Beneath the dark, crimson skies of Evernight, the sounds of tearing and slashing echo in the halls of Evernight castle. Creatures of Grimm lay motionless on the floors. Their bodies dissipating into nothingness as the intruder made his way further and further in the castle.

Sitting on her throne is the dread queen of the Grimm, Salem. With eyes pitch-black and crimson. Her skin was whiter than snow with red veins pulsing. She wore a skin-fitting dress in all black with a cloak flowing behind her. Salem sat there with fingers crossed as the sounds of combat drew closer to the throne room.

"Ozma has gotten bold," she mused. "Either that or he has lost his head. How many lifetimes has it been? I'm surprised he lasted this long. Not that it matters." Salem sighed. It has gone on for too long.

The doors that led to Salem's throne burst open and there stood the intruder. Salem looked at him inquisitively. He was huntsman, no doubt. Perhaps an assassin-like huntsman. His hair was white and his eyes were blue. He had a coat that almost reached his feet. The white shirt and tie he wore underneath was stained black. His sword was dripping in a black-like tar on his boots. That must have come from the Grimm he had slain earlier.

The assassin said no words and dashed straight for Salem. He was fast. Typical for many huntsmen. He swung his sword at her neck. Salem let him. He then leapt back. Strangely, there was no smile. It was as though he does not expect her to die yet. How odd. Had Ozma decided to tell the truth about her for once? If so, then perhaps this huntsman was braver than most for still choosing this path. It was either that or foolishness.

When Salem's head reattached itself to the rest of her body, the assassin tutted. Odd. There was no fear. No disappointment. No hopelessness from him. Instead, he was frowning. Like a professional who made a simple mistake in his job. Raising his sword, Salem felt a sudden surge of power coming from him. A Semblance, perhaps? Amusing. She decided that she should play along.

With the use of magic, Salem levitated from the ground. "This child," said she, "is magic. What you people have now is but a fraction to what we have." To demonstrate her point, lightning cracked all around her. The winds blew in all directions with enough force that the assassin was pushed back.

Still there was no fear. His face was neutral. Curious. Regaining his footing, he dashed once more. This time he was behind her. Unaffected by the blowing winds, he swung his sword effortlessly at her neck. Surprisingly, this one swing hurt the queen of the Grimm. More than the last one, Salem finds herself actually falling down to the floor below. Like before, Salem healed herself from the damage. That one actually hurt more than it should.

With a flick of her hand, Salem launched many balls of flame at the assassin. He moved quickly, zigzagging as he made himself a difficult target. Running circling around her, Salem was made to destroy the walls and pillars of her own castle. Every piece of the room that was destroyed left many patches of dust and smoke to fog her vision. Soon enough, the assassin's presence was concealed.

"Did Ozma send you, child?" asked she, interest peaking. "You've seen for yourself that I cannot be killed. If you truly desire my death, join me. Gather the four Relics and I will be gone from this world." Along with the rest of humanity, she did not say.

The assassin said nothing. Instead, Salem felt another surge in power coming from him. He was behind her. With a large ball of energy, Salem pretty much destroyed much of what was behind her, breaking down the walls and letting the air outside blow into the room. The smoke was being cleared out. Even if he had avoided that, he had nowhere to hide.

Then, Salem felt another surge, one more powerful than the last. She then felt a hand grab her. Then two. Then three. Three? Salem's eyes widened as more and more arms began to grab hold. They were colored dark purple. She was given no time to process it when she hoisted up and the ground beneath her shook immensely and finally destroyed. Rising from the ruble was a large guillotine.

Such power. It could not possibly be a Semblance. If so, what was that surge from earlier? She could not even call this magic. Not one from her time, anyway. Even she couldn't conjure things like this. The guillotine was massive, larger than the room itself. The detail on it was unlike any that she had seen. The wings on those corners and the markings on the sides were too detailed. Too solid for it to be the magic that she was used to, let alone a semblance.

"It wasn't Ozma that sent you." Salem realized. "Was it them? The younger of the two? Those colors has his work all around it. It is quite the showing as well. It suits him most. Answer me, child! Was it hi—"

Salem's words were cut off. Both figuratively and literally. As the blade fell on the queen of the Grimm, her face was frozen in amazement. Marveling at the sight to the end. For the first time in her long immortal years, her knowledge was lacking. Her wisdom was nothing. As her head fell on what was left of the floor, her ceaseless and agonizing curse had come to its end. The queen of the Grimm had fallen.

The assassin stood there unmoving. His muscles were still tense and ready for action. When it was clear that Salem would not heal, only then did he relax. The duty he had been entrusted was finished.

"La Mort Espoir," said he, finally. With her death, there is now a hope for tomorrow for everyone else in this world. Strange as it was, his short time here was novel.

His thoughts lingered to that human stuck in the pod deep in the recesses of that academy. He was a doctor and that human was ailing. He smiled a contented smile. His work was finished

Shortly after, he began to glow a yellowish light. He too has begun to disappear like the creatures of Grimm before him. Before he left the world of Remnant, he spoke one last time, "Execution complete."

/-/

Up in the tower of Beacon Academy, Headmaster Ozpin was talking on his scroll. He was sweaty and his hair faintly smelled of ash.

"I insist, Leo," said he. "With the number of huntsmen and huntresses down in Mistral, you clearly have too much on your plate that one hers was able to slip past you as your students."

"I really am sorry for this, Ozpin," Leo said from the other end of the call. He looked to be sweating and his eyes darted left and right rather quickly. He was probably stressed from it all. Having one of Salem's minions pass as one of his students while the huntsmen and huntresses were mysteriously disappearing must have been quite heavy for the poor headmaster. Ozpin could sympathize with his friend. His trustworthy—if a little jumpy—friend.

Leo was probably just watching his back for anything else that she managed to slip in. It was probably that.

"Oh it is alright, old friend," Ozpin comforted his fellow headmaster. "All things worked out in the end and we were able to restore the Fall Maiden. Not without a little outside help being kind but it is one that we will gladly take. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a festival to oversee."

Putting his scroll down, Ozpin took a large gulp of his mug. Looking out the window of his tower, he could hear the joys and clamor of the Vytal Festival.

The elevator behind him dinged as two individuals stepped into the room. One man in white with a few cuts on his skin and scratches on his prosthetics. The other, a woman, had a skirt that was mildly singed and hair hastily fixed.

"…thing they were apprehended early," James Ironwood, general and fellow headmaster of Atlas, said. "To think they would cut off communications right under our noses and turn my machines against everyone! It would have been a disaster."

"I am more amazed that Amber recovered so quickly," Glynda Goodwitch, Ozpin's deputy headmistress, replied. "No records on this visitor of hers on our cameras. Came in and healed Amber then promptly vanished."

"For once, I am in the dark as the rest of you," interjected Ozpin. "Still, it all worked out in the end. Amber's attackers were apprehended and the Fall Maiden's powers is whole again."

"She shouldn't have been alone in the first place, Ozpin," Ironwood stressed. "We're lucky this time, but we might not be the next. She should have an armed escort at all times."

"Oh none of that now, James." Ironwood was about to argue but Ozpin continued. "She will have her escort. I dare say she has learned a valuable lesson here and requested as such."

Ironwood nodded and calmed down after that.

"While we are on the subject of our Fall Maiden," Ozpin said. "What about our mysterious savior? Glynda has he been found?"

"If you want to find him yourself, be my guest," Glynda said. "No registered huntsman goes under the name that Amber gave us. We managed to find a few images that closely resemble the description but they all fall short somewhere."

"Like?"

It was Ironwood who responded. "Too old, too young, the weapon and semblance—or what we think is the semblance—does not match. We are either looking at a complete anomaly or a rouge huntsman that somehow stayed under the radar."

Documents were placed on Ozpin's table. He picked it up and skimmed it.

"It is rather interesting," Ozpin mused. "Perhaps he was one of hers once." It was the only one that made sense to him. "Either way, we will continue what we must. She will have been held back significantly by this. But for now, we have a festival to enjoy. I believe the second rounds begin today after that little delay of ours."

The Vytal Festival went on without much trouble. The crowds celebrated and cheered as the students of the four academies gave a good showing. Crowning this year's champion occurred without incident.

For the headmaster of Beacon Academy, his eyes continued to focus on the name that their Fall Maiden had given them.

Charles-Henri Sanson.


AN: Wound Salem count as Human? Or Humanoid?