Once upon a time, in a cold and cruel land, there lived a lonely, little girl.
The girl had no mother, for her mother had perished to plague.
The girl had no friends, for her friends had all been killed.
Wretched is she, whose childhood memories are shrouded in desolation.
Unhappy is she, who weeps in the dark recesses of a moldering prison.
Miserable is she, who waits only for death to come on fetid wings.
One day, the girl could take no more.
"Save me, God," she cried to the heavens. "Take me from this place!"
And God heard, and God took pity, gifting the girl with four treasures.
Serenity gave the girl eternity. From no wound would she succumb, nor poison, nor age.
Haste gave the girl grace, fleet as a flame. A sacred fire to purify the wicked and reduce them to ash.
Desire gave the girl a fortress of howling gales. A bastion to weather sling and blade, a shield to shelter her fragile heart.
Conquest gave the girl a crown of lightning. And arrows of righteous thunder to shatter their chests.
"Wonderful!" The girl cried. "With these gifts, I will never suffer again!"
But a thought struck her.
This world was filthy, she knew.
These people are wretched, she believed.
She hated this world, for it had given her nothing but hate in turn.
What good are these things, she wondered, that can only bring misery?
Would it not be better, she mused, if it would all go away?
And so the girl took up arms against the world that she hated so.
She levied God's gifts against the humanity that had denied her.
She rained calamity from the heavens and sowed violence upon the land, for she was to be God's final judgement.
But the girl's enemies were insidious, and they connived to wrest God's gifts from their rightful place.
The betrayer stole Desire, sealing it away in a monstrous metal beast.
The hateful captor plundered Haste, and used it to empower those who would stand against her God.
In time, Conquest, too, departed, bestowed upon its true master in turn.
One by one, those precious gifts were wrenched from her grasp.
Only Serenity refused to leave her. Sweet, gentle Serenity, her breath a mellow mist of sleep eternal, remained, slumbering deep within her breast.
And so the girl, too, slept, sealed away to one day awaken and reclaim what was rightly hers.
— An excerpt from The Tale of the Queen of Nothing. Transcribed from an oral retelling in Xia Province, Mistral by Huang Feng, Adjunct Professor at the Mistralian School of Anthropology.
The Emerald Forest
"Ruby! What...Oh no…" Yang's mad dash stuttered to a halt upon seeing her sister kneeling in front of the limp form of their friend.
"It's my fault," Ruby shivered uncontrollably. Everything around her had faded to a hazy mesh of blurred color, attention fully seized by those glassy, half-lidded orbs. Once so vivacious and lively, they now stared, unseeing, into space. Kiana was dead, and it was Ruby's fault.
"I shouldn't have left her. I should have stayed." Her muted murmurs were hollow and toneless, the shock evident in every word. She clung to this self-admonishment, repeating it like a mantra
"What happened?" One of the girls that Yang had been less acquainted with, a redhead clad in bronze armor, Pyrrha, was the first to reach them. Upon seeing the lifeless corpse propped up like a macabre scarecrow, she gasped, clasping her hands over her mouth in horror.
In silence, the three girls simply stared, dumbfounded, at the lifeless heap that had once been a lively, tenacious girl. The pitter patter of footsteps signalled the arrival of the rest of the party, though those, too, stopped abruptly at the charnel display.
But a battle still raged. They were still being hunted. The discordant cries of the Nevermore overhead rudely yanked Yang back to reality. The grimm had yet to mount a further offensive, its view still obscured by the dusty haze it had kicked up. Instead, it vigilantly circled the scene like an overgrown carrion crow, seeking any signs of life.
Yang dropped to one knee and wrapped a powerful arm around her sister. One hand rubbed small, comforting circles on the cloak-caped back, cracked and dry lips whispered soft reassurances gently into Ruby's ear as the catatonic girl was carefully pulled to her feet. The slight frame complied, rising limpy, though it swayed on barely supported legs. Any will to do anything had left Ruby, and she was clearly running on autopilot at the moment.
"We need to move." Yang snapped, momentarily diverting her attention to Pyrrha and blinking away tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. Now was not the time. "The Nevermore's not going to ignore us forever. I've got Ruby. Grab Kiana, we're not leaving her here."
Consummate warrior that she was, Pyrrha echoed Yang's determination, recovering quickly and shoving down a myriad of surging emotions. Turning to face the slack form of the white-haired girl, she grasped the offending pinion, firmly wrenching it free with a singular heave. The feather left its morbid sheath with little resistance, and Pyrrha lunged to catch the body, now devoid of support, as it crumpled to the ground.
Using one arm to support the knees, and the other to cradle the shoulders, Pyrrha lifted the girl into a princess carry. She averted her eyes from the lolling head and glassy eyes, and ignored the fact that, if she glanced down, she would be able to see the ground through the pierced chest.
Instead, she turned the bulk of her focus to retaining her balance on the uneven, shattered terrain as she sprinted, barely impeded by the payload in her arms. The volley of feathers had upheaved rocks and loosened the soil, making footing tenuous and unsure.
So preoccupied was she in navigating the wastes, that Pyrrha failed to notice that the gaping wound in the girl's chest, ghastly as it was, had begun to laboriously stitch itself together.
I am Serenity.
Destroyer of HER enemies.
I wield the Chalice of Death
To grant a sleep of eternity
In an interminable expanse of darkness, a feeble, blue light winked into existence. It flickered and wavered uncertainly, but like a fire stoked to life, grew in its brilliance.
Finally, after uncountable years, the Mistress called upon it once more. Swiftly, mindlessly, it set upon fulfilling its purpose.
Like a great beast gradually emerging from hibernation, the inchoate remains of a consciousness slowly stirred into wakefulness. It was disoriented and confused, and took a moment to regain its bearings. It could not form any recollection of the past, nor of the circumstances leading to its current situation.
It was aware of movement, of a steady up-and-down jostling, and of a rapid forward pace. It was aware of labored, stressed breathing rasping in its right ear. Warm and fast, it smelled sweetly of cinnamon. A pressure along the small of its back told of something supporting its weight. It was being cradled by hands. Human hands.
Well, that simply would not do.
Slowly, eyelids crawled open, revealing dimly glowing golden where once there had been cool cerulean. In rapid, jerky motions, the ringed irises darted about, absorbing as much information as they could, eventually settling upon the deep scarlet mane of the person that held her. The color evoked an array of emotions, from distress to anger to regret, though the reason remained unclear. The face, lightly tanned in complexion and crowned with a bronze circlet, had not noticed her impromptu resurrection, and was set rigidly ahead, wholly focused on locomotion.
"Unhand me, insect."
Pyrrha stumbled in shock. The voice, so cold and venomous, had originated from the limp body she supported in her arms. Glancing down, emerald met malevolent gold, staring dispassionately from their position in cradled arms. Her mental faculties momentarily ground to a halt in stunned shock. This girl, who was now glaring petulantly up at her, had been dead. Pyrrha was sure of it.
Said girl apparently did not interpret her petrified silence favorably. "Are you unable to even follow simple orders? I said unhand me."
The rampaging trains of thought circling her head were abruptly flung from her, and Pyrrha choked as she was roughly shoved backwards, her breath stolen by a malign force that had exploded from the body in her arms. Gasping in pain, Pyrrha desperately clutched her limbs to her chest, attempting to stifle the pain of something slowly eating at her flesh.
It was like a torpid flame without heat, languidly but insistently gnawing upon the extremities that had supported the fallen girl. However, when her eyes frantically dipped to inspect spasming fingers, they only found unblemished skin. Similarly, her aura remained uncompromised, yet even so, she burned, as if some radiant heat was slowly cooking her body, bypassing its defenses in the process. The perfunctory examination failed to catch the sluggish encroachment of a pallid white at the tips of her fingers.
"Hmph." The girl she had held exhaled sharply through flared nostrils. She had not sprawled to the ground after being dropped, but had instead remained suspended in the air, hovering effortlessly and curiously studying the ruined clothes and the multiple lacerations littering her body.
"That one allowed such insignificant creatures to harm this body so." The words were undirected, spoken almost as an afterthought. "To think someone like her was able to suppress me for this long."
With widening eyes, Pyrrha realized that the gaping hole that bore through the girl's chest was now little more than a raw, red patch of newly formed flesh, and even that seemed to be fading by the moment. Before her eyes, the lashes that adorned pale skin like freshly bloomed rose petals also faded from existence one by one, sewn seamlessly shut by deft, unseen hands. In seconds, all that could be seen beneath the tattered cloth was smooth, unbroken skin.
The resurrected girl—Kiana, Yang said her name was—paid no mind to her form on the ground, writhing in the spasms of some unknown malady. Instead, that baleful gaze leered inquisitively past her stricken shape at the few remaining beowolves that still littered the battlefield.
"Such odd creatures," she murmured. In the blink of an eye, a vast armory of spears manifested overhead, raining death from above. A white eyebrow arched as the corpses began their rapid, steady decay into acrid, black smoke. "They move and they fight, but they do not bleed. Do they truly live?"
She then turned her gaze heavenward, attention flicking to the shriek of a vast predator that had found prey. The sight of the great corvid gliding in large, arcing circles brought no small amount of ire, and with nary a thought, more spears manifested, surrounding the Nevermore, every lethal needle poised to skewer the flying grimm. With contemptible ease, the spikes peppered that prodigious wingspan, sending the grimm into a headlong tumble from its seat in the skies.
Within moments, the gargantuan bird dashed itself into the loamy soil and the earth rumbled as the Nevermore, utterly mangled yet still somehow alive, flung shattered appendages wildly in a futile attempt to reclaim its place in the sky.
"To raise arms against God's chosen is a sin that can only warrant death," the girl declared. Her voice, clear as sharpened crystal, cut through the raucous noise of the bird's struggles, arresting its attention entirely. "Even so, you are the reason I am here now. Your queen shall reward you. Perhaps you will be of use."
She hovered to the face of the great beast and lay her hand upon the grotesque mockery of an avian head, forcing the snapping beak down into the ground with brute force. A brilliant magenta glow flowed where hand met coarse feather, and even this far away, the burning in Pyrrha's digits intensified in response. She hissed in terrified alarm, clutching the afflicted appendage still tighter to her chest.
The reaction of the Nevermore was far more intense. It croaked hoarsely—a throaty, garbled sound—and thrashed ineffectually, its mass digging deep trenches into the churned earth. From the point of contact, a network of vibrant lines etched themselves among the beast's feathers. Odd, deposits condensed along uneven, arbitrary points of the bird's body, forming a hard plating of unknown material. Though it shared the pale hue of grimm bone, this armor was glossy and unnaturally smooth. It looked more like it had been manufactured with unerring precision than grown from an organic body.
The Nevermore ceased its panicked thrashing, growing docile as more of its body became encased. It looked like a sculpture hewn from exotic ivory stone, with the artist having taken great liberties in formulating the vague anatomy of a bird. Its perforated wings were also encased in that same material, making flight a dubious proposition.
Lumbering uncertainly to its feet, the massive creature moved in jittery, unbalanced motions, every movement shedding errant bits of white material when they inhibited the range of motion. The Nevermore was clearly at death's door, and the transformation had been taxing on its already strained vitality. Inevitably, its remaining strength failed altogether, sending it crashing back to the earth with a thunderous impact.
The contact was severed, and the glow of the interface patterns abruptly extinguished. The entirety of the odd, white armor shattered, sloughing off in great chunks, and dissipating into that same malicious energy from before. Vocalizing one final, futile croak, the Nevermore, peeking from the decaying white shell like a dying chick emerging from its egg, expired, slumping into an inert, black mass.
Slowly, the being withdrew her hand from the withering corpse, her face a rictus of dissatisfaction. Clenching and unclenching her fist, she frowned down at it perplexed. "Not enough. Why is my power so limited?"
"Kiana?"
She froze in her musings. Rage bubbled in her breast. The cool apathy that shrouded her mind shattered, and the being felt the full force of hateful passion for the first time.
The slight voice called the name of that one. Her infernal jailer. Rotating indolently in midair, she espied the tentative approach of a small, red-cloaked girl.
"Humans." The intonation was flat and devoid of emotion, but still managed to hold enough venom to send the small girl flinching back, as if struck.
"K-Kiana?"
"The one you call Kiana is dead, worm. This body is mine now. I am..." She paused, seeking a name that did not come. "Who am I?" The murmur came in hushed, agitated tones. Only now did she realize that her mind could not call upon past memories. Her history was a blank slate.
A single hand pressed against her forehead, as if to physically force the memories into the open. "Why do I not remember anything?" The mask of indifference finally cracked, and unbridled rage could be seen simmering just beneath the surface.
Sensing something very wrong, Ruby cautiously made to back away while "Kiana" was embroiled in her turmoil, but the movement ensnared the manic girl's attention.
"You," she hissed, hatred pouring from every syllable, "what did you do to me?"
Ruby yelped, defensively holding Crescent Rose in front of her. "I didn't do anything!"
"Liar!" The being roared. "Humans are always liars!" The very air seemed to seethe and crackle with unrestrained fury, the hateful emotion swelling as she became aware of the other humans around her. So many insects around her. They dared?
Some unknown energy, corrupting and oppressive, flooded the area, stifling the breath and briefly illuminating the forms of her foes as their respective auras flared to counteract the corrosive force. Pyrrha, leaning raggedly on Jaune's shoulder, doubled over in apparent pain.
The assembled group found themselves instinctively tensing, muscles primed to enter combat at a moment's notice. The promise of imminent, unfettered violence seemed certain, but all at once the air grew eerily still, as if they stood at the precipice of a calamitous storm.
Just as "Kiana" reached the zenith of her rage, an epiphany seemed to strike her, quelling the turbulence in her expression. Her face became studiously blank, and those hideous, golden eyes pierced Ruby with a renewed, baleful indifference. When next she spoke, her voice had become deathly quiet, words measured and even.
"Very well." her tone was of iron, hard and flat. Placing one foot in front of the other, she began to walk, slowly, deliberately, imperiously. Where footsteps fell, a circular platform of magenta light manifested to support her.
Tack, tack, tack, each step echoed with uncanny clarity, a staccato accompaniment to her ascent into the heavens. She rested from an inviolable height, gazing from on high like a pernicious deity appraising the damned.
"I will show you that even if you cheat, you cannot hope to match me." Her words carried further than they should have, reaching every listening ear.
"After all, worms ought to be crushed underfoot."
It was dark here. Cold and empty. A space devoid of space, of light, of sound or of even feeling.
Was this what it meant to have one's existence revoked? It was oddly comforting. Perhaps this was fine. She had been no good in life. She had always caused trouble for others, even until the very end. Maybe this was for the best.
"Will you allow this to continue, Kiana?"
Was someone else here? That couldn't be. There was no "here", nor was there a "her". The person known as Kiana Kaslana had surely faded from existence by now. Rather, had a person known as "Kiana Kaslana" even existed? Perhaps she had been but a singular facet of that being that was surely now wearing her flesh. If so, then it was only natural that she ought to disappear.
"Is this all that your promises and resolve amount to?"
She knew that voice. It was one that she had known so, so well, once upon a time. It was a voice that carried the memory of the rich scent of smoke and the gentle warmth of flame.
"You are better than this."
'No, I'm not,' she wanted to respond, but she lacked a mouth with which to speak. She lacked a body with which to express and she lacked eyes or ears with which to perceive. What could she even do?
"Harness your power, recollect what I taught you." The words resonated, their source a small, glowing object clasped in pale hands. Her own hands, Kiana realized with startling clarity.
As a flower blooms, slim fingers slowly spread open, blossoming in a shower of warm, amber light and revealing a single, golden feather. It was warm. In the frigid, black abyss, she clasped this lonely source of warmth close in a desperate attempt to heat a body that surely must be there.
"It is the origin of change" the voice prompted gently, tenderly.
"The impetus behind creation," Kiana murmured through lips that did not exist.
She did not know whence the words came, but she knew they were the right ones. Her voice was extinguished in the interminable stillness, but even so, those words remained in her mind, an indelible stain bolstering her will. They suffused her being with a sense of vibrancy, of memories of toil and strife, of blood spilled and tears shed.
The darkness began to look a mite less dark. Her existence began to feel a touch more real.
"It is formless, yet vast," the voice continued, gaining in strength and urgency as Kiana regained her sense of self.
"Infinity its span," she reciprocated confidently, lucidity returning by the moment. Vaguely she became aware of her own form once more, a small body of white amidst the vastness of nothing.
She was Kiana Kaslana, a warrior and a knight.
"It is beyond fury, hatred, envy or wrath."
The two voices sounded as one now, hers strong and determined, the other restrained and melodic. For a scant moment, Kiana imagined she saw a hand, garbed in silken scarlet cloth, superimposed over her own.
"That is the Edge of Taixuan's Eminence!"
Time did not exist in this empty place, yet time seemed to stop nonetheless.
"Be well Kiana." The voice had waned greatly in its clarity. "What little strength that remains in this feather will seal Her once more. This is my final gift to you."
Like a candle snuffed in the wind, the warmth departed from her breast, and the feather she clasped burnt itself to nothingness, its power depleted. Shouldering the unbearable sensation of a loss that she could not fully comprehend, Kiana wept.
And hallowed flames burnt away the darkness of the void.
Great swaths of the Emerald forest had been torn asunder. Trees lay uprooted or snapped like twigs, and the cyclopean stone edifices, having withstood the weathering of countless, untold years, lay in shambles, strewn about the ground.
"Haha!" "Kiana" cackled manically from her perch atop the forest. "Run little insects! Run or be squished!"
From among the wreckage below, multiple shapes darted sporadically, unpredictably, only barely able to keep ahead of the wanton destruction that she sowed with the barest of effort.
"Alright what the hell is she?!" Yang demanded, peeking over a ruined stone pillar.
"I don't know, " Ruby cried dashing behind yet another stone structure only to be forced to leap from cover once again as a shower of needles reduced her cover to rubble.
As she rolled to safety, she shouldered Crescent Rose, now in its sniper form, and trained its scope on the hovering catastrophe. She made to pull the trigger, but her forefinger refused to obey. She couldn't do it. That thing trying to kill them had once been a friend. With a wail of misery, the girl lowered her gun and continued her escape from the encroaching devastation.
Her sister didn't quite share her reservations. Ember Celica roared, spitting a cluster of pellets at their floating adversary only to have them returned, biting deeply into Yang's aura, courtesy of a swiftly shutting portal.
"Ah, that stings," the brawler hissed, finding respite in a particularly deep trench. "Kiana's" attention had been attracted by the scampering forms of Ren and Nora on the opposite side of the battlefield, granting her strained and overworked limbs some much needed rest. "What are we supposed to do? We can't reach her and she just redirects everything we throw at her!"
Ruby's answer was cut off as two shapes tumbled into the trench to join them. Jaune groaned, pulling himself into a sitting position, while Pyrrha didn't even bother. She lay, spread-eagle on the ground, panting heavily. A thick sheen of perspiration coated her skin and her gasps were uneven and staggered with stifled pain.
"Pyrrha? What's wrong?" Ruby cried, crawling to the prone girl.
"Don't know...what hit...me," the spartan was able to ground out between heaving breaths. "Body...heavy…tired." Despite this, she struggled to an upright position, though still leaned heavily on the earthen walls. "Just a moment...please." A shimmer about her person signified her aura's attempts to fight off whatever malign influence had been exerted on her body, though it was clearly not wholly successful in the endeavor.
"Nora!" Jaune called to the open air, hoping the exuberant girl could hear them over the clamor of battle. "Give us a smokescreen!"
"Aye aye, captain!" came the chipper, if strained, response from somewhere.
Despite the dire circumstances, the girl maintained her whimsical air, though a look of marked concentration painted her face when she lifted her hammer. Her biceps bulged, building force for what was surely to be a massive strike.
With herculean force, Nora slammed Magnhild into the loose earth, a series of explosions amplifying the impact further. Once more, a great cloud of dirt and dust rose into the air, obscuring all from view.
"We can't keep this up," Jaune whispered as the entirety of the group congregated at their impromptu sanctuary.
Several of them flinched as a haphazardly launched spear flew too close for comfort, partially collapsing the walls of the trench to their far right. The moment vision of her prey had been robbed from her, their attacker had begun throwing projectiles randomly into the murky air.
"It's just like worms to crawl around in the dirt," came the scathing call, tinged with frustration.
"She's just playing with us." Jaune continued, doing his best to shut out the terrifying voice.
"Well duh, genius."
"Shh!" Jaune reprimanded his fellow blonde's propensity for loudness. "Look at the forest. She could have finished this a long time ago, but she's dragging it out. I say we take that and use it against her."
"And how do you propose we do that?" The Schnee heiress spoke this time.
"She's redirecting our attacks. She's not letting us hit her."
"So? What's your point?"
"So, that means she's vulnerable! She's out of Aura, right?"
"If that Nevermore feather was any indication, yes"
"Weiss!" Ruby shot a scandalized look at her partner's sarcastic response.
"Oh, I'm sorry, am I supposed to be nice to the person trying to skewer us?"
"All we need is one good hit," Jaune concluded, cutting off his companions' quiet bickering. "One solid blow to knock her out. We need a distraction." Jaune glanced at Ruby, and the reaper immediately understood the unspoken question.
"I'm the fastest one here, so I can try to keep her occupied," the small girl offered.
Jaune nodded grimly. "Make her mad. Really mad. Once we're sure she's distracted, Sno-Weiss needs to keep her pinned with her glyphs," he glanced to the heiress for affirmation.
She nodded hesitantly, "I don't think I can hold her for long, but if it's just a short time, then it shouldn't be a problem."
Jaune nodded once more. "The rest of us will take positions around her. Stay hidden. We'll hit her hard, and we'll hit her fast from all directions. Nora will keep her vision limited with grenades, everyone else tries to shoot her down. She has no aura, so we just need something to hit"
"This plan seems really uncertain," Yang stated dubiously. "And what about you, Pyrrha? You're hurt."
"I'm not at a hundred percent," the redhead admitted, "but I can still move, so I can still fight." The brief respite and the opportunity to catch her breath had aided in the girl's recovery, though she was still uncharacteristically pale. She hefted her spear, but frowned when her grip involuntary slackened on the haft. She forced her fingers to tighten despite their spasming protests.
"It's all we've got, Yang," the blond boy admitted grimly. Then, before anyone could voice further protest, "the dust is settling, we've got to move."
"Kiana" had been waiting impatiently for the dust to clear when a blur of red rose petals shot up from a fissure in the ground. She traced its trajectory with disinterested eyes, not even flinching when the blur coalesced into the form of a girl who fired several high-caliber rounds in her direction. The projectiles flew wildly off course, and "Kiana" didn't even bother attempting to intercept them. Instead, she languidly began manifesting more lances and hurled them at the speeding figure with no real fervor.
To Ruby, the spears seemed slower this time around. They peppered the ground just shy of her previous position, allowing her to easily stay ahead of them, though when she attempted to deviate from course, a veritable wall of death shot down rapidly in response. She chanced a quick glance upwards to see that her adversary was investing the barest minimum of effort in their skirmish. The spears she threw were almost sacrificial, meaningless. It was as if they had purposely been missing. Almost as if they were leading her…
"Ugh!"
Ruby exhaled a strangled cry as her cloak tightened on her neck abruptly and she toppled ungracefully to the earth. Panicked and clambering to her feet, she glanced backwards to find that a lone spike had pierced the garment, binding the fabric, and by proxy, herself, to that spot.
She was trapped.
So engrossed was she in avoiding the obvious, choreographed threat, that she had neglected to watch for any hidden attacks. Hopelessly, she gazed up in fear to find a gloating expression adorning that sinister face, and yet another multitude of spikes ready to rain down.
Faster than she could tell, they flew, though none of the spikes deigned to pierce her flesh. Instead, they burrowed into the earth around her, lodging limbs in place and restricting movement. She was pinned where she stood, trapped in a cage of spiky, aura-piercing edges, and if she struggled too intensely, she would feel the deadly point of any one of those needles.
Seeing the prey finally ensnared, Kiana stepped from her floating platform in the heavens and slowly began to descend.
"Ruby!" Multiple voices screamed, and from all directions, all manner of ammunition flew from the various nooks, crannies and crevices of the ruins, subtlety and stealth abandoned entirely. The plan had fallen apart almost as soon as it begun.
Explosives, pellets, bullets and shrapnel, all converged on a singular point.
"Kiana" paid them no mind. A wave of the hand summoned a cluster of portals to absorb the attack, and another wave delivered them back to their owners. A third wave sent a volley of her own spears chasing after to no avail, if the hurried scampering was any indication.
No matter, she had captured one of the pests.
Ruby stared horrified at the being descending from on high, like some sordid angel of judgement. Strong fingers gripped her chin and forced gleaming silver to meet luminous gold. Gently, almost lovingly, a pale hand caressed the trapped girl's cheek, tracing the smooth jawline with the back of a forefinger. A twisted smile played at cruel lips, sadistic and lacking in warmth.
"Do you see now, worm," came the abhorrent whisper, dulcet tones dripping with poisoned honey, "that no matter how you cheat, you cannot hope to match me?" The hand reached the top of Ruby's head, and pale fingers entwined with raven locks, jerking backwards suddenly, violently. "For God loves me," the saccharine words dipped into a low growl.
A lance manifested, hovering precariously close to Ruby's exposed neck and shaking a terrified whimper from her trembling throat.
"It would be so easy," the being clothed in Kiana's flesh mused, "to tear out your throat right now. A simple prick and you would be no more."
"But I don't think I'll do that." She carelessly let go of Ruby's hair. The sneer dropped from her face, replaced with a look that was either disgust or annoyance. "You've taken something very important from me," she tapped her temple with a finger. "I don't know how you managed to take my memories, but I want them back."
"We...didn't...do...anything…" Ruby forced out, mindful of the bobbing of her Adam's apple and the proximity of the needle.
"No? Even though you were the closest to Her in this accursed world?" Came the mockingly questioning response. "Then I suppose I can just kill off some of your little friends to jog your memory?"
Turning to survey the field, "Kiana" spotted a glimpse of motion.
"There you are."
A wave of spikes flew, only to miss as her target bound clear of their trajectory.
"Stop! We didn't do it!" This time, the very tip of the needle did scratch Ruby's skin, tracing a thin scarlet line along her throat. It was merely a scrape, but the unexpected sting of pain was enough to make the girl recoil sharply.
"Perhaps not," the being admitted dully, disinterestedly. "But then, what reason do I have to keep you alive?"
"Let go of my sister!" The threat was interrupted by a blazing fireball of a person. Yang charged forward with great fury, her normally lilac eyes now blood red, and a cloak of exorbitant heat and flames, indicative of her rage, shrouded her form in the shimmering haze of summer.
"Kiana" scoffed. The blonde's reckless rush was a fatal error. If the fool felt it necessary to die before her sister did, then so be it. Tattered clothing swayed, almost lazily, almost mockingly, as she avoided the haphazard lunge with fluid ease, sliding around furious fists and repositioning a safe distance away.
"Foolish," the monster scoffed. She raised her hand, thumb and middle finger pressed together.
SNAP, the sharp sound careened throughout the ruined forest, far louder and clearer than a snap ought to have been.
Ruby saw her sister become encased in an orange bubble. Yang hung suspended, mid-lunge, eyes wide, almost comically, with fury. Flaxen tresses splayed radiantly like a halo about her head and her mouth was captured in the harsh grimace of a vicious snarl. Nothing within the sphere of suspended time moved, not the pellets flying from her gauntlets, nor the dirt kicked up in her fury. Even the golden flames that wreathed the brawler's form had frozen, their scorching tongues halted mid-lick..
"I've caught another worm. It seems your sister will be the first sacrifice." Four lances were pulled from nothingness, their dire points all targeted towards frozen, center-mass.
"NO!"
"Repen...hm?" the death knell cut off abruptly as golden irises caught and curiously traced the faintest wisp of a flame dancing on the back of an outstretched hand.
It was small—little more than flickering embers—but it persisted, glowing insistently, ebbing like a tiny heartbeat. The being pulled her arm back, studiously appraising the small light. It crackled in remonstrance, throbbed with detestation. With every pulse, the ember seemed to grow.
Now it was a candlelight. Now a small ball. Now a proper flame.
Idle curiosity soon morphed into panic as the fire expanded rapidly, latching hungrily onto what exposed flesh it could find and rushing up from her hand to her forearm. Within moments, her entire left arm had erupted into a roaring conflagration of heat and light.
Kiana slapped at the flame with her free hand but found that the fire clung like a web to whatever it touched, grasping for fuel with fanatic fervor. Both her arms were encased in flame now, and new fires sprouted in great gouts from arbitrary points on her body, like an overstuffed doll bursting at the seams.
"This body is not yours to take, Sirin."
A voice which she instinctively knew but could not place echoed in her ear. It evoked memories of torrid infernos and glowing, igneous feathers. More importantly, it originated not from sound, but from within her own mind.
"Ingrate!" She gnashed her teeth in anger. It was clear now; the enemy attacked from within. She had no counter for that. "Why must you oppose me at every turn? Just lay down and die! This body is mine!"
"Sleep, Sirin. Sleep once more, or I shall make you."
Staggering blindly, The newly named Sirin, once so magnanimous and mighty, was reduced to a wailing, howling spectre. She clawed ineffectually at her own engulfed form in futile desperation, as if meaning to tear the blazing flesh from her body. Of all the powers at her disposal, none could prove useful here.
The multitudes of spears that remained vanished without a trace. The bubble of suspended time evaporated likewise, depositing a confused Yang back to reality.
"Cheat, cheat, cheat, all you humans do is cheat!"
Sirin's screeches of unbridled rage and searing agony rose with the flames as they immolated every square inch that they could touch. She was a macabre shadow puppet, a silhouette contorting and writhing in agonized formations amidst a backdrop of smokeless, effulgent radiance.
Her audience watched, entranced by the macabre spectacle. Some had ceased to move entirely and others had even lowered their weapons in shock at the sudden, drastic turn of events.
Eventually, the movement stopped entirely. Its strength spent, the body slumped backwards into the earth. The flames vanished, without smoke, nor soot, nor ash to signify their existence. Surprisingly, Kiana's skin remained pale and untarnished, her clothes unsinged, seemingly unaffected by the searing heat, despite the obvious pain it had inflicted.
Silently, cautiously, the dumbstruck observers edged closer, stopping a healthy distance from the prone form lest it revive once more.
"Is...is it over? Is she dead?"
"Manners, Nora." Though the reproach held little force behind it.
"She's breathing," came the breathless, wincing observation from Pyrrha.
"Do we, I don't know, go get her?"
"That didn't really work well last time, Rubes."
"Well we can't just leave her!"
"We absolutely can."
"Shut up, Weiss"
"I'm sorry, did you miss the part where she tried to kill us?"
"I'm with Weiss on this one," Blake finally spoke up. She had been silent for the majority of the exchange, opting to watch the still figure with catlike vigilance. "She...whatever she is… is way too dangerous to be carrying around."
"Yang?" The girl desperately turned to her last bastion of support only to be disappointed by the hesitant shaking of a blonde mane.
"She almost killed us, Rubes. She almost killed you."
Despair seemed to descend on Ruby for the merest moment, but in the next her face hardened into one of determination.
"We're taking her with us." The tone, solid and firm, would brook no contention.
"You were the closest one to dying. You dolt!" A manicured finger, shaking in either exhaustion or anger jabbed accusingly at the small girl. "How can you even say that?"
"Yes I was," her voice was soft, shaking imperceptibly, her face a stormy with complex emotions. "Whatever that thing was, it wasn't Kiana. We deserve answers, but we're not going to get them if we just leave her here."
Ruby marched up to the unconscious girl, hesitating only slightly when she got within arm's length, and attempted to pull her up into a carry, only to find her own limbs still trembling and clumsy from shock and adrenaline.
The heiress helplessly shot a look towards the stubborn girl's sister, only to be met with a half-hearted shrug and a look that asked, 'what can you do?'
"Yang, can you carry her? Please?" Ruby had given up her ineffectual attempts to lift a girl much taller than her.
Sighing, but complying, the blonde edged forward and nudged the unconscious form with the tip of her boot. Lightly, at first, but harder when it failed to elicit a response.
"Yang!"
"Alright, alright, sheesh." With little effort, the brawler hoisted the girl up onto her shoulder as if she were carrying a sack of potatoes. Heavy, murderous potatoes. "But if she wakes up and goes crazy again, I'm throwing her off the cliff."
"Would that even work? I mean, she could sort of fly."
"Shut it, vomit boy."
Wearily, quietly, the group trudged back to Beacon cliffs. They had succeeded in their objective, but none felt quite like celebrating. Upon reaching the rendezvous point, the initiates found Ozpin and Goodwitch gravely awaiting their arrival.
Fumbling awkwardly for her pouch, Ruby stepped forward, sheepishly offering the golden knight to the headmaster.
"Uh, mission accomplished?"
Vale Precinct
"Hello," Roman called sarcastically from between the two, rather bulky, guards that flanked him. "Injured here. Do you think you could be a bit less grabby with those meat slabs of yours?" He shifted to shrug off the offending hand, but winced when the movement sent a stab of pain lancing from his shoulder. The heavily bandaged limb was barely responsive, and he would have had a hard time moving it even if he wasn't currently bound in shackles.
It was quite laughable, really. Here he was, half crippled, chained, with no weapon or backup to speak of, and the higher-ups still decided that his ever-present retinue would consist of these two gorillas. What was the point?
"Don't you two meatheads have anything better to do than babysit a prisoner all day?"
The guards snorted, unperturbed. The verbal abuse had flowed in a constant stream since they were assigned to this particular prisoner. They had run the gamut of insults from appearance, intelligence, their respective mothers and, of course, the size of their manhood. They may not be licensed Huntsmen, but they were still Vale PD; insults like that really didn't bother them. A sudden jerk from their charge prompted one of the guards to clamp his large hand on the smaller man's shoulder and squeeze. Perhaps he put a bit of extra force in it, if the agonized groan was any indication. Alright, maybe the insults did bother them a little.
An abrupt stop signaled their arrival at the desired room. One guard opened the heavy, steel door and the other shoved the wincing crook inside. It was an interrogation room, lit by a lone, uncovered incandescent bulb in the center of the ceiling. Beneath the bulb was a single iron table with a pair of equally iron chairs, hard and stiff-backed, on either side. On the far wall was a long, dark stretch of glass, clearly a two way mirror, undoubtedly with people on the other side. Roman flipped them the bird.
The guard that led him in flung Roman unceremoniously into a chair and fastened his chains to a small, iron loop in the ground before turning and striding out the open door without a word.
The second guard appraised the thief for a moment. "The prosecutor will be here shortly. Sit tight." His piece said, he followed his colleague, shutting the heavy door behind him.
Roman waited for several minutes in that room, the harsh light of the bulb overhead already making him perspire. He busied himself with tracing the spiderwebs of cracks along the concrete walls with his eyes. Water damage perhaps? Or maybe just regular wear-and-tear. Eventually, the slight hint of movement from outside demanded his attention.
Though the door was undoubtedly thick, Roman could still make out the clack, clack of shoes on concrete padding down the hall, and when the latch of his confinement began to turn, he called out belligerently, "I've nothing to say here, so why not be good little puppies and send me back to my cell?"
The turning stopped abruptly, pausing for a moment before the lock was undone fully and the door swung open. A figure dressed in dark attire entered the room just as he was about to loose another volley of insults, and his breath hitched, refusing to proceed past his throat. He knew that mask. Brothers be damned, anyone worth their salt in his profession knew that mask.
It was the bogeyman of Vale, in the flesh. Frantically, his mind kicked into overdrive. She was a wanted criminal, of that he was certain. How was she currently waltzing into a police interrogation room without a care in the world? In that getup, no less? More importantly, why was she visiting him?
His imagination ran rampant with numerous possibilities, each less pleasant than the last. The thought of the impending horrors to be inflicted upon him immediately brought a cold sweat to his brow and a dry hoarseness to his throat. His hands had become cold and clammy, overtaken by an uncontrollable tremor. Something fluttered at the edges of his vision. Something warm and red, but he didn't dare peel his eyes from the terror that stood before him.
Everyone in Vale's underworld knew that getting on Phoenix's shit-list was a quick trip to a closed casket. They did their very best to dance around her, to tiptoe in the darkness without arousing her ire. When one of them did misstep and wound up mysteriously disappearing, everyone else just looked away and went about their business. In a way, she kept the criminals of Vale in check far more effectively than the police ever did. She was the devil incarnate.
And that devil now stood across from him in this small room. Brothers be damned, where were the police?
Noting his presence, the object of his fear gave a small jerk of the head in acknowledgement, helping herself to the identical seat to his situated across the table..
A black-gloved hand gestured to a tray that most certainly hadn't been on the table earlier. "I took the liberty of making tea. I hope you don't mind." Her patois held the light lilt and melodic accent of a Mistralian native. Her words were curt and clipped, as if they were a precious resource not to be wasted.
Indeed, upon that tray was an ordinary, earthenware teapot, steam rising from its spout. Two small cups of similar make sat neatly at the side. Slim fingers poured the brew into one cup, which they then placed before him.
"Th-thanks," his tongue stumbled over the words. His throat had suddenly become quite parched. He accepted the cup nervously, but was not foolish enough to partake of the steaming liquid.
"Earlier in the month, you were asked to perform a job by one Cinder Fall." Phoenix struck at the heart of the matter without preamble. Clearly there would be no pointless posturing on her end. "A job which I have no knowledge of." A black gloved hand reached to the odd face covering—reminiscent of a large, stygian butterfly—and began working to unlatch it.
Roman paled at the significance of the action. No one alive truly knew what Phoenix looked like behind that odd, black-winged mask, and he highly doubted she was doing this out of simple courtesy.
The mask finally freed, he caught his first glimpse of the dreaded Phoenix's face. She was remarkably young. Ridiculously so. She couldn't have been older than a fresh academy graduate, but Roman wasn't fooled. Her eyes told a far different story. Those placid, aqueous pools were older and colder than any he had seen before.
That witch, Cinder, was terrifying in her own right, but her eyes blazed with fury and flame, something that he recognized as profoundly human. Roman took comfort in that fact. For one to be human meant that one was still fallible, no matter how powerful. But this…thing...sitting across the table pinned him with a stare that bespoke something wholly inhuman. What kind of person had eyes like that?
The odd, black mask was placed on the iron table. A shrouded finger idly traced its edge. "My sources of information throughout the kingdoms are vast and deep. I do not boast when I say that there is very little that I am not made aware of. It is simply the truth."
Despite her apparent youth, her manner carried an air of stark confidence. It was not the foolhardy bravado of the young, nor the conceited conviction worn by the prideful. Hers was a confidence born through understanding her own strengths down to their very core. It was the confidence of one who planned for every variable, every contingency, and executed the appropriate plan flawlessly.
Cool blue met green. She studied his rather pallid face meticulously, and though her expression remained neutral, Roman could not help but feel like he had botched a test. Her next words were careful and measured, meted out in such a way that would accept no disobedience.
"Despite these considerable resources, my investigation has come to..." the corners of her mouth twitched downward, the crease of her brow deepening ever so slightly, "an impasse." Cool features settled on an expression of mild annoyance. "I will speak plainly. What were you asked to do?"
Roman tried valiantly to speak, but all that escaped was a dry rasp, his traitorous throat refusing to allow his words passage. He wasn't even sure what he wanted to say at that point.
Phoenix gestured to the untouched tea. "Just drink. It isn't poisoned. I insist."
Shakily, uncertainty, Roman brought the cup to his mouth, pausing as the warm ceramic touched his lips. A sharp glare proved enough coaxing to hastily tip the scalding brew down his throat.
Doubled over and coughing, he failed to wheeze out any coherent statements for several seconds before managing to croak out a meek, "She'll kill me."
Phoenix raised a brow, an almost amused look gracing her face for but a moment. She tilted her head imperceptibly, appraisingly, causing her eyes to glint crimson in the harsh light of the lone incandescent bulb. Hadn't they been blue before? Perhaps it was just a trick of the light, he mused in the far recesses of his addled mind. Or maybe she actually was the devil.
"Uh-huh." Was the only reply she uttered, staring pointedly at him. The meaning was clear as day: damned if he did, damned if he didn't, but if he didn't spill his guts, he'd be damned right now.
"Dust," he managed to grind out around the prodigious lump that had formed in his throat. Clearing it with a rough, hacking exhalation, he elaborated, "the job was to get Vale's dust. As much as we could get our hands on.
"Hm. I could gather that much. For what reason?"
"I don't know," He pleaded, trying to inject as much honesty as he could muster into his words. "Cinder doesn't believe in giving the 'help' more information than necessary."
The revelation did not seem to perturb her greatly.
"And what of the faunus?"
"Not my choice," he insisted. "I'd be staying far away from them if it were up to me."
"Yes, I am well aware of your..reservations...regarding faunuskind." The frosty glare was proof enough of what exactly she thought of said reservations. She pivoted, "It is difficult to believe that Adam Taurus would bend so easily to a human."
"That stubborn bull wouldn't normally give us the time of day, but that woman isn't normal. Whatever she did to convince him put him right in line."
"Just like you?"
"I'd like to think I was more reasonable than that animal," he snorted, the slight against his person momentarily making him forget his fear. "I'm a gentleman thief not a fighter. I'm not stupid enough to go against someone like that"
"Yet here you are, telling me what I need to know."
"You didn't exactly give me much of a choice," he complained dryly. "I believe this is what they call being 'stuck between a rock and a hard place.'"
She contemplated his words before standing abruptly, causing Roman to involuntarily jerk sharply backwards. "I will do you the favor of keeping our discussion tonight a secret. I suggest you do the same."
"Don't need to tell me twice," he assured hastily, "my lips are sealed. I suppose this means I get to live past this little encounter?"
She did not respond, instead abruptly changing the topic. "I wish to make you an offer, Roman Torchwick." There was that critical glare again, piercing through to his very core. "I am many things, but omniscient, I am not. Whatever that woman is doing is hidden from my eyes, and I do not like unknown variables. Whatever it is she is planning is likely to be a great detriment to Vale, and I will not allow that to pass."
"You're asking me to double-cross that she-devil," Roman concluded.
"Indeed. I want you to become my informant. Anything you learn you relay to me. Every move and every plan, I want to know about."
"And let me guess," sarcasm had begun to creep steadily back into his tone, ground out behind gritted teeth. "My other option is to die here?"
She did not grace his question with an answer, instead murmuring, "We both know the kind of person you are, Roman Torchwick. You will use any means at your disposal to survive, ignoring all allegiances, morals and laws if it becomes necessary. I am offering you one such option. A safer option. You cannot imagine that Miss Fall intends to leave you alive after she no longer has need of your services? You are far too close to the heart of this matter for this to be permissible to her."
"I got that feeling," he grunted. "We have an exit strategy in place when the time comes."
"I am offering you another exit strategy, Torchwick. One that is barred by far fewer perils. It is not such a bad thing, to have the 'Scourge of Vale' as your ally."
Silence reigned for several moments as Roman mulled the offer over.
Phoenix broke the stalemate, "Currently, your mute compatriot is seated in a van outside of this very building, in a daze that she will soon awaken from. The guards and officers in this station are similarly all asleep. If you were to accept my proposal, you could walk out of that door and be back in that ramshackle hovel you call a hideout in half-an-hour's time."
"And if I were to refuse?" He already knew the answer, of course, and he had absolutely no intention of actually refusing. This was a golden ticket out of a situation that had, in all honesty, become far too sticky for him.
"Then your partner would come rushing in to rescue a corpse."
He expected as much, but still only barely managed to repress a shudder. "Then it looks like my choice is made up for me, isn't it? I'll take the deal."
Phoenix nodded curtly in apparent satisfaction, "Just as I wished to hear. I will be seeing you, Roman. I suggest you not dally here much longer." The matter concluded, she collected her mask, fastening the odd disguise to her face once more and strode to the door.
"I can hardly stand the anticipation, partner" impending freedom and the preservation of his life had done wonders for his snark.
"Oh, and Mr. Torchwick?" She paused at the door, recalling one final piece of advice.
"Y-yeah?" he forced himself to relax. Now was not the time to lose focus.
"Picking fights with schoolgirls is hardly appropriate behavior for an alleged gentleman such as yourself. I suggest you avoid such activities in the future, if it can be helped." With her piece said, she rounded the doorway and disappeared.
Hearing the echo of footsteps steadily fade down the hallway, Roman groaned as he slumped heavily onto the table, all tension slowly draining from his body, leaving him exhausted. When was the last time he had feared for his life so? Truly feared? He could not remember. In this line of work, his well-being was put into harm's way on a daily basis, but never had he truly felt that same sense of impending demise that had just departed the room.
Minutes later, the tapping of rapid footsteps echoed along the concrete hallway once more. They were lighter and more furtive this time, a far cry from the domineering steps that had marked the previous encounter. A small female head poked across the door frame curiously but cautiously. Seeing no guards present, she rounded the corner, prancing into the room proper with a smug smirk adorning her face and bowing dramatically.
Dextrous fingers darted rapidly, signing out a question, 'Why is everyone asleep?'
Roman could only shake his head.
"We might be in a bit of trouble here, Neo."
"You felt it too, didn't you?"
The voice of her other self sounded in Fu Hua's mind as she made her way down the dimly lit concrete hallway. The question was largely rhetorical. Like a corrupting miasma, an exotic, foreign energy clung to Torwick's person, centered heavily on his wounded shoulder.
Fu Hua quietly murmured in agreement, "It has been a long, long time since last I felt something like it to that degree, but it was unmistakably there, clinging to his aura."
"It stinks of the Second," the voice stated blandly.
"Kiana is awake," Fu Hua concluded.
"Awake and throwing those lances around like a toy, from the looks of it. Doesn't seem like she has much control, judging from that sloppy wound. Going to go wish her a good morning?"
"No. The seal on her memories is intact, I can sense that much. It would be unwise to risk compromising it."
It huffed. "A shame. I could do with an actual good spar. Everything here on Remnant is so weak."
Fu Hua flattened herself against the wall of the narrow corridor, allowing a prancing, petite girl to skip down the hall unimpeded. She took no notice of the warrior despite passing less than a few feet from her.
"Patience," Fu Hua chastised her other self. "Nothing good will come out of rushing things."
Pushing lightly off of the wall, she continued down the hallway. "Though, I am worried that she will continue to use those powers without understanding what they are."
"There isn't much we can do there," the voice sighed in resignation. "Well, what do you want to do, put her back to sleep?"
"No," Fu Hua denied, "having her awake may be necessary if the worst comes to pass."
"Leave her up? You can't be serious."
The absence of a response was answer enough.
"You are serious." The realization had robbed the voice of its lackadaisical lilt, and it grew harder, sterner. "Have the eons finally rotted your brain, old-timer? We put her to sleep for a reason. Look at the people, the technology. Remnant still isn't ready for what's to come."
Again, Fu Hua pressed herself against the wall, allowing the same petite girl passage once more, this time with the wounded convict in tow. Again, her presence went unnoticed.
"No it is not," she agreed when they had passed, expression still neutral. If the insult or harshness perturbed her, she did not show it. "Regardless, we've run out time. Things have progressed far more rapidly than I had accounted for. She will be vital to the safety of Remnant."
"You just don't want to put her to sleep again." The tone was sharp, accusing.
"Correct. Once was enough."
The pair fell into a silence then, each ruminating on the dire consequences that were sure to follow should their choice prove poor.
Fu Hua emerged from the dingy stairwell, crossed the foyer and nodded politely towards the receptionist at the front counter. To anyone observing her, she would have simply seemed like a primly dressed, yet nondescript, young woman. Perhaps a prosecutor or lawyer of some sort. Exiting through the double-doors of Vale Precinct, she melded into the bustling evening crowd.
Moments later, a group of officers spilled from the building she had just departed, heads swinging frantically, as if in search of something. A decrepit, brown van with tinted windows trundled idly down the main road.
When it spoke again, the frustration lacing the voice was palpable, but it settled on a soft warning, "I hope you know what you're doing, old-timer. For your sake, and for Remnant's sake."
She sighed, rubbing a hand over bleary eyes. "Me too."
Thanks to the treatment she had received so long ago, her body remained unaging, frozen in its prime. Thanks to the power of the other resident sharing her body, her mind no longer creaked beneath the strain of uncountable eons of memory.
Despite this, she couldn't help but feel so, so tired. Every century that passed seemed to pile greater weight upon her shoulders, weight that she had borne silently all this time. It was a fatigue that transcended the physical, mental and even the spiritual. She had felt it eons ago, and she would likely feel it eons hereafter, gnawing and insistent. It had been a long several millennia, yet so long as humanity still trod forward, so would she.
"Me too."
Not much to say here. It's going to be a long while before I'm ever satisfied with a fight-scene I've written. I was halfway considering just killing off Blake or Yang this chapter. They're the characters that I have the most difficult time characterizing, and honestly, the main character roster is a bit too large for me to handle right now. Alas, that would just be lazy writing. There will likely be character deaths eventually, but I'd hope it would be more impactful than a "just because" sort of deal.
Sirin isn't properly awakened yet. Consider this more of a Moon Shadow than a Will of the Herrscher sort of awakening.
Again, I must complain about FF's limited formatting. Why can't I indent? Why can't I double space? It's driving me mad. This fic looks atrocious to read.
Despite my hopes of getting a chapter out early this time, it's still been about a month since my last upload. Between work and DnD prep, I don't have a lot of free time to set aside for other stuff. Who knows. Maybe next update will be early. Don't hold your breathes.
As always, I hope you enjoyed this chapter.