Ozymandias stood on the prow of an airship. High above the sands, his little vessel was heading west. The winds were light that day, making the ship stable but also dreadfully hot. Thankfully, the sun was just beginning to fall behind the horizon, and heat was already dissipating in the air. Soon, it would actually be freezing.

His ship was a small, rickety, commercial vessel that ferried travelers from Vacuo to a large port to the west, from which he would then head to Mistral. Now, however, he was the only one other than the pilot (being a master at Shade Academy came with connections, such as preparing a private, direct trip quickly).

The city of Mistral was his first primary goal. A rendezvous with Lionheart was necessary. From there, a direct trip to the Arch of the Rising Sun. That was the only place in Remnant that matched his vision.

Vacuo shrank more and more behind him as the ship moved on. His tenacious, proud city would soon be out of his view. For the last time. Nestled in the midst of a mountain range, the old town radiated with the light of flames and bulbs.

Ozymandias looked back at the place; he felt an unexpected weight in his chest. That city and that academy within had been his home for decades. It had adopted him, just as he had adopted it. He had always figured he would die there.

There had been a simple announcement to the studentry that he was departing on a mission to Mistral. True enough. None of them knew that he would never return. Only Fatu and a handful of other members of the Brotherhood in Shade attended a brief, quiet meeting to pay him their respects before he departed. Ever superstitious, they had burned incense and whispered ancient words to wish him good luck and success on the journey ahead of him.

Perhaps, if fortune were kind and considered his wishes, his body or ashes would one day wind up again at this stubborn town, where he might be entombed beneath the ziggurat with other masters from ages past. He still was not sure if he deserved that honor.

Ozymandias sighed and turned away. He put his back to the city and faced to the west, toward Mistral and the Arch of the Rising Sun. Precisely how things would happen after he got there, he did not know.

The visions were never so charitable with details.

Jaune nervously tried his best not to look nervous. At the moment, he stood outside of the changing rooms for teams. He tapped his foot against the ground. He grumbled in frustration, thoroughly bitter about the feelings of anxiety that came on him just at the prospect of having to be amidst a great big crowd. Normal people didn't have to feel like this.

He sighed and rubbed his temples. In the undecorated cement hall, he was alone. He had stayed back here while the others had gone to the front seats of the arena, reserved for competitors. Pyrrha was currently behind the scenes, preparing to walk through the large gates that would lead to the final fight.

Meanwhile, Jaune was here, wanting to put a bit more time between him and the crowd. He had gotten too used to Beacon, where crowds were extremely limited and safe. There were just so many people on Remnant. That was a good thing, but…

Jaune looked down the hall one way and then the other, bored. There was nothing to look at other than the bare cement and exposed pipes; the most noticeable thing in this quiet place were a few red fire extinguishers.

He closed his eyes and started massaging his knuckles against his forehead, focusing on the sensation and trying not to think much about the feeling weighing him down. God, how much easier it was for him to cool his nerves when he was in a life or death fight than when he had to confront his social anxiety…

After a minute, however, he heard something that made him open his eyes and glance down the hall. It had been a series of clicks that he knew well by now: the distinctive heeled gait of a friend of his.

He nodded at Weiss as she slipped by him to get into the changing rooms.

"Just grabbing a water bottle," she said explained as she passed by.

After she ducked into the room, Jaune sighed and pushed himself against the wall. Quickly checking his scroll showed him that there was still some time to burn before the match; putting off going to the stands, however, would do him nothing good. He had had some time alone to breathe, now he just had to do it. He waited for Weiss, ready to walk back to their friends with her.

When she finally came back out, he nodded and pushed off from the wall, ready to fall in step with her.

She, however, stopped walking.

"Hey…" Weiss tapped her foot a few times. "I saw her up in the stadium."

"Who?"

"Sarah Pride."

Jaune clenched his fists.

"Just figured I would give you a fair warning," Weiss said. She sighed and crossed her arms. "It shouldn't be an issue. She's up in the VIP box alongside my sister, General Ironwood, the headmaster and other staff and dignitaries. I noticed her when I tried to get close and signal Winter." She shrugged. "Figured you ought to know, so you aren't surprised."

"Thanks…" Jaune's voice trailed off. Frustration, anger and disdain coiled up in him like the spring. In the back of his mind, however, an idea that had been pestering him for the last day or so started whispering again.

"But Jaune…" Weiss tapped her foot a few times. Her shiny heels reflected the hall's dim lighting like fish bobbing in a pond. "Listen, we all trust you. I assure you that."

Jaune did not feel assured.

"It's true," she said resolutely. "It's just frustrating that we are being kept out of what feels like some possibly important information. This whole mess with how you and Sarah were involved, how you worked with someone from the Foreign Legion just a year ago yet Atlas seems unaware of the Enclave." She looked at him, and in her pearly eyes he saw genuine concern. "We're on your side. Maybe you don't know the full story, and that's okay. Just share what you can… if you can."

Jaune did not answer immediately. A guilty creature in his chest was riled up. In the spot where his heart used to be there pounded an unpleasant feeling, the consequences of his lying.

He forced it down. He would not feel bad about doing what he had to do.

He chose his words carefully. He mulled over it for a little bit, and Weiss patiently waited for his response. He could not look at her. He brought a hand up again and again rubbed a knuckled into his temples.

His mind took in the various factors presented to him, and suddenly the answer came to him like an epiphany. That voice whisper in the back of his mind suddenly spoke clearly.

"Actually," he said, "could you help me out with something real quick?"

Situated on a forested hill, the little airport had a good view of the nearby city. One could stand up and look out through the trees and see Vale and the ocean. Looking up, one would see the Amity Coliseum. This was a special place reserved for transporting people and supplies to that floating arena. It was full of men who had gone through extensive background checks to ensure the safety of the tournament attendees.

In the midst of the bustling little airport, full of blasts of wind from roaring engines that lifted the massive bullheads off the ground, was one man. He was currently on his lunch break. After finishing a ham sandwich, he now sat outside on a bench beside the bullhead hanger. He watched one rise as another landed. He was chewing gum.

One of the bullheads touched down. The man glanced at the identifying code on the aircraft's side. He recognized it as the one he was scheduled to fly later that day. He would be docking into the Coliseum right around when the final battle was to start, just in time to start unloading some of the trash. His bullhead was a bulky and ungraceful vehicle, with a swollen hull made to carry as much refuse as could be crammed in.

All that weight would serve him well.

Then he allowed himself to smile. He thought of the 'backpack' in his locker at the airport.

The man looked down at his arm. He rolled up his sleeve a few inches, displaying a tattoo of an eagle. The insignia of Vale's small and no longer extant paratrooper division. He had never forgotten the lessons he had learned from his time in the service.

The man looked back up at the bullhead. It was far from some of the impressive military craft he had managed to fly in far. It was a far cry from the Enclave's own bullhorn, the one he had piloted during their stint at the docks. It would, however, serve the job as necessary.

After all, if you want to break a window, all you need is a brick.

Sarah Lyons had left the VIP booth. The comfortable spot seated headmaster Ozpin, General Ironwood, a few celebrities and politicians as well as administrators for the Tournament. She was among several specialists who were providing security around the coliseum, but she was not one of the ones stationed in the VIP booth. After all, she had only recently joined the specialists. She was also still considered by most in the Atlas military to be a foreigner.

No, she had simply gone to the booth for a moment to escort a late-arriving celebrity. Then it was back to patrolling around the coliseum, checking in with various sentries as she did. It was the grunt work of the group, certainly the lowest tasks given out among the specialists. She was used to that. Foreign legionnaires were given the lowest tasks.

That would change. It would likely take decades, but she would work her way up through the ranks. She would gain the trust of Atlesian officials. She would imbed herself into Atlas's military.

And if she ever discovered Earth technology, she knew what to do.

For now, however, she was willing to do the labor that others did not wish to do. She volunteered to assist Specialist Schnee whenever possible, even if it meant work as 'lowly' as helping move cargo in and out of their bullhead. She would do whatever she had to do to prove herself.

It was all for her promise.

Sarah passed through the halls of the coliseum. She went through the backways, not open to civilians. All the better for her, since she would not have to run into Maxwell, who had apparently taken a new name.

She scoffed at the thought of him.

She did not stray from her duty with contemptuous thoughts, however. She marched along her course, checked in with guards and made periodic reports back to the security director. As monotonous as it was, she performed dutifully.

About a quarter of the soldiers she checked in on were not living soldiers at all, but robots. Sarah still eyed them suspiciously. Most robots on Earth were murderous, having had their systems fried over the centuries or being repurposed for war. None of them could be trusted, and the Brotherhood was particularly aggressive against any hints of artificial intelligence development.

Atlas's peculiar mastery for robotics was part of what made her suspicious of the nation. She would make sure to try her best to get assigned to somehow become involved in the robotics division.

At that time and place in the back halls of the coliseum, however, Sarah was still just on basic guard duty. Years would pass, and that would change. Aware of this, she turned a corner—

Sarah stopped dead in her tracks.

Before her stood Jaune Arc.

Jaune watched with slight satisfaction as Sarah's usually strong face slipped for just a moment into shock. Not a second passed before she regained herself and donned a scowl, however, with one hand falling on the pistol at her hip.

"How did you—" Sarah began to speak with words steely and spiteful, before her eyes glanced over Jaune's shoulder.

Behind him, further down the hallway, was Weiss Schnee.

"Turns out, Atlas security is pretty willing to let a Schnee do whatever," Jaune said.

He was again satisfied to see Sarah's sheer anger.

"Someone will pay for this," she said, seething. "But hunting down whoever was stupid enough to let you two in here will wait until after I force you out." She marched towards him.

"There's something we need to talk about first," he said, not stepping back an inch.

"Is that so?" Sarah asked as she stopped just a couple feet before him.

The full force of her bright, angry blue eyes hammered into him. But he had sworn by the people he cared about to do what he had to do.

"You fucked us both over," Jaune said quietly, if not kindly. It was just low enough that Weiss could not hear.

"Did I?"

"People are more suspicious of me than ever, and that means they're going to be suspicious of you."

Sarah frowned. Her eyes glanced over to Weiss, then back to him. The sense of raw contempt from her remained as powerful as ever. When spoke, however, her voice was quieter.

"What do you mean."

"Qrow and the headmaster have been asking me to tell them as much about the Enclave as I can," Jaune explained. "I've just told them that we're all from Vacuo, but since I've never even been to Vacuo, I can't tell them much more. I can't even tell them the parts of the Vacuo badlands we fought in. I was able to say I was too traumatized or whatever to talk about it.

"But then you showed up."

Sarah did not respond to his jab, so he only took another breath and continued.

"Qrow's the old guy who was with us when you went up to me. He saw you. He knows your name. He knows now that you're involved with me and that you fought the Enclave."

"You told them that?" Sarah asked between clenched teeth.

"The fuck else was I supposed to say? It was obvious to everybody that you knew me personally, and they all know that my life was dominated by fighting with the Enclave. So yeah, they know about you now too. You really think they wouldn't? Chances are, they're gonna start questioning you about it all ASAP. Even if I didn't say you fought the Enclave, they'd probably turn to you for questioning."

Jaune watched then as Sarah's scowl was broken suddenly when her eyes widened. Again, she controlled her expression within a second, but the shock remained apparent.

"They probably are, aren't they?" he asked.

Sarah swallowed. For the first time, her powerful eyes glance away from him, instead looking at nothing in particular. It was as close to nervous as he had yet seen her.

"My commanding officer had asked that I meet her later this evening for a discussion, though she would not say what it was about…"

"Thought so," Jaune said. "And you said you've been working for Atlas for five years?"

Sarah nodded.

"Then that means you were fighting with me in Vacuo while you were still working for Atlas. How the hell you gonna explain that? How the hell you gonna explain how you got to know me so well that you hate me?"

Sarah was silent.

Jaune scoffed. "Yeah, so let's get our damn stories straight before your stupid-ass mistake gets us both in a lot of trouble."

Sarah leveled her eyes on him again, filled with just as much tempered rage as ever. His outright insult had ticked a nerve in her, a woman who never accepted derision. She was disciplined enough, however, not to act on it. They simply got to talking:

It was most important that they told the same story. Luck facilitated this, as Sarah had been present in Vacuo for over a year, providing security details on SDC-affiliated dust mines and routes, while also hunting down bandits. This was during the same timeframe in which Jaune claimed he had been there.

With hushed words, they concocted their account. Jaune was hunting down remnants of the Enclave led by Bishop, which turned out to be a part of a bandit group that Sarah had been tasked with hunting. Jaune had informed her that he would be fighting with her because he had a personal vendetta against them. He abandoned Sarah, however, after it was believed that Bishop had been killed. It was not uncommon for the Atlas Foreign Legion to work with local mercenaries or militias, so the tale was entirely reasonable.

There still lingered the issue of just where the Enclave had been located. Sarah suggested a place called the Ignis Basin. It was located far from the city of Vacuo itself, an arid savannah area. Vicious wildfires had ravaged the entire region and displaces tens of thousands of people, sending them scattering or picking up the pieces. The ensuing chaos would fit well Jaune's previous vague accounts of the wasteland. It also meant that it would be near impossible to track down refugees who could testify about the Enclave, which Jaune characterized as a ruthless but relatively small warlord group.

"Alright then," he said. "I think that settles that."

"It does," Sarah said. "Now you can leave."

"No, actually," Jaune replied.

He crossed his arms, goaded now by clamoring forces of frustration, anger and pettiness. This was the woman who had barged into his life and tried to turn things upside down out of her own callous vindictiveness. He had thought about it for some time, and he had come to a conclusion.

"Really?" Her tone was not accommodating to his refusal.

"Really." Jaune looked her in the eye. "I was wondering what would make you do something so stupid."

"You're pushing your luck."

Jaune kept pushing it.

"I thought about it and figured out that since you're so mad, there must be something other than me deserting that caused it. What would make you so angry that you'd do something so stupid? You nearly exposed both of us." Jaune narrowed his eyes. "Then it hit me: all you've done since you got here was just try to be a knight."

"I am a knight."

"A knight without a brotherhood." Jaune retorted with a frown. "You've been here for like six years, but I bet that trashing on me has been the first real thing that might make you feel like you're really a knight again."

"I have been doing my duty," Sarah spat, just a bit more emotion in her voice than usual, a less refined kind of contempt.

"And all you talk about is duty, all you ever think about."

"My duty is what gives me strength." Sarah leaned forward slightly closer, within striking distance of him.

Jaune tensed his muscles, ready for escalation.

Sarah was still, but ready.

"You base your entire existence off your stupid duty," Jaune said quietly. "Then you come to Remnant, and all of a sudden, there's nothing you can really do about. There are no archives to add to, no brothers to protect, no super mutants to kill, no tech to hoard. Everything you were supposed to do and be loyal to just went up in smoke."

"I am a knight," Sarah repeated.

"Keep telling yourself that," he said. "A knight without a brotherhood."

"So long as I am alive, so too is the Brotherhood of Steel." Her words were pure poison. Her eyes were as hot as the center of an explosion.

"Keep telling yourself that."

The leather gloves Sarah wore creaked—because she had closed her fists and closed them tightly.

Despite himself, Jaune smiled. He had her. It was a vindictive, guilty smile.

"You remember why I started trying to hang out with you back on Earth?" he asked.

"You had a crush on me," Sarah replied flatly.

Jaune only scoffed. "Maybe that was it at first, but I pretty quickly learned who you really are. And I felt sorry for you."

"What."

"Everyone respected you, but no one liked you," Jaune said. His smile widened ever so slightly. Sarah had been cruel to him and stomped all over his life. Payback. "No on liked you. You didn't have any friends. Nobody ever tried to talk to you or joke with you… except maybe your dad, I guess. That's still pretty sad."

"I don't need what you describe," she said, voice dangerously low—a tone that Jaune had never heard before coming from her. "I fulfilled my responsibilities and did what needed to be done. Your overtures were annoying."

"Are you really happy?"

"I'm happy to do everything I swore to do."

Jaune scoffed again, grinning now, getting ever more mocking. "I bet you haven't had a single friend these past six years. I bet you haven't been really happy with your life for a single moment since you got to Remnant; that's because you're no better than a robot. I bet that when you die, nobody even go to your funeral.

"I used to think you were strong, but now I know that you're just hollow."

Sarah glared at him, jaw clenched, fists gripped tightly, practically shuddering with rage. Her iron discipline was strained now like a damn holding back a ferocious flood of water that was nearly overwhelming in its potential for harm and desire to do so.

"Because I'm fighting for the people I care about," Jaune said. He held his head high. "I'm fighting for people who need help, because that's the right thing."

"That will hardly fuel you through difficult times," Sarah said with a voice strained like a steel support beam under a lopsided roof, one about to fall.

"Man, who messed you up like this?" he asked, shaking his head slightly, condescendingly. "I don't know if it was your dad or whatever, or if it's because of your brother—"

Sarah lashed out with a fist. It was only due to Jaune's taut muscles and paranoid awareness that he ducked back in time to avoid her crushing blow. He felt the air from her strike as it passed barely an inch in front of his face, blowing back his hair.

He immediately threw himself away, putting a hand on Crocea Mors by his side.

Sarah, however, did not make a move to follow up. She stood, off-balance, with her fist still extended. She looked down at her arm, surprised by her own action. She seemed stunned by the automatic response, one clearly not thought out.

Jaune smiled again. "Missed me."

"Hey!" Weiss shouted from behind him. She ran up, heels clicking sharply against the cement floor. She raised a hand, ready to summon a sigil if need be.

Sarah did not even bother to look at her. She only stepped back into her military posture and crossed her arms, glaring at Jaune.

Jaune untensed slightly, and his grin got bigger. Weiss stopped beside him, looking at Sarah and then him and then back again, confused by the sudden escalation and de-escalation.

"What is going on?" she asked, totally lost. She would summarily be ignored.

"When you get crushed, and when your petty motivations abandon you," Sarah said. "Don't blame me."

Jaune flipped her off.

"And right now"- Sarah let a hand fall on the pistol at her waist –"you will leave."

The man cracked his neck, spit out a wad of gum onto the ground and put on his pilot's helmet. He hefted his backpack and threw it up into the cockpit. He jumped up and slammed the door shut behind him. People milled around outside, all unaware.

His co-pilot came up from the back of the bullhead, having taken a moment to check that all the crates for carrying garbage were strapped down. The two had been ferrying trash back from the stadium periodically through the day, transporting supplies there and bringing filth back. He raised an eyebrow when he saw the large backpack in his seat.

"What's that?" he asked.

Calmly—without saying a word or showing any hint of hesitation—the man drew a knife from his pocket and slashed his co-pilot's throat open in a deft stroke.

The man's eyes widened in shock, caught utterly unaware by his partner's cold barbarism. He gurgled and teether on his feet, body locked up from surprise and horror.

The man firmly kicked the co-pilot in the stomach, sending him collapsing back into the bowel of the bullhead. Then he sat down at his chair and started to press the necessary buttons and flips the necessary switches to get the bullhead ready to go. The consoles hummed and beeped as the co-pilot gurgled and groveled pathetically for a few more seconds before becoming quiet. A pool of his own blood seeped out and covered the bullhead's floor.

The man turned on the radio and reported: "Ready for takeoff."

Jaune had taken Sarah's advice and left. He had been relatively honest with Weiss and said that she had tried to punch him because he had insulted her, to which his friend simply huffed and rolled her eyes. When questioned about what they had talked about, Jaune had said he was just asking follow-up questions about what she had been up to, but she had been tight-lipped.

All in all, a success. He was feeling so good, in fact, that he decided to tackle his anxiety head on. He followed Weiss out of the back halls of the arena's inner workings and came out into the seats, heading straight down to the special sections reserved just for competitors. The roar of the crowd—the call of his name from fans who saw him and waved—made his skin prickle. He pushed through it.

Feeling secure in victory and with Weiss by his side, Jaune joined the rest of his friends in the stands. He felt safe by them. He felt happy when Ruby smiled at the sight of him and said she was glad to have him here. He felt happy as Nora gave him a high five. He felt nervous because of the noise, because of the thought of an untold number of strangers looking at him, because of the possibility of unsafety.

He took a deep breath and tried to set those aside. He was in control.

He grabbed Ruby's robotic hand with his own and shared a bucket of popcorn with her. He liked the greasy, buttery taste as he crunched into them. He liked squeezing Ruby's hand, which was her hand, even if it as made of metal. He liked laughing at some of the jokes Yang made. He was excited to watch Pyrrha win.

And when his partner came out onto the field, he smiled. The crowd cheered loudly, but for once, the cacophony did not make his skin crawl. He was just there to root for his friend. Beside him, Ruby clapped loudly, and she clapped even harder when Penny walked out onto the field.

Ruby smiled, and in her eyes was a glimmer of entertainment and happiness that had been absent for some time.

Jaune smiled.

"Alright," Professor Port said, "let's get this show on the road! The final match to determine the greatest young fighter on all of Remnant is here!" He excitedly pumped his fist on the big screen that broadcasted both himself and Oobleck. "The showdown you've all been waiting for—"

Port's booming voice suddenly ceased to exist. The giant screens looming over the arena went black. For a moment, there was a total blackout as the stadium's lights cut out, then blinked and illuminated again.

Jaune and just about everyone else in the stadium winced as a high-pitched whine blared from the speakers, accompanied by the huge tv screen turning on once more but with incomprehensible static. The crowds became quietly active with murmurs of confusion and concern. What was happening? Surely just a blackout or technical error, right?

A dark pit opened in Jaune's stomach, and his intuition told him that this something was wrong.

Suddenly the screen dimmed again to pitch black, and the whine ended. Then from the speakers came a low, heavy, raspy and rhythmic sound. Like unnatural breathing.

"Jaune?" Ruby asked, looking around with wide, uncomfortable eyes. "What…"

"I don't know."

"It's the whole official broadcast," Ren reported. Everyone looked at him, and he held up his scroll to show them that the live feed showing the tournament was the same black screen and breathing as was on the giant screen above them. "Everyone on Remnant's seeing this."

The pit in Jaune's stomach widened.

Then, the screen switched on again. It depicted a dark room and a dark figure who wore a bizarre-looking mask unlike anything most of the people on Remnant had ever seen. It had beady, bulbous eyes, a heavy brow and a bulging mouthguard. The camera only captured his upper body, but the man appeared to also be wearing full black body armor.

Jaune was devoured by dread.

"Passage 21-7 of the Book of the Revelations," The unknown figure began. His voice was muffled and deep through his mask. Nevertheless, he summoned each word strongly, deliberately.

Jaune knew exactly who it was.

"Thus it reads: He who conquers shall inherit all things, and I will be his God, and he will be my son." When the masked man finished, he stared silently into the camera for a few beats of the heart.

And if Jaune still had a heart, it certainly would be pounding in his head as loud as a sledgehammer against his skull. His hands were shaking.

"My father once shared these words with me," Bishop said. "They are old words, from an old book, from an old place and an old time. But they're as true now as ever. Those with power make it, take it. They shape the world. Destiny belongs to the strong.

"We view it as our duty to seize destiny."

"Alright, what the heck is all this?" Yang asked irately. She stood up and put her hands on her hips. How much of it was posturing and how much of it was real consternation, that was anyone's guess.

"Yang…" Jaune's voice was ragged. He gasped for air.

"You don't know us, but you will," Bishop continued. "The systems of control in Remnant are corrupt, decadent and incapable. To avert disaster, this must be changed. There is a rot. When a field of grain becomes diseased, the only way to deal with it is to set it aflame. Burn it all. Sow new seeds in the ashes."

Jaune's throat ran dry, and the heavy feeling in the spot in the middle of his chest suddenly felt even heavier.

"We did it at the Breach. We'll do it again here. We'll do it as many times as we need to."

Those words were the spark. The crowds had been confused more than anything else, with panic stewing but not boiling. Now, however, as everyone realized with horror just what kind of situation they were in… an eerie silence ruled. People stopped breathing. Their eyes widened. They froze for the moment.

"You will know us. You will know the Enclave." Bishop leaned close to the camera. "Semper fi."

Those last words did not mean anything to the masses watching, but the slow, purposeful phrasing with which commanded the term sent a chill up all their spines. The screen went black.

Then the panic really began. People leapt from the seats, shouted, pushed, shoved, looked around in bewilderment. Jaune remained seated. He was numb from the shock of revelation, and a part of him in his mind knew right away that whatever was going to happen, was going to happen. It was hopeless to stop it.

Now, he could only hope to fight it.

He gripped his fists tightly, refusing to give up. Jaune sprung to his feet, cursing the fact that he had not been allowed to bring his weapons in public (none of them had). He scanned the crowd and recalled the path back to the lockers, back to Crocea Mors and the Mysterious Magnum. Adrenaline leaked into his blood as his mind sharpened into that of a keen battlefield thinker. Hate met with fear; and together, they fueled him with brutal new determination. He knew this feeling well. It had kept him alive many times. It had driven him to kill many people.

"Jaune!" Ruby shook him to get his attention.

He looked her in the eyes, exposing to her his face set with grim resolve.

Then a massive crash resounded, and the ground beneath their feet shuddered. People remembered with dread that there was not really ground under their feet at all. The thousands of people in all the stands jostled, screamed and pushed to get to the emergency exits, all filled with greater horror.

Because the giant floating coliseum they occupied had just been struck, and it was teetering. Mere seconds passed, before a blaring alarm sounded with red lights. Everyone lost their balance.

Amity Arena began to fall.

I always found it interesting that the passage immediately following Revelations 21:6 can be interpreted as somewhat domineering. Or at least I think it's very much in keeping with Bishop and the Enclave to take it out of context and use it to justify their work.