Hey, so, quick note before this chapter. Y'all remember when I said this story was probably going to get bumped up to an M rating at some point? Well, this is that point. To be clear, this isn't a particularly gory chapter at all, and I don't plan on the, ah, "quality" of the content going forward changing as a result of the rating change. Actually, my decision for the T rating was based less on gore than it was on the violence itself. There have been several moments that have certainly pushed against my personal rating boundary but, at this point, I think the amount of violence in this story justifies the change to M. Again, the violence and gore won't be getting any worse going forward so, hopefully, this won't turn anyone off from continuing to read because I honestly think this and the next chapter are the best this story has ever been. Enjoy!


Pyrrha and Jaune ran out of Beacon Tower, the sounds of devastating combat hundreds of feet below faintly audible through the elevator shaft behind them. Pyrrha's mind was racing, her thoughts muddled as she tried to process what had just happened. The transfer had failed. The Fall Maiden was dead—no, there was a new Fall Maiden, and now she was fighting Ozpin. The attack on the school had been her doing, flushing them out so she could take the rest of the power that she had tried to steal before.

"Okay, I think I have Glynda's number," Jaune said as they came to a stop, pulling out his scroll. "Oh, where is it?" As he fumbled with the device, Pyrrha turned back to look at the tower, feeling a sense of helplessness and guilt sinking in her chest. If only she had been more decisive, accepted sooner… "Pyrrha," Jaune said, breaking her out of her thoughts, "what was all of that?"

Her gaze fell. He deserved to know, but… how was she supposed to tell him? "I—"

Any explanation she might've come up with was cut off as a particularly loud explosion shook the tower behind them. They turned back in time to see a flaming streak shoot up through the elevator they had just been on. The source of the flames was clear. She… She beat the Headmaster, Pyrrha realized with horror.

Beside her, Jaune came to the same conclusion. "But… Ozpin…"

"There's no time," Pyrrha said with a shake of her head. She turned her focus to Jaune. "Go." The words were difficult, but she needed to say them. She couldn't put him in danger. "Get to Vale and get help."

"Huh? What are you going to do?" Jaune asked. Pyrrha's heart ached as she kept a determined face. His cluelessness had been what had endeared her to him in the first place, but now it was just making things harder. She turned her head back to the tower, and he finally realized her intentions. "No… no, Pyrrha, you can't!"

Couldn't she, though? No, she supposed she probably couldn't. Despite however much talent or skill she had, the chances that she would be able to defeat this woman—the woman who had bested Ozpin—were slim to none, but Pyrrha knew that if she was allowed to escape, she would hurt more people. "We are to be Huntresses. We are supposed to protect people." That girl on the colosseum had been right. Pyrrha might not have been able to stop the woman herself, but she could at least stall until someone who was able arrived. It was her duty as a huntress. If Jaune would just go get help, she could hold the woman off, even… even if it cost her own life to do so. No one else could do it. Her partner's words from earlier that evening echoed in her head. "The Pyrrha Nikos I know would never back down from a challenge. And if you really believe it's your destiny to save the world, you can't let anything stand in your way." Her destiny…

"Pyrrha, I won't let you do—"

Pyrrha acted without thinking. Pulling Jaune hard against her chest, she pressed her lips firmly into his. He fell silent, his whole body stiffening under her touch, before he slowly—almost hesitantly—wrapped his arms around her, returning the embrace. Pyrrha allowed herself to deepen the kiss and melt into the moment, knowing it would probably be the last she spent with him. It wasn't anything like she'd long dreamed it would be. There was no passion in it, no delight. Instead, this kiss was filled only with bitterness and regret, sadness and resignation. Despite this, she didn't want to let go, yet she knew it couldn't last forever.

Stepping back, she placed one hand on his chest and looked into his eyes, glazed-over and confused. "I'm sorry." With her Semblance, she pushed him away.

He landed in a nearby locker, the door slamming shut from the impact. "Hey, wait! Stop, stop!" Approaching the locker, Pyrrha input a code into the keypad. With luck, he'd be safe. It was all she could do. Through the slits in the door, she could see him, looking desperately out at her. "Pyrrha, please! Don't do this!" She met his gaze, doing her best not to convey her emotions. She considered saying something, knowing that whatever it would be would be her last words to him, but she stayed silent as the rocket ignited and carried him out toward Vale.

Her gaze lingered on the rapidly departing locker, heart heavy, until her internal voice reminded her, There's nothing left to hold you back. Taking a breath to harden her resolve, Pyrrha balled her fists and turned around, heading back into the tower. The sound of her footfalls echoed in the empty space as she ran for the elevator and, with her Semblance, she pulled the damaged doors apart. On the other side, the elevator cab was clearly inoperable, appearing as though the woman had simply punched through it on her way up. Stepping inside, Pyrrha prepared herself to lift the entire thing with her Semblance.

Then, she saw him. A man had walked into the tower behind her, somehow avoiding her notice. He was at least a half-foot taller than her, with long, scraggly black hair, unsettlingly pale skin, and piercing red eyes looking straight through her. In a way, he reminded Pyrrha of the girl from the colosseum, only there was something about him that made her instincts scream at her to pull out her sword. She ignored the feeling, moving cautiously back out of the elevator. By the looks of his armor, he was Atlesian military, so he was probably looking for any civilians still in the tower, though he didn't appear to be armed in any way. "It's too dangerous here," she called out to the man, hoping that he might trust her warning. "You need to leave!"

The man laughed, a harsh, grating sound that sent a chill down Pyrrha's spine. "You are correct," he said, taking a step forward. "This place is dangerous, but I am not the one who needs to leave."

As he continued to walk toward her, the moonlight hit his armor, and Pyrrha was horrified to see that it was stained with blood, blood that was definitely not his. Finally listening to her instinct, she drew her sword and shield from her back and took a defensive stance. "Who are you?"

The man paused his advance to tilt his head back, teeth bared in a snarl. "You arm yourself then ask my identity? Do you believe that understanding who I am will allow you to defeat me?" He laughed again, and Pyrrha tightened her grip on her sword. "I will tell you who I am, and you will see just how wrong you are." His eyes narrowed darkly. "I am called Deirean."

He struck hard, impossibly so. Pyrrha had only barely begun to process his movement when his fist met her shield. She managed to just angle the attack to the side to reduce the impact, but even that was enough to send her stumbling backward. Years of fighting instinct kicked in and she spun backward with the momentum, transforming Miló from sword to javelin as her foot left the ground and threw it at the man. In spite of the weapon's speed, however, he avoided it with apparent ease, sidestepping the flying blade with greater agility than anyone she had ever fought naturally possessed. Her shield followed after her javelin but, even with her Semblance guiding it, it was smacked aside as if it were nothing more than a paper plane. Her foot had just touched back down on the floor when the man grabbed her still-outstretched arm and threw her behind him. Though she was able to adjust her positioning mid-air to lessen the impact, the girl could do nothing to stop herself from colliding with the pillar in the center of the room.

Deirean taunted her as she rolled to the ground. "I hunted your kind when 'humans' and 'faunus' were one and the same." Pyrrha didn't allow herself to be distracted by the absurdity of his statement, instead focusing her attention on retrieving her weapons. The man paused on seeing her pull Miló and Akoúo̱ back to herself with her Semblance, but just as quickly snarled when she charged forward. "I have torn countless warriors limb from limb and marked myself with their blood!"

Pyrrha came in sword-arm first, staying low to slice at the man's abdomen. When she had passed, she straightened and reversed, aiming higher on his body, but neither strike found their marks; Deirean had simply stepped away to avoid them. The space he'd put between them might not have been much, but it had been enough. I need to keep him on the defensive. Pyrrha pressed her attack, putting her all into landing even a single blow. When she finally did, it wasn't in the way she was expecting.

A cold pit manifested itself in Pyrrha's stomach as the man gripped the blade of her sword. Dark blood flowed down the gold and crimson metal from his hand, and it didn't seem as though he cared at all. She tried to pull away, but his grip was too powerful and Miló only cut deeper. With a roar, he ripped the sword away from her, like a parent taking a toy away from a badly behaved child. The girl backed away, watching in horror as Deirean removed the blade from his flesh before grasping the hilt with the same, bloody hand.

Pyrrha ducked behind her shield as the man swung at her with her own sword. For a moment, she thought she felt his blood spatter against her skin, but she saw nothing except a thin black mist. Slipping out from under the blade, Pyrrha threw Akoúo̱ at the wall. As it had hundreds of times in the past, the shield ricocheted perfectly toward her opponent and even though he managed to block the attack with his arm, it still gave her the opportunity to get within his guard. Crouching down, she flipped backward, legs extending to kick the man in the chin.

Her foot connected, but not how she wanted. The room twisted as a powerful hand took hold of her ankle and spun her through the air. Once again, Pyrrha slammed into the wall, only this time she didn't have time to prepare for the impact. She collapsed to the ground, struggling to catch her breath, head swimming. Her Aura was holding, but even the few hits the man had landed on her were rapidly draining it.

"I was Hunter Commander of Serpent's Chasm and the Blood-Stained Hills before the fools who commanded our warriors stripped me of my position!" the man roared, his boot coming up to kick her in the ribs. Pyrrha moved her arm to intercept it, but all she accomplished was being kicked in the arm as well. "I stood strong when they ordered the use of the pech ter'al on your kind!" The girl gasped as she rolled to a stop, knocked through the air by the blow. She tried to climb to her feet, but Deirean just kicked her over onto her back. Standing over her, he thrust Miló down toward her chest.

Not like this! In desperation, Pyrrha called upon her Semblance as she raised her arms to catch the sword. The point of the blade came to a stop inches away from her chest, but it took all her strength just to hold it there. With a strained cry, she pushed Miló away, down over her abdomen, where it scratched against her armor.

The man leaned in and snarled. "I have lived for tens of thousands of years, and I am the last of the Old Rephaim." He pressed harder, and the blade pierced through her Aura.

Pyrrha didn't hear her own scream as white hot pain flooded her senses. All the air in the room seemed to vanish, leaving her struggling to breathe. The fire inside her retreated back to her abdomen, and she felt the burning tears streaming down her face… And her legs… She couldn't…. She couldn't…!

Through it all, she was vaguely aware of the man—no, the monster—kneeling down beside her. "You are afraid for your life," he said, almost gently. His expression quickly returned to a snarl. "You cannot even begin to understand that fear until you have seen your people slaughtered by their own children just to be finished off by pests as I have." He stood, and as darkness swallowed Pyrrha, she heard his final words to her.

"That is who I am."

(- -)

Blake lifted Gambol Shroud, desperately trying to defend herself, only to have it knocked aside by a crimson blade. She felt like a child being pushed around, lashing out uselessly in a pitiful attempt to fight back. Her aggressor would feel no pity for her, however. That she knew from first-hand experience.

This… All of this… It was no metaphor to say it was a nightmare scenario for her. Adam, her former mentor and partner, was leading the White Fang in an all-out attack. Even before she left them, her worst dreams had taken her to this moment, standing amidst burning ruins and all hope of redemption for the former faunus rights group swept away. The worst part was that she knew she should have seen it coming. With everything that they'd done in the past few months—the stockpiling of Dust, the rapidly growing militancy, the increasingly brazen attacks—it only made sense that they would be willing to strike during the Vytal Festival, even with the increased security.

Blake gasped as she landed amidst the shattered glass and broken wood covering the cafeteria floor, the feeling of Adam's shoe fresh against her midriff. She scrambled to her feet, raising her weapon once again as his sword came down upon her. Their blades ground together, and Blake found herself being pushed back by the stronger man. "How could you do this, Blake?" he asked accusingly. "How could you abandon the White Fang? How could you abandon me?" He jerked his arm forward, and the hilt of his sword struck Blake in the temple, knocking her down. "This could've been our day!" her former partner and mentor yelled over the crackling of fire and roars of Grimm. "Can't you see that?!"

"I never wanted this!" Blake shouted back. She tried to push herself up to her feet, but all she managed was a kneeling position. "I wanted equality! I wanted peace!" Transforming Gambol Shroud into its pistol form, she fired up at Adam. It was an act of desperation, nullified as he blocker her bullets with his sword.

The blade glowed red, matching the man's hair and clothes, as he absorbed the attack with his Semblance. "What you want is impossible!" He slammed his sword back into its sheath as though to accentuate his point. A moment later, pain exploded against Blake's face as he struck her with the back of his hand. Once again, she was knocked to the floor, bright spots dancing across her vision. She struggled to pick herself up. Despite the ringing in her ears, she could hear Adam stalking toward her, glass crunching beneath his feet. "But I understand, because all I want is you, Blake."

The girl scowled in disgust. Once upon a time, she might've been flattered by his words—maybe even blushed—but not now. Not after what he'd become. She began to lift her weapon again, but the monster simply kicked it out of her hand, leaving her feeling weak and exposed as she was knocked over onto her back. She crawled away on her elbows, only to find herself backed against an overturned table.

The man looked down on her with hatred, visible even through his mask. With a sneer on his lips, he crouched down beside her. "And as I set out upon this world and deliver the justice mankind so greatly deserves…" Blake cried out in pain as he reached out and ripped the bow from her head to expose her ears. Crumpling it in his hand, he cast the ribbon aside and stood up. "… I will make it my mission to destroy everything you love."

His speech was interrupted by a familiar voice calling Blake's name outside the window. "Bla-ake!" At the sound, she turned her head toward the source of the voice, as did Adam. Her heart sank. "Blake! Where are you?!" Beyond the broken glass was Yang, fighting off White Fang grunts as she looked around in desperation.

Blake's breath hitched as she was overcome with terror. She extended her hand in a silent attempt to warn her partner away. No, Yang! Get away!

Above the raven-haired girl, Adam had noticed her reaction. His face twisted into a scowl. "Starting with her." His hand came down to rest on his sword, but the sound of rapidly approaching feet gave him pause. As they neared him, however, he spun around, crimson blade flashing out faster than Blake's eye could track. In the midst of it, she heard the sound of metal cutting through flesh.

Blake scrambled away but, despite herself, found herself looking back. It wasn't Yang. It can't have been Yang! Instead, when she looked up, she saw Aspen. The girl had stumbled forward before Adam, dropping a sword—one of Penny's swords—as she fell to her knees. There was a confused look on her face as one hand clutched instinctively at her neck. Blood was pouring out between her fingers. Blake gasped in horror.

Adam flicked his blade to the side, drops of blood flying from the tip. He looked back over his shoulder at Blake. "Is this the type of person you surround yourself with now, Blake? Pathetic humans like her?" Blake tried to say something, anything, to stop him from killing the girl, but no words came to her mouth. Drawing his sword back, Adam plunged it straight through Aspen's chest.

"No!"

Blake was only vaguely aware that it had been her who had screamed as she slumped forward onto her hands. The other girl's body rocked back as the blade passed through, eyes wide, then she slumped forward. Her hand fell away from her bloody throat. She… She was dead.

Outside, Blake's cry had caught Yang's attention. "Get away from them!" Her Semblance exploded, burning the air around her, and she leapt forward through a broken window with a scream. Blake didn't have time to warn her about Adam, and he seemed to know it. Smirking cruelly, he began to pull his sword from the dead girl's body.

Then the dead girl grabbed his arm.

(- -)

Aspen found herself somewhere she didn't recognize. Not because she'd never been there before, but because there was no place to it. All of it was blackness, and the blackness surrounded her. What had happened? She was cold. She remembered pain. Something… Someone had stabbed her. Someone had killed her.

Images and sensations—memories—seemed to appear amidst the darkness. Searching with Yang, her aura plagued by worry and suspicion. Another, far more powerful aura, filled with hatred she couldn't ignore. A man with a sword of blood and the mask of the White Fang. He had killed her.

The memories faded and ahead of her, through the nothingness, Aspen saw an even blacker darkness. It held no corporeal form, and yet she felt she could reach out and touch it. It existed, but was altogether nonexistent as well. Surrounding it and her, she saw hundreds of figures. A few her mind told her she recognized, but most she did not. They all bowed down to this void of darkness, worshipping it as a deity. She could imagine herself among them, serving the cold death. She stepped toward it.

An image of a woman came to Aspen's mind, dull blue eyes looking up at her. Her chest constricted painfully at the sight, and her throat burned. This dark emptiness… This wasn't what she wanted. She wanted the light. Where was the light? There was always light when she was killed. It burned her to be in its presence, but she felt alive because of it. She would rather feel that pain than feel nothing at all.

She looked around, but saw nothing but black. If anything, the darkness before her seemed to have grown larger, rising up to tower over her. It called out to her, speaking nothing and offering everything. She reached out her hand, pausing just at the surface of the roiling dark. She didn't want it, but... perhaps this once...


"There's a point where it tips, / there's a point where it breaks, / there's a point where it bends, / and a point we just can't take / anymore."

I'm going to try and keep this brief, since both scenes will carry over into the next chapter, and while this was a relatively short chapter, there's a lot to unpackage. Before I get into it, though, I know that I'm breaking the ordering of the scenes from what they were in the show and messing up the timeline (Pyrrha didn't go to fight Cinder until after Yang lost her arm) but, dramatically speaking, writing them as two simultaneous events will make it a lot better. Trust me on this.

One criticism of Volume 3 that's always bugged me is that Pyrrha's decision to fight Cinder made no sense. I think it actually makes a lot of sense, and part of the reason I wrote that first scene was to give a perspective on it that I hadn't really seen before. It's a little late, sure, but I stand by it. The other important part of that scene was, of course, the insight Deirean gave on the Rephaim, specifically that they are an extremely long-lived species. It makes sense, given that the Grimm are implied to be nigh-immortal, but it does raise some questions.

On the second scene, I actually wrote two versions of Blake's encounter with Adam. The first time, I basically did what I had done with the Yang/Mercury fight and take the scene as it happened in the show and put it into words. The problem with that is the way that scene is presented on screen doesn't work well at all on page. It was short, dull, and honestly kind of ridiculous when explained in detail, especially with how submissive Blake acts. Like, seriously: Blake is visually disgusted when Adam says he wants her, but then she just lays there with her arms spread after he kicks her weapon away? What gives? A rule I've been following while I write this fic is that, if one of my characters didn't have an effect on the scene, don't change it. In this case, I said, "Screw it," and wrote a better version.

And the last bit? I think that verse from Volume 2 opening theme sums it up pretty well. Aspen's had a long night.

That's it for this chapter. Again, I'll have more to say next chapter, but I hope you've enjoyed (I'm sorry about Pyrrha!). Au revoir!