A number of thoughts ran through Jaune's head as he watched his partner's controlled body move and contort like a puppet on a string. One in particular revolved around his deep admiration for Pyrrha, her success and life achievements. She, in his eyes, would always be that one spot on the hill he would never be able to reach. No amount of effort could beat her natural talent.

It was almost scary how good she was at fighting. Her stance would leave a miniscule room for an exploitable opening and that would happen only on bad days. She was focused, in touch with the situation at hand and able to find out one's weak spots before they even realized they had one. Jaune wasn't surprised when he lost each sparring match with her. Sometimes he would feel nervous or angry because he understood that she was going easy on him, so he would scold her afterwards, only to lose the next match even faster.

But it wasn't for naught. Jaune tried his best to learn from each match. He tried to be more nimble, slippery, fast as snake. Even though it failed with Pyrrha, he was certain that the results would show themselves with other, less competent, opponents. He would be deeply thankful to her whenever he would feel it to be necessary.

With that admiration came a second thought. Pure, unadulterated outrage, directed at the Shapesnatcher for violating both her body and mind with such a perverse and cowrdly tactic. He stared at the green eye that protruded from the thing's back. He could feel a consciousness behind its gaze, one that had complete control over the bug. It radiated curiousness rather than hatefulness, as if it were testing him, observing him and his reactions. To say that Jaune was disturbed would be putting it lightly.

He had to fight her. Her body, to be precise. There was no Pyrrha at the moment. Only a creature that pried open her mind like a jar, scooped up its knowledge and tried its best to imitate it. The end result was depressing. There was no style or beauty in the stance, only dull functionality. Jaune made his own stance, though it soon became clear that the Shapesnatcher was waiting for him to begin the dance.

"Hang in there."

Jaune charged with a roar. His swing was deflected with Pyrrha's shield before the bug replied with a stab of the spear. aune blocked and tried to push forward with the shield. Lowering his right arm, he blocked a kick, although he lost focus of her shield and got slammed in the head with it as a result. The Shapesnatcher swept his legs then kicked him back. Jaune stopped himself from falling of the train by jamming the sword into the wagon's roof. Excited howls of the monsters below leaked through the cut.

"Hng. Damn it..."

Pyrrha's body returned to the same mindless stance. It was an unfair fight. His only target was the bug on her head while it could hit him anywhere. Grunting as he stood up, Jaune hid the sword and took the Energy Pistol. He shot at her chest, which was blocked with the shield as was expected. With great reluctance, he fired a shot at her exposed legs, making her kneel. He ran up to her again, took the sword and swung as hard as he could. The spear shot upwards and blocked the attack.

Jaune gave his best hate-filled glare at the eye, who showed no signs of true fighting spirit. Maybe it was all a joke to it, to the brain behind the bug. Whatever the case, it made him even more angry.

Pyrrha's shield went upwards. Jaune blocked it with his own, allowing her to push off the sword and stab him in the right arm, damaging his Aura. Jaune clenched his teeth and took the hit, giving himself a chance to headbutt the Shapesnatcher. A high-pitched yelp came from it as Pyrrha jumped away from Jaune.

"You won't get away with it, whoever you are! I'm gonna take her back!"

Pyrrha turned her spear into the rifle. Jaune crouched and put his shield forward. His arm shook as each bullet panged off the metallic surface of his only defensive barrier. After a fourth shot, he saw her frame descending at him, spear ready to impale his head. Jaune cringed and jumped sideways, almost falling from the train. He was thankful to the gods for the controller's ineptitude at using her weapons to their fullest extent, otherwise it would have already been over.

Jaune took the pistol and fired a couple of shots. Her body slid under the plasma bullets and sent him flying into the air with the back of the spear, only to swat him like a ball with it.

Her controller's assault became more aggressive from that point on. Leaving him with no room for a counterattack, Jaune was forced to block or dodge many swipes, thrusts and kicks. Sweat dripped from his foreheard and into his eyes as he tried to keep the concentration going until he could find a way out of his predicament. When Jaune felt he was being at his wit's end, he saw it, the seconds-long window perfect for a counterattack.

When Pyrrha raised her spear in order to stab him above his shield, Jaune turned the object and backhanded it away while going for the Shapesnatcher with the sword. The real Pyrrha would have seen through his tactic, but not the puppet that was controlling her body. Before it could react, the Shapesnatcher's body was skwered like a piece of raw meat. With some more added force, Jaune ripped it off from Pyrrha's head and threw it into the void below. He caught his unconscious teammate with his left hand before she could fall.

"Pyrrha, you alright? Pyrrha!"

"Mmwha?" she slurred as her eyes fluttered open. The hug she got from Jaune shocked her further. "What happened? Jaune?"

"I'm so glad you're okay, Pyrrha! Sorry for not being able to help you sooner!"

She awkwardly tapped him on the back, unsure of how to respond. She lost her memory ever since she saw something jump towards her at the train station. Now it seemed she was...

"Where are we?"

She didn't like the red clouds that hanged above their heads. They felt heavy and oppressive.

Ren didn't like to give compliments to himself. He wasn't that kind of guy. But when he, by some miracle, got out of that trap alive, he was willing to make an exception.

The fight turned out to be even worse than he had anticipated. Corpses he killed would reanimate themselves whenever he turned his back on them, because a Shapesnatcher would crawl out from a hole or a crack and infect it again. One or two tried to jump on him and ended up meeting with his StormFlower blades. It only ended when every corpse was chopped up to the point that nothing could stand upright or move on its own. A third of his ammo stash was gone and he would sigh whenever he would make a mental scenario where he would need to explain all the blood on his clothes.

Even after such a nightmare, Ren tried his best to keep up his composure. Breaking down before saving Nora wasn't an option, no matter how prefferable it was to the loud pumping in his chest or trembling hands. His mouth tried to form a coherent thought, yet ended up making some muffled mumblings with no real meaning.

As soon as he killed the last enemy, a wall sunk into the ground and a brand new hallway revealed itself to him. The unbearable cries increased in volume as he shambled into its cold, poorly lit depths. His left arm had a cut that leaked blood and he was sure that some spots on his body would be swollen and sore the next day. His Aura was damaged yet still standing, so everything was as fine as it could be.

He arrived at a small room with a wooden lever. That space was also shared by a group of people whose behavior made Ren think twice before approaching them. There was a kneeling man with his eyes and mouth sewn shout, screaming so loudly it's vocal cords might have been torn to shreds. Two fist-sized nails protruded inches above his knees. A woman, naked and drenched in blood danced barefoot around him, carrying a severed head. A third man rubbed his and someone else's organs on a nearby wall. A little girl sat in a corner and laughed to herself.

Ren barfed. The gastric acid burned his throat. Nevertheless, the crowd refused to acknowledge his existence. They were in their own world. He tiptoed to the lever and pulled it down. Hearing a loud burst of flame, Ren turned around. A Flesh Artist appeared at the end of the hallway, giving him a grin with its deformed teeth.

He didn't let a single moment go to waste and fired as soon as he figured out what it was. It covered itself with its hand as it stormed towards him. Each bullet drilled a hole in the monster's body, but was nowhere near enough to stop it in its tracks. When the Flesh Artist got closer, Ren shot its left knee cap off, making it kneel awkwardly. Ren breathed in some of the pungent air and bounced off the left wall. Rather than fight it, Ren decided to leave it behind to wallow in its rage as he returned to the gates that were earlier locked, which were now open.

"Ren! Help me!"

"I'm coming!"

Following a ramp to the upper chambers, Ren focused on Nora's voice more than his own surroundings. He almost got overwhelmed once when a Trooper jumped out from an alcove and tried to blast a hole in his midsection. He arrived at a large, rectangular room with four stone pathways connecting at the center, where a chained Nora lay dormant behind bars. There was a lava lake between each path, with a stone head pouring more of it above them, seemingly without overflowing the whole area. The temperatures skyrocketed and breathing became an unbearable chore.

Ren reached the barins, searching for a way to remove them so that he could get to his partner. The surface was hot to the touch, like a cooking pot on a stove. That didn't stop him from looking for a secret button or something that would activate a hopefully helpful mechanism. He stopped when he heard the sound of something tap-tapping on the pathway behind him. Ren spun around.

"That's as far as you go, amigo. You won't open that cage unless I say so. And I'll be damned if I do that."

His mind was left speechless after acknowledging the existence of another human being in that nightmare. Earlier he thought that he and his team were the only sane, non-mutated living beings that boarded the train. He recognized the woman's hostile intentions the moment she opened her mouth.

Her existence, though recognized, was a mystery he lacked the will to comprehend. If there was someone, anyone, on Remnant, who connected their identity to one, and only one, color, it would be this woman. It was a disturbing thought on its own, one that never crossed his mind before. It was common for people to express themselves through colors, but it was also common to use more than one, or at least a few shades of the same.

That wasn't the case with her. Her eyes, her hair, her clothes; they were all as red as blood, so vivid that they might have actually represented it. There was arrogance in her tone as well as her walk, and nothing but murderous intent in her gaze, hollow in itself and lacking that spark present in the eyes of all living beings. A more artistic sould would would define her as a goddess of murder, of rage, of carnage, of bloodletting.

"Tell you what. It's been a while since I had my workout and I want to beat the living shit out of you. Only I can't kill you, you see. So how about I give you a handicap? I'll use my legs only. Try to stay alive until I get bored, otherwise I might get creative with that girl behind you."

Ren pulled out his StormFlower pistols and tried his best to look intimidating, which made her smile.

"Oh, right. Haven't met yet. What's your name?"

"Lie Ren"

Her smile widened, revealing a perfect set of teeth, though they made him shiver for some reason.

"Cool. Me? You can call me... Red Rivers."

He knew better than anyone that people had layers and they were never one dimensional as some would like to suggest. Humans weren't just creatures of habit, they had aspirations, ideals, beliefs, goals. No one was better suited for dealing with people than him.

He observed the blonde lad intently. His soul shone with an uncharacteristic brightness that few people possessed. To the outside world, he was a coward and a weakling who couldn't even swing properly with his own sword. To those blessed with the perception that could admire the depths of being were as amused as he was. He was perfect. He ticked all the boxes. The only thign he needed was a gentle push to the right direction.

The other one wasn't bad either. Being able to hold one's emotions on a leash was the foundation required for wisdom to grow. His love was misguided, though. It should have been given to the Creator, who would then give it to his quirky little friend. But such was the way of the flesh; it looks for its selfish desires while coming closer to death with each passing moment.

For once, the red menace would be of assistance. She would be the perfect tool through which he would test the boy's resolve and strength of spirit. Should he survive until the arrival of his friends, that would be the clue that he searched for. Should he die, well, the dead have no business with the living and the sooner they realize it, the better.

The Creator wanted him to give a random glance at the diligent Flesh Artists. Their hateful eidolon was steadily growing, developing to suit the needs of its master. Contrary to them, he saw no beauty in it and wished he could do something to blast it away and smite the heretics. His lord prohibited such actions. There was a way to do it properly without his intervention. He would need the help of the "stowaways" as the red devil would call them.

If they had the required spirit, of course.