"That was four months ago. Null sent me a report on it…well formatted actually, he learned from my office how to do that. Afterwards the Grimm began to throw themselves at Atlas, an endless horde of them. We held on, of course. We were the most powerful nation on this planet, and we would show their fell mistress what it meant to be our enemy," he smiled at that memory, of his Atlas, triumphing again and again, a field of dead Grimm flaking away into ash in the wind, leaving nothing behind to show their passing save a few craters from the larger Atlas weapons.
"It worked, time after time. Coordinated defenses, kill boxes. Just like I always told you, WE could win. We could have assaulted her citadel, and pushed back the tide, and her counterstroke would have been blunted by her being in a box, dropped into a volcano somewhere," he said the last not in an accusatory tone, but merely as a matter of fact.
"But we couldn't go on the offensive now. We were alone, no other Kingdoms to fight with us, and slowly, our numbers dwindled. A thousand of them for every one of ours was still a losing prospect after all. Then it seemed, for a moment, that things would change, as she took the field herself, frustrated with our resistance," that statement perked up the young man's head, and he looked towards Ironwood, who nodded at the unasked question of 'really?', as Ironwood continued.
"And then we beat her," he said with all the power that declaration deserved, as he pulled back his scroll, and quickly changed it to an image of Salem, clutching at her arm, leaking black blood that formed into new Grimm…which were being cut down as fast as they spawned.
"A new weapon, said to be on the cutting edge, and it worked. She was immortal, but not invincible. We could win this, we could hurt their queen, and we could destroy them once and for all," he said with a hint of pride for his people, for his nation, that they might be the ones to finally end the nightmare of the Grimm, and restore the world to her people.
"Before she counterattacked," added Ozma, knowing how Salem operated. Wounding her probably made her all the more scared, all the more desperate to win.
"It was not a counterattack, Ozpin. It was the world ending. Grimm from everywhere. From all the continents, oceans, and even the skies flocked to us. It wasn't simply the tide as it had been at the other Kingdoms. There you could see the space between. No, these were bodies pressed so tightly together you couldn't see the ground beneath them. This was the sky covered in black wings, and the ground shaking as those of the sea burrowed into it, after those who dug tunnels. This was every Grimm on the planet, converging on my Kingdom," he said that with all the gravitas it deserved, too. The end of the world, coming to bang on their gates, until they fell to them.
"We fought. How could we not? There was to be no retreat, no fallback positions. We laid into them with every bullet, every blade, even down to simply giving citizens pipes and having them wail on the things, trying to take as many as they could with them when they went," he still sounded proud, and Ozma wondered briefly what it had looked like, to see a whole nation rise up against the world of darkness.
"For a time, it worked. They came on, and we burned them, they came on, and we smashed them, they came on, and we ground them to powder," he was smiling again at that memory, at them winning, if only for a few moments.
"But it was never enough. This time, it would not be enough, they would not stop coming, and finally, when we were too tired to continue, we gave ground, letting them take the outer walls of the city, fighting them in homes, collapsing them, allowing them to come on and then destroying them by the millions. But billions came behind, unceasing," the pride finally gave way too…horror was probably the right word, as Ironwood remembered the people falling, remembered the bodies literally vanishing into the darkness.
"The inner walls of the central sector were next, and I intended on staying there, but Winter, she insisted. She told me only my will could carry any hope into the future, and so she shoved the Relic into my hands, told me to run, that she…she had something to do," he stumbled a bit, and as the memories of climbing into his battleship one final time came, as his men rushing inside. No civilians, no evacuation. Even if they wanted to, they weren't planning on surviving this, just drawing out the enemy's victory as long as they could.
"I don't…I know it was a CA project. Something that enhanced the power of someone. It worked, but it spiked too high to be of use. It turns Aura users into living bombs, and so I shelved the project. It was based on the transfer machine we'd planned on using with Amber, but instead it transferred other energy sources into an Aura user and made them stronger," he sighed as he remembered the first time he'd seen it used, a bit under a year ago now, when they thought they'd have time to work out the kinks.
"I see," was all Ozma said, and Ironwood couldn't blame him. The vision still played in his head, from only a few hours ago. The vision of the world turning white, as Fimbulwinter spread from the Winter Maiden's power, ice covering the world. The armies of Grimm and men frozen into statues, and then falling to the side, their bodies less than snow as they shattered, fluttering away in the breeze.
"That was eighteen hours ago. She killed…countless Grimm. I think she planned it, without my knowledge, honestly. It was all for Atlas, all to stymie the efforts of Salem," he sounded despondent, like for everything else, he could have shrugged it off, kept going, but the loss of Winter…of Atlas was too much, and the weight of it was crushing down onto him.
"We have the Staff with us, I had them take it to the bottom of this place, where I intend on continuing to give her the finger for as long as I possibly can," he said, finally falling silent, finally allowing the world to breathe for a moment, as he rubbed at his arm.
And so the two sat in that silence. After all, what more was there to say? Winter, for all that she had done, had not finished the Grimm off. They were still coming. The people of Menagerie…of the White Fang were the only ones left on the planet, and they were no friends to either side, and if the report was right, Salem had agreed to give them time, time enough for them to live lives free of conflict.
Ozma, for all he hated her, knew she'd keep her word, too. She'd let the world spin on for a century or two more, so she could never be accused of breaking her vows. Then she'd end it all. She'd summon the gods, or whatever it was she planned to do with the Relics, and that would be the end of the world at a stroke. There was no need to rush it, after all, she had time enough to let those who served her well have their reward.
"Then it's over. She won," he said at last, with a sigh, and Ironwood nodded.
"Because her opponent abandoned his allies, yes. She won," he said, not accusatory just…a fact, and Ozma looked to protest, but found the words dying on his lips. It was true, after all. The pair of old souls sat there in silence for a long time. The general looking through his scroll, watching his people, as they continued to fight for him, securing the position as best they could. Ozma…simply realizing how wrong this had all gone.
Finally, Ironwood rose from his seat behind the desk, taking the box with him that he'd set down at the beginning of all this. The demands of his position were calling him, and he would need to see to them personally before this was all over. Still, in that instant, as his hand reached for the door, he paused, his face going placid for a moment, before he let his curiosity take over, and he turned to the boy with the old soul seated in the chair, their eyes meeting as they looked at each other.
"Tell me this, Ozpin, before I leave this office, I have to know. Was that all so you could commit suicide? Was it all so you could leave the game, even if it meant leaving us to suffer and die?" he asked, and Ozma just sat there, his face still as stone for a long time, before he shook his head.
"I…I wasn't planning on committing suicide at all. I was planning on using Amber to win the game, in my favor," he said, and Ironwood simply scoffed.
"Then why abandon the rest of us? She was an important piece, but you made enemies of all your closest allies, pushing even Glynda away. I know Qrow himself almost killed you when you revealed you were abandoning Ruby, and you were just going to let it happen," he countered, and Ozma just stared at him, unable to respond.
"I know men who focus on a single weapon to win a fight. I've BEEN a man to do that. But they don't act like you did. They simply abandon the rest. If you really thought she was to be your weapon, you would have taken her away, the same way you did Amber Autumn, brought her to the woods, spun some yarn about saving her, and trained her," he said, and Ozma looked away for the first time, obviously considering the words, words he hadn't wanted to even think.
"You didn't do that, though. You stayed, stayed where your enemies knew you were. Kept your weapon in the line of fire, before it was ready to be used for war. Kept it right where it could be used against you, however," he said, and then turned back to the door. Ozma seemed about to respond, about to open his mouth, to protest that that had not been his intention, that he would never have even thought of abandoning them.
But those words died in his throat, and he simply watched as Ironwood exited the door, and then lay back in the chair, listening to the sounds of shouts and explosions somewhere distant from this office. Outside, standing just beyond the door, Ironwood stood, hoping that Ozma would rush out, would have some explanation for his actions that Ironwood and his allies had simply missed.
And when his scroll rang again, and he looked down to see his transmission had gone through, he sighed. A lifetime ago, he'd been a different man. He'd believed any sacrifice was necessary to win the war against the Grimm. Now…everything had been sacrificed. He was unsure if even Mettle would have agreed with this cost, but he had paid it, and so he opened the box in his hands, to make sure it paid dividends in return.