"Penny's got this," Flynt said. Solaire glanced over, reaching out a hand to steady Hawkwood as he was almost thrown to the Bullhead floor. "He's faster than he looks, but Penny's got it in the bag."

They'd all been sitting in the stands at Amity when General Ironwood had called them over. They had a mission, apparently. It was a rather odd team—not quite of four, though he supposed they were joining a Specialist to round out the number.

They were all honoured to accept, of course (or at least Solaire was—he imagined Hawkwood was rather unamused with it all, as he was with everything, and he didn't know Flynt well enough to judge), and had boarded the Bullhead immediately. There was no time to wait around, the General had said. He'd briefed them via scroll on the way.

He supposed Flynt felt a little out of place without his team. But no matter. They'd been chosen because they had the General's trust. They would do well.

"Approaching the drop zone," the pilot called. The side-door began to raise open.

"Drop zone?" Hawkwood asked.

"No room to land. No time to walk." Flynt glanced one more time at his scroll before pocketing it. "Let's get this show on the road."

As it turned out, there was no time to stop either; the Bullhead hardly slowed down as it approached the Church of Many Faiths. The building was surrounded on all sides by Atlesian soldiers and knights, their weapons trained on the door, the windows, the upper balconies. Some stood off to the side, comforting civilians who must have fled the building. Even from the sky, the sounds of combat could be dimly heard within.

They all jumped; Flynt went for the church wall, sliding down for a few seconds to slow his fall a little before pushing off into a roll as he hit the ground. Hawkwood and Solaire both dropped like rocks, focusing their auras beneath them to soften the landing somewhat.

"No style," Flynt criticised.

"Solaire," someone greeted. Solaire looked up to see Winter Schnee striding towards them.

"Ma'am."

"Hello to you too," Hawkwood drawled. Flynt eyed the Specialist strangely, then shrugged.

"You're aware-"

"The General briefed us on the way here," Flynt said, cutting her off. "Two perps. One's the Councilman. The other's classified."

"Good." She drew her sabre and moved closer to the door. "Don't rely too heavily on semblances. I don't know how, but Sulyvahn can suppress them."

That wouldn't be a problem for Solaire—he didn't know his semblance. But Hawkwood and Flynt nodded in acknowledgement. "Mr Cole, you and I will subdue him. Solaire, you and your partner will keep Raime at bay while we do so."

"I have a name," Hawkwood grumbled.

"Raime?" Solaire asked.

"You'll see."

Winter pushed the doors open. Solaire immediately deduced that Winter was, in fact, right—he did see who she meant. A towering, imposing figure in black armour wielding a massive sword duelled the Pontiff near the altar. As they entered, his huge blade threw Sulyvahn away, sending him crashing through three rows of pews.

Solaire raised his right hand, golden lightning expanding from the handkerchief clutched in his fist, and hurled it at Raime, who caught it on the flat of his blade. Hawkwood and Winter charged up the aisle, weapons ready, while Flynt blasted a low note through his trumpet to blow the pews towards Sulyvahn to try and crush him.

The Pontiff snarled. "I don't have time for you," he said.

The room began to darken. Solaire's heart beat faster in his chest.

Then he heard the footsteps.

/-/

Doctor Polendina gripped the arm of his chair tightly, his gaze focused on his daughter where she lay on Amity's floor.

What was left of her.

He wanted to look away, but could not. His eyes roamed the screen, taking in every detail. Her skin still sparked with golden electricity, and, illuminated by the heated metal beneath, glowed a dull red. Her eyes had been blown from their sockets, revealing a tangle of red-hot wires that had been sundered by the explosive force—though one cable had remained intact, leaving her left eye dangling dully from her metal skull. Her hair stood on end, smoking at the tips, and her bow had fallen off, the charred pink fabric floating to the ground.

"Doctor Polendina!"

And the boy who'd killed her, standing over her, his face blank.

Doctor Polendina's fist clenched.

Someone shook his shoulder. "There's an intruder. We have to go, now!"

"Penny…"

As he was pulled away, the screen flickered to show a black chesspiece on red.

/-/

"This is not a tragedy. This was not an accident. This is what happens when you hand over your trust, your safety, your children to men who claim to be our guardians but are, in reality, nothing more than men." Cinder knew that Ozpin was watching. She could see him, on the feed from the cameras Emerald had placed on Sulyvahn's behalf, his eyebrows drawn together, a frown on his face.

"Our academies' headmasters wield more power than most armies, and one was audacious enough to control both. They cling to this power in the name of peace, and yet what do we have here? One nation's attempt at a synthetic army mercilessly torn apart by another star pupil. What need would Atlas have for soldiers disguised as an innocent little girl? I don't think the Grimm can tell the difference."

But she could hear them. A rumbling of claws and talons and growling mouths coming from the Emerald Forest; the faint whistling of wind through the feathers of Nevermores and Griffons amplified a thousand times over from the east; the humming of the White Fang's Bullheads…

It was already beginning.

"And what, I ask you, are Beacon and Shade teaching their students? First a dismemberment and now this? Huntsmen and Huntresses should carry themselves with honour and, above all, mercy. I have witnessed neither. What I have witnessed is a clear message: that Vacuo will not stand to have her lands occupied by a tyrannical dictator. That Vale will not suffer to be humiliated on her own soil. I see trenches drawn in the sand, dug up from a war that this very festival wishes to forget."

Ozpin turned to speak to somebody whom Cinder could not see.

"Honestly? I don't know if they are right or wrong to do so. But I know that the existence of peace is fragile, and the leaders of our kingdoms conduct their business with iron gloves. As someone who hails from Mistral, I can assure you… the situation there is equally undesirable. Our kingdoms are at the brink of war, yet we, the citizens, are left in the dark. So I ask you, when the first shots are fired… who do you think you can trust?"

With a tap, the broadcast shut off. She glanced up at the top of Beacon tower briefly, then turned to Mercury and Emerald. "Stay close. Sulyvahn's pet will search for us." They nodded in return, and Mercury pulled his scroll from his pocket, pointing it towards the Emerald Forest to film. Once the carnage began in earnest, it would transmit to the CCT, and from there all across Remnant. Everyone would know the horror of the Fall of Beacon.

But there was still one more thing to do.

Sulyvahn would be distracted for the time being, if Raime did his part. He wouldn't notice a slight change…

She substituted the footage transmitting to his scroll of Ozpin's office with a loop of the office—but empty.

/-/

Raime slashed at the red-cloaked man's arm with his smaller blade, then cut towards his legs with the larger one. The boy staggered and fell to the ground, and with a kick Raime sent him rolling away through the pews. He snarled as a golden lightning bolt cut through the darkness to disperse across his aura, then charged towards its source shoulder-first, hoping to pin the boy who'd thrown it.

It didn't surprise him that he missed the boy with the sun on his shield, though at the end of the day it didn't matter. It was time for him to leave. He had other duties to attend to. His charge took him through the doors of the church. The black fog that emitted from Sulyvahn's beast billowed outwards with him, concealing the Atlesians who panicked, their weapons priming. Bolts of blue energy passed by him, some hitting him, though most hardly damaged his armour, let alone his aura. But if the barrage kept up, he'd be in trouble.

His thoughts turned to darkness. He thought of Halgot Bridge, where he'd seen the Hound of Forossa cut down thirty men alone, then turn to face him. He thought of Velstadt and Vendrick, his comrade and his king, who had turned on him when he dared to speak the truth. He thought of Ozpin and the grand deception that Salem had revealed to him. He let the emotions wash over him. Fear. Anger. Despair.

Like a moth to flame the Nevermore came for him, flying in from the east. That Ironwood's ship had not shot it from the sky was sign enough that Cinder's underling had done her job.

He grabbed its leg as it dived towards him, and a Grimm beetle emerged from his glove, spitting mucus onto the Nevermore's leg. To the flagship, he directed.

/-/

"Flynt, clear this fog!" Hawkwood said, rising to his feet. He could see flashes of flame in the darkness, but nothing more. The clash of steel on steel told him that the Specialist was holding her own, at least.

Flynt nodded and stepped sideways, mirages of himself sliding outwards, their trumpets raised. A minor chord sent currents of air through the fog and, after a few seconds, it began to clear somewhat.

The battle was becoming clearer. The spindly thing that had come to Sulyvahn's aid had the Specialist pinned beneath the church organ, using its superior height and longer arms to overpower her. Sulyvahn himself was tearing up the aisle towards them, a malicious smile on his face.

Flynt's semblance flickered and wavered, but did not disappear.

Solaire moved to help Winter while Hawkwood moved to intercept Sulyvahn. The Pontiff, it seemed, had no interest being slowed down, suffering a blow to the shoulder and a slice across his gut that sparked his violet aura. He powered through regardless, reaching out a hand to Flynt.

The moment they touched, Flynt let out a cry of pain and collapsed. Hawkwood knew that usually his clones would merge back into him, but here they simply disappeared in a puff of black smoke. He fell to the ground, and Sulyvahn continued on out the doors, raising his sword to strike Raime. But before he could, the man disappeared, carried away by a giant Nevermore.

"Dancer!" Sulyvahn whirled around, his face contorted in an ugly snarl. Hawkwood stood over Flynt, weapon raised to block should the man try to strike again. "It's time to leave."

"Don't let it escape!" he heard Winter yell. Hawkwood didn't let himself get distracted, advancing slowly on Sulyvahn. The soldiers surrounding the Pontiff opened fire, but the shots bounced from the man's aura.

A swirling vortex opened next to Sulyvahn, and the thing that Winter and Solaire had been fighting dragged itself through it, crying in pain. The vortex disappeared and, slicing its finger through the air, another opened. Realising what was happening, Hawkwood charged.

He drew blood from the Dancer's leg before they both disappeared.

Winter stormed out of the church, her eyes narrowed and her brow furrowed. "The General will not be…" she trailed off, seeing the faces of the soldiers around her. A heavy sense of dread settled over them all. "What happened?" She glanced upwards and east, where a Nevermore could be seen flying away—and a horde of Griffons approached.

One of the soldiers pulled out his scroll.

"Hawkwood!" Solaire called. "Over here!" Hawkwood turned; his leader was crouched down next to Flynt, who writhed on the ground, clutching his head.

He approached, sheathing his sword, and laid his hand on Flynt's brow. He began channelling his semblance, sharing his aura with the man, and after a few seconds Flynt fell still, though he did not wake.

"What's wrong with him?"

Hawkwood shrugged. He'd felt a profound wrongness, but he couldn't put his finger on it. "I don't know."

Somewhere outside, there was an explosion that shook the ground. He glanced up, and felt his jaw drop.

The flagship was firing on the other Atlesian ships.

/-/

"What's happening up there?"

Artorias tore through the halls of Beacon, scroll in hand. On the screen, Winter's face was creased with concern.

"Did you know that Penny was a robot?"

"What?"

"Did you know?"

She sighed. "Yes." Artorias' eyes hardened. Winter had known. That meant that Ironwood had known… and he'd let Penny fight anyway. He slowed down a little, his fist clenching.

"I'm heading for the Beacon docks. The Fang are releasing Grimm into the school."

"The Fang is here too? Nevermind. Listen to me: you need to get to the flagship. I can't reach the General. Someone's commandeered it."

And Lautrec is there, Artorias realised. The Fume Knight's target. Raime's target.

He changed course, heading for the hall where they'd held combat classes. The rocket lockers were there. "What about you?"

"We'll work to establish a safe- damn!" Artorias raised an eyebrow. He didn't hear her swear often—in fact, he couldn't recall ever hearing so much as a 'heck'. In the background he could hear gunfire. "Be careful of the knights!" she said. "I've got to go."

/-/

Smough's fists pounded on the barrier separating the audience from the arena. Up above, a giant Nevermore did much the same, though with a beak instead of with its hands.

"Ciaran, go around!" Gough ordered; she nodded and dashed off. Gil hadn't moved throughout the entire speech, his eyes fixed on Penny.

"Gil!" Smough roared.

"Gil, move!"

Either Gilderoy couldn't hear them, or he wasn't listening. He took a shaky step closer to Penny. Gough glanced up at the scoreboard in panic. Gilderoy's aura was barely breaking twenty percent, and the Nevermore was growing impatient, its tapping getting more and more urgent.

They weren't alone in their urging. Elsewhere in the arena, other teams were yelling at Gilderoy, trying to force their way into the arena's centre even as the civilian crowd scattered in panic.

The forcefield gave out. The Nevermore began its dive, even as Smough vaulted over the low railing.

"Move!" he roared again.

Gilderoy did not move.

The Nevermore clawed at Gilderoy as it landed, sending his aura sparking, and its wings buffeted both him and Smough away. With a snarl, Gough followed, leaping over the railing to the arena floor.

"Gil!"

The Nevermore cawed once, then lunged. A red streak crossed the arena, rose petals streaming in its wake. The streak became Ruby, weaponless—and so she reached for Penny's weapon-

Lightning streaked up the wire from Penny's body into her sword, slamming into Ruby with enough force to send her rolling backwards across the arena, her aura diminished but intact-

The Nevermore's beak broke through Gilderoy's aura, tearing open his gut. It cawed again triumphantly, then swiped again, its wing-claw ripping through Gilderoy's leg-

Smough dove to protect Gilderoy from its next strike with his own body, his brimstone aura crackling.

Gough roared as he reached the Nevermore. He ducked its wing and slammed into its right leg, using all his massive strength to pin it down and break it. Its leg bent at an unnatural angle, Nevermore screamed in pain and kicked him away, but when it tried to take flight and flee, something slammed into it from above.

Rocket-lockers rained from the sky, each one slamming into the Nevermore with enough force to push it back to the ground as it tried to rise. Eventually, it fell still, and the students rushed to collect their weapons.

"You," Smough growled as he rose to his feet, pointing to Nora. "Let me borrow that."

"Uh…"

"I need it."

Nora held Magnhildr as a mother might a child. "Who is this guy?" she asked.

Smough's growl turned into a snarl. He stepped towards the Nevermore, clenching both hands into fists, and brought them both down on the beast's beak. Its entire body shuddered from the blow, and if it weren't for his aura he would have broken his hands.

"Stay with me!"

Gough's attention turned from his brother to Ciaran and Ruby, who knelt next to Gilderoy. It was a sorry sight. Though Ciaran held a scrap of Penny's shirt to the wound in his gut, the cloth was already soaked with blood, and his legs were broken and mangled likely beyond repair. Still, he was clearly conscious, though possibly not lucid. Every breath was ragged.

"I'll see if I can find a stretcher," Sun said, dashing away, his team in tow.

"Smough, that's enough," Gough said.

Smough didn't hear him. By now, the Nevermore's beak had cracked, the top part falling away to reveal a bloodstained tongue amongst shards of white bone.

"That's enough!"

Ren approached the Nevermore's head. It was still alive, and though it could hardly move it glared daggers at him. He shot at its glowing red eye. Its struggling ceased, and the Nevermore began to fade away into black smoke. Smough watched, breathing heavily.

Sage and Scarlet returned, carrying a stretcher between them. Ruby helped them get Gilderoy onto it. Right as he was lifted up, his hand spasmed, his fingers grasping around Ruby's arm.

"Penny?"

She shook her head.

His hand went slack.

Sun walked up behind Smough, half-carrying half-dragging a golden hammer behind him. "I found this in the coat-room."

Smough grabbed his hammer. "I am going to find them," he said. "Everyone responsible for this. I will break them."

Up above, around the edge of the colosseum, Griffons were beginning to gather. Gough could only imagine that they were drawn to Smough. His entire body radiated anger and sorrow. Gough pulled his scroll from his pocket and summoned his locker. He'd need his weapon.

"Get him out of here," Ruby said, whirling on Sage and Scarlet. "Ciaran, go with them. Watch their backs." The three of them made for the exit, going as quickly as they could without bumping Gilderoy. "Gough, I'll need your scroll."

He finished stringing his bow before tossing it to her, and a moment later another locker came crashing down, opening up to reveal Crescent Rose. Ruby reached for it, but a Griffon came swooping down on top of it, screeching loudly.

Gough drew back his bow, arrow already nocked. At his side, he saw other weapons being aimed; Pyrrha's spear morphed to a rifle. Neptune raised his gun. Coco's handbag began to unfold.

But it was a deeper gunshot rang out across the arena, blasting the Griffon away, and it was Peter Port stepped forwards, Doctor Oobleck at his side. "Students," he said. "I think it would be best for you to leave."

Smough's grip on his hammer tightened.

"But we can-"

"Miss Rose," Oobleck said, cutting the girl off. "This day will surely go in Remnant's history. I'd prefer it if my students could live to tell of it."

"Fuck that," Smough muttered.

"They're mindless. They're Grimm. They're not worth it," Gough said.

Ruby nodded and grabbed Crescent Rose. "Let's go," she said.

Gough had to drag Smough a few steps before he followed.

When they reached Amity's docks, it was clear that there was a full-scale evacuation in process. While there were still a few Grimm being shepherded into corners by Atlesian soldiers, the area was, for the most part, clear. Following Ruby's lead, the students rushed towards General Ironwood, who was about to board a gunship. He couldn't see Ciaran, Gil, Sage or Scarlet anyway, and hoped that they were already on their way to a hospital.

"What's going on?"

His gaze panned over them all. "Grimm are crawling all over the city. The White Fang has invaded Beacon, and to make matters worse some vagabond has seized one of my ships. Until we regain command, the skies are out of our control. So I'm-"

He paused, raised his gun, and fired a single shot over their heads. Gough turned, startled, to see the Creep he'd shot keel over and begin to disperse in black smoke.

"-going to take it back," Ironwood finished. He turned and began to ascend the boarding ramp.

"What should we do?" Jaune asked.

"You have two choices: defend your kingdom and your school… or save yourselves. No one will fault you if you leave. Let's move out!" The gunship's ramp began to close, and Ironwood disappeared into it, taking off moments later towards the flagship.

"I'm going to Beacon," Smough growled.

Nobody disagreed.

They boarded a transport, still bedecked in the colourful red livery of the festival. It seemed a little more morbid now. They flew in silence for a time. Ruby, Jaune, and Sun stood stoically at the front of the ship, speaking in hushed voices. Others were checking their weapons. Pyrrha sat alone in the corner, her knees huddled to her chest.

"He's going to be alright," Gough said. Smough didn't respond.

Everyone was shaken from their thoughts by an explosion that rocked the ship. Their attention turned to the viewing window at the front of the ship; Ironwood's dropship had blown up, and was spiralling down into the city.

Ruby didn't hesitate. She turned and marched towards the back of the ship. Gough knew immediately what she was doing; if Ironwood couldn't take back the flagship, somebody had to.

"Ruby!" he called. He drew his bow and nocked a grav-dust arrow. "Be careful," he said.

/-/

"Really? Him?" Roman Torchwick reclined in the captain's chair, putting his feet up on the console. Neo had been kind enough to bring him a pack of fresh cigars, a luxury he'd been missing ever since his incarceration, and he gestured vaguely towards Lautrec with one. "Sounds like you're the talk of the town." First Atlas had taken an interest in him, and now this Raime fellow.

Lautrec struggled against his cuffs. Neo had been sure to keep him restrained. "You don't know who's coming for me," he growled. "He won't show you mercy."

Roman raised an eyebrow to Neo. "Thought you were working with the guy." She nodded.

"And he's on good terms with Cinder dearest?"

Neo made a so-so gesture.

Roman took a puff on his cigar and turned to face Lautrec. "Well," he said, "I like my odds with him."

The door to the bridge slid open, and in walked a man in black armour, a massive sword in his hand.

He was suitably menacing, Roman supposed, but from what he could tell from Neo he was hardly more dangerous than Cinder. Actually, strike that—Cinder pushed the man around. "Good evening," he greeted. "I would offer you a cigar, but I'm rather covetous of them right now."

"I'm only here for the prisoner," Raime said.

"Right here," Roman responded, again gesturing at Lautrec. "Now, if that will be all-"

There was a thud on the deck of the ship.

Roman sighed. "Go see what that is," he said, moving to sit upright.

Neo nodded.

/-/

Ozpin's mouth was set in a thin line. The screens on his desk showed visions of death and destruction. Civilians fled before the Grimm, only to be run down. Atlesian soldiers were forced backwards, their weapons ineffective against the hordes. He wasn't sure if the screaming he could hear came from the speakers in his desk or from the city, so very far away.

It was time to act.

He pushed himself upright and made for the elevator, grabbing his cane as he went.

Halfway across the room, the world shook, and he stumbled. His eyes flickered to the window, to Mountain Glenn.

The mountain erupted, showering the ground in stone and dirt, and from its ruined peak burst a massive Grimm dragon.

He needed to reach Amber.

The elevator doors opened before he arrived.

"You're not supposed to be here," said Sulyvahn.

"If you are behind all of this, then who was speaking on the broadcast?" Ozpin asked.

"Alas that I cannot claim credit," Sulyvahn said. "Cinder has done a marvellous job though, hasn't she? I'm almost tempted to forgive her betrayal." Cinder. Ozpin knew the name, though he couldn't place it. Was she a student, perhaps?

"I'm here for the key." Sulyvahn drew the Profaned Greatsword and pointed it at Ozpin, his face growing grim and his eyes sparking with malice. "Stand aside. I will not be denied."

"It's not here," Ozpin lied. His grip tightened on his cane.

"I find that hard to believe. What subordinate would you trust with such power?"

"You might find this hard to believe, but I do trust my allies." He flipped his cane to hold it like a baton. Sulyvahn smirked.

"It is here, then. Stand aside, old man. I won't ask again."

"Do you know what waits inside the painting?"

Sulyvahn shrugged. "Power." He twirled the greatsword and gripped it in both hands, taking a step closer to Ozpin.

Ozpin dashed forwards.

Blade met cane in a shower of sparks. Sulyvahn's hands were deft, fending off Ozpin's assault, but the headmaster had centuries of experience over the Pontiff. Sulyvahn retreated, step by step, unable to power through Ozpin's strikes despite his heavier weapon. Sulyvahn's back found the wall, and Ozpin spun, throwing all his weight into a swing that would have put Sulyvahn's head through the plaster, had he not dodged out of the way. A snarl formed on Ozpin's face as he tore his cane from the hole it had left in the wall.

Sulyvahn managed to catch Ozpin's cane near the handle, forcing Ozpin's guard open. A hand shot forth and grasped Ozpin by the face. A lance of pain shot through him; intimate knowledge of his own soul told Ozpin that something was very, very wrong.

"Submit!" Sulyvahn seethed.

Ozpin twisted, bringing his elbow down on Sulyvahn's outstretched arm; the Pontiff withdrew, then reached out once more, making Ozpin's aura spark in protest. Ozpin didn't know what it was the Pontiff was doing, only that it wasn't good. He needed a sanctuary. An escape. Victory or death, he would not allow Sulyvahn to take the key to the Painted World.

He reversed the grip on his cane and slammed the handle into Sulyvahn's chest. The pearl flashed white-

-and then they were falling. Sulyvahn's grip loosened, and the two men fell apart. They sped past the rubble of every age and every land as they fell. Ozpin wondered where they would emerge. Such things were never certain.

They fell towards a dune—or the dune fell towards them—and they rolled away from each other as they landed. On the horizon loomed Old Oasis. When he'd brought Artorias here, it had been a crumbling ruin and the desert a desolate wasteland, but now the towering peaks of Old Oasis were restored in a spectral golden light, and across the desert marched the ghosts of a war long past.

A great shriek split the air, and a Grimm dragon descended from the clouds. On its back, hurling lightning at the ghosts of Silver Knights, was the crowned man with windswept ashen hair: the first king of Mantle.

Sulyvahn whirled around, trying to get his bearings. His eyes widened as a ghostly sword—the Profaned Greatsword, though a far less weathered version of the blade—came swinging down at him, and he raised his weapon to block the blow. It passed straight through him, doing no harm, and split open the skull of a knight in a red tabard.

The crowned, bearded man who wielded the weapon tore it free, and for a moment Ozpin thought their eyes met. But then the ancient king's gaze continued upwards to the dragon. "Malgwyn!" he bellowed, and though Ozpin stood not ten metres away it sounded as though his voice had travelled a great distance to reach him.

Sulyvahn stalked towards them, Profaned Greatsword raised. "Where are we?" he seethed.

A smile played at Ozpin's lips. "Some other time," he said.

Sulyvahn scowled and charged. Now weaponless, Ozpin ducked Sulyvahn's strike, slamming a fist into the Pontiff's side, then danced away, stumbling as a wild swing caught his leg. He needed range. He needed a weapon. But this entire place was forged of Creation itself; he reached down and grabbed a spectral sword from the ground, and with a jolt of his aura it was made physical once more.

Amidst the ghosts of the past, their duel continued. Around them, ghostly warriors fought and died, their translucent corpses piling ever higher. The Grimm dragon was struck from the sky by a bolt of golden lightning, and its rider continued on foot, meeting Gwyn atop the same dune where Ozpin and Sulyvahn fought.

They locked blades, pushing against each other in a contest of strength. Sulyvahn won out, shoving Ozpin away and striking his sword from his hands. Over Sulyvahn's shoulder, Ozpin saw Gwyn strike down the king of Mantle, carving a great gash across his chest.

Sulyvahn advanced. Ozpin stepped backwards, raising his fists.

An almighty crack of thunder shook the ground. Lightning struck the roof of the cathedral in Old Oasis, tearing it asunder.

Ozpin sought another weapon. A wave of his hand and a costly spark of his aura sent all the sands of the desert swirling around them. The world shifted and changed, and they were instead in a darkened stone hallway, stairs at each end, one set leading upwards to a closed door and the other downwards to a chamber that held a hunched figure. Resting against the wall closest to this chamber was a brass hammer shaped like a bell, and next to that a corpse in matching armour.

Ozpin dove for the hammer, grasping it in both hands and spinning into a blind, wild swing. Sulyvahn blocked the blow, but its force was enough to send him flying down the stairs anyway, grunting with pain as he rolled to a halt.

The hunched figure's head snapped upwards, and he leapt to his feet, turning to face the Pontiff. He seemed older than Ozpin remembered, despite the magic of Ringed City, and with a start he realised that it was not time but stress and worry that had aged the old man. His eyes were sunken, his skin wrinkled, his hair falling out, and his clothes hung from a form that had withered away from lack of use.

"OUT!"

His body was too weak to lift the ancient geisteel sword at his side, but his aura picked up the slack, blazing the colour of sunlight through a forest canopy. His onslaught was rapid, furious, every blow leaving Sulyvahn reeling.

Ozpin marched down the stairs, hammer raised, and clobbered Sulyvahn in the back of the head. The Pontiff dropped like a stone, the Profaned Greatsword falling from his hands.

The old man's assault ceased, and his eyes met Ozpin's. For a moment, Ozpin thought there was some recognition there. "Vendrick?" he asked.

Vendrick looked down and away. His sword clattered to the ground, and then he turned to shamble towards the opposite wall, muttering nonsense to himself, his aura dimming once more.

A pity.

"That's Vendrick?" Sulyvahn slurred as he shakily rose to his feet. Ozpin's attention returned to him; as the Pontiff bent down to pick up his sword, Ozpin kicked him in the chin, snapping his head back and sending blood spraying from his mouth. Sulyvahn staggered away, coughing and wheezing.

Wordlessly, Ozpin discarded the brass hammer and picked up the Profaned Greatsword, stalking towards Sulyvahn.

Sulyvahn eyed it warily, then sighed. "Give a dead man his final words."

Ozpin picked him up by the collar, and again the world around them shifted. They emerged in Gwynevere's chamber, and he threw the Pontiff through the closed doors leading into the cathedral. He slumped against the railing.

"…you wouldn't," he whispered, glancing behind him, down to where Aldrich lurked.

"You're a holy man," Ozpin said, approaching slowly, the tip of the Profaned Greatsword dragging along the floor behind him. "You understand that some places should remain sacred. Gwyn's tomb is one of them."

Sulyvahn laughed, half-choking on each and every breath. "And you think this a fitting end for a holy man?"

Ozpin raised the weapon. "I am not without mercy," he said.

The blade came down. Sulyvahn's lifeless head fell from the balcony, landing amidst the disgusting muck. His body went limp, and did not move again.

Ozpin's shoulders slumped. It was over. With a wave of his hand and a tug on his aura, the doors closed. When he pushed them open, they emerged into his office. He crouched down to pick up his cane, collapsing it into its handle and clipping it to his side, then entered the elevator and headed for the ground for, clasping the Profaned Greatsword before him.

"A trip down memory lane?"

Ozpin blinked in surprise. He'd not expected to hear that voice.

A man stood before him, garbed in robes and heavy pauldrons and a breastplate. He stood just as Ozpin did, sword point-down, resting on the floor. A great grey beard covered the lower part of his face.

"Don't be so shocked," Gwyn said mirthlessly. "You did ask for this: for me."

"And what a mistake that was."

"Does it matter? We're not real, Oz."

"It feels more and more real every time."

"I'm sure it does." Gwyn sighed.

They lapsed into silence. Ozpin's eyes traced the lines creasing the ancient king's face.

"Why now?" Ozpin asked. "Why am I seeing you now?"

"I don't know." Ozpin snorted. The real Gwyn would never admit ignorance so readily. "Why see anybody? You're an old man, Oz. A better question: why ask me?"

"Why ask any of us?" Lucatiel's voice sounded behind him; he turned, startled, but did not see her.

"You're all alone," said Malgwyn. Again, he was nowhere to be found.

"Do you expect some great secret to be revealed? Do you want me to confess my many sins? Beg for forgiveness? This isn't me, Oz. I will never ask for your forgiveness, and they will never forgive you. Delude yourself all you want. You are alone," said Gwyn.

Their eyes locked. The elevator doors opened.

"Then let me be alone."

He stepped through his old friend and did not look back.

Oh, Sulyvahn. You were so much fun (actually, he could be hell to write sometimes). Just before the hiatus, I'll probably do a much longer AN and talk about Sulyvahn at great length. The whole 'never writing from his POV' thing was a hindrance at times, I think (that's the point), but also leaves him open to a lot of interpretation.

Ozpin vs Sulyvahn is, of course, the centrepiece of this chapter. I've been drafting and redrafting it since Sulyvahn was first introduced. It might not seem like it, but this was a far more conservative version of the Ringed City scenes than I first intended. Young-ghostly-Vengarl was gonna fight the Mirror Knight in the background, for one, and the Red Hood (has come to eat us... come to eat our dark souls) was gonna show up to spook Ozpin. I still wanted to do the scene with the Red Hood, but I feel it's better suited to spook Oscar later...

Gwyn and Ozpin talking in the elevator is the scene depicted on the cover art. I'll have to drum up something new for V4-onwards, I think.

...and nothing else of importance happened this chapter. No sir. Nothing worth talking about, nup.

Next chapter will be out either on the 26th or the 27th. It depends how much I get done before I start drinking.