Weiss' ice wall would only last a few moments, so Qrow did what he could. He planted his iron sword in the soil so it wouldn't interfere with his casting, and began to draw spells from the well of his soul.
His muscles bulged, their sinews engorged by oxen strength. Canine agility pulled at his legs, begging him to move and chase. The world slowed around him, feline reflexes making him intensely aware of every little part of the world.
Feeling his namesake urge in his veins, Qrow arched his back and began to hiss. It was the most powerful part of his transformation magic— one of his own style, not learned from some tome— so he had none other to blame for the excruciatingprocess but himself.
Bones tore from his back, ripping through his doublet as his cape whipped off his neck on its own. The enchanted cloth threw itself over the bare, fresh limbs, impossibly stretching its fabric across the bloodied bones until every inch was covered. The cloth melted into black feathers, transforming the bony protrusions into luscious wings.
Qrow flexed the new appendages, shoving down the pain under the sheer power he felt. He breathed deep, and pulled his sword from the dirt. The ice started to crack.
"Qrow?"
Smoke and lavender. Qrow turned, his jaw falling open. "Yang?"
Yang pursed her lips as she dropped her stance, her dagger quickly finding her hand. "Why're you hunting us?"
The Huntsman raised his hands and started babbling excuses. "I didn't know it was you! I just thought it was a job!"
Blake, who had arrived in step with Yang, looked behind them. "Where…"
"They're running away," Qrow explained. "I told them I'd hold the Knight Captain off before finding you and regrouping."
Blake raised a doubtful eyebrow, but Yang asked the question for her. "You think you can hold her off?"
Qrow grimaced, tightly gripping his messer. "No."
The wall of ice shook, followed by a guttural cry from the other side: "Birdcage is going to be so happy!"
Qrow flinched again, using the tip of his sword to point behind him. "You need to go, they went that way. I'll give you a head start."
Blake immediately set off to oblige his order, but Yang held her ground, grinding her foot into the dried-out soil. "No. It's three-on-one, and Blake's just as good as we are," Yang insisted, jerking a thumb to the fay. "Even Pyrrha can't beat that."
Qrow huffed and tensed his wings in frustration, but another sound overtook whatever he was going to say— a loud crack, followed by the harrowing sight of Pyrrha's fist blowing the wall apart.
"Hello, little bird," Pyrrha purred, forked tongue licking across her rows of needle-like teeth.
All three shut their eyes and shook their heads, finding Pyrrha's normal, perfectly humanlike expression of bloodlust, sans any daemonic aberrations.
The distortion was only momentarily shaken, though, as Pyrrha's form began to exude raw, implacable chaos. She was as tall as a mountain, short as a mouse; her skin was fleshy meat, smooth velvet, ruddy brick, shining brass; her body was there, but it was gone, an outline sinking into itself, falling into an endless pit of mirrors. She smiled, she frowned, pouring tears from her eyes, blood from her wound, slag from her crucible, monsters from her chasm. The world melted at her heels, molded in her hands, shattered from her blow. The Knight Captain was a hollow shell, one from which it peeled a new and unfathomable self.
Her mother's arms stretched towards Yang, holding a loaf of freshly baked bread. Adam kneeled before Blake, his weeping palms begging for mercy. Summer sealed Qrow's fingers around the scythe.
The three squirmed against the spider's web, but all their strength only served to entangle them further. She crawled up their skin, her slavering mandibles pricking at their veins, chittering with excitement. The fay ground her teeth against the silk, pushing with the last of her will.
"Ffffuck-ing… SHIT—" With a shrill cry, Blake became the first to break from Pyrrha's distortion. The other two, who had gone pale and twitched like leaves, followed only because of the fay's piercing scream.
Pyrrha hadn't moved an inch, her hungry smile so wide that it made her cheeks bleed. Even after Blake shattered the illusion, her presence still twisted the world, threatening to draw them right back in.
"What the fuck," Blake breathed, forcing her gaze away from the Knight Captain. "She didn't do this at the tourney!"
Qrow grit his teeth and shook the falsehoods from his mind. "She probably didn't want to."
Pyrrha cocked her head, her naked body hanging upside-down from a tear in the firmament. "You could ask, you know," she suggested. Her mouth moved with painted brushstrokes.
As if willed, Blake's eyes dragged themselves to Pyrrha, a question forcing its way past her lips. "What are you?"
"Shouldn't you, of all people, know what I am?" The ground between Blake and Pyrrha shrank into itself, allowing Pyrrha to cross the distance with a single step. She leaned close, her body pushing out an energy that wrapped Blake like an iron chain. "I may not have the senses of a wizard, but even I can smell the Chasm's reek on your soul."
Blake gulped. "I'm not—"
"Not yet," Pyrrha coldly stated, "but you will be."
Blake launched a knife at the Knight Captain, straight for her heart. Of course, she had a chest plate, so Blake shouldn't have been surprised when the metal armor split its toothy maw around her knife, throwing out a fleshy tongue that wrapped around her—
Blake blinked. Her knife glanced off the armor. Pyrrha smiled. "Have you lost heart?"
A blazing fist crashed into— phased through— split against— Pyrrha leaned back, allowing Yang to fly past her, fist still extended.
Yang landed in a skid, staring down at her burning hand with disbelief. "W-what the fuck?"
Qrow dashed forward, scythe arcing— Qrow lunged forward, messer thrusting— Qrow leapt forward, wings flaring— Qrow dropped to a knee and forced his soul to stay still.
Pyrrha hadn't moved since the wall broke.
Staring at Yang, she licked her teeth. "You wanted to know why I just fought at the tourney?"
Yang froze. She had no such curiosities, but Pyrrha's gaze convinced her otherwise. "Y-yes."
Pyrrha shrugged. "Like birdie here said, I didn't want to ruin the fun. Something about Rupert— Ruby, was it? Something about her made my hearts beat. I can't quite put my finger on it, though…"
Qrow eyed her dangerously, fingers gripping his snath tight. No, sword— sword, dammit!
"I know!" Pyrrha raised a finger to her face, to one of the innumerable eyes she didn't have. "It was the eyes! So pretty! I haven't seen anything like them in a long time."
"Pyrrha," Qrow urged, "don't do this— I know you're still in there."
"Very funny," Pyrrha snorted, discarding the man completely. She closed her only two eyes in concentration. "Let me see if I can… find that part…"
A third of Pyrrha's face suddenly collapsed on itself, the skin simply deflating as it sagged into the crater of her skull.
"Oh. Oh my," Pyrrha giggled. "Apologies, I know it's unsightly— just a moment, I think I've got it."
All three watched the Knight Captain shuffle on its feet, one emerald eye turning up with concentration. It took a few moments before clarity flashed across Pyrrha's face, but the sound of cracking bones immediately followed. Her once-sagging skin reappeared, pushed out over fresh bones and reforming flesh.
Except this skin was different. Paler. Older. Familiar.
"I don't even know what this thing is!" Pyrrha declared elatedly as a new eye rolled into its socket. Yang slapped a hand over her mouth and forced her bile down. Qrow slouched in disbelief, then tensed with rage. Blake simply stared, mouth agape.
An eye of maddening silver stared back, its argent gaze challenging the very foundations of reality. Logic, sense, comprehension— they all fled the three, leaving only terror in their absence.
"Wh— what?" Yang's voice shook, like a hermit left to die in a coffin of snow.
"Stop that," Qrow threatened, quaking with rage like a volcano fit to swallow the world.
Pyrrha chuckled. "Why? It's just another Chasm-goer."
Blake squinted, her confusion like the glint of fool's gold in a dragon's eye. "Is that Ruby?"
"She never went to the Chasm!" Qrow shouted, as if his rage could mold her reality.
"Mom?" Yang raised a hand, as if she could pull a soul from its corpse.
Pyrrha looked down at Yang, showing actual surprise for the first time, before she threw her head back and cackled. "Wow! Your mother?" She pointed to Summer's face, incredulous. "Isn't that something! Ha haaaa!"
Qrow tightened his grip on his scythe— his sword. He forced its image to hold in his mind, resisting Pyrrha's imposed reality.
Yang focused on the rage in her heart, refining it until its qualities were immutable. Her fists blazed anew, her flames unflinching.
Blake thought really hard about stabbing her. That seemed to help.
Pyrrha stroked the new flesh, admiring the shimmering black locks that sprouted just above it. "Another poor soul lost to the resplendent depths. To let such a fate befall this woman…" Pyrrha made a face of piteous mockery, her eyes locking onto Qrow specifically. "You must have hated her."
The Huntsman tensed, but it was Yang who lunged first.