Hype for IRyS! Man I watch way more Hololive than I ever did just anime.

He punched the beowolf straight in the face. Its bone plating shattered, as did the skull it covered. The creature flew back and flailed, confused and hurt.

Jaune ran up and drove Crocea Mors into the monster's side; the point of the nasty saw ripped open a hole in the creature's thick, leathery hide. He plunged the sawblade all the way into its chest, as far as the hilt. The beowolf thrashed and tremble as Jaune turned its insides into soup.

The saw blade's many little gripped and tore as he pulled Crocea Mors free; it was trying desperately to remain amid the dead flesh—or at to least cause as much damage as possible on its way out.

Jaune wrenched his sword free and moved his finger off the trigger. The screaming weapon rattled and shortly became quiet, like an animal put to sleep.

"Jaune" Pyrrha called out from behind him, "are you alright over there?"

"Yup!" he replied. He and his team had found themselves stuck in Beacon's garden.

Now he fought just in front of the cherry blossom he had seen the very first day he had come here. Even amidst all the chaos, amidst the screaming of monster and man, amidst the gunshots, amidst the furious clashing of swords—the tree looked serene. It was unbothered by the happenings around it. It looked no different now than it had months ago, its blossoms forever in bloom due to its peculiar and beautiful nature.

Right now, however, Jaune focused not on the tree but the rest of the garden. Frenzied fighting had ripped and torn through the flowerbeds, spewing the carcasses of tulips and irises and a dozen other varieties into the air and across the ground. The petals were trampled underfoot and sprayed with blood.

Jaune leaned on Crocea Mors like a cane, sighed and looked around. Sweat dribbled down into and stung his eyes. His face flushed red and emanated heat; even his breath was hot as he panted it out. If he still had a heart of flesh, it would be beating at overtime. As it were, his synthetic filter whirred on rapidly, sucking in his blood and splurting it out into innumerable veins.

Just shifting his weight on his chainsword and seeing no immediate danger did not give time to rest so much as time to prepare. He quickly checked his equipment: he had only one cannister left of electric dust for Crimson Arc, no bullets for the Mysterious Magnum and his two stimpaks.

There were some other things that he had…

He looked up at his team, who in turn looked over each other for wounds. Pyrrha caught his eye and quickly walked to him. "We've just about cleared this spot, "she said, "but who knows if it will stay that way. The whole school now is a shifting warzone."

"Yeah…" he said. Not unlike the Wasteland. And just like the Wasteland, there were some things he could use…

Could he tell them? He should, of course; would they ask questions about what those things were? Probably; did he have to answer them? No; but wouldn't that make them even more suspicious? They were his friends; friends can still get suspicious of friends; but they had been willing to put aside their suspicions for some time; some time isn't forever. You could just say you're going to meet with team RWBY; wouldn't they want to come with? You're the team leader—

"Jaune?" Pyrrha asked, cutting through his rapid back and forth of combative thoughts. "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing," he replied.

Of course he couldn't. He wouldn't leave them. Not here. Not even for those things that he had. But still; they were so useful, and he wasn't far now from the maintenance shed that led down to where he had hidden them. He could be truthful. He could lead his team and together they could get the tide-turning weapons and he could admit things and maybe after this chaos was over try to explain everything, the whole and total truth.

He could do that.

Cinder Fall was victorious. A smile spread across her face as she strutted into the Headmaster's office. At the very top of Beacon's namesake tower, she felt giddy. Ozpin himself was being finished off by Salem far below; her master had ordered her away, so that she may exact revenge herself.

She took her time now savor the triumph. Cinder walked to the window and looked down on Beacon. She saw flames spreading, fire the light of which reflected in her eyes. She saw Grimm roaming. She saw desperate little people running like ants, fighting and killing and trying to survive.

She strode to the Headmaster's desk and yanked open a drawer. Reaching near the end, Cinder felt a little button. Just as Salem had told her.

After pressing it, the office's floor began to change. The gears shifted and glass slid away. A circular pit in which a quaint library sat. The physical records of the Brotherhood of Steel.

"Completely destroyed," she whispered.

Cinder raised her hand and flames spread from her fingertips. Energy coursed under her skin, hot and powerful, like magma below a volcano; it sputtered and flowed and craved a violent way out. She was all too happy to oblige with a swipe of her hand.

The power. The strength. It pulsated and moved like a living thing on its own. The feeling of releasing it felt wonderful. She was more than she had ever been before. Her fires reduced the ancient books to ash in seconds. The flames convulsed and writhed in the pit with the energy of snakes gone mad.

She smiled. She laughed. She swept her hands and unleashed flame all throughout the office. The warm and deadly fire crept over her skin; it blasted the paint from the walls; it scorched the carpet from the floor; it melted and shattered the glass windows.

With the windows destroyed, a hearty breeze blew into the room, surrounding her and fanning her fire. It was marvelous. She had never felt so—

A bright light flared and washed over her. She shut her eyes and fought to keep her footing as a vicious gust of wind gushed into the room. It smothered the strong flames, reducing them to whisps of smoke and ash that flew out the office.

Cinder opened her eyes. Before her hovered a bullhead. Its engine were blasting wind straight into the office, clearing her fire away. It turned then, simultaneously opening the door on the side.

Three figures hopped out and landed in the office. The bullhead hovered for a moment behind them, before sinking down and descending for the ground.

Cinder frowned. She had wondered when this would happen.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Bishop?" she asked. She balled her hands, preparing to summon her ashen swords.

Bishop and his goons wore their unnerving black outfits with their bulging, inhuman masks. They were not supposed to be here.

Cinder noticed something Bishop held in his hands. The slight doubt that she had held, the consideration that this wasn't what she knew it was, disappeared.

Bishop threw a severed head at Cinder's feet. When she looked down, Roman Torchwick's dead eyes stared back up at her. With how battered and bloody the face was, it took her a second to recognize.

"I'm just cleaning up the trash."

"Trash, hm?" Cinder summoned her ashen swords, one in each hand.

Bishop drew his sword. The two men flanking him raised their rifles.

"The world I'm going to make has no room for your petty villainy," he said. "You said you came here for something powerful. I want it."

Bishop had not thought Cinder would smile.

"Really?" she asked. "You want it? I can give it to you."

Her eyes began to glow. She swept her swords before her.

Breathe deep. Hold.

Time slowed for Bishop Beauvais. The men on either side of him had begun to fire their rifles. The oncoming wave of sheer heat and flame, however, packed more of a punch than any one bullet could. The force of the blast Cinder had released, along with the open window behind them, meant Bishop's soldiers were goners.

He would mourn for them later. They knew what they had gotten themselves into. Instead of allowing it to affect him, Bishop devised his plan.

Release.

Rubra's Mors was driven point first into the floor, giving Bishop what he needed to hold on to. The blast force swept over him and his partners, both of whom were swept out the window and doomed to the ground far below.

Not a second later, Bishop had drawn his sword and slashed forward as fast as a viper.

Cinder brought her swords up in time to block his slash. "Rah!" With an angry shout, she immediately shoved him back before he could disengage.

Bishop staggered away, thrown completely off balance by her unexpected strength. A flicker of satisfaction mixed with Cinder's adrenaline.

"You want it?" she taunted. "Well now you're getting it!"

"Are you kidding me?" Yang yelled. She glared ferociously at the scroll in her hands. Blake had sent a single text: be back in a second.

"We can't get angry, okay?" Ruby said. She peeked around a wall and into the chaotic ruins of Beacon.

"Well, we need to find her quick!" Weiss snapped from behind her.

The trio had taken cover behind a building. Only a few seconds before had they realized Blake was gone. Their errant teammate had yet again decided that doing something on her own was for the best.

"Of all the times she chooses to run away and do her own thing…" Yang grumbled.

"It's because it's the White Fang," Ruby said with a scowl. "It's too personal for her."

"Damn it!" Yang said. She poked here head around the wall, seeing a few grimm and even suspicious figures in the distance. She grit her teeth and clenched her fists; in her chest, her heart beat with anger, adrenaline and worry. Her eyes glowed red.

Ruby set a metal hand on Yang's shoulder. Both its unnatural coldness and weight drew her attention.

"It's alright," Ruby said. "I'll… I can look for her."

"What!?" Yang and Weiss both said in unison.

Ruby grit her teeth and pulled her hand away. "I'm the fastest," she said. "That's a fact. I can run and look for her."

"But—"

"I won't stop."

"You—"

"I won't stop," she said. "I'll bring her right back to Miss Goodwitch. I'm fast enough—"

"You weren't last time!" Yang said.

Ruby gripped Crescent Rose so strongly that the metal creaked. If anything, that comment was hardening her resolve.

Weiss intervened and put a hand on Ruby's shoulder. "Alright"- she looked at Yang -"we just need to keep cool heads right now, or else things are going to get worse." She nervously tapped her foot against the ground, trying in vain to think of what was best to say and do.

"We can't split up," she finally concluded.

"See?" Yang said.

"But…" Ruby stepped back. She felt the weight of both her partner and her sister looking at her. Whether real or imagined, she felt that they pitied her. "I…"

Ruby gulped. What if Blake got into some terrible trouble on her own, trouble that she could have been spared if only Ruby had gotten to her fast enough? She had learned her lesson with Bishop. She was careful now. There were barely any people in the whole world who could do what he could. And if he were here… she would run. She would run with Blake in tow. The same thing wouldn't happen this time.

Without another word, Ruby turned and ran.

Blake had made many mistakes before. This, however, must have been the biggest one yet.

"You're weak," Adam said as he brandished his sword. "In both body and mind."

"Rah!" Blake roared and lashed out with a vicious slice, aiming for her old partner's leg. She was already battered and bloody, with Adam being the most recent contributor. Her semblance had already been spent facing off against Grimm. She had tried facing him alone.

Adam parried her sloppy strike; he brought his fist up, and he put her down.

Blake gasped and collapsed, falling to the ground. He was stronger than she remembered. Had she really thought she could beat him?

Blake looked up. Adam did not smile. He took no enjoyment from this. It was one more thing he needed to do.

Of course she couldn't have beaten him. But only… Blake had really believed that somehow, someway, she could have brought him back. She could have saved him.

As he raised his sword one more time, however, she realized that he was well and truly gone. And now, so was she.

"Goodbye Blake," he said. "This is—gah!"

The grim determination on Adam's face suddenly contorted to pain. He gasped, wordless for a moment, overcome by shock and agony. Blake looked past him, hoping for a moment to see Ruby or Yang or even Jaune. Instead, her heart dropped.

Three members of the Enclave stood there. One held his hands outstretched, but when he flicked his wrists, the two sai that he had thrown into Adam's back quivered and shot back into his hands. Adam grit his teeth and forced himself not to shout in pain.

This wouldn't be pretty.

Jaune punched him in the face. The man's White Fang mask cracked, as did the skull behind it. The terrorist's nose crumpled as Jaune's attack drove through; with a crunch and a squelch, he embedded his fist wrist-deep inside the man's cranium.

He wrenched his hand free as another White Fang goon brought down her sword, aiming to decapitate him. Jaune swiped Crocea Mors up and around, easily batting the attack away while pivoting and punching her in the gut with his fist drenched in blood and gore.

She dropped her sword immediately and doubled over, air blasting out of her lungs like from a popped balloon. Jaune swung Crocea Mors up into her face; the chainsword crashed into her and promptly ripped her head in two.

Jaune spat blood out of his mouth.

He looked around. A group of five or so terrorists had run into him when he turned a corner. Just their luck. Now he had more of their blood on him than they still had inside them. Thank god his team weren't around to see this.

He had ordered them to hold ground back at the airfield while he would go and find team RWBY. They had, of course, protested that it was too dangerous for him to go alone. He had told them that—one—he was the most experienced at getting through dangerous areas safely and that—two—he was the team leader.

Now he found himself bashing down the door in the maintenance closet which led down into the tunnels below Beacon.

He descended. In the darkness, he turned on his scroll's flashlight to cut through the shadows that enveloped him. Old cement, cracked drywall and bare pipes surrounded him. The environment was unsettlingly familiar. He ran as quickly as he could. The desperate exhilaration of the present could not abate memory.

Suddenly, he wasn't in Beacon's maintenance tunnels. He was running through the dilapidated, dead underground of Washington D.C. The ruined capital of the ruined country in the ruined world a universe away.

The pipes around him were hundreds of years old and infected by rust. The cement was cracked by centuries of abandon. The ceiling above him creaked under the ever-present weight of lifeless rubble. All the trauma of planet shattering explosions.

The Lone Wanderer came upon his old helmet and slipped it back on in a moment. The way it scratched his cheeks; the smudgy view through the goggles; the feeling of his own hot breath blasting up into his face; the bite of the hard plastic cap against his skull—it felt so familiar to him that it was as if he had never taken the mask off in the first place.

He trudged through the dangerous tunnel and reached his bag. His last belongings from the wasteland. He took what he needed.

Jaune emerged from the tunnels a minute later, wrenching off the Lone Wanderer's helmet as he did so. He flung it back behind him, back into the depths, before it could suffocate him. He took big gulps of breath once he got back into some fresh air. The smell of smoke reminded him of the situation.

In one hand he held a box. In the other, a strange green orb.

He found himself back in the garden as he sprinted across campus, looking for things to kill. He ran quickly across the trodden flowers. The defiantly serene cherry blossom stood with bizarre calm amidst the chaos, waiting. Gunshots, roars and the occasional scream rang out and faded like the falling petals from the cherry blossom.

Jaune was on the hunt. Remnant's shattered moon shone above him, adding its white light to the orange glow of flames. He gripped the grenade, which itself glowed an eerie green. He was ready to throw it. The immense power in his hands demanded to be used, demanded to teach the weaklings of this planet a lesson.

A roar split the air. Jaune turned and saw a truly massive beowolf—larger than almost any grimm he had seen before save for the dragon itself—howl and bound onto the school premises. It lifted its muzzle into the air and sniffed with a quivering, blood-stained nose.

It lowered its head and locked its murderous eyes on Jaune.

Jaune walked to meet it. This thing was big, but it wasn't bigger than the behemoths he had taken on. Hell, it wasn't that much bigger than a queen ant he had found once.

The beowolf saw him almost immediately. It gnashed its giant teeth and glared with incredible hate. Jaune felt no fear as he glared right back at it. He thumbed a button on the plasma grenade, which then glowed eerily and whined. The massive monster roared once more at him. Jaune pitched the grenade like a baseball.

It felt so familiar to him. Big monster. Nasty weapon. End things. The Lone Wanderer knew the process well.

The plasma grenade went right down the creature's gullet as it roared. Jaune didn't even bother to move back as it charged towards him. He only watched.

The grimm's head exploded in a blast of goo. The normal black blood and bile that would be launched from a dead grimm instead burned a fierce, unnatural green. The gloopy mess showered the ground that the corpse fell upon with a might thwump.

The goop splashed onto Jaune as well, and its rancid stench wafted up into his nose; a mix of rotting flesh and sharp chemical odors. He didn't flinch. The smell awakened nostalgia. Images flashed in his mind of plasma weapons and power suits. He clenched his hands.

The grimm's corpse began to fizzle away, but the noxious goo remained. It glowed like something radioactive, one of many vile creations from Earth. Now it was infecting Remnant too.

Jaune unsheathed Crocea Mors. There were more things to kill—

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?"

Jaune whipped around and narrowed his eyes. He revved up his chainsword. The masked man before him he identified by the sledgehammer he wielded.

"Let's finish what we started at the docks," Arthur said, "shall we?"

Bishop used Order 66. It was super effective! At least for now.