Power cannot be gained without sufficient loss. This is a universal truth, and one that is easily seen with Summer. In return for immense speed, intelligence, and strength, she was forced to stand aside from humanity with feelings that would never be resolved during her life. Ozpin gained immortality in exchange for a similar price, the price of paranoia. For it is within everlasting life that one fears losing it beyond all else, more than when they'd been purely mortal. It is to that end he sought to ensure that any such threat to his existence was discreetly put down at the right time. While the methods varied, he always took the utmost care to ensure it could never really be linked back to him. The old man's hypocrisy knew no bounds, and this was only one facet of his twisted and long overdue mind. For if immortality truly is only gained in passing, then what Ozpin attained was only a poor and cruel imitation.

Make no mistake, for he is a necessary evil. Without him, the extinction or enslavement of all humans would simply be a matter of time rather than a possibility. This does not lessen or absolve him of his crimes, it only explains them. When the time comes, he will be judged for his actions and punished accordingly by a swift and cold executioner that bears the name of a bloody jewel.

But let us discuss another monster, the one that had devoured the unimportant boy that had ridden with Qrow in a jeep to the village Thead. A boy that I will not mention the name of, as his existence itself was a pointless cruelty, yet another casualty of the gods' cruel game. Even with his strength beyond compare, he slunk into the red pool that they'd found in the cave and descended to a place beyond heaven or hell. Forget him, and regard the mention of him as nothing more than a minor speck on an otherwise flawless mirror of this situation. Forget this meaningless side character, born to be used as nothing more than cannon fodder by a cruel and cliquey universe.

Qrow wanted to leap into the pool to save the boy— or man, depending on your view of adulthood— but his experience and fear led him to the correct decision. To abandon the boy and seek an egress. For whatever was to come out of the pool was certain to be hellish and of a strength at least equal to its sacrifice. For with sufficient loss, power can be gained. Whether that be time, devotion, or blood and flesh.

The caves were winding and dark, without a hint of light to guide Qrow by. He momentarily debated transforming to his corvid form— but that would lead to more issues. There were no thermals for him to ride upon, and the best he'd be able to do was hop along the ground. At least in his human form he could hold the flashlight trained on the way he hoped was out.

The sound of laughter sent chills down Qrow's spine, for it was the laugh of the dead man, who was no longer of this world. If it truly had gained his likeness and power, Qrow feared for his life.

The ground shuddered under the strength of a Grimm that did not know the extent of its abilities, but had its purpose woven into its muscles so tightly as that not even humanity could pass through. Qrow held onto a wall, the ground below quaking as the Grimm slammed the ground with its fists repeatedly, laughing all the same in that eerily human manner. The saving grace, at least, was that the Grimm did not know where he was. As long as he maintained a measure of positivity, there would be no way for the Grimm to find him other than if he managed to stumble upon him while finding the exit.

He would have called Ozpin right then and there, requesting for backup of any sort— something he'd never done before— but the caves blocked his Scroll's signal, trapping him in what would be his rocky grave unless his memory or luck started to serve him. And the latter had a sort of grudge against him, one that spanned from his very birth.

The grimm was gradually nearing. The shockwaves increased in intensity, shaking the cave so badly that rocks and stalactites started to fall from the ceiling. One stalactite crashed next to Qrow, nearly piercing his hand and instead pelting him with small amounts of rubble.

Luck continued to screw him in every possible manner, and from his angle where he sat pressed against the wall, as he could see the Grimm with the pitiful beam of his flashlight. It was humanoid, but its arms and legs were proportioned strangely, with the former being twice the size it should be on a regular human. It was rather like the Beringel gorilla grimm, but with far larger muscles, and the color scheme that presided over all of Summer's creations— white and red.

Qrow's only saving grace was that Grimm do not perceive light the same way that humans do— just in the way that they cannot see infrared, they cannot see the light of flashlights or even lamps.

He watched the white eyeballs of the grimm pulse, as if with anger, before the Grimm roared once again and slammed the ground with both fists. An impact so savage that Qrow was momentarily airborne before gravity reminded him of its existence. Qrow cursed silently at his now bruised tailbone, although it didn't take long for the miracle of Aura to take over and heal the bruise.

Qrow watched the Grimm, the beam of his flashlight unsteady and betraying humanity's most primal emotion. Afraid of the Grimm turning into the corridor of the cave he was in, Qrow stood up.

It was when his shoe squeaked on the cave floor that he drew the Grimm's attention towards him. Not due to the sound, as a Grimm's hearing is rather weak. He was revealed by the drastic increase of Qrow's negative emotion. Had he been older and more seasoned, he would've withheld his momentary lapse of control.

The unimportant man— or boy— had been strong in life. And one might think that the principle that something must be lost in order to gain would apply here, and perhaps the Grimm would be slow.

One would be wrong.

Ten feet crossed in an instant, with Qrow's reflexes acting as his guardian angel, just narrowly ducking below the fist of death that pulverized the wall where his head had been, sending chunks of stones flying. These same reflexes launched him into a run.

Qrow's aura flared as he dove to the side into a stream, feeling the aftershock of a punch so powerful that it broke the sound barrier. If he hadn't dodged at that moment, he would be nothing more than a pulverized corpse near an ungrateful village.

Icy water welcomed him with numbing fingers, sapping the reflexes that had just twice saved his life. Qrow tumbled in the shallow water, his senseless limbs grasping for a perch that did not want to be found.

The stream took him, whether or not he wished it, and the Grimm watched from a distance, following the stream on foot, for it was a fall into a gully that could not easily be climbed out of. Qrow hoped he would be lucky, and that the Grimm had some aversion to water that prevented it from following him, in much the same way that vampires could not cross running water.

There was a loud splash as the Grimm jumped in, the almost dead man's purpose currently floundering in the freezing cold water. If it had been winter, the water would've been completely frozen over. It was fall at the moment, and a rather cold one at that. Aura did not help against hypothermia, and unless Qrow found some way to both escape the water and the Grimm— he was as dead as the unimportant man who had rode in the jeep with him.

At least the Grimm was slower in the water, more unsure of itself. It didn't charge towards him, rather wading towards him in the stream— for it was only about three feet deep and the Grimm was larger than most men. It was also unaffected by the cold, its fur shielding it from the brunt of the icy chill and its fiery conviction burning away the rest.

With fumbling hands, Qrow miraculously fired his weapon, all while still being carried down the stream on his back.

Just as he had told Ruby the day before, his shot did little more than annoy and enrage the Grimm, causing it to wade at an even faster pace. Sputtering out water, Qrow decided to push his bad luck to the limit, and aimed high against the Grimm, striking the already weakened and loose cave ceiling.

His shot did nothing but release a small downward plume of best. He cursed openly, doing his best to stand up. At the moment he was traveling headlong down a stream. The only reason he could see the Grimm was the white orbs that floated in the air, its eyes giving away its position.

Every time the Hunter tried to stand up, the stream managed to knock him down. His hands were becoming more unresponsive now, taking a quarter of a second to respond to something as simple as finding purchase

His cold addled mind finally coming to a solution, he slammed his scythe into the muddy and soft streambed, anchoring himself. But at the same time, he allowed the Grimm to come closer. A Grimm that would kill him in one strike, without hesitation, while his own limbs refused to obey their one true master.

He slapped his hands, trying to force life and warmth back into them. Feeling was returning, but not nearly quick enough. Qrow tore off his cape, and his shirt. He would have lost the pants as well, but feared his footing would give if he tried. The cave air was cold, but not nearly as freezing as soaking wet clothes that sucked the warmth out of him, not unlike the vampire and succubi of myth.

There is only one area that humans exceed Grimm in spades, and that is intelligence. Grimm are little better than animals, and even the more sentient ones only rival the cognizance of a household pet. For they had given up higher understanding in return for raw, brutal power.

If the Grimm was as fast as it had been on land, Qrow would be dead from its sudden punch. But it wasn't, and they were now evenly matched.

Qrow swayed to the left of its punch, slicing the sword form of Harbinger across its chest.

It did not roar, it laughed in the same human way the dead man had not long ago, but Qrow's head was too slow to fully understand the horror of this fact, and it did little to phase him as he dodged the next punch. The other faculties of his mind had shut down to focus on survival, his limbs on fire as he pushed them to their limits with Aura.

He weaved between the grimm's punches, always managing to retaliate. Not that it did much, twenty slashes to the chest later, the Grimm was still on the offense as hard as it had been originally, thinking little of its chest being gouged open.

Qrow was forced to resort to simple jabs, ensuring that he wasn't left too open as the grimm barraged him with attacks. All of which he dodged without thinking, for that would imply his mind was aware enough to deliberate. There was simply dodging and hitting. Nothing else existed for Qrow at that moment.

Every successful hit revived his muscles and warmth, allowing him to feel more alive even in the freezing cold water that rushed past his legs.

Ten slashes later the humanoid grimm had become even faster, more desperate to end its prey. If it had started fighting this way, Qrow would have surely lost. But with sufficient time to warm up, he found the punches to be comically easy to dodge.

Dodge, hit, dodge, hit. This had become his mantra, his own poem of sorts that he followed, as his life depended on it.

It was with a whimper, not a bang, that he proved his worth as a Hunter and slew the Grimm with a crescent blade to the neck. All the while as the Grimm disappeared, it laughed. It laughed at the world, at Qrow, and was then silent. The stream erupted with water as the thick and mutated body lost all function before being carried off by the stream. It didn't take long for the body to dissolve to black dust, leaving nothing of the unimportant, nameless, and pyrrhic dead man.

Shivering, and with difficulty, Qrow clambered out of the river and lay on the cold— but not freezing cave floor. As much as he wanted to leave this cave, and never come back, he had one more thing to do.

Destroy the portal.

He followed the stream back the way he had come, and with a few wrong guesses— found the swirl of white and red that resembled a venus fly trap in both nature and appearance. Its allure was undeniable, preying on the curiosity of humans to find out what it was.

Removing the damascus dagger from his pocket, Qrow tossed it in the air, caught it, and threw it with such force and hatred that the air cracked from his strength.

Just as the last one had, the portal writhed, screaming in pain as the blade tore at its very essence, filling the cave with an awful noise before it dissolved into nothingness, leaving only the dagger embedded in the rock.

As Qrow reached down to grab the knife, he noticed a small cross on a chain lying next to it. It was the dead man's, one that he'd worn around his neck. He never had the chance to ask him why he wore it, if it was out of a religious adoration or a sense of style. With some amount of sadness at the unimportant man's death, he placed the necklace around his own neck, retrieved the knife, and made his way out of the cave of the damned.

A cross which Ozpin had fully expected to stay in that cave for the rest of time, before slowly rusting away, just as Summer's weapons would have if not for Qrow.

A/N: As always, I'm always open to criticism and appreciate feedback.