Alright, if you read on and haven't seen Volume 6 Episode 3, don't say I didn't warn you.

The night was quiet and peaceful in the land of darkness. Once, a god ruled here. Then, a king of light and a queen of darkness raised their children here. Now, the queen rules alone, working to mankind's destruction.

Beneath the bed covers, the Mistress of all Grimm held a small, black dog in her hands. It had been stitched together by the hands of a child. Her child. The red ribbon around its neck wouldn't fade, even after all these centuries. She'd ensured that.

"You're looking well, my dear."

Her first instinct was to summon a fireball and destroy him. But she suppressed it. She'd learned how ineffective that was centuries ago.

It was a routine by this point. He'd arrive at random intervals, unannounced, with no warning, and berate her, in the same, fatherly demeanor he'd used on her as a girl. She'd tried to ignore it, every single time.

Then she felt his hand grab her by the chin and forcibly twist her head so she was looking right into that dark, hateful eye.

"How many times have I told you not to look away from me?!"

"I've lost count, father."

He didn't slap her this time. Sometimes he would. In life, he'd once had an entire village burned to the ground because the elders had called him Smiter. Not out of malice, but to prove them right. Those who had disrespected him had been dealt far worse. She remembered their screams deep beneath the castle, in places so dark, so cold, not even the Grimm tread there. When their corpses had been brought to light...she wished she couldn't remember. But the moment he'd learned she blocked it from memory, he'd recounted it all in tender detail.

His ghost chuckled and released her. "Oh, Salem. You've no idea how proud I am of you."

She froze, then began gritting her teeth. "Don't-"

"Oh come, come now. You know I'm not lying. That will of yours, that mighty will to manipulate the gods themselves has kept you going since Ozma died the third time. And where did you get it?"

Balor the Smiter was grinning from ear to ear, eye blazing red. His other remained closed shut, as it had been since her mother cut it out. His helmet with a single visor slit was clasped under one arm, and it too seemed to be mocking her.

"From the woman who took your eye."

"Ha! That weak-willed bitch?" He touched the massive scar on his face and grimaced. Withdrawing it, he placed it upon the hilt of his ax blade. "We both know she was insane."

"Because of you," Salem spat.

"By this point, we have so very little to discuss," Balor lamented, "we've fought back and forth about my 'failings' as a 'father' for centuries now."

"Then why are you still here?"

"Because watching you suffer brings me joy. Not even my death at Ozma's hands could ever stop that. And a good thing too. What was it she said?" Balor smirked devilishly. "The brat you made that doll? The one you've held onto and tended with the same care you once gave her?" He pretended to think for a few moments before coming to a realization. "'No, mommy! Please stop! Don't hurt daddy!'" Balor laughed heartily. Clutching his stomach, he wiped away a tear with his finger. Once he settled, he looked her right in the eye. His expression was completely dull. Not as one who had just suffered a lobotomy, but devoid of all emotion. "Then she died. By the hands of her own parents. I still remember her face at that moment."

The tears were forming despite Salem's best attempts to hold them back. She scowled before looking away. "Stop it."

He slammed his foot down, hard. "Never command me, girl. You served as a beacon for so many foolhardy heroes to try and test their mettle against me. They struggled and failed at every turn, laid low by my mere gaze. Their weapons littered my castle, proof of my might, my will. Now, you're nothing more than a beacon of evil. My evil. My own cruel desires and whims are drawn to you and you alone. Now, as I was saying, I could tell how much she had to say on her face just by looking at it. And she justed wanted to say one word."

There was a stretch of silence as Balor let the magnitude of that settle. She knew this was his favorite. Out of every tragedy she'd suffered, this one gave him the most pleasure. And, above all else, she hated him for it the most.

"'Why?'"

"You've had your fun, father. Now leave me be."

"Do you know what Ozma is doing right now? Or Ozpin, Oscar, Ozymandias, whatever his name might be. More likely than not, working towards your destruction. Now, we can't have that. With you gone, my reason to stay in this world and escape the next will be gone. Please do ensure he is stopped, once and for all this time. When the gods return, however, I would dearly wish to see his face as mankind is destroyed for all time. Decisions, decisions..."

"Just. Go."

"I would punish you for talking back, but sad to say, I feel I must do so. Perhaps I could check in on that honest soul of his? Your...he, replacement?"

She turned sharply, teeth bared, but he was gone. All she could hear was his mocking laughter.

Damn her father. Damn him to every single hell that might exist.

Sleep had taken her soon after. And through that sleep, she found herself back in the tower. Before her was a mirror, one of her few connections with the outside world. It was a gift from a faraway kingdom, one her mother had visited before Balor's evil was revealed and burned her alive.

She missed her mother. Her smiles and grace had been exemplary. She had written such wonderful poems. Salem knew she would see her if she just glanced out the window. See her rotting head mounted on the castle walls, her crown crooked and snapped atop her head as birds pecked at her eyes. When Salem first saw it, the face had seemed to be trapped in an eternal scream. As if she could feel every stabbing beak or nibbling rat crawling on her face.

Father had done far worse to her before that. Whatever servants came by to give her food had only given her small details, rumors. "Lord Balor has ordered a cauldron of hot wax brought to the dungeons. No, princess, Her Majesty shall not be released."

Salem had learned long ago dreams were but fragments of memories. Her nightmares tended to be made from ones such as this.

Why this one? she wondered. For someone as old as herself, it was simple to know the difference between sleep and the waking hours. Whenever she slept after one of her father's visits, her dreams were often significant in some way. What was so-

When the door suddenly barged open to reveal her father, his black armor fresh and glistening in the sunlight, she understood.

"My dear," he said, his voice echoing deeply. "I have some very, very special news for you."

Salem recalled tensing when he said that. She dreaded his visits.

"Yes, father?"

"You have a suitor."

Salem brightened. She'd long thought of marriage - in that time, she thought herself destined to be used as a pawn in one - and now, it was right in front of her. At that moment, she realized something.

In the bounds of love, she would be free.

"Would you like to meet him?"

Salem had nodded eagerly, expecting for a tall, dashing man to come into the room. He'd sweep her off her feet, and they'd ride away into sunset, happy and side by side until they ended their days.

"Bring him in," Balor said smoothly. The sound of heavy armor boots marching in time at first gave her hope until she realized the military precision driving them. Something was wrong.

Balor stepped aside from the door as two of his soldiers entered Salem's room. They carried a large wooden trunk between them. Balor's single eye watched her through his visor, studying her every expression. His guards heft the trunk so that it was facing her. As they did, she heard something wet jostled about.

No, she thought, father, you didn't-

"Open it. My daughter wishes to see her suitor."

His soldiers had been conditioned to obey his every order. They did so.

The first thing Salem saw was the crown. It was made of gold and silver, rubies and emeralds held within its frame that surely would have sparkled on the brightest of days, were it not for the blood staining them. A human head was underneath it, frozen in shock and horror. Both eyes were gone, leaving only black, empty holes. Her father had a strange obsession with eyes. That was to be expected. However, the various dismembered body parts crammed into the trunk had been -

"He tasted...queer," Balor mused. "I have always been curious as to what human flesh tasted like. Perhaps if I find other means of preparing it, the flavor will be improved?"

"What have you done?"

Balor sharply turned to her when she spoke. "I beg your pardon?"

"Father, what have you done?" Salem couldn't find it within herself to express her horror. She couldn't scream, she couldn't burst into tears. She could only ask that one, simple question.

"Salem, I've killed and eaten this man. What does it look like? Still, you are a lowly woman-"

"Father, was he a prince?"

Balor stopped now and seemed thoughtful beneath his helmet. "Come to think of it, I believe he was. He and a group of riders from one of our neighbors came galloping up, armed in case of an ambush. When I learned this boy wished for your hand, I decided to give them my answer."

"You slaughtered and devoured a prince, father. This can only end in war."

Balor burst out in joyous laughter when she said that. "Oh, my dear Salem. I know it will. That's why I've ordered my armies to mount a full-scale invasion. Burn this wretch's kingdom to the ground. Even as we speak, my generals are preparing to cross the border with over fifty thousand of my finest troops. I'll send this" - he gestured to the trunk - "with them, as a gift for their king, whoever he is. I just haven't thought of a message to accompany it."

"Why?"

Balor froze and glared into Salem's very soul. "What?"

"Why are you so...so cruel?"

Balor removed his helmet, revealing his bald and scarred face. "Cruel? Yes, I am indeed cruel. As to why? It's simple. I intend to mark my legacy upon this world in blood. For centuries, people will speak of me. How Balor the Smiter killed all who stood before him and indulged in the most obscene atrocities. How he left mountains of corpses at the shrines of gods and laid low the helpless with his blade. How all who dared raise arms against him were forced to watch as their loved ones were skinned alive before boiling wax was poured into their screaming mouths. Infants tossed in the rivers and women thrown from the highest mountains, their newborns held to their chest in a vain effort to protect them from being dashed upon the rocks. How I dismembered this prince who wished to marry you and then consumed his flesh before destroying his kingdom. Surely you understand, my dear daughter, that no one would ever forget such cruelty, not until the very end of this world?" Once he finished speaking, Balor smiled tenderly.

It was in that moment Salem truly understood just what a monster her father was. What he'd always been. She'd heard whispers of all those things, but to hear him admit it confirmed what her mother had once said to her.

"Your father will be the death of you one day. My dear, you must be ready for when it comes."

However, looking back, Salem had come to see it as something else as well.

For on that day, Balor had sealed his fate. It would be this despicable act which finally made him come to stop this reign of terror.

The great hero of justice. Her love. Her champion.

The invincible Ozma.