her.

 

"Gah! Ah-ah-o-oh, Blake! J-jeez, you startled me real good there..." He scratched the back of his head, a faint blush marking his embarrasment.

 

"I noticed." The Ashen One spoke simply, earning an awkward chuckle from him.

 

...the young man confused the Ashen One, quite simply. She had thought this a fighter's camp of some sort--perhaps bandits even, to explain the abundance of weapons and the impermanent nature of the camp. Yet this young man--rather weak-seeming and certainly very soft--dashed that thought, for what kind of band of cutthroats and robbers would keep such a creature in their midst? The more she studied him, the less she felt she understood of this group...

 

She tilted her head as the young man flinched beneath her gaze. Yes, this young man didn't seem to belong here at all...one of many individuals she had noticed who seemed out of place--who would be better off in a city or town of some sort and not the wilderness amongst a violent militia.

 

"Y-you said you wanted to help me?" He asked timidly, breaking the silence that had formed as she studied him. "I-I mean, I won't say no to another hand now..." He trailed off, glancing towards the pile of wood--the first of many bundles that they stood before at the moment. "Man, this is a lot more than I thought..."

 

"Hmm." The Ashen One simply stepped past the young man and bent down, grasping the cord tying the bundle together and lifting it with one hand. It was...decently heavy, she supposed, though it was plenty light in her hands--and she tried to ignore the way the feathered young man gawked at the ease she displayed.

 

"Oh boy, i-if it's that easy for you..." His face seemed to fall, and for a moment the Ashen One wondered if she might end up simply taking on this young man's task.

 

She quirked a brow however as an unexpected flash of steel ran through the young man's gaze--and in a...relative burst of motion, he practically threw himself down towards another bundle of wood, and with a groan of exertion--

 

"Hrghh!"

 

--he lifted with all his might, getting the bundle up onto his shoulder.

 

"I-I won't fall behind!" He tried to grin, though it wavered quickly as he wobbled just a bit. The ghost of a smile flashed across the Ashen One's own lips.

 

"Bold words...but you really should lift those with your legs..."

 

Thankfully, he did not drop the bundle at her light admonishment.

 

It was just shy of an hour later then that the bundles of wood had been moved. In the end, the Ashen One had moved most of them--though the young man took her advice, he did not exactly have the endurance, and the will that was there was not enough to make up for it. He practically collapsed beside the wood pile, soaked in sweat, his feathers matted against his hair.

 

"Hah...hah...hooooh Brothers I think I'm gonna be sick..." He heaved as he lay on the dirt--though despite his words, he did wear a wide smile.

 

"...why were you set to do this alone?" The Ashen One asked, perched atop the wood pile. Looking up to her, he tried to sit up--and when his body refused to lift, he simply responded to her from the ground.

 

"I, er...w-well, I told Adam I wouldn't need any help...d-didn't really think it was gonna be like this..."

 

The Ashen One simply tilted her head questioningly, and the young man seemed to draw her meaning after a moment.

 

"I...I just kinda thought maybe a buncha labor would toughen me up a bit more, you know? O-or maybe you don't, since you've clearly always been super strong--"

 

"I wasn't." The Ashen One cut him off, and he turned his head towards her with wide eyes. "I was once pathetically weak too--we all are, at the start." Weak, transient souls...that was all mankind really was.

 

Their strength, however... "Throwing yourself at struggles...it's not impossible to become strong enough to overcome them, certainly. Some things have to be overcome alone, even. But in the end, it's a bit of cooperation that will often see you through--when you are weak, relying on others is your greatest strength."

 

The young man didn't respond then, looking up at her--the gleam of fascination and awe in his gaze. So amidst more silence, the Ashen One continued--

 

"Why are you here?"

 

--and her question seemed to start the young man out of his own thoughts.

 

"W-well, I mean...I know I don't really fit, b-but...I just wanted to do my part to help in the fight, you know? Ever since--" He choked up suddenly, swallowing his words before continuing. "--ever since some uh...some rough stuff happened to me back in Vale, I realized that, like...the only thing I can do, the only thing that matters anymore..." His expression twisted a bit--and where once a soft, weak boy lay, a bitter and bloodthirsty soul briefly looked up at her. "...is trying to fight back against those bastard humans and their oppression against us Faunus."

 

B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B

 

(The young man had a fire in him the Ashen One hadn't expected to see. At least, not within him. He was an eye opener in multiple ways however. Where once she saw ill-fitting men and women, the Ashen One now saw fighters of a different kind. Would-be revolutionaries and fresh-faced freedom fighters...suddenly the Ashen One thought of dark and deceptive Londor. Was this why she had felt kinship with those decrepit Hollows--the only ones fighting against the Gods' tyranny? Had she already been part of such a group, fighting not for loot or pleasure--but pushed to violence by persecution and ideals?

 

And more than that...that word, Faunus...so that was what she was. How ironic, that she had fought for so long in the name of Humanity, thought of herself as Human--still thought of herself as Human even, at least in her world's terms--and yet, Humanity was her first enemy? If they were not all dead she might have thought the Gods playing tricks on her--and perhaps they were, if such beings existed on Remnant as well...)

 

B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B

 

With the realization that the White Fang were violent revolutionaries rather than simple bandits or mercenaries, their organization made far more sense. They did not recruit based on strength or capability but on passion and belief--they needed numbers to fight against a far greater foe than themselves.

 

Still, the Ashen One couldn't help but wonder if their movement was doomed to fail without some strength to back them. If their fighters were only as good as that feathered young man...

 

Luckily, the world seemed to want to provide a chance for her to test them.

 

B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B

 

Trifa scowled as she watched Belladonna help Clara pull down some of today's laundry. It wasn't the act itself that made her annoyed--if anything, 'high and mighty Miss Belladonna', who thought she was soooooo much better than everyone else, spending all her time either training with Adam or reading those trashy books of hers rather than helping the camp, really ought to be helping more.

 

...the fact that she was only lowering herself to help now just rubbed Trifa the wrong way. What, did she decide to take pity on the rest of them? Trifa had seen her spend the whole morning helping around--that weakling Goldie with the wood, Carver and Ara with meal prep, now Jell with the laundry--

 

Trifa watched as Belladonna suddenly paused--and then froze as the other girl turned and looked straight at her. Their eyes briefly met--

 

--and Blake simply gave Trifa a small smile and a wave.

 

The Spider-Faunus's face tensed up into a bitter snarl. That--was that bitch mocking her?! She always looked down her nose at Trifa...now she wanted to be nice?

 

Belladonna tilted her head as she caught sight of Trifa's glare--acting confused, like she didn't know how much of a bitch she was?!--and something in the spider snapped.

 

Stomping across the camp over to the smug cat, Trifa stopped just before Belladonna--who had set down the laundry she held, and seemed to just be waiting patiently for Trifa.

 

"You wanna go, Belladonna?" Trifa barked out--

 

"...sure, why not." Blake accepted simply, and it was all Trifa could do not to punch the spoiled princess right there and then. Always acting like she was better than everyone else, better than Trifa...even now she barely acknowledged her...well, Trifa had seen Blake training. Knew how good she was.

 

Now she could put that stupid princess in her place.

 

B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B

 

Trifa blinked as she looked up at the cloudless sky, her back aching as she tried to catch her breath.

 

What...what the actual fuck was going on?!

 

She challenged Belladonna to a spar, they went to the training ring in the center of camp...Belladonna didn't get her weapon, so Trifa figured this would be even easier. Didn't even think to pull her knife...

 

But she just...every punch she threw, Belladonna seemed to know just how to dodge or block it, leaning out of the way or just brushing Trifa's fist aside. She moved as fast as she could, but it was like Belladonna was always faster--without even trying. She didn't even break a sweat...

 

The longer the fight had gone on, the more pissed off Trifa had felt--the more uncoordinated she got, sloppier, stupider...she knew she was screwing herself, but Belladonna's blank, bored expression set an angry blaze off in her heart.

 

She had drawn her knife even at some point--she didn't even remember when--and Belladonna...she hadn't even reacted. Just...just continued dodging. Made her look pathetic.

 

The fight was over the moment Belladonna finally made her first actual move, parrying Trifa's wild knife-swing, grabbing her, and slamming her so hard down into the dirt Trifa felt her Aura nearly shatter like glass.

 

This...this wasn't how that was supposed to go! She had watched the spoiled brat train--Trifa knew she was better than her!

 

The arrogant little princess leaned down towards Trifa--the Spider Faunus expecting some snide remark or acerbic put-down from the introverted cat, all with a smug grin.

 

Instead she simply offered Trifa her hand to help her up.

 

Somehow, that was worse.

 

B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B

 

(There was more fire than expected in the camp--that girl, 'Trifa'...the Ashen One did not know what her issue was with Blake Belladonna, but with how little she remembered and how hard she had ended up fighting to avoid recalling herself she was not unwilling to suspect they ran deeper than simple animosity on the spider's part. Still...though she lost handily, and smacked the Ashen One's hand aside when offered, she wasn't weak by any means. Simply...it would not be fair to compare the girl to one such as herself.

 

There was only so far the living could grow if they were not born special and lucky.

 

She was proof enough that the White Fang had some measure of strength...but was it enough to fight their enemies? Who were their enemies, anyways? Was it simply all of humanity, or was the conflict more nuanced than a simple 'us vs them'? She had seen proof that every side had their own story often enough amidst Lothric--beneath the ruins of Carthus where the last of the demons slowly succumbed to extinction, their King ancient, their Prince long slaughtered, as well as simply the conflict between God and Man itself...

 

They had fighters, but did they have what it took to win their war?

 

...and could she crush those who stood above?)

 

B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B

 

By the time the sun set, the Ashen One had gone through much of the camp--from carrying heavy objects, to cooking (...she had been asked not to help with that again, admittedly. In her defense, the food of the living still tasted like ash even now--how was she to know 'peanut butter' and 'mayonnaisse' did not normally go together?), cleaning, putting up tents, even sparring (after her spar, a small crowd of eager trainees had all but begged the Ashen One to teach them--she fled almost immediately, lacking the heart to tell them she simply moved on instinct born of battle more than any learned skill)--but now, it was the quiet sound of metal scraping that drew the Ashen One's attention.

 

Ducking into a large tent, the undead found an array of weapons stored in various manners--swords, knives, and similar melee armaments mounted on a rack, a few crates full of a strange tube-like weapon the Ashen One both did and did not recognize--all surrounding a tanned mountain of a man in a White Fang uniform.

 

Though his uniform left his bulging arms bare, showing off several tattoos on his upper left arm, his face was completely covered by a full version of one of the White Fang's masks, revealing only his short dark hair as he sat cross-legged with a grindstone in his lap and a few blades by his side.

 

He seemed completely consumed by the slow, methodical process of sharpening the blades he had chosen, not even looking up when the Ashen One stepped into the room--when she sat down atop one of the crates nearby however, watching him curiously, the large man paused in his grinding.

 

"If you're gonna sit, you might as well help." He said, reaching to his side and picking up a grindstone--tossing it behind him towards the Ashen One. Catching it with ease, the Ashen One quietly studied him for a bit longer before she shrugged and reached to her side, grabbing hold of a stored blade that looked dull to her sharp eye.

 

The pair sat in silence for hours then--the only sound within was metal scraping until the light outside grew dark, sharpening blade after blade into deadly killing tools.

 

The Ashen One only spoke once she noticed that their light had disappeared--a realization that took longer than she expected thanks to her own natural night vision.

 

"...why are you here?" She asked bluntly.

 

The man did not even look up towards her. "Someone's gotta sharpen these things. Those idiots don't take care of their tools--and the sound's pretty relaxing, wouldn't you agree?"

 

The Ashen One however shook her head. "While I won't argue against that, it is not what I meant."

 

This time, the man did pause and look towards her as she continued. "Why...are you here? To fight against the humans?"

 

She could not see his face, but she could feel him roll his eyes beneath his mask. "You know why I'm here, Blake."

 

The Ashen One schooled her features, barely suppressing a flinch. "I do..." She lied. "...but just...humor me. I've been...doing some thinking today."

 

The Ashen One had spent her entire day studying others, so she could tell in an instant when the masked man began to study her, staring at her from behind that dark-eyed mask--but he only shrugged and turned back to his grindstone as he continued.

 

"I'm here...'cause Adam's got the fire we need to take the fight to those damn humans. To strike back against everyone that's wronged us..." He paused, and the Ashen One watched as his hand tensed--squeezing the grindstone in his hand so hard she could see thin cracks form in the stone.

 

"...because Adam's the one who'll bring us against those Schnee bastards that stand at the top of it all, oppressing us, debasing us, killing us, enslaving us--" His grip grew tighter with every word, anger fueling the pressure until--

 

Crkl!

 

--with a sharp crack the stone was reduced to shards and dust in the man's grip. The sound snapped him out of his fury--like a switch, the anger fled, and the man merely sighed.

 

"...great." He opened his hand and let the dust fall to the floor before he did a little wave towards the Ashen One. "Leave that stone with me? I need to...relax for a bit."

 

The Ashen One tossed him the stone and ducked away into the night without another word--earning her a grateful nod from the man that went unseen, before he turned his focus back towards his work--drowning out his thoughts and memories with the smooth scrape of metal on stone.

 

It had not been the first time the Ashen One had heard the name Schnee today. They came up casually, always spoken with disgust and disdain amongst the Faunus. The Schnee 'Dust Company', a 'corporation'--from what the Ashen One understood, essentially nobles with more wealth and power than some of the nations of this world. Kings in their own right--or perhaps Gods. They had earned scathing remarks--but none had spoken with such unbridled hurt and fury as that man had. Scarred by their cruelty...branded by it in a manner crueler than the Dark Sigil, marked in his mind and left with few avenues towards peace.

 

She wondered what it was he had suffered--what Adam had done to earn such a man's loyalty--who the Schnee really were. But most of all, the Ashen One wondered...how had she been hurt by them in the past?

 

Had she been hurt by them, even? She did not know...she wasn't even sure if she wanted to know...but what she did know was that often times, when one managed to form an enemy as angry, bitter and broken as that man seemed to be, hidden behind his mask...rarely were they innocent of crimes.

 

B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B

 

…they were an…interesting bunch, this 'White Fang' that the Ashen One had found herself amongst. A motley crew of bitter and battered individuals, brought together to fight against what had hurt them all, varying in motivation, some burning more passionately than others, but all united against inequality and fueled by a need to strike back.

 

It was a respectable motivation--a goal the Ashen One had already strived for as well. It put into perspective the disgust the Ashen One had felt towards the Gods, towards Gwyn and his eternal age of subservience for man. The Schnee...they were her Gwyn once, perhaps.

 

Perhaps they would be again.

B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B

About an hour after she had left the muscular man--an hour spent wandering the camp, watching as it slowly made it's descent into rest--the broken moon was now hanging high overhead. With the rest of the camp disappearing into their own corners, the Ashen One made for her tent, not necessarily to rest, but to process at least--she paused however near the entrance of the camp, watching a scene from the shadows.

 

In the distance, she could see that young man, Adam, watching three colorful individuals walk away. A bored looking, pale young man with a full head of grey hair, a scantily-clad girl with dark skin that made her light green hair stand out all the more, and a woman who could only be their leader--made obvious by the smug confidence she wore upon her beautiful face, framed by long, lustrous dark hair that managed to match well with the crimson, bare-shouldered dress she wore.

 

...if it were not for the fact that the Ashen One assumed most any warrior possessed the same strange soulbound force field that protected her, she might have thought the group fools for their dress. Instead, it allowed the Ashen One to focus on a simple fact--of the three, their beautiful leader was the most dangerous.

 

Not a threat to her, not truly and not for a long time...but dangerous nonetheless. Perhaps the most dangerous person in the camp besides herself, and...

 

"...who were they?" The Ashen One asked curiously as she slid up behind Adam.

 

"Nothing." The man said curtly, and the Ashen One did not bother to hide it as she rolled her eyes. "We need to finish preparing for the mission tomorrow...the train will be here at dawn."

 

...a sense of deja vu washed over the Ashen One then--an inkling that she had seen something like this before. Even without it, the Ashen One would have still questioned him, but with that sense...

 

"They were clearly something." The Ashen One replied as Adam began to walk away--earning a pause as the man stopped...and simply sighed.

 

"They were just humans--criminal thugs that thought the White Fang was a mercenary group they could simply hire and throw at their problems. They had some sort of obnoxious plan they hoped to persuade us to take part in--to use us as fodder for their goals."

 

...the Ashen One's eyes trailed back to the three--just as they disappeared into the treeline. "...you should have killed them." The Ashen One replied--and she watched as the young man jerked in shock at her words.

 

When he did not speak, she simply continued however. "...or at least their leader. She did not seem like someone who would take no for an answer."

 

The Ashen One could have likely caught up to them--dealt with them soon enough...but Adam's next words made her pause.

 

"If they come back, then we'll kill them." He scoffed, shaking his head. "They at least listened to us and left when I said no. There's no point killing a human that'll actually listen to us Faunus."

 

He tilted his head and met her eyes--masked slits locked with amber. "...are you feeling alright though, Blake?"

 

The Ashen One fought down the urge to tense up and simply shook her head. "...I'm fine. They simply seemed dangerous enough to be a problem in the future."

 

She strode past Adam then, turning to urge him along. "Now, you said we need to prepare?"

 

"...yeah." Adam nodded, and the Ashen One nodded back, letting him pass her by to lead the way.

 

Never once noticing the way his jaw tensed and his lips curled, concern, curiosity and accusations held back only by discipline, and the thought that it could wait for another time.

Chapter Text

Taiyang tumbled through the darkness as he fell for what seemed like ages, bouncing–

 

"Good. All signed and sealed. Now, let's begin the transfusion…"

 

–words burning through his mind in a flash, leaving a stinging yet intelligible brand across it–

 

"What's that smell? The sweet blood, oh, it sings to me. It's enough to make a man sick."

 

–with–

 

"–seek the old blood–"

 

–every–

 

"Fear the Old Blood."

 

–slam–

 

"No, we shall not abandon the dream. No one can catch us! No one can stop us now!"

 

–each violent flash bringing with it a vision–people he did not recognize, beasts–Grimm? Grimm that bled and screeched and wept–

 

"Ahh, ahh, please…help us…ah…"

 

–looking at them made his stomach churn as he tumbled further down into the depths–

 

"A corpse, should be left well alone."

 

–deeper into the dream–

 

"Does the nightmare never end?!"

 

–deeper into the nightmare–

 

"Tonight, Gehrman joins the Hunt."

 

–Taiyang jerked suddenly as his fall stopped–a cold hang brushing against his neck as it grabbed him by the collar and stopped his descent.

 

"Oh? Now what is this, that has wandered so far into dreams not meant to be seen?"

 

Consciousness ceased.

 

R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R

 

Cold stone against his cheek met Taiyang as his eyes slowly fluttered open. There was a slight chill in the air, one that might the slow push against the grogginess weighing him down just a bit easier.

 

Beneath him was a rough cobbled path, the stone worn smooth by time and travel where it hadn't faded away entirely, leaving empty patches of dirt speckled through the path. More cobblestone walls stood nearby, and for a moment Taiyang could have convinced himself he had woken up in a garden as his eyes caught sight of white flowers planted at the base of–

 

'Here lies a Hunter who found their worth in the waking world.'

 

–he nearly lept to his feet as he read those faded words off the weather-beaten gravestone–but just as he got to his feet his leg buckled, and his knee crashed back down onto the cobblestone.

 

That was when the cuts, aches and bruises made themselves known–a stream of aches and pains that culminated in a harsh slash across his ankle and a burning gash across his side. For a moment his mind went blank as he tried to recall how he had been injured–

 

"Ruby!"

 

–and once more Taiyang tried to shoot to his feet–only this time, as his leg buckled beneath his weight, he tumbled wholly back down to the ground, spared a concussion only as his shoulder took the brunt of the fall.

 

Still, a panic gripped Taiyang in that moment, and he spared barely a second before he was pushing himself up once more–ignoring the way his ankle screeched in protest as he used the wall he lay besides to prop himself up.

 

He looked about, his eyes wild–yet there were only graves in sight. Though the sky above was dark, the pale light of the full moon above was enough to see by–

 

Taiyang froze in his search and looked back up at the sky. A pale moon, round and unbroken hung high above the sky like a dim sun.

 

He blinked once however–and Remnant's shattered moon appeared in the sky once more.

 

A headache accompanied the moon's return–a trick of the light? Or perhaps the pain was getting to him right then–he had suffered worse injuries, sure, that was almost inevitable when you had been a Huntsman as long as him, but the ones his daughter had left were still plenty to leave scars…

 

His eyes swept across the graveyard once more–and still, it was nothing but old graves amidst white flowers and weedy-looking grass–as well as the wreckage of an old, burnt shack atop a small hill, the path to it paved by a winding set of stairs.

 

"...where the hell am I?" Taiyang muttered as he began to limp slowly over towards the burnt husk. The last thing he remembered was…well, a nightmare of a morning to start. A hunt for his missing kids turning into a goddamn duel to the death (well, his death anyways) with his youngest daughter certainly hadn't been on the agenda.

 

He still couldn't wrap his mind around it–how had she gotten so strong, so quick? The sense of pride Taiyang should have felt was drowned out by an overwhelming sense of concern. Nothing had been…right about that fight–beyond the fact that before today he could never have imagined Ruby killing someone in her life.

 

A flaw to some perhaps, who recognized that the monsters Huntsman had to hunt were not always masked Grimm–but a flaw he would encourage in his sweet and kind daughter any day.

 

So where had that little girl gone? What had happened to that starry-eyed child who just wanted to be a hero?

 

"She was forced to grow up, sadly. Would that one such as I could have shielded her from the trials…" A voice spoke up behind him–a woman's voice, tinged in an accent he didn't recognize–Atlesian, maybe? Even that didn't sound right though–and Taiyang turned slowly, ready to raise his fists in a moment if needed.

 

"Ah, please, do not be alarmed. I bear you no ill will, fallen Hunter, who has found his way to this nascent dream."

 

Porcelain-pale skin framed by hair as white and soft as fresh snow–the woman's face had an uncanny beauty to it, a perfection to her features that made Taiyang's skin crawl. No person's face was so flawless–not even his wife's face in his memories, though he cherished every imperfection that had made Summer herself.

 

Yet this woman, dressed in strange, outdated garb, the colors of her dress and shawl left faded by time, possessed not a hint of imperfection on her cold, angled face. Just a lack of color and warmth in her features that made the movement of her lips feel wrong to see, almost–

 

"Doll-like? Well I would hope so, given that is what I am…" The woman held out her hand–revealing notched joints across her fingers–the joints of a doll, so clearly artificial, carved and shaped by a devoted hand.

 

"I apologize if I startled you…" The woman–the Doll?–added as she folded her hands back against her dress. "I was not expecting visitors to this quiet little dream."

 

Taiyang tried to push down the strange revulsion he felt looking at this Doll. It was almost instinctual–her appearance made his brain cry out at the wrongness in her perfect beauty–yet she had been nothing but polite these last moments.

 

"No, I-I should apologize, really. I, uh…I don't really know how I got here, but it sounds like I'm the one invading your home. It's, erm…" He glanced back at the burnt down shack and winced. "...very nice."

 

"Hah." Her laughter lacked some emotion–but the Doll's lips curled upwards just slightly at the edges. "You need not lie. The last…proprietor had a most grandiose exit."

 

"...grandiose enough to burn the place down?"

 

The Doll's smile grew a bit more. "You could say he was a dramatic sort–and sadly, the new landlord is currently too…distressed at the moment to clean up the mess."

 

"Distressed? Is…I mean, I could help out–I built my own place actually, so I have some experience if you need a hand–"

 

"̷̹̜͔͕͘A̵̫̓h̶̨̪̞͈̍̉͋̈́̈́͝h̶̛̬͙͕̓̇͐h̶̡̖͒͌̾͠͝ḧ̸̤͊̓̇̓͘h̶̦͐̚h̸̛̲̔̍̃̈́ẖ̵͕̈́̐̋͘ḩ̸̟̭̖̰̓̔̆̾!̷̡͇͍̺͓̌͌̏̇"

 

Taiyang froze as a wail rang out across the graveyard. It was like it had always been going on–one long, continuous cry that his ears had been deaf to until just this moment. A wet trickle ran down the sides of his face–blood leaking from his ears–but Taiyang paid it no mind–couldn't pay it any mind as he locked eyes with the Doll's own, pale, blue and lifeless–because he knew that cry.

 

He had spent 15 years raising the owner of that cry. Had heard it countless times until its owner had been physically unable to cry anymore.

 

"...what did you say your landlord's name was?"

 

The Doll's face didn't shift–but the upward tilt of her lips did fade away.

 

"I apologize, sir, but you cannot see her at the moment. Your presence would only upset her further."

 

"̷̹̜͔͕͘A̵̫̓h̶̨̪̞͈̍̉͋̈́̈́͝h̶̛̬͙͕̓̇͐h̶̡̖͒͌̾͠͝ḧ̸̤͊̓̇̓͘h̶̦͐̚h̸̛̲̔̍̃̈́ẖ̵͕̈́̐̋͘ḩ̸̟̭̖̰̓̔̆̾!̷̡͇͍̺͓̌͌̏̇"

 

Taiyang's body moved the moment another wail rang out–tossing a punch aimed straight for the Doll's too-perfect face, to send her crashing away so he could rush towards his daughter–

 

–or at least, his body attempted to move. When Taiyang tried to throw a punch, there was resistance–a weight on his arms that turned his 'punch' into a pathetic flop of a jab before his arm went limp at his side.

 

The Doll did not even react as the weight on him only seemed to increase–soon enough, Taiyang's knees were buckling before the weight forced him back down onto the ground once more, his glare promising vicious things to the Doll above him.

 

"Thank you, Little Ones." The Doll spoke to nothing–yet the weight on Taiyang's limbs and back seemed to writhe invisibly for just a moment at her words.

 

"Let me see my daughter you–" The weight shifted once more and Taiyang was suddenly gagged, reduced to little more than muffled shouts.

 

The Doll squatted down–somehow managing to make such a position look refined as she did so–meeting Taiyang's angry gaze once more.

 

"I apologize once more, sir…but truly, your presence would do no good. The child has had a tumultuous day–and in her hysterical state, I fear you would do little more than perish."

 

Taiyang's blood chilled–not because he felt threatened, but because of how little threat the Doll's words possessed. She spoke them plainly–objective fact, rather than murderous aspersion. The Doll had complete and utter certainty he would die if he went to see Ruby.

 

Despite that, Taiyang pulled in vain at his invisible restraints once more.

 

The Doll lifted her hand, brushing her porcelain fingers against his chin as he struggled. "If you are so insistent, however…"

 

The Doll held out her other hand–and appearing from the ether, a small vial filled with a red liquid dropped into her palm.

 

"Consider this an apology from our shared daughter." The Doll plunged the vial into his neck before Taiyang could even try to protest. The accompanying wave of warmth rushing through his body was followed by dark shadows as his eyes grew heavier in an instant.

 

"And what comes next…a glimpse, and a test. I do hope to see you here once more."

 

Darkness claimed him.

 

R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R

 

The first thing Taiyang felt as he woke up once more was a wetness--warm against his skin, the liquid lapped gently at his limp form, half-submerged.

 

The first thing he heard were the screams–it was like there was a low, sickening moan reverberating in the background, made up by countless groaning, aching voices–then suddenly a high-pitched screech pierced through across the moaning gloom. It silenced the moaning for the briefest of moments–akin to a rifle shot in a crowded room–yet soon enough the moaning returned in a constant loop.

 

The first thing he tasted and smelled however…those were the worst of them, as he lay there disoriented and mindless, unable to think of anything other than these sensations running rampant across his senses.

 

Overpowering and nearly omnipresent, the scent simultaneously was sweet and heady, a wave that butchered all other smells–yet stank of the most vile mass graves, reminding him only of the filthy scent fragrance of butchered corpses in a desecrated village even as the sweetness of the blood made his mind itch.

 

And the taste? Nothing but iron–strong and potent, overpowering once more–it was the taste that finally forced him awake, forced him to stand up as his gorge rose and fell in tandem, simultaneously eager to dispel the blood filling his throat–yet desperate for it, craving it even as he got to his knees and hacked the filth back onto the ground in a vicious coughing fit.

 

When Taiyang finally opened his eyes however, wiping the blood-soaked spittle from his lips–the first thing he saw was hell.

 

What else could describe the sight before him? His head pounded in his skull, a vicious drumbeat joining the foray of overwhelming sensation–it overpowered his thoughts, his memories, yet he was certain he had never seen something akin to this.

 

His hands were sunk up to his wrists in the water–no, not water. In the pool of thick, crimson blood, still wet and fluid at the top even as his hands squeezed against the hard, congealed surface beneath. His entire body–his skin, his clothes, even his hair, all of it was soaked and stained with the blood from this pool.

 

His eyes scanned across the room he was in–and perhaps charnel pit was a better description. Desiccated corpses bled completely dry were stacked in heaps across the filthy room amidst skeletons whose bones were licked nearly bare besides the gore they sat atop. Tall stone pillars stretched to the ceiling and faint, flickering candles served as the only source of light in this…mausoleum?

 

Or perhaps simply calling it an underground corpse pile was right.

 

A droplet fell down from the ceiling onto his hand, and Taiyang scowled. Was the ceiling about to bleed too?

 

Yet when he looked down, the fluid smeared on him now wasn't blood–though it was warm, it was clear and watery, almost like…saliva?

 

The realization hit him only a second too late–

 

"̸̧̥̳̰̠̖̖̔͝ͅG̴̨̣͚̥̽͝͠R̶̯͉̭̥̙̿̕a̶̖̫̱͂̄̽͒̎̈́̓̀G̴̖̺̣̗̐̎͝H̴̖̱͊̈͋̐̋͊g̶̟͗͂͊̽̓̈́̎̓͝ḁ̵̢̧̹̪͔̦̝̈́̂̏̓͌̈̀͘̚͝ą̵̨̡͇̩̯̓͐̋̂͛͠A̴̳̥̳͇̭̎̈̀̀̀̓́͒͝ą̸͍̝̤̖͈͒̆̓͛̀̋͊́̃̿A̶͉̝͋̿̂̕̕̚Ä̵͖̥̳͋͠ͅà̴͓a̷̭̗̬̲̭͉͖̣̥̅̈́̐̓̑̚͝͠͝ͅa̵̛͙̹͈͙̖͙̎͗̂͜!̵̡̺̱̯̣̠͍͂̉̈̚"̶͕̻̬͂̍̐̂͋͘͝͝

 

–the last things Taiyang saw were too many hooves as a large, meaty form slammed down on him–

 

R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R

 

"Gah!"

 

Covers were sent flying as Taiyang shot up out of bed, the sheets beneath him nearly soaked through with sweat. His eyes looked about wildly--this time, he knew exactly where he was. He knew the bed he lay upon, the dresser full of his clothes. He was back in his room. Back...back home.

 

He sat there, panting--was it all just a dream? The visions, the Doll, the--thing at the end?

 

His hand twinged with pain, and Taiyang glanced down at his palm. Little drops of blood bled from between his fingers--and when he opened his palm, he saw an array of glass shards--as if a small vial had been crushed in his palm.

 

"Arf!"

 

As Taiyang stared at the glass, a small, furry, black and white form hopped up onto his bed. Zwei's tongue was out as he panted alongside his owner--nudging his wet nose against Taiyang's chest as he let out a whine--just barely drawing the man's attention away from the broken vial.

 

"Hey there, little man." Taiyang scratched at the back of Zwei's ears with his free hand. "Were you waiting for me to get up?" Glancing towards his bedside table, Taiyang stretched his arm a bit, emptying the glass out of his palm onto the surface--just as footsteps thundered in the hallway and his door was slammed open.

 

"Dad!"

 

Zwei was only just able to hop out of the way as a young woman slammed into Taiyang, wrapping one arm around his back while her stump patted weakly against him. The scent of alcohol was heavy on her breath, and her form unfamiliar to Taiyang--covered with a mix of strange scars and unfamiliar bits of metal across her skin. Though her hair was a vibrant blond, it was cut extremely short--allowing access to the metal plugs in the back of her neck.

 

None could have blamed him for not recognizing this woman.

 

Taiyang would have never forgiven himself if he had failed to recognize his daughter.

 

He squeezed back tight, ignoring the cuts on his hand. "Hey, Firecracker." The woman's--Yang's breath hitched at his words.

 

"Trying out a new look?" Yang chuckled weakly at his joke. "I mean, I won't complain about not having to unclog the shower drain as much..." Yang's weak chuckles devolved into sobs, and Taiyang squeezed her even tighter in his hug.

 

"Let it all out, Firecracker. Dad's right here..." As Yang descended into a sobbing fit, her face buried in his shoulder, Taiyang glanced up at the dark, brooding (and likely also drunk) figure standing awkwardly in the doorway.

 

'Thank you.' He mouthed at Raven--and though she scoffed and looked away, she didn't disappear at least. Instead watching their child from a distance, as she always had.

 

None of them noticed that all of Taiyang's wounds had healed.