Humanity Lost: Pyrrha
There was nothing.
Literally nothing.
Only black.
She floated helplessly in the black.
It smothered her. Threatening to consume her.
Part of her wanted to cry out.
The warrior in her wanted to fight. The warrior part of her soul, screamed at her; screamed at her to kick, to bite, to struggle, and claw her way out of this… shadow, out of this… black that she floated in.
But she didn't.
Pyrrha Nikos. The Goddess of Victory, the Invincible Girl, Four time Mistral Tournament Champion, was content to merely float in the black.
She was content to merely exist in this shadow.
The singing told her to. It told her to stay.
It sang in her veins, in her very soul.
So beautiful…
And it wanted Pyrrha to remain. To remain with it. In the black.
At least that was what Pyrrha believed the singing wanted. It never so much in words. Pyrrha just instinctively knew.
If she moved, if she struggled, if she tried to escape the black; it howled, it cried. It hurt.
Pyrrha would rather kill herself, then cause the singing pain.
She didn't know where it came from. Dust, she barely knew what it was asking her. Barely understood what it was telling her. The only thing she knew about the singing was it was… hauntingly beautiful. It was beyond her capability to give it description.
She only knew that it was there. Her constant companion within the black.
Sometimes though… Sometimes the singing would stop. Then Pyrrha would be alone in the black. Then the black would squeeze her, it would suffocate her. It would try to drown her in shadows, if such a thing was possible.
Then, when she felt she was going to die, when she felt the familiar, cold grasp of death. They would pull her out.
Pyrrha didn't know who they were. Only that they had no singing. Only a cacophony of noises, a hated chorus of broken, black, terrible speech.
There was no sweet music. There was no singing.
Only a table, and restraints. Only sharp metal to slice through her flesh, and needles to stab into her hide.
Pyrrha was always awake for when they restrained her to the table. They would shock her to keep her awake. Add serums to make sure she didn't die. They wanted her to feel the pain of what they were doing to her. Wanted her to feel every cut, every stich, every break of bone, which they administered.
Then, only then, when she was dying; when she felt the very last string of her life force being stretched to the point of breaking. Only when, her mind had been shattered into a thousand pieces, and when insanity threatened to fully consume her, only then did they stop.
Only then did they cease, and returned her to the black. Returned her to the singing.
So Pyrrha floated in the black.
She simply existed in the black.
And as she floated, as she merely existed, the singing surrounded her. Slowly, ever so slowly, the singing grew louder. Increasing in crescendo, increasing in its hauntingly beauty.
But more than that.
The singing was becoming clear. Its meaning was becoming clear.
Come to me
Suddenly the black became oppressive. It began to squeeze, and choke her. Pyrrha gasped for breath, swallowing the black, clogging her throat, and filling her lungs with a viscous black slime like substance.
Come to me, my child.
Then above her, the black parted, as bright, almost blinding, warm flash of light cut through the shadows. Pyrrha kicked out, breaking the hold of the black, almost swimming, towards the light. Letting the singing to guide her.
The black seemed to thicken, and swell around her, as though it sought to keep her, to drown her, to consume her. It wouldn't let her escape.
She pushed forward, the light becoming closer with ever kick, the singing becoming louder, and more clear with every metre of struggle.
Come to me, my child. Come to me, and serve.
With one last, final kick, Pyrrha broke through the surface of the black. Air filled her lungs, as she spat up the liquid shadows, which had so recently tried to drown her. As she climbed from the pool, the black seemed to slough off of her in a thick, gummy liquid. Rolling back into the pool from which she had escaped.
As her eyes opened, Pyrrha was confronted by a desolate wasteland, of blood red rock, and black sky. Inhospitable to anyone who found themselves trapped in this waste. Great shards of a dark purple crystal decorated the landscape, while yet more great pools of the black, scared the lands.
One of the pools close to her, began to bubble, and pop, as a great black, familiar shape emerged from the viscous pool. Great spikes of bone white jutted out from its muscular black body. A bone mask covered its head, and its great, dog like snout, opened wide revealing fanged teeth, larger than a grown man's thumb.
But it was the eyes that were the most terrifying.
Blood red, and filled with such primal hatred, and anger.
The eyes of a creature of Grimm.
In an instant, years of training took hold, her hands going reflexively to her weapons that she knew were not there. Her hands grabbing at air, where the hilt of Miló, Speak, and the grip of Akoúo̱, Listen, her shield, should have rested.
Yet the Grimm did not seem to even register her as prey. It sniffed at the air, and cocked its head, as it observed her. Almost dog like in its behaviour.
It was then that Pyrrha felt something. Something that seemed to roll of the Grimm, and over her senses.
She felt… as if she could almost understand the beast in front her. Understand the monster in front of her.
It was hard to describe, harder to place. It was alien, and strange.
She closed her eyes. She needed to concentrate. She wanted to understand.
It rolled over her again. The air became so thick with this, strange, alien presence that Pyrrha could almost taste it on the air.
In an instant she understood.
Her eyes snapped open.
The Grimm before her, had turned away, shuffling off to its pack.
But Pyrrha understood. For the first time since man walked the earth of Remnant, since mankind had encountered the Grimm, someone understood.
Pyrrha in that second, had learned more about the Grimm, then the generations of Huntsmen, and Huntresses that had come before her.
She made to follow, made to chase after the Grimm.
She wanted to learn more. She wanted to understand more.
The singing however would not allow her.
Come to me. Come to me, my child. Come to me, and serve.
Behind her, a tower made of jagged rock, dominated the skyline. The singing called her to it. Demanding her presence.
As Pyrrha walked through the waste of these Grimm lands, she saw more, and more pools of the black, with armies of Grimm birthing from the pools. They pushed past, none giving her more than a curious, if a Grimm could be curious, glance as it passed.
Finally, at the base of the tower, she came to a great, stone door. Carved from black rock, which seemed to absorb the light of the day's dying sun. Two large rings, of a dark, black iron hung from the centre of the gate.
It was then, as she reached up to grab hold of the ring, and pull the gate open, she caught sight of her hand, and gasped in horror.
Her skin, once a healthy, sun kissed tan, was now a deathly pale white. The parlour of sickness, and death. Black lines, tracing her veins, were visible beneath the white of her new flesh.
But most shockingly of all, was the black, chitin-like armoured vambrace, covering her forearm. Blood red lines, in strange, geometric patterns, were traced over the black armour, which ended, in sharp, bone spikes over her knuckles.
Panicking, Pyrrha turned from the door, ignoring the screams of the singing, which drilled into her mind. She needed to see, needed to know. How far had this corruption spread? Had it consumed her entirely? What had been done to her?
A dark purple, shard of crystal gave her the answer.
In the reflection of the last rays of light, Pyrrha saw what she had become.
Her skin was pale white, black veins visible beneath her new flesh. Bony, black chitin armour covered her chest, and lower legs in some corrupted mockery of her old armour. The blood red patterns, which decorated her new vambrace, also continued their strange patterns on her new armour.
Her tiara was gone. Instead of the familiar bronze circlet, there was a bony ridge encircling the top of her forehead. From it sprouted short, bone spikes in recurring intervals, almost like a crown perched lightly upon her head.
But it was her eyes that shook her to the core. They were not the vibrant green which she had inherited from her mother.
No, her eyes were now a deep, blood red. Filled with malice, hatred, and the primal hunger of the Grimm.
In that reflection Pyrrha did not see the warrior Champion of Mistral, nor the proud member of Team JNPR.
What she saw, was a Grimm.
Hesitantly, her fingers brushed against her face, poking at the skin, poking at her changed flesh.
"What has happened to me?" She whispered to herself, her voice harsh from lack of use. "What have they done to me? What have I become?"
Something great, my child. With a greater purpose yet in store.
The singing had returned to its haunting beauty. A siren a call to her.
Come to me, child. Come to me, come to serve me.
Pyrrha hesitated for a moment. Her mind waged war. Should she go to the singing? Or try to run? Should she fight? Or submit?
The singing grew louder, pulling her towards the tower. Towards whoever it was that was pulling her string.
In the end, Pyrrha knew she never had a choice.
"Do you believe in destiny?" She asked out loud. Asking more of herself, and not expecting an answer.
The singing gave her one regardless.
The better question is: Do you believe in destiny, child?
"I don't know." She answered simply.
With that, she returned to the stone doors, grasped the large iron ring, and slowly pulled the gate open.
Winding stairs, and torch lit halls created an unnavigable maze within the tower. Yet Pyrrha seemed to almost instinctively know where she was needed.
The singing called to her. It guided her.
Her boots strikes echoed against the hard stone, as she climbed the stairs. The singing growing more powerful with every step. There were times when she had to fight herself, push herself forward, times when all she wanted, was to fall to her knees from the terrible, and beautiful power the singing possessed.
At the top of the stairs, at the peak of the tower, was a massive door. The singing coaxed Pyrrha to open it. To step through the portal, to enter her new life of servitude to something, far greater than she could imagine.
As she pulled the door open, as it groaned on its hinges, she found herself in a wide room, with a high vaulted ceiling. A large table dominated the room, with several figures seated patiently around it.
Of the seven, four Pyrrha had no reference. They were strangers, worth only a passing curiosity.
The first was a taller man, his hair fading to grey on the sides. He was dignified, wearing a long grey coat, with proud mustache decorating his upper lip. He did not look up from his scroll as Pyrrha walked in, far more concerned with his device, than with the new comer in their midst.
Beside him, sat a great bear of a man, it was as though someone, somewhere, had taken a human skeleton, and simply slapped muscle like slabs of meat to it. Tanned, and dark haired, with a neatly trimmed beard. The man was quite, sparing Pyrrha only a curious glance before closing his eyes again.
Across from him, on the other side of the table, sat what Pyrrha could only describe as a predator. A thin faced, lanky man, sitting on his heels in a crouch. Unlike the others he gave Pyrrha his full attention, laughing to himself.
"So it seems like the good Doctor's little project is up and about," the man laughed, his giggle high pitched, and grating on the nerves. "I didn't expect it to be so quick. Then again… I wasn't expecting you to get up at all."
The man laughed again, "Especially not after our dear Cinder here, put an arrow through your chest!"
Cinder…
Pyrrha knew that name.
A jagged spike, of raw burning hatred shot through her, as her head snapped to the woman sitting beside the laughing man.
It was her.
Though her hair was shorter now, and a jagged scar decorated the right side of her face. Pyrrha knew her.
She knew her killer.
A painful, burning spike of memory cut through Pyrrha's mind. She remembered everything. She remembered the pain of the arrow in her ankle. The taste of fear in her mouth, as Cinder readied her bow for the finishing blow. She remembered the aching sorrow of a life that had yet not been fully lived. She remembered the feel of Jaune's lips against hers, the elation of him finally knowing what she felt for him, tinged with the bitter regret that neither would have the chance to see it grow.
But most of all, Pyrrha remembered the burning hatred, which she felt for this woman. For the lives that she took.
Pyrrha leapt at the seated woman. Barely registering the two who had stood beside Cinder, now leaping to her defence.
She didn't care.
She would kill them both. Then their precious bitch of a master.
Pyrrha lifted her fist back, aiming to strike the green haired woman first, who had gone for her weapons, holstered at her side.
The green haired woman, struck first. Slicing at her with a pair sickle blades.
Pyrrha ducked beneath the woman's blades, coming in under her reach. Reaching up, Pyrrha caught one of the lackey's arms, wrapping her own around it, forcing her enemy's limb behind her back. The girl cried out, as her arm was stretched painfully.
Pyrrha raised her fist, aiming for the girl's throat. A swift, hard punch would crush it. Aura, or not. The woman seemed to realize this, as her eyes widened, and her struggle to free her arm became desperate.
It was then Pyrrha noticed something. Something rolling off of her victim.
Something filling the air.
Pyrrha could taste it on the tip of her tongue. It was sweet.
Addicting.
But as she struck towards the girl's throat, the singing started, as a calm, soothing, and powerful voice cut through Pyrrha's rage.
"Enough, Pyrrha. Let her go."
It was enough to make her stop. She let go of the girl, and backed away.
Behind Pyrrha sat another figure, at the head of the table. A woman with pale skin, and black veins. Her eyes were blood red in pools of black.
Her expression was one of… amusement. Like that of a parent with a favourite, but mischievous child.
Yet there was more. When she spoke, the singing reverberated through Pyrrha's bones. It was all that she could do, not to fall to her knees from the beauty, from the power of that song.
"Come here, child. There are others who have not met you yet. I trust that you are well enough for introductions."
It was not a question. It was a demand for obedience. Of which Pyrrha found herself obeying without thought, or question. Finding herself standing behind the white woman, not unlike Cinder's cronies stood behind her.
The Predator, who sat beside Cinder, whined unhappily, at the missed spectacle of bloodshed. The Silent Man merely raised an eyebrow, before closing his eyes. Seemingly unconcerned with the display of aggression within the room.
The Dignified Man hardly looked up from his scroll, merely contenting himself with giving Cinder a smug grin, before returning to his device.
The vile woman, Cinder Fall, looked angry, making several choking gasps, in an attempt to speak. Giving up with the struggle, she singled the girl, whose throat Pyrrha had almost crushed, who bent down to listen.
"My lady? If I may?" The green haired woman spoke up, after a brief moment of hesitation.
The pale woman gestured for her to continue.
"Cinder wants to know; why she is here. She was an enemy, she attempted to steal the Fall Maidens Power."
The pale woman smiled. "Yes, she was an enemy. Pyrrha, in the end was a piece of the game controlled by Ozpin."
She looked towards Cinder, the smile never leaving her face. "She fought bravely, and even with all your power, as our Fall Maiden, Cinder, she still managed to last longer than any other Huntress or Huntsman could be expected to.
"But more importantly than that, and all of what she accomplished; was that for a brief time, she shared the power of the Fall Maiden with you Cinder. A small sliver of it, existed for the briefest time in her soul. For that small moment, she was their saviour. Their trump card. Their weapon."
The pale woman turned to Pyrrha "Now she is mine. Tell me Pyrrha, who do you serve? What is my name?"
The singing broke out again. Loud, clear, and overwhelming.
Her name. It had been sung to Pyrrha while she had floated in the black. Just below a whisper, but always there.
Yes.
Pyrrha knew the Pale Woman's name.
Yes.
Pyrrha knew who she now served.
She bowed her head, where she stood. Behind the Pale Woman, and to her left.
"I serve my Master." Pyrrha said. Loud and clear, her voice echoing from the vaulted ceiling, to the glass of the massive windows, which looked out onto the Grimm lands. "I serve My Lady. I serve Salem."
I have had this idea for a while. Probably wont be a full story, but who knows.