"What the hell have you done?"

Without waiting for an answer, Azrael leapt across Ozpin's desk and grabbed the white-haired man by his throat before hurling him into the massive bay window. Almost faster than Glynda or Ironwood's eyes could follow, the Undead had closed the distance and resume strangling their friend and leader.

"EXPLAIN. NOW."

Ozpin did not struggle; he didn't even try to breathe—he knew any air going into his lungs would simply get trapped inside by the warrior's crushing grip. Flaring his Aura, Ozpin managed to slacken Azrael's grip slightly, and seized his opportunity. Within seconds, the entire office was in ruins. Ozpin's desk was cracked in half, windows had been shattered, and his coffee cup had been blown to smithereens.

Azrael hadn't even brought a weapon and had no Aura, and he was still going toe to toe with three of the most powerful and skilled Huntsmen on Remnant. And he was winning.

Eventually the fight stopped—Azrael was dangling Ozpin outside the building by the scruff of his collar, fully prepared to let the gangly headmaster fall hundreds of feet to his death.

"I DON'T WANT EXCUSES! WHY IS SHE HERE?"

"First, I must ask you to calm down and put me back in my office."

Eyes darting between the three adversaries, Azrael wasn't budging. Behind him, he heard the door slide open. "Azrael, what are you doing?"

"Winter, do you know what they're hiding underneath the school?"

"What are you talking about?"

Ozpin, still dangling out the window, spoke. "If I might interject-" Azrael stopped him short.

"You're not involved."

The headmaster looked down pointedly. "I'm feeling rather involved."

"Fine." Azrael finally set his employer down inside the office. "You have exactly ten seconds to explain."

"I can't do that. This story requires a lot of background."

"I am 110% done with your bullshit. Tell me how and why she is here."

"I can give you both. Amber is here because she was severely injured by three assailants several months ago, and the attack left her in critical condition. As for the how, Qrow discovered the attack and saved the Fall Maiden from certain death, just in the nick of time."

Azrael cocked his head sideways. "You answered neither of my questions. I don't want to know about the vessel, she can rot for all I care." Glynda and Winter blanched at this, and Ironwood's jaw clenched. Ozpin took a sip of coffee—although nobody had seen him fix the shattered mug.

James found his voice. "Azrael, how could you say that? I know you, you're not this callous."

"You don't know nearly enough about me to make that judgement, James. Whoever that girl once was, she is gone now. Death is preferable to what you people have done to her."

"And what exactly would that be?" Glynda asked, indignant.

It was Azrael's turn to look confused. After a moment, he regained his composure and looked directly at Ozpin. For several seconds, nobody moved as the two men stared deep into each other's eyes, neither budging an inch.

After an uncomfortably long pause, Azrael's voice shattered the silence. "You never told them. You knew what she was and you never told them." Ozpin didn't say a word. He didn't have to. "Take me to her." The headmaster nodded. Everyone began to walk out of the office, to the out of service elevator just next door.

It was time Azrael met the Fall Maiden.

The ride down into the bowels of Beacon was just as uncomfortable as the conversation in Ozpin's office. Azrael stared forward, watching the elevator display light up as it tracked their descent. Winter looked between Ironwood and Azrael, torn between her superior officer and the man who was more a father to her than Jacques had even been. Ozpin stood next to Azrael, just as quiet as the massive Undead. Glynda scowled.

After what felt like an eternity, the elevator dinged, and the door opened, revealing a massive hall. Enormous rectangular pillars held up a sweeping ceiling, at least 70 feet above their heads. Each pillar was adorned with a weak lightbulb, casting the entire chamber in a pallid green glow.

At the end of the soccer field-length corridor, Azrael saw a strange device: two metal boxes, large enough to hold a single person each, connected with a mass of wires and tubes. As the warrior drew closer to the contraption, his Darksign started convulsing. Closer and closer he walked, until the mark of his curse was practically ripping itself out of his torso. Shoving it out of his thoughts as he reached the device, Azrael looked into the pods. The one on the right was empty, but the left pod held a young woman.

She appeared to be the same age as Winter, although they looked nothing alike. Where Winter had snow white hair and pale alabaster skin, this girl had mocha skin and slightly darker brown hair. She wore a simple white bra and skirt, and her attractive face was marred by a strange scarring that covered her entire left face.

Azrael was not interested in the girl's appearance; in fact, after a single glance, he closed his eyes, focusing on the girl's soul. Her Aura was all but gone, but there was something else there. Something Azrael had met before—something he had killed before.

Azrael opened his eyes and turned to Ozpin. "Her soul has been ripped in half. How?"

"We have no idea. The woman who did this escaped. Our best guess right now is…" The headmaster seemed hesitant. However, Ironwood shared no such compunction.

"The woman is working for Salem."

Azrael simply raised an eyebrow in response.

"We don't know where she came from, or even if she's human, but as far as we can tell, Salem is either in command of the Grimm…or their mother."

"That's it? That's the secret, the name of the Grimm's brood mother? How pedestrian."

"How could you be so blasé about this?" Glynda nearly shrieked. "Do you have any idea how many people have fought and died to keep this secret?"

Azrael's fierce gaze fell upon the blonde sorcerer. "A great many, I imagine. I also imagine you have reasons for keeping this secret. But that does not excuse keeping it from me." Azrael growled the last word, his anger rising. "In any case, this is good news." Confused looks were his reward.

Winter had been standing behind the rest of the group, deep in thought. Ironwood had told her about the Maidens, but a mother to the Grimm? It was preposterous. And yet, both her surrogate fathers were talking about it like this Salem's existence was not just a possibility, but immutable fact. She opened her mouth. "Azrael, how is this good?" A strange noise and a dim red light emanated from behind Winter.

"Because, Winter, you kill a snake by cutting off its head. Now that I know that the head exists, I can sever it."

There was a harsh laugh from behind Winter. "You seriously think you can kill Salem?" The group turned around to see a woman standing behind them, wearing red and black robes with an enormous katana sheathed at her hip. Her eyes were blood red, and her face was strikingly similar to that of one of Azrael's students.

Raven Branwen stood there, a bemused look on her face, as she spoke. "Everyone in this room has tried at one point or another, and we have all failed to get anywhere near her stronghold. I've fought you before, and while you are certainly strong, you're not invincible. Even the Fall Maiden was easily defeated by one of Salem's underlings. What makes you so certain you can defeat her?"

Azrael pondered this. Strong as he was, the woman had a point. As far as Azrael knew, one death and he would wake up in Majula with no way back to Remnant, no way to get back to Weiss. Then an idea struck him. "Ozpin, how did these 'Maidens' come about. And I don't want any cryptic riddles. I need to know how you created these…things."

The headmaster looked around at his allies and realized it was hopeless. He would have had to reveal it eventually. "You claim to have lived for 15,000 years, Azrael. I believe you, I can see it in your eyes—the weight of age, of experience. While this body might not be quite as ancient as yours, I have also lived far longer than any man should. My Semblance is unique, and some might even call it evil. Every time my body dies, I move on to a new host, and consume their consciousness, taking their body for my own." Azrael's expression changed into something inscrutable to everyone except Winter. It was an expression she had seen once, when Azrael had accompanied her on a tour of the Schnee Dust mines and he saw the treatment of the Faunus workers—it was pure, unadulterated disgust. "2,000 years ago, Salem and I began this war. I know not who created us, only that we are both Human, and that Salem is wholly nihilistic. She will not rest until this entire world is destroyed.

"For many years, we simply tried to kill each other outright with blades and fists, waging a two-man war. After five years of this, I realized we were evenly matched. I needed something to tip the scales. I went into hiding and discovered a small village situated next to a massive Dust deposit. I showed them how to use it as a weapon and a source of energy, and began to train them to make war. Unfortunately, Salem seemed to have the same thought as I did. She had discovered another village, but instead of uplifting the villagers, she dominated them, twisting them into weapons of war, creating the First Grimm. Since then, we have been locked in a mortal struggle for the very fate of Remnant."

Azrael had not broken eye contact for the entire speech. Ozpin spoke the truth. "So Salem must die to protect the people of this world, then?"

"Yes. Victory or death. No other outcomes are possible."

"Alright, I will not go against you for the moment." Azrael turned back to Amber's pod. "However, I still don't understand why she is here."

"About 600 years ago, humanity had been pushed to the very brink. The Grimm were simply too strong and too numerous to hold back. So humanity abandoned their villages and retreated to the deserts of Vacuo. While the rest of mankind hid, I searched for a trump card to turn the tide. I discovered four great sources of power, one in each continent, one for each season. Winter. Summer. Spring. Fall. I took each of these powers and bonded it to a young girl, granting the enormous power in exchange for their service as Huntresses. Every time a Maiden dies in battle, her powers are transferred to the last person in her thoughts. Unfortunately, this can have complications I did not foresee. If the last person in their thoughts is not another young maiden, the power searches for the closest available host."

"I see. Unfortunately, you got the names wrong. If you want concepts to name them after, here's a more accurate list: Ambition. Despair. Corruption. Chaos."

Ozpin raised an eyebrow, his infuriating smug stoicism never leaving his visage.

Azrael rubbed his forehead in frustration. "Do you not understand yet? Were you not listening when I told you about Lordran? These powers you found are not to be meddled with. They are souls. Souls so powerful they can slake any thirst, no matter how ravenous." Azrael looked at the girl in the pod one last time before he walked past his audience and returned to the elevator. He could not risk letting Amber's assailant recover the second half of this soul.

There could be no mistake. Now that he was close to her, Azrael was certain. She might have been broken, beaten, and scarred. She might have had half of her soul ripped from her body. But this comatose girl in front of Azrael was the Witch of Izalith.