Night fell early in Autumn. Twisted shadows stretched languidly, longer and longer across the streets–the signs of a brumal sun announcing its early departure. As the shadows had lengthened, so too did the squirming, growling masses of black bodies that swarmed Vale's roads and alleys. Their advance was seemingly unending. From the moment the breach had been blown into Central Vale, the flow of grimm into the city had not waned in the slightest.
Now, as the day's light faded and the fears of a grimm-filled night began to mount in the remaining populace, the putrid creatures grew emboldened. Manic in their excitement and frenzy, they roamed the streets, eagerly seeking avenues into the rest of the city with great zeal.
Vale's police force had mobilized rapidly, finally managing to stem the flow of foul forms by barricading all major veins out of the city's center. Even so, the grimm horde had managed to claim a sizable portion of the city through sheer numbers, and any attempts to push the perimeter forward had ended in failure.
The police force was stretched thin and lacked the rigorous training or equipment to match a Huntsman or Huntress; It was all they could do to hold the line with haphazard vehicle barricades and, where the flood proved too overwhelming, hastily collapsed buildings. Even then, the blockades proved imperfect. Already, the dispatchers were sounding reports of wayward grimm being encountered further and further from the epicenter, forcing them to stretch their ranks thinner still.
As it was, even just holding the line was proving to be a momentous effort, and their numbers had dwindled rapidly as more and more grimm began finding their way around the obstacles. This position was becoming increasingly untenable; they would need to move.
Just as the sergeant was about to give the order to uproot their defenses and retreat, ceding precious distance to the horde, an oppressive humming sounded overhead. Man and grimm alike paused for a moment as a great shadow eclipsed the dying light of the sun. Great gusts of wind rushed downward, buffeting the officers' exhausted forms.
A great mechanical beast loomed overhead. The foremost in military aviation. The Atlesian Airship.
The bay doors swung open and metallic constructs were deployed onto the shattered streets below. They dropped in formation, standing at the ready until their remaining brethren were emptied from the airships innards.
"Atlesian Knights?" An officer asked in confusion, granting himself a moment to glance at the massive vehicle. "I thought Atlas was recalling their troops."
"They are," another gruffly answered. He spoke in between shots, his eyes never leaving his targets. "Must be the rear guard. Looks like they finally got tired of sitting around doing nothing."
The intimidating, artificial warriors flared to life, jerking to attention as one. Each visor shone a sinister red, and as they approached the line of officers relief soon turned to concern.
Mechanically, ominously, and with a cruel sense of finality, each individual robot lifted its firearm.
"What the–"
A chorus of gunfire sang into the skies as the mass of robots fired without warning. The bodies holding the failing lines of the barricade fell, peppered by a merciless wave of metal. By the time the last of the spent casings joined the other masses of refuse strewn about the ground, there was not a single warm body left. All that stood were the seething hordes of fell beasts and unfeeling metal constructs.
The grimm baying at the defenses quieted as the mass of negative emotion was suddenly snuffed. They sniffled confusedly about, seeking the delectable taint of fear and despair that had vanished from the air and, sensing that there was no longer anything to be had here, they calmly continued on their way. Swiftly, they slinked around the unmanned barricades, pouncing atop cars and low buildings, filtering past the mechanical battalions without issue.
Across every major broadcast network on Remnant the image of a chess piece–a black queen–flared to life. A woman's voice, sultry, yet commanding began to speak.
"Hear me now, Oh rulers of Remnant. War is at your doorstep. Atlas has turned its back on peace, just as it did nearly a century ago. Vale is the first to fall."
The queen motif faded, and from all across the city, flashes of Atlesian Knights firing upon unexpecting officers were broadcast to the world. The same scene had played out with near synchronicity at every barricaded street.
"These are the people you entrust your safety to. They come bearing steel and fire to oust you from your homes, to cut down the lives of those you hold most dear. They come for your wealth, your livelihood, your very freedom."
The mechanical horde's monstrous ministrations were not solely limited to the peacekeepers. Any living being they came across were mercilessly gunned down. Man or woman, human or faunus, none were spared.
"Will you hopelessly cling to peace until the day when their machines rage against your walls? Will you wait until it is too late to turn the tide of disaster? Or will you fight? Will you defend the lands that have prospered under your care for so long?"
The voice paused, allowing the gruesome images to etch themselves into the mind of every viewer.
"The choice is yours. Make it quickly, for Atlas will not wait."
The voice faded, but scenes of the massacre continued to play. It was a live-feed of the fall of the Kingdom of Vale, to be played to completion. Across the lands of Remnant, leaders, great and small, observed in grim anticipation.
Ruby moved mechanically, cutting apart black bodies without bluster or emotion. She had traded in her usual, bombastic approach to combat for one that was more reserved. She had been at it for hours, it felt like. Already, it was beginning to darken, yet the yowling, screeching masses of grimm continued to flow into the city unabated. It was as if a faucet somewhere had been left on full blast, pumping out more and more of the vile things without rest.
The fatigue had long since ceased to register, the soreness in her arms and legs shoved to the back of her mind. The bodies of the fallen around her were only obstacles and nothing more now–hazards that needed to be avoided, lest she foul her footing and join them in their rest. Right now, she was only a blade, and her only job was to cut. Sentimentality and grief had been pushed to the wayside. Let future-Ruby sort it out.
Some reinforcements had finally made their way to the breach, Ren and Nora amongst them. Their numbers were small; the majority had opted to stay further back and assist the police force in holding the last line. As she gazed upon the carnage that painted the the walls and streets, Ruby could not help but feel that it was for the best.
It hadn't been very long, but already, several fresh, new corpses had joined the older ones cooling on the asphalt.
They had never been trained in the intricacies of a siege scenario. More often than not, when so grossly outnumbered, they were advised to retreat and regroup. In a situation where such an option was not available, they had fallen back on standard combat practices, only to find themselves swiftly tiring in the face of the neverending horde.
The first to go were the fresh faces that had been unable to keep up with the pace or grueling length of the battle. Most of them had fallen within the first two hours.
They had been overwhelmed by sheer numbers, or otherwise blindsided when their focus had wavered. Ruby had witnessed a girl she did not know fall, screaming, beneath a growling group of beowolves when she had gotten distracted. By the time Ruby had managed to reduce the girl's assailants to putrid wisps in the cold air, it had already been too late. The mass that lay on the pavement resembled more a butcher's wares than a human being.
Another–a boy she recognized from one of Oobleck's classes–had been trampled beneath the mass of a particularly large deathstalker while he had been fending off a lone Ursa. He hadn't even screamed out. Dozens of faces she had known in passing, or vaguely recognized from class, had drowned beneath the dark waves of heaving bodies, never to surface again.
A warm trickle of fluid streaked slowly down Ruby's cheek as she paused for breath, surveying the carnage. She wiped at her face, drawing her hand away to find that its back was now smeared with red. She was barely even able to process the significance of the fact. It definitely wasn't her own. Her aura was still intact–strained, fatigued, but intact. Maybe it had been the girl's, she thought hazily. The grimm didn't eat their kills–they had no need for that–but they were still really messy with it.
A heavy clatter drew her attention to her feet. Crescent Rose lay on the ground–it had slipped from numb, trembling fingers. Ruby shifted to retrieve it, but found her body wracked with tremors when she tried to bend. A fog had descended upon her mind, and her vision had become tight and claustrophobic. Nausea coiled in her stomach and she found that she had begun to hyperventilate. The noises around her seemed distant, muffled, as if she were hearing them through a layer of cotton.
Not good. She needed to stay focused. She needed to pick up Crescent Rose. She needed to fight. There were still more grimm. More and more and more and mo–
"Ruby, Move!"
Ruby was unsure who had yelled; it sounded like Yang, but all the voices began to meld together after a while. Sluggishly, she turned to find a roaring behemoth standing over her, beating its chest in triumph–a Beringel.
She watched as the gorilla grimm's massive arm pulled back. It's clenched first alone was almost as large as she was. There was no way her aura would hold up to a blow like that. She needed to move. Her mind screamed for action, but her limbs refused to obey. Her arms were lead, her legs entrenched deep within a mire of molasses. She was helpless.
Despite her imminent doom, she could feel nothing but an odd sense of detachment, as if she were outside of herself, watching this all happen to someone else. Distantly, she wondered if this was the same feeling that the girl had felt before she died. Probably not. She had been screaming pretty horrifically, after all.
Wide, silver eyes watched as the gargantuan fist began arcing downwards.
"Ruby!"
Something glinted in the corner of her vision. Something scintillating and shining spun rapidly through the air before striking the monstrous grimm directly in the face, sending it toppling to the ground.
A metal...bat?
Apparently. Dented, scuffed and bent at odd angles, the bat had spun wildly, flung with enough force to crush bone and pulp flesh. A shadow flew over Ruby, and she found herself staring, wide-eyed, at a white-cloaked back.
The Huntress had appeared, a tattered, white coat flaring with the force of her landing.
Without missing a beat, the vigilante touched down and immediately darted after the struggling grimm before it could regain its bearings. With a defiant yell, she cocked back a fist and drove it hard into its chest with astoundingly inhuman strength, completely collapsing the internal structure and sending the large beast rocketing back several yards. It did not get up again.
Crouching, she retrieved the bat from dissolving flesh, holding it loosely in her right hand. She observed the carnage surrounding them, a sour expression flickering beneath the mask.
"U-um, Miss Huntress?" Ruby asked shakily, immediately recognizing the famous figure before her.
Oddly, the woman refused to face her, and instead pulled her cowl further over her face.
"Are you alright?"
Ruby blinked, something about her voice seemed familiar, but she couldn't quite place it.
"Y-yeah. I think so." She answered, making a cursory examination of her body to find that her limbs were trembling violently. She grimaced at the encrusted filth and gore clinging to the cloth of her garments. There was nary an unstained patch of skin on her hands, and she suspected that the same was true of her face.
"Good. Fall back. Notify your group."
Mutely, Ruby nodded, rushing between the remaining combatants and relayed the information. Within minutes, they all stood clustered as together the tides of grimm assaulted them from all sides.
The Huntress charged through, bulldozing a path through the masses, her bat making short work of their raving, demonic forms. "Move," she ordered.
They rushed past the baying, howling creatures, only pausing to fend off the occasional tooth or claw. When at last they had broken free from the confines of the horde, they sprinted madly for the nearest uninfested street.
The moment that they passed out of the open plaza and across the first line of structures, a series of thunderous booms began to sound. A tall building began to lean precariously, buckling and groaning under its own weight. It toppled, crashing across the street, brickwork and rubble raining down upon the pursuing grimm.
"What was that?" Yang huffed between long strides.
"Explosions." The huntress stated simply. She didn't seem winded in the slightest "They'll get through it in no time. Let's move."
They ran through deserted streets, the only sounds their ragged, rapid footfalls and labored breathing.
"This should be far enough." She decided after a while. "Status of munitions?"
"Low," Yang replied, patting her belt. Only a handful of shells remained.
"Dust?"
"Out," Weiss curtly answered, the empty cylinders of Myrtenaster attesting to her words.
"Condition?"
"Tired," Blake supplied, unable to fully suppress her trembling.
Even behind the mask and the deep shadows of her cowl, the group could see a flicker of worry flash across the Huntress's face.
"Anything south of the breach has already been overrun. Our first priority is keeping them from the northern portions of the city."
She eyed the small assembly of students. They were a beleaguered, incoherent group of about two-dozen.
"Take whatever you can," she decided. "It doesn't matter what it is. Furniture, cars, rubble. Use it to make a barricade. If you still have ammunition, use the buildings as a sniper's nest. The rest of you will have to fight up close."
"Now hold on a minute," Weiss said. She had held her silence out of consideration for her exhausted team, but this was a bit much. "We are not taking orders from a…a…ruffian!"
"Hey, Weiss–"
"No, Yang. She's a criminal!"
"Is this really the time for that?" The blond retorted. "In case you haven't noticed, the city's gone to hell"
"We don't know what she wants! Or who she is! What kind of decent person runs around causing trouble in a mask anyway?"
An awkward cough sounded between the two. "I'm still here, you know. If I wanted to cause you harm I wouldn't have saved Ruby, right? Heck, I could have just not bothered and ignored you all. Things weren't looking too good when I showed up."
Her attempts at reason fell upon unreceptive ears. The heiress whirled to face her, her face turning an interesting shade of scarlet. "You! You–"
"What's that?" Ruby interrupted.
A beautiful light shone above the ruined skyline, capturing their attention even as Ruby spoke.
The group craned their necks to see a mesmerizing orb of unmatched luminosity ascend into the heavens to the east. It shimmered and ebbed and throbbed with a painful intensity until it reached the zenith of its flight. For a moment, it hung, suspended in the sky–a brilliant star shining in the dead of night.
And then it exploded.
For that brief instant, it was as if dawn had broken. Harsh, long shadows stretched in tortured sillhouettes along the streets as the light's intensity grew to match the sun itself. Even at the heart of the city, they could feel an uncomfortably hot wind rush past, buffeting them with choking, dry air. In the next instant, the light vanished, and darkness reclaimed their surroundings.
"That...was right over Beacon, wasn't it?" Blake finally asked quietly, breaking the dreadful silence that had befallen the group.
"Jaune and Pyrrha…"
"I'm sure they're alright," Ren assured his partner, but could not keep a worried expression from creeping onto his face.
The huntress sighed. "There's nothing we can do about that," she said. "All we can do is focus on the problem in front of us. Can you hold this line?"
"Leave it to us!" Yang smashed her fists together, enthusiastically hopping up from her makeshift seat of a burnt-out car. She wobbled slightly, threatening to topple, only to be steadied by her partner.
"We've been fighting for hours," Blake said. "We're exhausted and out of supplies. Isn't anyone sending any more reinforcements?"
The woman fell silent, pondering how best to answer. "There are no reinforcements," she finally admitted.
"No…what? How is that possible?"
"They were overwhelmed. I looked for a bit, but couldn't find a single survivor."
"It wasn't enough," Ruby mumbled sadly. "We weren't able to stop the grimm."
The Huntress held her tongue, allowing the girl to form her own conclusions. She didn't dare speak the truth. It hadn't been the grimm. It had been Atlas. But they didn't need to know that, not yet. It wouldn't help matters.
"You're the last line of defense," she said simply.
"Well, what will you do?" Weiss asked, still suspiciously eyeing the Huntress. "You keep talking about what we need to do, so what will you be doing in the meantime?
The huntress shrugged indicated back towards the thick of the violence, towards the breach. "Fighting," she stated simply.
"Alone? You can't possibly be–"
A yawning, black portal widened beneath the woman's feet, and she fell through, disappearing in an instant.
"–Serious." Weiss finished, snapping her mouth shut with an audible click. "And she's gone. Why is it always the troublemakers that have to go and play hero?"
Yang shrugged and Blake shook her head, a pensive look in her eyes. She stared curiously at the spot where the Huntress had stood.
"Well," Yang exhaled, after a moment. She lightly clapped Blake on the shoulder, rousing her from her thoughts. "We've got a job to do, so let's do it."
Kiana landed lightly. The portal had deposited her atop a building overlooking the breach. The core of the desolation. The situation remained unchanged. Hordes of the creatures still clambered up from the dark recesses of the subterranean tunnels. Either a massive grimm colony had always existed beneath Vale, or something had purposely lured them here from god-knows-where. In either case, if she didn't mitigate the damage here, the outer lines would be overrun. Every Beacon student she had come across had clearly been running on fumes. There was no way they would be able to last the night. She needed to staunch the flow here.
She sighed, stepping from the rooftop and dropping easily into a crouch on the bloodied street. She frowned, lifting her hand from the filthy pavement, wiping her fingers across the hem of her coat. They left vivid red streaks on the white garment. Peeling the mask from her face and pulling the heavy hood from her head, she strode forward without a hint of hesitation.
A small creature halted upon noticing the movement. And then another. And then another.
An edge of excited anticipation prodded her in the gut. This far away from prying eyes, she could really let loose.
A low, baying howl drew the attention of the masses. A beowolf was alerting its pack.
"Let's go," she breathed. The air warped and a sleek, white lance manifested in a waiting hand.
At the first sensations of the familiar barbs impinging upon her mind, the grimm in the area stilled. Almost comically, their heads swiveled to face the sudden torrent of negativity gushing from within their midst.
The dark emotions they so craved poured from a single white creature with an unmatched intensity. Jealousy, hatred, fear, disgust, grief, it flowed without ceasing. Something raged within this creature, beating in vain against a cage of flesh, its cries unheard by all but the grimm.
In the next instant, a towering Taijitu found its body cleanly bifurcated, white neatly separated from black. It spasmed in its death throes, its thrashing crushing several minor grimm beneath its bulk. An alpha ursa collapsed, its shoulders liberated of a head. A boarbatusk found its sturdy shell pierced with ease. Deathstalker carapace, Beringel musculature, bone, sinew, flesh, all crumpled beneath the attentions of the terrible, ivory blade.
The lance cut without resistance; physical matter was usurped and expunged from existence the moment it contacted the edge. It truly was a weapon without equal. A perfect, unblockable offense. But the price to wield it was just as steep. Every swing sent the thorns digging viciously into Kiana's brain. The longer it remained manifested, the louder the murmuring encroaching upon her mind seemed to echo. That thing wanted to escape. She wouldn't let it.
She released the weapon, allowing it to unravel and, immediately, the pain diminished. While she waited for the pressure in her head to abate, she would need to rely on more mundane methods.
Her trusty, dented bat fell out of a small void.
She fought with unmatched brutality, hardly slowed by the change in armament. Each swift arc of the bat terminated with enough force to thoroughly destroy whatever it hit, be it bone or flesh. Coiling and springing, she pranced through the hordes in a pristine, savage performance, weaving like a wraith through the throngs of despicable bodies.
Grimm spill no blood. They shed no fur, and their lifeless forms are but transient dust upon the earth.
It was this dust that she scattered to the winds. She lay deadly blow after deadly blow upon the interminable tide. A bat did not cut cleanly, that much was obvious. It pulped, it smashed, and with enough force, it cleaved the loathsome, black bodies along ragged, uneven meridians. Sinew snapped, tendons tore and flesh failed beneath the undivided attention of ferocious, crushing blows.
The putrid, acrid odor of swiftly decaying flesh stung at the nostrils. The floor, slippery with the blood of those she had been unable to save, threatened her footing with every step. The baying, roaring, shrieking cacophony of the fell beasts rang shrilly in her ears.
Still she fought.
Something about the process, about the wholesale slaughter of mindless enemies, felt familiar. Her body instinctively remembered how to move in these situations, even if her mind did not, and she found herself working into a rhythm. She waltzed mindlessly along the predetermined trails of a loosely choreographed dance. Her partners fell, one after the other, but that was no problem–she had an endless number of them.
She wasn't sure how long it had been. The moon had already begun its trek across the darkened skies. The city lights–at least, the ones that still stood–flickered on automatically, granting vision to a populace that no longer existed. The hollow tones of a distant clock tower tolled. She didn't bother keeping track of the chimes.
Still she fought.
Even as masses of grimm were felled beneath the weight of her steel, still more clambered up from the depths, unperturbed by the hellish flames which masked the breach's gaping maw.
The fire, having long since lost more adequate sources of fuel, now gnawed upon the many fallen forms that littered the pavilion. They danced devilishly between whatever flammable material they could find, chewing through clothing, burning away hair and skin and even igniting fat and gristle where the flames grew hot enough.
The scene could have been a rendition of hell in a time and place far removed from this one, painted for some grand, ecclesiastical purpose. Hordes and hordes of ravenous creatures, clawing their way up from the stygian darkness of the earth's embrace, snarling, growling, loping about, seeking the end of hopeless and helpless mankind.
And the only being to face them was a single woman in white. The odds were seemingly insurmountable.
That was fine. The night may be long and the enemy unending, but she was a knight of the ancient and noble House Kaslana. She knew not the implications of her namesake, nor of the deeds of her forebears, but she knew that they excelled at one, singular task.
Until the work was done, she would fight.
The woman exuded confidence. From every pore of her pristine, porcelain skin, an aura of smug assurance seeped, oozing out in almost tangible waves.
She strode through the wreckage of Beacon's hall without a care, as if she were simply taking an evening stroll. Her elegant, scarlet evening gown remained unblemished despite the clouds of dust and dirt that were still settling. Sneering imperiously from behind a veil of raven locks, powerful golden eyes spoke of stark determination–she would get what she desired.
Pyrrha crouched at the ready, watchfully tracing the woman's movements. Her eyes, every minute tensing of the muscle, the cadence of her breathing, Pyrrha parsed it all with unusual clarity. A dead calm had overtaken her; she was more focused than she had been in a long, long time.
"You should know better than to take what doesn't belong to you, girl."
If Pyrrha was at all put off by the words, her countenance failed to reflect it. The situation was dire, of that there was no doubt. Jaune and the headmaster were critically injured, Beacon had been compromised, and the woman responsible for all of it stood before her, leering at her as if she were a choice cut on the butcher's block.
And yet, a blanket of apathy had seemingly been draped over Pyrrha. The urgency she expected had failed to come. From within, an ember pulsed and glowed, filling her insides with an enervating heat and drowning out all sensation and emotion.
"What's wrong, little girl? Scared?" The woman unclenched a fist and held it out before her. A languid flame danced lazily atop her palm.
Pyrrha's expression darkened. The ember waxed in its intensity, stirring her heart to motion. This was the woman who had stolen Amber's–stolen her–power. Not only that, but now she brandished it before her in some pathetically petty display of power. Something bubbled up in her breast. An odd emotion. It wasn't exactly annoyance, and not quite rage.
She was insulted. Deeply so.
For her power to be pilfered so brazenly, so audaciously–punishment must surely be meted out.
If Pyrrha had been in a proper state of mind, she would have berated herself for acting so rashly. As it was, the quiet she had been granted since obtaining the maiden's power had ceased. A voice, clearer and more insistent than she had ever imagined before cajoled her, caressing the innards of her mind. It was not the cacophonous mutterings of which she had grown accustomed; this voice spoke only in seductive whispers. Quiet, yet all the more alluring for it.
Punish her.
Without thought for strategy or caution, she pounced.
The leer on Cinder's face widened, and she dispersed the flame, instead conjuring her favored weapon: a crystalline, black bow. Rapidly, she pulled at the cord, similarly glassy arrows forming at her fingertips, even as the previous one flew from its perch.
They whistled shrilly through the air, yet not a single one found their mark.
With a bestial roar, an explosion battered away the projectiles, shattering them back into ashen dust. Pyrrha closed the gap with contemptuous ease, heaving her spear down in a thundering, overhead blow to find that she had missed her mark.
Her adversary had admirable reactions, it seemed. She had hastily bound away in alarm at the first sign of something gone awry. Pyrrha straightened. The crater that her spear had gouged into the ground smoldered and glowed, but she paid it no heed. Both of her arms were wreathed in mystical, dancing flame, their trails flowing behind her like a divine raiment.
A savage smile worked its way onto her face. The rich, alluring opiate of unbridled power left her light-headed and giddy. The scent of ash and fire proved an intoxicatingly pleasant mixture, and she breathed it deeply, savoring the aroma. The flickering lights seemed to sing to her, enticing her to greater heights. To burn all in her path. To climb into the skies and become the radiant sun itself.
Burn her away, until not even ashes remain.
The woman's expression, so confident and smug, had swiftly morphed into one of shock and thinly-veiled anxiety. The abrupt, panicked shift brought an immeasurable amount of satisfaction to Pyrrha's heart. Now, the thief understood the depths of her folly.
She must be punished all the same.
Using her semblance, Pyrrha tore twisted supporting beams from their place, coating them in a liberal swath of flame before flinging them at her opponent. The steel swiftly softened beneath blistering heat, and a deadly spray of molten metal flew at the older woman.
Panicked, Cinder conjured her own burning cloak, managing to ward off the worst of the scorching rain before it sputtered out. Still, some globules of metal managed to sneak past the veil, splattering against her aura and eliciting a hiss from the woman. Carefully, cautiously, she inched backwards.
Pyrrha's lips twisted cruelly. The fire that the woman had been able to muster had been meek compared to hers. Returning the maiden's power where it belonged would be a far easier task than she had expected. The old man had been much too cautious; defeating this woman would be no great feat.
A niggling protest itched at her mind. Her lips dropped by the merest fraction. Something felt…off.
You are power incarnate. Take what is rightfully yours.
The voice of a seductress, singing sweetly from the flames, chased away any lingering doubts, even as they alighted upon her mind. There was no room for ambiguity. Of course not. Her cause was righteous; this woman was evil. She was not wrong.
Pyrrha swung wildly, intent upon finishing this farce in as expedient a manner as possible.
Measured, practiced swings grew more forceful, less coordinated. Careful footwork, the product of years of training, grew slipshod and harried, more focused on her inexorable advance than proper form. Any semblance of propriety or decorum was discarded as the intoxicating flames crackled temptingly in her ears. She was the all-consuming blaze; what was there to fear? What need was there for control when unbridled, unmitigated strength lay at her fingertips?
None whatsoever. Burn. Burn brightly. Burn swiftly. Eclipse all who dare oppose you.
She swung with reckless abandon, and with each blow, a gout of radiance was released. Hot enough to vaporize whatever it impacted in an instant, they flew rapidly and uncontrollably, closing the distance in the blink of an eye. The walls became peppered with molten pits and holes, the crumbling ceiling bowing dangerously under its own weight. Each malignant flare arced through the air, seeking one, singular target. The hateful thief.
It was as if the very air was ablaze.
Cinder gave up the notion of a counterattack entirely, directing her focus towards evading the deadly plumes. She darted and dodged, weaving around the assault with increasing difficulty. The state of the battlefield had shifted greatly. Hazardous patches of glowing stone restricted where she was able to move, and she bit back curses as her islands of safe footing dwindled with each passing moment. The tide of battle turned, inexorably, definitively, against her.
She staggered as her latest leap perched her precariously on an unstable bit of upturned stone. Finally stumbling on the tenuous footing of the ruined chamber, she fell into a controlled roll that left her pinned against a wall. To her left and right were walls of heat and molten rock. In front of her was a demon wreathed in hellish fire. Was this truly how it would end?
She couldn't even pretend that she stood a chance anymore. Never in her wildest expectations had she thought that the maiden's replacement would have such mastery over the power. She had held the maiden's power for far longer and could not claim even half the proficiency that her opponent displayed. She hated it. She hated the feeling of being only second best. This girl, this child, dare usurp her?
Pyrrha paused in her assault, seemingly sensing the emotions roiling within Cinder. Something flickered in her eyes–something ugly and manic. The dancing reflection of a roaring conflagration. The flames swathed her body now, caressing her form with sweltering, ashen touches. The twisting mass seemed almost to be alive in itself, roaring with malefic glee. The uncharacteristic smirk stretching Pyrrha's lips, superior and gloating, widened, stoking Cinder's rage to greater heights.
"You should know better than to take what doesn't belong to you, girl." The words, tinged with the crackling roar of an inferno, were a mocking echo of her own.
Cinder's impotent anger festered, black and rancid, in her chest. There was nothing she could do. Months of preparation, planning and resources were being thwarted by this child.
Wildly, desperately, she scanned across the seething landscape for an answer. Something caught her eye. Something, shifting feebly and moaning miserably. Her fury had nearly caused her to miss a crucial opening.
The girl, powerful as she was, had become complacent. She had neglected to adequately observe her surroundings, seemingly content to throw around her newfound power like a child's toy. She had maneuvered carelessly, placing herself in a disadvantaged position without even realizing it. An ugly sneer crossed the older woman's face and she raised her bow once more.
The wild look in Pyrrha's eyes intensified, the eager grin never leaving her face. She was a predator, and her prey had run out of places to run. She tensed, hefting her shield in preparation to deflect the arrows.
The woman fired. The projectiles did not fly at Pyrrha. Instead, she had suddenly adjusted her aim at the last second, loosing a volley far to her right.
It only took a split-second for Pyrrha to understand her intent. The euphoria that had seized her dispelled in an instant, her train of thought crashing as she traced the missile's trajectory. Her heart sank, expression rising in panic. She dove.
Please, let me make it in time.
Shedding her radiant mantle as propellant to accelerate her flight, she sailed through the air in a momentous leap to intercept the bolts whistling towards her unconscious partner. She thought he had been behind her, when had she strayed so far from her position?
With scarcely a moment to spare, she blazed a path towards Jaune. A pair of the arrows shattered uselessly off of the steel of her shield, but a third had flown wayward, veering wide and missing the bulwark entirely.
Pyrrha bit back an agonized scream as the last bolt burrowed deeply into her shoulder, superheated glass scorched her flesh from the inside out. Milo clattered uselessly to the ground as her arm went limp, and it was all she could do to retain a tenuous grasp on Akuou. She landed heavily but managed a sloppy recovery, scrambling desperately to her feet, sagging slightly as waves of weariness crashed into her all at once.
When she had been ablaze, she could burn wildly and freely without restraint. Now that she had doused the flames, the fatigue rushed in to fill the void. With the veil gone, the frenetic high had, likewise, dissipated. The siren song of the fires had vanished, and all she could feel was a bone-deep exhaustion. Desperately, she tried to call upon the maiden's power once more, but found that it taxed her more than she expected. The flames flickered weakly before dying out entirely.
Why do you reject your rightful place?
Cinder felt a bubble of glee tinged with a healthy dose of relief rise in her chest. She quashed it down mercilessly. This battle was as good as won, but she would not allow herself to become complacent. She had made that mistake with Amber, and it had cost her half of the maiden's power. She had made that mistake again tonight, and had very nearly paid the ultimate price. There would not be a third time. Soon, very soon, it would all be hers, but not until she ended this upstart.
Cinder knocked arrow after arrow, loosing each with ruthless efficiency. Her adversary's weapon arm was clearly useless; she would only be able to weather the battery for so long. It was either that, or retreat and allow her friend to become a pincushion. Cinder cared little for whichever option the girl chose. They would both die here regardless, it was merely a matter of time.
The deadly hail of sleek, black darts rained down with impunity. Pyrrha warded off the majority of them with her shield, but, drained as she was, failed to deflect them all. A shaft embedding itself uncomfortably close to Jaune's prone form forced her to rethink her strategy. Laboriously, gruelingly, she placed one foot in front of the other, slowly advancing into the deadly storm.
Bolts thundered impotently into her shield, battered to dust with measured swings when they threatened to stray around her. Over the rim, she could see her adversary's expression tighten, the arrows coming faster, harder. Shrapnel, hot and razor sharp, lacerated flesh so finely that she didn't even notice that she had been cut until small beads of blood began to trace their path down pale skin.
Still, she pressed forward, discarding all extraneous thoughts. Her mind had shifted to something entirely mechanical, singularly focused on progressing, one toilsome step at a time. The destruction around her had ceased to be. The ruins and flickering flames faded to black. Her sights were centered entirely on the hateful woman in front of her.
Left, right, left, right. Reach to batter a wayward arrow. Block one aimed at the heart. Left. Right. Left. Right.
She dared not look back. She didn't even entertain the notion. The slightest distraction would be fatal. Jaune would be fine.
Her opponent refused to relent. The shots fell faster, the projectiles' forms becoming cruder in her haste–a flurry of igneous shards shattering on a shining shield.
Left. Right. Left. Right.
A bolt gouging a chunk from her calf caused her to stumble. Her shoulder tilted, falling a fraction of a degree, and another bolt snuck in through the gap, striking her shield arm. Her guard fell entirely, her progress halting immediately.
The rain of arrows only intensified, more and more finding their mark.
One arrow found itself lodged in her gut, charring her innards. When she flinched reflexively, another made its way into her forearm, causing her shield to join its partner among the refuse. Another penetrated her thigh, bringing her to her knees. Another perforated a lung, turning labored breaths to ash and choking smoke. And another, and another, and another.
Roaring in agony, a dazzling inferno rose to embrace her, more violent and more brilliant than any she had conjured before. The deluge of heat and light battered away any further projectiles, granting a brief sanctuary from the onslaught. The stone around her dissolved into glowing puddles, the air within her cocoon thinning at an alarming rate as the flames voraciously depleted the oxygen. She sustained the torrid barrier for as long as she could, screaming and half-delirious with pain and exhaustion. Black spots began entering her vision as her remaining lung screamed to be filled. She could feel her stamina bleeding out, a dreadful timer counting down to an inevitable end.
Eventually, not even sheer willpower could foster the blaze any longer, and it simmered away to nothingness. As the shimmering curtain fell, her adversary's leering visage came into view once more. Despair blossomed in Pyrrha's breast, but she no longer had the strength or breath to cry out. She swayed, only half-conscious, barely able to remain upright. Her breathing, ragged and uneven, rasped through cracked and bloodied lips. Her head a leaden weight, she nevertheless fought to lift it at the sound of approaching footsteps, resolved to stare her death directly in the face until the bitter end.
Cinder strode confidently forward to claim her prize. She didn't dare banter, nor gloat. The deed would simply be done. She placed a hand at the girl's temple, forcing her head to stay inclined, green eyes locking with amber. No more mistakes. She would ensure that her's was the final face the moribund girl would ever see. The girl's final thoughts would be of her and none other.
"Do you believe in destiny?" Despite her litany of injuries, Pyrrha managed to choke out a final, searching question.
Lucent gold narrowed.
"Yes."
Cinder allowed herself a single, curt retort, before finally allowing her semblance to flow. With this, it would be done; The girl would be reduced to little more than embers in the wind.
In a hazy delirium, unable to even scream as an agonizing heat seeped slowly into her body, Pyrrha imagined the Voice speaking to her once again.
Do you wish for your story to end here? To deny your destiny?
It rang high and feminine and strangely familiar.
No, she lamented, I don't.
The heat throbbed viciously, the scorching sensations from the palm resting at her temple delving deeper into her body. Pyrrha could feel her form beginning to unravel, dissipating into motes of light and ash.
Then grasp destiny with your own two hands, The voice urged. Accept me.
Yes, Pyrrha finally acquiesced. She had spent so many nights rebuking the temptress, but if this was to be her death, then there was no longer any reason to hold back. Yes, I accept you. So please, save me.
At that moment, Pyrrha Nikos died.
In that solitary, ephemeral instant she felt the bounds of her senses expand beyond human limitation. Beyond the confines of body, mind and soul, she became excruciatingly aware of everything. The agonizing heat settling deep in her bones. The acrid smell of smoke and the chalk sensation of ash upon her tongue. The coppery tang of blood. She experienced all these things with a singular clarity.
It will be done.
And a divine light was born anew.
The entire fall of Vale was supposed to be one chapter, but it felt like a bit much, so I split it. I think it's better this way. Hopefully I'll have the other half up soon.
I wanted my username here to match up with my AO3, so I changed it. I do not know if that affects anything on the reader's end. I hope not.
Not much else to say, hope y'all enjoyed the chapter, and I hope your holidays were pleasant.
