Hey, everybody!

So, you either know what's happening soon and are excited, or you're about to hear some really great news. RWBY VOLUME THREE IS BEING RELEASED STARTING TOMORROW! At long last, the hiatus is over. Also, I'm interpreting this long-awaited event as a positive omen for the story. You know, volume three, chapter three… Clearly this is a product of fate. It could also conceivably have been the Illuminati. Anyway, the third chapter is here now, so journey on, fearless reader!

Cyril inhaled deeply, breathing in the leafy scent of his chai tea. Warm wisps of steam rolled upward from his ceramic mug in intricate, swirling patterns, visible for the briefest of seconds before they dissipated into the cool morning air. He gripped the cup gently with both hands, savoring the heat as he brought the edge to his mouth to sip at its contents. The flavor was… vaguely fruity, with a slight herbal aftertaste. Not what he'd expected from this particular blend. Cyril made a mental note of his tea experience, exhaling deeply and leaning forward.

This movement proved to be a mistake. The tiny surface he was sitting cross-legged on leaned forward at an alarming rate, as did his tea, which sloshed over the side of the cup. The small dish of smoldering ashes he'd used to boil the tea spilled off as well. Cyril quickly adjusted his center of gravity backward, stretching his arm out to catch the droplets of tea flying through the air. He sat in the awkward pose for a moment to stabilize himself before carefully moving back to the meditative position he'd held a minute ago. I'm glad I didn't fall. That might have made for a rather painful descent after such a peaceful climb.

It had been rather difficult to get up to his current location. Cyril sat poised on the tip of a slim metal staff, balanced vertically on a spiky rock outcropping that jutted out from the side of a precipitous cliff. The wispy clouds beneath him formed whorls and ripples as they moved along the rock face under him, giving the transparent air flow a visible form. The wind at his altitude was mercifully gentle, and aside from the near-plummet he had just avoided there had been no disturbance to his amicable meditation thus far. He was almost finished reflecting on what the day might bring, so he'd be descending soon anyway.

Cyril had a short, almost shaven haircut and a round, friendly face. His garb was simple; a grayish-purple corduroy button-down shirt, loose-fitting, tan linen pants, and brown hiking shoes. He also wore a bundled, white scarf-like garment that wrapped around over his shoulders and fell down behind him like a short cape. He had a brown satchel slung over his back with straps to hold his staff.

He yawned. Way down there, past the little black-speckled flocks of birds and cloudy atmospheres was a city, he was sure of it. His two-day trek up the mountain had taken him up three cliffs, across several glaciers and over at least one bottomless crevasse, landmarks that were tough to miss. Cyril reached back, wary of his teetering platform, into his backpack to retrieve a folded piece of paper. The parchment made loud crinkling sounds as he unfolded it, grappling with the blustery wind that threatened to tear it from his grip. He was finally able to spread it flat on his lap, revealing a detailed map of the region.

Cyril studied the map carefully for a minute, his gaze flickering over the little colored markings. His eyes widened for a moment when he compared his location to his landmarks, which indicated he was way off target. Then he squinted, doubtful, and turned the map ninety degrees, then ninety degrees the other way. Ah! There we go. He sighed in relief. The city of Vale should be directly southwest of him. Cyril stuffed the map back into his pack and started trying to figure out how to get down from his cliff.

The kingdom's urban area had lots of wide open squares with numerous shady trees. Many of its citizens were walking around town, taking in the beautiful spring weather. Cyril thought it was a wonderful place. They even had a tea shop, the Vytal Tea Exchange, which he promptly visited.

It was only one of a myriad of eclectic little stores that he passed by on his stroll around the city. It was still early, and the sun's rays had just begun to peek up cautiously over the horizon of the secluded kingdom. They softly illuminated the weathered concrete segments of sidewalk that lined the graying asphalt roadways, still dark with the dampness of early morning mists. At one point he became lost in the multitude of similar-looking streets and alleys, so he petitioned two helpful junior policemen for directions back toward the center of town. One of them had a boldly trendsetting blue haircut, which Cyril complimented as he left them.

After seeing what the city had to offer, Cyril found himself seated at a wooden park bench with a purchased sandwich and another hot cup of loose-leaf chai tea. His hike down the mountain earlier had been arduous at best, and he was tired and hungry after that and his tour of the town. His sandwich disappeared in a few hungry bites, but the tea followed in a much more relaxed manner.

As he drained the contents of the mug, the young man glanced down at the saturated leaves left stuck to the bottom of the container. Hmm… I wonder what it is this time? In some cultures, tea leaves in the bottom of one's cup could be interpreted as omens of events yet to come. Cyril was familiar with several meanings, but so far in his experience the predictions had rarely been accurate. There was the time he'd seen an apple, which represented great success, then accidentally caused a military-grade explosion in chemistry… Not my finest moment. This time around, the leaves seemed rather more jumbled than usual, but he thought he could make out…

Cyril sucked in his breath. The octopus. A dangerous sign, indicating a horrible disaster in the near future. The sign of the octopus was said to have preceded all of the most destructive events in the history of Remnant. Tsunamis, wars, earthquakes… the fact that it was appearing now could mean only that the long peace enjoyed by the kingdoms to date was about to be interrupted.

But, in all honesty, he had to consider how often, or rather, how rarely he had been right in the past. The likelihood of anything happening was, in reality, quite low. To look around and see the leaves of the quiet side park's trees gently wavering in the breeze, then shaking as a tiny chipmunk scurried past them on the branch, and to think that the perfect scene could be destroyed… no. It probably meant nothing. Cyril put down his cup, discarding his ominous and pessimistic thoughts, then leaned back on the bench and yawned. The sun was warmer now, having cut through the early morning fog, and the combination of radiant warmth and a full stomach made him drowsy.

He wasn't about to object, either. He settled his staff and backpack on the bench next to him, and leaned down to lay sideways on the seat, using the pack as a pillow. Cyril was out like a light in no time at all, falling into a restful slumber to dream of sunshine, cities and octopi.

The first rumbles worked their way into Cyril's REM cycle. He knew they were there, knew on some level that things were happening outside his immobile physical body in the real world, but his subconsciousness prevented full awareness of this fact. More came, louder and with greater frequency, and Cyril struggled to raise eyelids that seemed to be made of lead. Open, they flashed a glimpse of a shaking landscape and clouds of dust rising into the sky from the city center. Closed, he knew nothing, drifted in the oblivion of sleep for a little moment longer. Open again, they saw a black creature step forward from a shadowy side street, shaking rubble from its fur. Closed again, more blissful ignorance but with a vague, nagging feeling of worry and hurriedness.

Cyril squeezed his eyes shut, then forced them wide open, properly this time. The low rumbles from before changed from faded, whispery sounds into the harsh noises of a city in panic. He pushed himself from the bench, shaking the grogginess from his head. Another shudder went through the ground, almost throwing Cyril to the ground as he stood hastily. What in Remnant is going on? He spotted the glow of a television through the window of a coffee shop at the edge of his little side park, and made a beeline for it.

A bell attached to the door clanged noisily as Cyril burst through the entrance of the shop. He was met with the low hum of quiet conversations going on across the tables of the shop, as the customers heatedly discussed the myriad possibilities of what had happened in the central square. A flat-screen television showed a channel transitioning from a male reporter to a brown-haired female newscaster for the VNN news.

"And that's our latest news on the Grimm invasion of Vale proper. Again, for your safety the authorities are advising everyone to stay indoors and away from any windows or openings to the streets. The Atlesian military, already en route to Vale for the Vytal festival, has been alerted and is sending ahead assault units to suppress what is being called 'the breach.' We're told Beacon academy has also been notified, and trained Huntsmen and Huntresses will be arriving soon to assist with the fighting." She stopped and lifted a hand to her ear, listening for a moment.

"This just in: we're getting live footage of the town square where the breach is being combatted by a group of unidentified persons." The screen underwent another sweeping transition to an aerial feed of the town square, with the VNN logo rotating in the corner. Creatures of Grimm poured out from a huge crater in the center of the square in black clouds, only for one of four vibrantly clad people to cut, smash or blast the groups apart.

Good, thought Cyril with an inward sigh of relief. They've got a decent bottleneck of the invasion. Not many will get out into the rest of the city. That being so, there would still be some, and any Grimm at all was one too many. Cyril straightened, and strode quickly out from the café without listening to the rest of the broadcast. He moved through a few closely-packed customers who turned to shoot him strange looks as he brushed past.

The ringing of the door's bell signaled his transition back into the outside world of chaos. Alarms were going off now, long moaning wails that came and went in a forlorn rhythm. Most of the people walking in the small park had gotten scared and run indoors, but some still lingered, walking around in a confused daze.

Cyril cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, "HEY! It isn't safe out here! There are Grimm in the city! Please get inside as quickly as possible!" Some of them still didn't seem to get it. Why won't they listen!? Then the situation got serious.

Across the closed-in quad, from a main street leading into the city center, a pack of Beowolves and Boarbatusks emerged at a loping gait. The closest people to them, a woman and a man, didn't have much time to react before they were set on as targets by the approaching beasts. They fled, but were pursued quickly, with the beasts closing the gap. Cyril had started running as soon as the Grimm had showed up, sliding his staff into his hands, but the animals were just too fast. They were going to reach the couple before he could.

The monk whirled his staff once, slamming the end into the ground like a pole vaulter. At the weapon's base, a small whirlwind whipped up dust in a miniature cyclone, which then blasted upward as Cyril launched up across the park toward the endangered citizens. The Grimm didn't look up as he descended over them, so totally focused on their targets.

The first one, a small Beowolf, slammed headfirst into the ground as Cyril brought down his metal bō staff on its head. He heard bones crunch and teeth crack against the hard pavement. The end of his staff swung under the feet of another wolf-like Grimm, tripping it, then thrusting it backward into its fellows. Several more Boarbatusks and Beowolves met their fate at the receiving end of Cyril's bone-breaking blows, but that did little to deter their comrades. Another group charged forward toward the purple-garbed combatant, eager to tear into the flesh of the enemy they hated so much. The man and woman behind him fled in a panic toward a nearby building entrance.

Cyril shifted his weight forward, digging in with his heels as he leveled the end of the staff at his oncoming foes. He reached into it with his aura, focusing the ambient energy around the weapon's end. Another mini-tornado spun up around the end as the first Grimm approached: a Boarbatusk accelerating toward him with its rotational spinning attack. Cyril exhaled smoothly, then shoved the wind-clad staff forward like a spear. The cyclone on the end of the weapon expanded outward, enveloping the speeding Grimm in a wind tunnel and reversing its momentum entirely.

The still-spinning Boarbatusk physically lifted off the ground as it flew back into the crowd of other Grimm that followed it, whizzing through them like a jet-propelled buzzsaw. The ones it didn't cut in half were bludgeoned by the powerful gusts that came in its wake. The airborne beast skipped once off the ground, then halted after crunching into the stone side of a building.

Cyril relaxed, letting the end of his staff down to the ground. I hate using that much aura for attacks. The rest of the square had cleared out in the minutes it had taken him to dispatch the Grimm, so he was alone for now. There might still be others escaping into the city, though – it'd be a better idea to circle the city center and try heading off any more. He slung his staff over his shoulder and started off at a quick jogging pace toward a random side street, running parallel to the smoke rising from the town square.

This whole situation is just weird, he thought as he ran. Why would there be a Grimm invasion now, all of a sudden? The kingdom's been keeping up security, and aside from the White Fang troubles, crime is at a definite low. Who would have any reason to let Grimm into the city accidentally, or worse, on purpose- THUNK!

Cyril saw stars as he felt something solid crack off his forehead. He looked around to find himself spread-eagled on the concrete sidewalk of an alley corner. Directly opposing him, and also on the ground, was a man dressed in white with orange hair and a bowler hat. He was getting up slowly, clutching his head, but his eyes soon fell on Cyril, and his look of confusion changed to an annoyed scowl.

"Watch where you're going, stupid! Do you know how long it takes to get my hair this perfect in the morning? Imagine if you messed it up. An hour and a half of my valuable time, down the drain." He stood up, leaning on a cane to hoist himself to his feet.

Cyril rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Wow, I completely didn't see you. Sorry about that."

"You'd better be. I have a lot of important things to do, none of which involve being bowled over by idiots. Now if you'll excuse me, my associates and I have to get back to avoiding the massive Grimm invasion." He turned back toward the street to leave.

"Wait, what associates?" Cyril peered around the corner as the red-haired man realized his mistake. The alley was dark, but a dozen or so uniformed individuals wearing masks stood visible in the shadows behind him. Each had an obvious animal trait indicative of a Faunus, and they carried sleek energy firearms. His eyes were drawn immediately to the blood-red symbols on their uniforms: a snarling beast placed over three jagged slashes. Cyril backed up slowly, realization dawning over him as to who these people were.

Roman Torchwick sighed. "Alright. I didn't want to have to resort to this, but… kill him."

Cyril rolled to the side as a cluster of Dust-fueled energy beams impacted right where he'd just been standing. He whirled his staff into an impromptu shield in front of him, blocking a few more shots, before two of the White Fang members charged him. One went to tackle the shaven-headed monk, the other throwing a wild punch at his chest. Cyril dodged the tackle, grabbing the second soldier by the wrist. He twisted in the same direction the punch was traveling, hurling the Faunus into his companion.

The next three came swinging at him with swords, but Cyril defended with his staff and retaliated with swift strikes. He was able to deck the first swordsman in the head, but the second caught his arm with a jab. The monk retreated, opening up more distance between him and his opponents in which to fight. The remaining six White Fang went to advance, but stopped when Roman held up a hand. He picked up his cane, leveling it at Cyril as the teen knocked out his last opponent. A small crosshairs flipped up from the hollow tip of the cane. "Nighty-night," Roman grinned as he pulled the trigger.

A shining Dust flare rocketed out from the end of Roman's cane, changing through a spectrum of colors as it flew toward Cyril. The purple-garbed monk realized how little time he had to react; he reached for his weapon, gripping the staff with both hands. The shining flare was mere feet away when he pulled from the middle of the bō staff. A brightly illuminated explosion detonated out from the point of impact, spreading out a sizable cloud of smoke.

Roman twirled his cane on one hand, flicking down its crosshairs and planting it back against the sidewalk. "A shame, really. He had such a bold style. I'll cherish all of the forty seconds I spent not wanting him dead."

"Well, you'll have to hold off on arranging my funeral. I'm not done just yet!" A clear voice rang out from the epicenter of the Dust round's explosion. The smoke shifted, flowing sideways before dissipating into wispy trails around a large metal semicircle planted in the ground. Roman and the White Fang soldiers stared at the new addition to the street with a mixture of surprise and worry. Cyril hefted his giant Japanese-style fan to the side to look back at the criminals. "That was a close one, I'll admit, and your aim is impeccable. You might have seriously injured me. Unfortunately for you…" He gripped the base of the fan with both hands as grey-green patterns lit up the broad side of the weapon. "…now it's my turn."

Cyril pulled mightily on the fan, swinging it diagonally upward with a roar. An enormous wave of visibly pressurized wind rolled out from the fan toward Roman and the panicking White Fang. The gale-force winds slammed into them like they were cardboard boxes, scattering the group across the concrete of the street. The orange-haired antagonist crouched low to the ground, clutching his black hat against his head as he fought the gusts blowing at him from all sides. The ringing in Roman's ears died quickly along with the wind, and he un-squinted his eyes to look around.

The intimidating group of toughened soldiers he'd recently commanded had been reduced to varying states of disarray. One was laying on the curb with his mask crooked on his face; another hung limply from a corner lamppost by his black sash. Roman rolled his eyes at the incompetence of his troops. I should've known better than to expect much from these senseless animals. He was still looking up at the lamppost when he felt a whoosh of air behind him. The notorious criminal spun his cane around deftly to block Cyril's arcing bō strike from behind. "I hadn't nailed you as the type to hit a man from behind. You ought to have more honor than that, shouldn't you, monk?"

"You're one to be talking about honor. When you shot me, you could've hit your own men accidentally, but they didn't even get a second thought. It's people like you that make me lose faith in mankind." Cyril shot back. Roman snickered in response.

"That's the trouble with you idealists. Always with the high expectations. Let me be the first to tell you, people will let you down every time." Roman kicked his opponent in the shin, hard. Cyril's aura cushioned the blow, but he still fell back from the villain. The two combatants faced each other in the street, each poised to attack or defend at a moment's notice, before a long, resonating groan echoed off the buildings around them.

Cyril glanced down at the asphalt and at the buildings behind him, not eager to take his eyes off his foe for longer than a moment. "You didn't have another invasion planned for today, did you?" he queried.

Roman seemed equally suspicious of the noise. "Nah, just the one…"

The awkward silence took over for a minute before the groaning sound returned, this time accompanied by a noise like glass shattering and some gravelly crunches. The shaven-headed monk looked around to find the source of the sounds, no longer focused on Roman. The villain smirked, raising his cane to point at the young man for a second time. Cyril continued searching for something, but when his gaze reached Roman he froze. He probably realized he's going to lose, the orange-haired man thought. His finger tightened against the trigger, but then Cyril took a step back.

Roman's brow furrowed. Why was the monk acting so… petrified? The antagonist knew he wasn't that scary, and stepping back wouldn't help him avoid Roman's attack. He continued holding his flare gun level, but the tense silence was interrupted by a return of the crunching noise from before. It was getting steadily louder, and came from behind him. Cyril broke and ran in the opposite direction, prompting Roman to turn and see what exactly was behind him.

He found his answer in the form of a Grimm thundering down the street toward him. It was bipedal, akin to a scaled-down T-Rex in anatomy, but the resemblance ended there. The beast's signature mask and jaw shone with the glint of hardened steel, and it had thick spikes on its face and neck, running down its spine and the sides of its body to culminate in a mace-like spiked club on its tail. Its thick legs tapered down to glinting metal claws that left furrows in the ground where it stepped. The rest of its black body had gray and rough places, showing thick scar tissue that looked like it had resulted from multiple surgeries.

The creature with said description charged toward Roman full-tilt, changing the groaning noise it emitted into a roar. Panic filled the mind of the notorious Roman Torchwick, and he squeezed off three shots from his cane in the Grimm's direction. They had little effect on the armored dinosaur-like Grimm, as it simply lowered its head and charged through the shots as they exploded against its armored hide. Roman decided his best course of action was jumping out of the way and hoping not to be trampled, a plan he executed immediately with moderate success as the beast passed him by.

Cyril saw the villain breath a sigh of temporary relief from his position in an alcove nearby, but the mechanical monstrosity dug its heels into the asphalt and skidded to a halt, glaring back in their direction. Its maw split to reveal a cavernous mouth filled with huge, razor-sharp steel teeth. A dull orange glow from the depths of its throat grew brighter as it inhaled, then released another roar, this time accompanied by a jet of white-hot flame.

The monk's fan swung open instantly to shield him from the majority of the searing heat, but Cyril still cringed as he felt blisteringly hot air roll over the edge of the weapon. The metal of his fan heated up quickly in the center, causing him to worry that it wouldn't be able to withstand the assault for much longer. The huge Grimm soon turned its head to strafe the building walls beside Cyril, taking the heat off for the moment.

The jet of fire approached Roman, who was still laying on the sidewalk in shock. He quickly shook himself into action, scrambling to his feet to escape the column of flame. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cyril folding his fan back into staff form, approaching the Grimm from the flank to smash it with a pummeling blow. The beast hardly moved, but halted its flames as it turned back to face its aggressor. The shaven-headed monk was in a low stance, and as soon as it went to shoot more flames at him he ducked forward swiftly. Rolling beneath its head, he jammed the end of his staff into its vulnerable throat, eliciting an annoyed growl, before he dodged again out from under the Grimm. Cyril sprinted toward Roman, grabbing his arm to drag him toward the alley the White Fang had come out of earlier.

"Hey, let go of me!" cried Roman indignantly. Cyril ignored him.

"From what I've seen of that thing in the last two minutes, it looks like a Creep that someone modified heavily with-"

"A what?"

"A Creep."

"…"

"It's a kind of Grimm."

"…Are you sure?"

"It doesn't really matter whether or not I'm sure, but yes, I am. Anyway, someone modified it heavily with all that mechanical stuff, and most of the normal weak spots are covered. I can't pierce its hide with my weapon, and your flares didn't do much either. We're going to have to work together on this one." The monk explained.

Roman sighed. "Why do I get the feeling you're about to start giving me commands?"

Cyril continued with his plan. "I'll distract it since I have a better close-combat setup than you. Get into position and wait for it to breathe fire again. When that happens, shoot as many flares as you can into its mouth. I'm betting it has some kind of flammable fuel in its body to give it that fire ability, so if we can ignite it, that should bring it down." He looked at Roman, then glanced out of the alley at the mechanical Creep searching for them. "Can you do that?"

Roman snorted. "Of course I can do it. The question is whether or not I will. Why should I leave our cozy little hidey hole right here? I'll just wait for it to get bored and leave and then stroll out unharmed."

Cyril pointed to the beast. "We can't stay here because it just found us." Roman peered around the corner to see for himself, then turned back to the monk.

"Fine. Have it your way."

The two unwilling allies tumbled out of the alley as the Creep charged at them with its spiked metal skull, pulverizing the walls of the alley. Cyril sent a miniature whirlwind flying at its head while Roman crept along the side of the building as stealthily as a man with bright orange hair could. The beast brushed off the lightweight attack, focusing on the purple monk that had enraged it. Cyril leapt out of the way as it bit at him, nimbly cartwheeling to the side. He was spinning back to go for another wind attack, but before he could swing his staff, the Grimm's club-tail hit him in the back with a sickening thud.

The shaven-headed monk was thrown to the ground flat on his back, while the mechanical Creep planted its thick legs on either side of him, its bite held back only by the staff he pressed against its neck. His superior leverage kept its gnashing jaws at bay, but the substantial weight of its steel plates was tiring his arms quickly. When familiar orange glow filled the creature's maw, Cyril saw his chance. Slamming his knees into its throat, he pulled his bo staff back and planted it against the Grimm's upper jaw, pushing with all his strength.

Its head wrenched back, lower jaw hanging open as it continued preparing to release its fire-spewing attack again. "Now, Roman!" shouted Cyril as he pushed aura into his arms to hold the position. "Roman!" He looked back at the side of the street where Roman had been, but saw only the back of the man's white coat.

"Remember what I told you about people, kid. Always gonna let you down." he called over his shoulder as he sprinted away.

Cyril gave a frustrated groan. His aura was about to give out, the notorious criminal that was his only chance to defeat the robotic Grimm was running away at top speed, and he was probably going to die. He tried not to let his emotions get the better of him, as difficult as it was to accomplish that feat. The Creep struggling on top of him forced its head down another inch, and the monk decided he had to act.

Another mini-cyclone whipped up at the Grimm end of his staff, and he launched it upward with enough force to push its head back a few inches. Bringing his legs back, he planted his feet on the bottom of the Mecha-Creep's head and his hands on the ground next to his shoulders, and pushed as hard as he could. The heavy Grimm flipped onto its back, struggling to find purchase with its claws, and Cyril sprang up to his feet. He took advantage of the brief pause to aim his staff at the fleeing Roman, launching a precisely aimed whirlwind from the end to chase down the criminal. The orange-haired villain was picked up with an indignant shout and thrown bodily into the side of a building a few feet away, where he fell to the ground unconscious.

The robotic Creep was beginning to get up, so Cyril switched his attention back to it. Swaths of metal mesh fabric unfolded, then pulled taut as the monk spread the blade of his giant fan. Cyril swung the fan, pouring all his remaining aura into the weapon and focusing it around the center of the gust. A condensed ball of storming winds pounded into the Grimm's underbelly, expanding on contact and propelling the beast into a thick stone wall across the street. It dug its claws into the ground, roaring in frustration and opening its mouth to charge another flame breath attack.

Cyril sprinted over to the beast, plunging his staff into the concrete beneath its jaw and pinning it shut, just as the beast let out a fiery roar. It was a sight to see as the huge volume of flame that had built up inside the Grimm found itself with nowhere to go. The center of its skull glowed with a heat visible through its thick skin, and molten metal flowed out of the corners of its eyes and nostrils as the creature roasted itself from the inside out. Cyril stood over the evil thing, victorious in this battle. The criminal laying in the street a few hundred feet away wouldn't be going anywhere either; the Vale City PD or Atlesian military would probably pick him up. He closed his eyes in relief.

But something was off. He opened his eyes again, searching over the smoldering remains of the Grimm for something specific. The monk's scrutinous gaze passed over its tail, its legs, the spiny metal ridges on the back, then settled on the corner of its jaw where a small metal protrusion jutted out from the rest of its mask. He reached down to pull at it, but the thing was stuck tight and he needed both hands to pry it off. It came loose with a sudden snap, throwing Cyril off balance.

The protrusion was a steel plate on the outside, but underneath it concealed a small camera, microchip and LCD screen. Cyril closed his eyes and held the device in his hands. No doubt about it; there were traces of aura on the thing he held. Someone had deliberately engineered a Grimm to be more dangerous and bloodthirsty than usual. He thought back to the octopus he'd seen in his tea cup earlier. The invasion was obviously a disaster, but if someone out there had this kind of equipment and the intent to use it, he wasn't so sure that the breach was the event the omen had foretold.

Eyes still closed, Cyril detected a sudden flash of aura from overhead that disappeared as quickly as it had shown up. He opened his eyes and flicked his gaze skyward to search the pale blue spread for… There! A yellowish blur was soaring through the air – the source of the aura he had sensed. It had to be a person, but who it was he couldn't even guess at.

He looked back at the metal camera-screen in his hand. This mystery wasn't going anywhere fast, so the little mechanism was staying safe until he could put this invasion mess behind him and find out who he had just sensed. He went to put the device in his pocket, but a light winking on the camera stopped him. When he gave it a second glance, the little screen flickered to life in a burst of static, forming a grainy silhouette.

The dark silhouette, outlining a male figure, wasn't moving. Cyril inferred that whoever it was could see him on the receiving end of the camera. He leaned in close, inspecting the camera with his eye. The display winked back off suddenly, and a little puff of smoke came off the microchip part of the device. The purple monk shrugged and tucked the thing into his knapsack, heading off to find the orange person he'd seen fly through the air.

So, now we meet the third person in the story. And, guys, I hate to break this to you, but we haven't even gotten to the main character yet! That's right. I did that to everyone. And myself. I don't know, I just felt like he should be last. I'll give you a hint, though; he shares a name with someone in the Pokemon Adventures manga. Five bucks if you guess who it is.

Anyways, as always follow and review if you like the story, and I'm going to ask a favor of everybody too. If you like how this is going so far, tell your friends. Get us out there. Heck, even if you don't like it you can tell people. I ain't picky about my publicity. Anyway, enjoy Volume Three: Episode 1 tomorrow, everyone. Be seein' ya!