Note: This chapter is a reupload. It contains a drastic change to the original canon that many readers considered tasteless, offensive and unnecessary. After careful consideration, we have determined that while we agree with their assessments and do not wish to further spend time developing that particular change, we have already published the chapter containing it, and thus, we will maintain the chapter in its original form. We fully understand that is not a popular choice, but we feel that once we allow ourselves to start retconning published chapters, we won't be able to restrain ourselves from editing much more significant things. We believe that all forms of art, good or bad, should be preserved in as original of a state as possible. Though we are not fully denying or retconning the change, we are determined, however, not to exploit or linger on it for any period of time longer than will be necessary to move the story forward. We deeply apologize to everyone that this change and this arc as a whole has upset or offended. If, for some reason, you have not read this chapter and do not want to read the offending material, we will place a large content warning before the most offending section so that you can skip over it if you so desire. Thank you for your time and understanding.
Weiss stared blankly at the inscriptions on the mannequins. The Reveler's voice vanished; it was watching her with quiet amusement, anticipating her failure. The only audible sounds were the occasional gasps and pained moans coming from Ruby, twitching on the bed. Weiss tried to block it out, but her eyes kept wandering back to the poor thing. She had to make that right.
The only way to do that was through the Trial. The Reveler knew she had absolutely no way of knowing for certain which secret belonged to whom. If it was trying to make it a fair Trial—and admittedly, that was a massive if—then it had to give her something to base her assertions on. It had to give her clues. She was smarter than she seemed, so she knew better than to take each inscription completely literally. The key was in double meanings, keywords, structure. She… she could do that. She could manage. She didn't need to know the secrets themselves; just the buzzwords. If arguing endless hours with Blake taught her anything, it was how to pick out buzzwords.
Her head felt heavy and her body was numb. She wasn't in any condition to try to decipher riddles. But she had no choice in the matter, so she took whatever was left of her energy and directed it towards the challenge at hand. She started with the last inscription she read: Parasitic yet alone. Hast deceived in an attempt to claim the Dragon's glory. Thankfully for her, it was the most obvious one. She scanned the floor for the desired mask, and when she picked it up, she couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship. The Reveler was a God of the Arts, and it had perfectly captured all of the desired features: the melancholy, perpetually annoyed expression, the gauntness of the cheeks… even that stupid little black bow in her hair.
"The Dragon's glory" referred to Yang. What else would it mean? She could recall a half dozen nights in which the girl would burst into the room while she was trying to sleep, screaming about how "no one can conquer the dragon" and "dragons don't sleep" and general other nonsense about comparing herself to the mythical creature. And who else had been trying to worm their way into Yang's life more than that wretched girl? It was maybe the worst kept secret in Beacon that there was something going on between the two of them. Something that made them more than friends. It was apparent every time Weiss saw Yang staring wistfully at that whore. Not that she knew why anyone would ever feel anything positive about Blake. Plus, deceive? Alone? Parasite? Were there more apt words to describe Blake Belladonna than that? Weiss didn't have the strength to so much as smirk, but she did get a small boost of confidence when she carefully placed the Blake mask onto the mannequin, and she didn't immediately receive a spike through the heart as punishment.
The next one: Holds tradition as sin. Hast engaged in heresy against their family's Legacy. What the hell was that referring to? Her mind first went to religion, atheism. She read it again. Heresy against family legacy. Was there anyone in the doomed party that challenged their parents? Yang was always rebelling—was it her? No. Her dad wanted her to be a Huntress. Ruby was the one that her dad didn't want going to Beacon. She remembered that much. Pyrrha? No, she was a national treasure. She loved her family. At least, she thought. Weiss began to wish she had spent more time talking to JNPR. She had barely spent a night with them and maybe shared one or two conversations thereafter. Couldn't be Blake obviously, although that girl's beliefs certainly classified her as a heretic. Velvet then? Maybe… wait. Didn't Velvet say something about being raised by Faunus?
Think.
Think.
Fucking think.
"They own a few farms in Southern Vale which produces wheat and corn for the whole region. They employ thousands of Faunus, including a dozen who they hire exclusively for housework. You can imagine the size of our house. But yeah, I've been surrounded by Faunus since I was a baby. I was practically raised by them since Mother and Father were always too busy…"
Yes. That… that was right. A Faunus-rights activist, raised by those who actively despised the animals. A heretic of a different order, rebelling against the slavery of the Faunus by her own people. That interpretation made sense, or at last, as much sense as she could take. She supposed she could change it later if she wasn't sure. She placed the mask on the requisite mannequin and moved on to the next.
Poisoned with contempt. Hast let strength pervert into disgust for the weak.
Yang. Contempt for her sister. Strong. Pervert. Yang. Also easy. Mask on. Next.
Failure in all—
The world turned black, and Weiss stumbled forward, catching herself on one of the mannequins. She clutched her chest with her bloody knuckles. Her heart—so slow. The world steadily faded back into existence, but the nausea and the pain didn't cease. She was so fucking tired. She needed to rest. Just a minute. Close her eyes and—no. Focus. Just focus on the Trial.
Failure in all regards. Hast believed that thou are Superior to them.
With a defeated groan, she bent over, haphazardly flipping the masks over until she found the desired one: that of a boy with blonde scruffy hair and a permanently terrified expression.
Mask on. Four down. Three to go. So tired.
Of course, they were the hardest three. Pyrrha, Ren, and Nora: her former teammates. She remembered suddenly that they were together for such a short period of time, they never even got to name themselves. What would that be? Wildprawn—WPRN? She liked wildprawns. Freshly caught during season. They went very well with a tomato soup base. A few spring onions, touch of cream…
She slammed her head into the mannequin. Focus. Focus focus focus focus. Why was it suddenly so fucking hard to fucking focus for five fucking seconds? She was fine in the maze, wasn't she? Wasn't she? It was hard to remember. Hard to breathe. Her own breath in her ears was louder than thunder. Three masks. Three masks and then she was done… except…
Don't think about that. Just read the inscription. Projects false honor. Hast slain and tortured those they sWear to protect. Projecting honor—that had to be Ren or Pyrrha? But then, what the hell did it mean by torture? Neither of them had tortured anyone as far as she was concerned? And that "W", sticking out like a sore thumb. That had to be relevant, right? Essential even. Like, was it supposed to help her with their name? None of their names even had a "W" in them! Absurd. That stupid fucking God with its stupid fucking Trials. She wished she could bash its brains in, rip its tongue right out of its damn throat. She was drifting again. Dammit. God fucking dammit…
Screw it. Come back to it later. Bound by Jealousy. Hast sabotaged their Love's desires to maintain a fruitless bond. Love. Love love love-a-dove love. Lovely-dovely dovey dove. Nora—that dumb cunt had a heart in her outfit. She loved love or something. Her. Pick her. Weiss snatched the mask and threw it on to the mannequin, not even bothering to set it on straight. It didn't matter. Finish it.
Beast of two minds. Hast let Evil kindle within their Soul and nurtured it.
Evil. That word. There was something so familiar about that word. Someone was evil amongst their mist. Who was it? She knew. She had figured it out long ago, didn't she? Yes, that was right. Sometime a few months ago. She saw evil in their eyes. Who was it? Who the hell was it? Everything was going dark. How did it suddenly get so bad? She was doing fine. Had her adrenaline finally worn out? Was it losing the others that caused her mind to slip? Was it… was the Reveler poisoning her? Draining her mind willingly?
Or was it just that her body had finally given up on her, like it had every time in the past.
She was special. Most people in the Decum Luna had a single God that watched over them, usually chosen for them due to their family's lineage. Weiss had two Gods, the Banker and the Knight, and both of them hated her. She asked for a mother who wasn't a drunk, and they gifted her Soul Lapse. She asked for a father who wouldn't manipulate her, and they grafted metal onto her bones. She wanted to be a Huntress, and they sent her alone to Vale. They hated that she was born, and for every waking second she walked that planet, they were damn intent on making her know that. Even though they weren't the ones punishing her, she felt them through the Reveler, felt their cruelty acting through his fingertips.
She could barely stand on her own anymore. The mannequin was the only thing even remotely keeping her upright. Two masks left. Only two. She could guess. Fifty-fifty shot. She wanted to remember, but the world was straining so hard on her body, her mind. She could end it all with a shot in the dark. But which one to pick. Beast of two minds. That could refer to Ren. He and Nora were attached at the hip. His life would be dictated by two forces, her will and his own. Maybe. Maybe? That was a stretch, but they were all stretches, nothing but wild interpretations with no verified meaning behind them. She thought the others were so easy, but who was to say that those were right? She was wasting time worrying, thinking about what she should have done, when it could all have been for nothing. Ruby was bleeding out. The others were already dead. Whatever secrets they may have had were irrelevant. It was all pointless. So pointless. Worthless. Stupid, stupid, stupid…
Weiss paused. Her head rested on one of the mannequin's shoulders. She breathed into it. She was tired and weak, and maybe more than any other time in her life, she was scared. And yet, despite all of that, there was something calm in the back of her mind. She took a deep breath. Maybe it was the last deep breath she would ever take. She… she was going to die there.
But Ruby didn't have to.
She picked the last two remaining masks and looked down on them in her palms. They looked lifelike, except for the eyes. A mask of Pyrrha could never be complete without her eyes. They were incredibly distinct. Weiss should have known. She never forgot the evil that lied inside of them.
She placed the masks on their proper mannequins and fell to her knees. Everything suddenly became very quiet, like the air had been sucked out of the room. She closed her eyes, enraptured with the sound of her own struggled breathing. She didn't know if she was supposed to say something to let the Reveler know she was done. She simply rested. Ruby… she hoped she did the girl justice. The thought gave her a brief pause, and in her darkest hour, she found the strength to smirk. Since when did she care so much about that brat?
And then, the God spoke.
"Thou hast selected thy masks. Thy answers submitted. Of the seven fools whose secrets lie before you…"
Weiss's heart became caught in her chest. The God was not her own, but she would admit to any soul that asked her that, in that one moment, she prayed to it more desperately than ever before.
"Thou hast answered one correctly."
Weiss's eyes shot open. Her heart shattered.
One.
She only got one.
That… that was funny.
A spiked, steel chain slashed across her face. She collapsed.
There was a brief moment, directly after the second royal toad fell, that Weiss believed she was actually going to be okay. The Reveler bowed to her, its movements ever-graceful, and it vanished from their realm, leaving only her father in its place, huffing and puffing. There was something to be said of the fact that he never bothered to consult with her personally about forcing her into the God's Arm. She didn't care about that, nor did she care how many of her Gods she would have to fight off to gain her father's approval. She only knew at that moment, watching him desperately snort down some more powered Trichon Dust, that she was going to make it. Even if she had to wipe out the whole damn pantheon. She would do it.
Weiss Schnee was always a fool.
The third God was summoned in another flash of light. It was shorter than the others. Bulkier. Its body was shroud in a pristine set of armor that was so white it nearly blinded her, and its face was concealed behind a mask, concealing its features. It looked somewhat turtle-like, Weiss thought. The mask was elongated slightly at the front and rounded, a large gap traveling across like a mouth and two little beady dents by the eyes. Its shoulders were thick and wide, as was its stance. A shield, nearly as massive as its entire body was strapped to its back, completing the aesthetic. Its hands tightly gripped a rapier, far too tiny for its massive gloved hands, but it stood its ground proudly. Weiss made the mistake of underestimating it.
That was when the thing showed up. It crawled out of the floor like a giant, its hands booming against the ground as it pushed itself out of the floor. It towered over her, nearly brushing its head against the ceiling. It was a suit of armor all its own, only darker, ghastlier, its head like a skull and its broadsword nearly the size of a bus. It was known as an Arma Gigas. It was horrifying.
"Let the Trial of the Knight commence."
Weiss tried. God bless her, she tried. She launched every attack she could at it, swiping behind its knees, launching energy spears into the cracks in its neck, burning it, freezing it, hitting it harder, harder, harder. It moved as faster than it physically could have, predicting her movements, slamming its sword into the ground just centimeters in front of her face. Any one of its blows could have cleaved her into two, and she was tired after fighting off so many monsters in the other two Trials. Her footwork was sloppy. Her strikes uncertain. Those watching her from above knew it was a disaster waiting to happen.
Strangely enough, it wasn't the sword that caught her; it was a fist. About two minutes into the Trial, she made the mistake of thinking she could take away the Gigas's height advantage on her by launching herself into the air on a glyph. She shot herself from behind the giant armor, but it was smarter than she anticipated. It turned around so quickly that she had no time to prepare herself, and then the fist hit her hard, knuckles crashing into her hips and legs. The force launched her down into the floor, and just like that, it was all over. It was like getting hit by a car going 60 kph, and the impact on the ground felt like falling off a five-story building. She didn't know how many of her bones were broken, or which of her orangs ruptured. Weiss couldn't move. She just lied, face-first on the cold floor, staring off into nothingness, twitching in agony.
A figure walked over and dragged her to her knees. There was a philosophical question of how much a God truly took over when possessing a human during the God's Arm. Those who had personally experienced the transformation gave conflicting reports. Some blacked out, some felt like they were moved by otherworldly forces. There was talk that those of greater Souls could even maintain control of their new forms.
Weiss always wondered if that was true. When the Knight stood over her, and the only words that she could mutter were a desperate plea for its mercy, she wondered how much of her father was still there, controlling what would come next.
The Knight leaned her head back and drew forth its rapier. The sword sliced cleanly through her skin, and at once, half her sight turned red and then vanished.
"Leave her alone!"
A blow to the God's torso, and the next thing Weiss knew, her sister was standing there, protecting her like always. A flash of white light. Her father reappeared. The rest was history.
Weiss's memory tended to fade after the encounter between Winter and her father. When it returned to her, she was in a hospital bed, her eye tightly bandaged and her legs hooked up to a machine pumping her with Gods only knew what. The nurses said it would make her better. Fresh as new. They pumped her full of morphine as the days passed by, and she might have asked what happened to Winter, but everything was so blurry that her words likely came out in tangled weaves. Everything hurt so badly, especially her eye—or what used to be her eye. At some point, she remembered the doctors telling her about a surgery they planned on performing. A new eye, they said. Better than the last. Requested by her father. No one would even be able to tell the difference, they promised.
Save for the scar.
(CONTENT WARNING): Her mother never visited her. She remembered that much.
At some point, enough of her strength returned to her to ask about her sister. The doctors refused to give her an answer, no matter how much she begged them. Two full weeks passed before she was ever given a response, and when she did get an answer, it wasn't from the doctors at all. She received her answer late one night, well into the early hours of the morning, while she was trying to sleep. Sleeping was easier on the drugs, but it tended to elude her in her broken state. Not that he cared.
"You know, I've always believed Winter to be exceptional."
Her father walked into the room so casually, as if there was no tension or animosity between them. She could not move in her bandages, but her eyes followed him as he casually pulled up a chair by her bedside and plopped himself down into it. He sighed and reclined. There was the subtle stench of alcohol on his breath. She didn't say anything.
"I know, it seems somewhat strange, considering the circumstances" he noted. "But from the very first day I watched that girl pick up a sword, I knew… Gods, she was going to be great one day. Not that you would remember any of that? How far apart were you born again? Five, six years, was it? Maybe you would remember: when she was but ten, we had Ironwood observe one of her training sessions. He said she was remarkable. Offered her a spot in Atlas Academy right there—for when she got older, of course. Always older…"
He shuffled in his chair, glancing strangely at the material that made up the upholstery. Weiss watched him sigh and tightly grip the arms of the air, trying to find a comfortable spot.
"She called me a terrible father," he admitted glumly. "For what I did to you. Can you imagine saying such a thing? Me, a terrible father? That's absurd in a sort of… almost fundamental way. The goal of a father is to raise his children in a manner so that they may best carry on his legacy. Either they shall bring honor to his name, or if they are unable, they can carry on his genetics to someone who can. That's what any good father does. It begs the question of what Winter thinks a parent is actually supposed to do, aside from giving hugs and kisses and all of that…" He dismissively brushed his hand through the air. "…whatever nonsense it is that the dreamgazers push."
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do you know what's funny? For so many years, I've wondered if I was doing something wrong. I watched her skills ever-slightly decline as the moons passed by, like walking down a long, narrow slope. You don't… I don't think Ironwood ever really noticed, because that man—and I will say this, and I never say this, but that man might be greater than I ever will be—you know what it means when you have an entire military to oversee? Maddening, it must be. What I wouldn't give for a second… no, more than a second, a month for a taste of that power. But it's distracting. You have to look at the forest, and my Winter, she's just a little tree, isn't she? One fragile thing amongst a sea of fragile things? He didn't notice. I noticed. I noticed every day."
He pointed at Weiss and smirked. "And it was you, wasn't it? It wasn't me, but you that contaminated her. She spent those hours she should have been training spending time with you, singing with you, fighting with you, trying to help you, because you're a cripple and Gods know you can't do a single thing by yourself. It was like taking a marathon runner, a triathlete, and chaining a legless dog to their legs so they can't sprint quite right. Despite all of that, she is a Regent Commander—and yet even that stings on the tongue. How pathetic."
He reclined again in the chair, leaning his head back so as to roll over the bend of the seat. His eyes moved back and forth, tracing along the ceiling. "I think Winter's still the best of you three. Objectively speaking. We can work with her, especially after today. Whitley—the boy needs therapy, but he has a good business sense, I believe. I think it all depends on if we can breed you properly. That's the important part."
Weiss said nothing, seething in silence until one of the words suddenly caught her ear.
"What… what did you… do to her?" The words were almost impossible to say. He chuckled.
"She said so many venomous things to me," he stated. "Cruel things. Things unbecoming of a person of her stature. She was threatening to take you and run away to fucking Mistral. Abandoning her post, all for you."
The blood pumped faster. "What… happened?"
"She was a disobedient little sow, and she thought that she had the right—the Gods-given right, dammit! She thought she could ruin this family, spit in the face of the Gods, and all because of you? What a contemptible thought. I couldn't allow that. Not when there was so much pressure on us, not after the humiliation you brought upon us."
Her body felt like it would fall apart with every movement, but Weiss forced herself up on the bed, her icy blue eye wide. "What did you do?"
Her father straightened himself, regaining some pathetic sense of professionalism. "I asked our good friend, Doctor Insom, what his latest developments in neurosurgery were. And he told me some very interesting procedures they were inventing. Sedating her was the hardest part. And get this? Do you know what she said aside from cursing me out? She kept screaming something about human rights violations. Where in the hell did she hear about that garbage?"
Weiss pushed herself onto her hands, but she couldn't support her own weight and tumbled off the bed. Her blood boiled. Her chest was tight. Her breaths heavy. That bastard. He couldn't. That… not Winter. He was bluffing, teasing her. He had to be. She struggled to right herself, reaching up, scratching at her father's legs, but he was only more amused at watching her desperation.
"Oh, come now, Weiss. You don't have to beg," he informed her. He looked up and past her, toward the entrance of the room. "Winter, dear… come say hello to your sister."
Weiss was expecting him to be lying. When Winter entered the room, dressed neatly in her uniform, she could see that he wasn't. She looked almost ashamed to be there, but whatever doubts were present were masked by an eternal and forced stoicism. Her cap was missing, and Weiss could see clear as day that a small patch of hair had been removed on the side of her skull, and the kiss of an incision remained etched into her flesh. Weiss's pain almost seemed to disappear when she bounded off the floor—save for the pain within her mind. Winter didn't react when Weiss latched onto her, hugging her tightly, so tightly as to never let go. She didn't hug back as Weiss began to break down into sobs.
"What did you do to her?"
"It was hard work, the doctor tells me," her father mused. "The key was to keep most of her mind intact. We couldn't risk damaging her incredible talents, and your mother would complain if we altered too much of her personality. But I am quite proud to say that even within the limitations, our great doctor was able to make her far more… how would you say… docile."
Docile.
Docile.
Winter's mind—her sister's mind. Ruined. Because she helped her. Because Weiss failed. She cried deeply into Winter's chest, and the older thing felt the shadow of a kind reaction, the slightest urge to reciprocate the affection. A part of her wanted that, but she pushed it aside. Even as Weiss sputtered over and over again how sorry she was, all Winter could do was halfheartedly reply that everything would be okay. Her face twitched like a part of her knew she was supposed to do more. She was fully aware of her father rooting around in the recesses of her brain, snipping and stitching it together in a way that suited him. But she did nothing except say a small prayer to the Gods that he had not taken away her ability to lie.
