Jaune is an obvious example, but Gillian from the Before the Dawn novel also had a Semblance that let her siphon, store, and reallocate Aura from multiple people, which does seem to indicate that there's not a "capacity limit" for how much Aura one person can add above their own natural reserves –or at least, not in reasonable terms. Gillian maxed out at roughly a few dozen: I'd have to assume that stealing and storing the full Aura capacity of a hundred people would have some kind of ill affect, and you probably couldn't keep it long-term.
It was supposed to hurt.
In this upright coffin of glass and steel, Pyrrha was supposed to scream and shudder out her body's rejection of the rich golden Aura being crammed into her, flowing like water into a vessel that was being stretched far, far too thin to be able to comfortably contain it, feeling like a bubble that was about to tear open and pop.
Pyrrha knew this. She had seen it, even if she had not lived it the way Jaune and the others had, and she would be a liar if she said that there hadn't been a tingle of trepidation going down her spine, as she laid back inside the metal bed and saw the lid seal over her, saw Ozpin's grave frown and the sight of her team standing on guard in a three-person phalanx over his shoulder, facing the entrance to the vault.
But still.
But still.
This was her life, her choice to make, and make it she had. Pyrrha Nikos was a Huntress, and she would use everything that she had, and everything that she was, to protect Remnant. She had made that choice a thousand times over across all her years of training, and it was no struggle to make it again now.
This was her destiny.
All the same, Pyrrha had to close her eyes and brace both hands against the intersecting edge of lid and box as she felt the machine hum to life underneath her. This would be –fine. She knew what to expect, and maybe it wouldn't hurt this time. After all, the circumstances were vastly different, and she had a plan.
Activating someone's Aura involved mixing yours with theirs, however briefly, and Jaune's own Semblance was ample demonstration that two Auras could mingle without any painful effects. She'd felt it before, a warm glow bathing her muscles and easing her aches as he flooded her Aura with his own and the power hummed through her. Therefore, it stood to reason that Amber's Aura causing pain when it interacted with hers was probably not simply because their Auras were getting mixed.
Pyrrha's reassurances ended here, however, since there were a number of mitigating factors to this situation. Having Jaune's surplus Aura being fed into her might be quite a different thing than having an entire person's soul forcibly siphoned into her own. The Maiden powers tied to Amber might also be the source of the pain. And last but not least, of course, was the fact that Amber was not the one doing this. Her soul was being ripped away from her by force, and it was only natural for said soul to resist.
But the only thing that awaited Amber otherwise was death –unless they managed to kill Cinder beforehand, but Pyrrha was unwilling to gamble on that chance, not now– and so this was the course that they must take.
As the machine continued to subtly vibrate and hum around her, Pyrrha felt the warmth of someone else's Aura spreading over her skin, like the sudden touch of sunlight on a scorching summer day. She opened her eyes to see herself wreathed in that golden-orange glow, like ripening wheat, and swallowed hard. Time to set her plan into motion, and hope this worked.
Closing her eyes again, she consciously relaxed. She let the heat skate over every inch of skin and hair, sinking into her, and though her own Aura hummed with the urge to push back, she resisted that instinct. She tried to accept it instead, to knead and intermix this foreign Aura with her own as though she was trying to unlock somebody else's Aura for the very first time. Rather than push back, she tried to meet it halfway, extending her mental hands in welcome.
This was –Pyrrha hoped– the difference in context that would allow the power transfer to go over smoothly, and to be a bit less painful. Although she had made this choice in the future that now no longer existed, she had also been tense, nervous, confused, and probably in no state to try and accept this foreign Aura being so ruthlessly shoved into her body. This time, she had practice with intermingling her soul with other people's thanks to Jaune's Semblance, she knew what was happening, and she was actively trying to make it work.
It still wasn't entirely comfortable, though.
Pyrrha's breath came short as more and more of Amber's Aura rushed into her, feeling tense, taut, squeezed, like there was a lead tombstone over her chest and fathoms of water crushing down on her. Every instinct in her struggled to push back, to reject this, and it took all her concentration not to do so as she wrested in shallow, gasping breaths, her fingers curling into the crevices of the lid as she braced herself against it.
It didn't help that there was also a raw, prickling sensation marching like a parade of pepper-laced ants up and down her skin, fiery and intense and yet not quite painful, a feeling akin to being submerged in a too-hot bath. Her body accepting the foreign Aura, or rejecting it? Either option seemed equally ominous.
Breathe.
Breathe.
She was Pyrrha Nikos, and she wanted to help. Cinder was her enemy. She was Pyrrha Nikos, and she wanted to save Amber in the only way anyone still could.
Pyrrha kept those thoughts cycling relentlessly in her head, pushing them through her body with each struggling breath. If any part of Amber, or her soul, or the Maiden powers, were capable of understanding, Pyrrha wanted her, it, them, to know that she was an ally. She was Pyrrha Nikos, and she wanted to help. Cinder was her enemy, and Pyrrha held that enemy's face in her mind's eye as she gasped for air that seemed to be growing thinner by the moment.
Breathe, breathe. D-don't reject it. This is Amber. You want to help Amber. Your name is Pyrrha Nikos, you will not lose yourself, and you want to help. You want to help. You are helping.
Let me help you, Amber.
Let me help you. Please.
The sunbeam-heat engulfing her body and the raw almost-sting prickling over her skin were both building more and more by the second, and Pyrrha's fingers curled into fists as she gasped for air. If she opened her eyes, she doubted she'd be able to see anything past the black static sparking in the corners of her vision, and there was a plunging sensation in the pit of her stomach.
Please-
With a sudden surge, Amber's Aura filled her completely to the brim, and that last crescendo seemed to squeeze the very air from her lungs as Pyrrha finally passed out.
Ozpin did not feel triumphant as he watched Jaune Arc help his dazed, visibly-shaken partner from one half of the Aura transfer machine, pulling her up from the depths of the tube like the victim of some drowning incident as the rest of their team kept their guard up.
If anything, the only emotion he could manage to feel was guilt.
I should have done better.
A common thought, and one he knew as well as himself. He should have done better for Amber, could have done better; could have forced her to complete her training before letting her wander out alone, could have ordered her to find trustworthy companions to travel by her side, could have- could have-
But he hadn't.
And now she was gone.
And she was not alone in that.
How many Maidens and would-be Maidens had he seen fall? How many times had he seen a young girl, bright with promise, wither and die because of the power thrust upon her –power that he had created in an effort to help Remnant? But people had started trying to cheat the system, tried to use the blessing he'd given the original four for gain, and- and-
And he had no one to blame except himself for his mistakes. How could he have blessed humanity with a near-limitless power and not expected them to get greedy? If he had meant to key the Vaults to a specific set of people, it would have been far better to link the magic to an unassuming set of powers; something meant to hide rather than defend, something otherwise useless to power-hungry tyrants.
I should have done better.
But he hadn't done better, because Ozpin was the name and face he'd grown into and the man he'd been before, before-before-before-before-beforebeforebeforebeforebeforebeforebeforebefore
–well, the man he'd been back then may have been a hero, but he had not been trained to do this. He had not been trained to be humanity's sole protector and guardian across untold ages, and he had learned it through sacrifice and peril, trial and error.
And the cost of such untutored wisdom was mistakes, and when mistakes were made juggling war and peace and nations and civilizations, those mistakes came with a body count.
But there was no use trying to say I'm sorry, I should have done better to the corpse of someone who had died due to your own incompetence, for they would not forgive you, nor should they. Ozpin drew in a deep breath instead, tightening his grip on the head of his cane, and stepped away from the casket that held Amber's remains.
"How do you feel, Miss Nikos?" he asked, and watched her look up, one hand clasped in her partner's and his other arm slung over her shoulders in a gesture that was as much support as it was a protection.
"I feel… empty," she replied, her brow knotting slightly. She searched within herself for a moment, struggling to express the sensation of magic with mere words. "It… when I try to access the Maiden powers, o-or anything new, it's like I'm reaching for something and it isn't there."
"S'that a good sign or a bad one?" the redoubtable Miss Valkyrie asked, not turning around or lowering her hammer.
"I would say –cautiously– that it is a good sign," Ozpin replied, lending his arm to Miss Nikos on her other side as he and Mister Arc helped her descend down the stairs to their level. "If Amber's Aura did not unite with yours, then you would not be missing anything. Whether or not the remaining Maiden powers successfully integrated alongside the rest of her remains to be seen, however."
The sensation of something missing could be the halved Maiden power seeking to reunify itself –or it could just as easily be the lingering traces of Amber's instincts that felt that there should be Maiden powers within her, when those powers had left Amber as she died. Only time would tell, and they did not have the time to experiment.
"When the four of you are confident that Miss Nikos has sufficiently recovered, I believe you should put some distance between yourselves and the Vault," he continued as they reached floor level and Miss Nikos pushed away from himself and Mister Arc, taking a few cautious steps.
She seemed to be recovering faster and faster with every moment, which was another good sign. He had never not had magic, but he well remembered the ebullience of both Maidens and his past lives when they had felt the first surge of it in their veins.
"This location is undoubtedly still of extreme interest to Salem and her forces, and there is –currently– nothing to defend."
If they had the time, he would've asked them to carry Amber to the surface, or have done so himself –but they did not. The vault was too deep beneath the school to receive the CCT network, and thus their communications were cut off. It was imperative that he and Team JNPR ascend quickly to deal with whatever situation was unfolding on the surface.
He would merely have to close his eyes and pray that no matter who penetrated the vault, her body would remain untouched, undisturbed, until a proper funeral could be held afterwards.
The absence of Amber's soul at his back felt like an accusation as he began striding briskly back down the nave towards the elevator. Team JNPR silently fell into step behind him, and Ozpin wanted to tell them wait, rest, let Miss Nikos catch her breath, but he knew he could not. She was well enough to stand, well enough to handle her weapons, and as a Huntress trainee accompanied by her team, that meant she was well enough to take to the battlefield.
I should have done better in shielding you all from this.
Ozpin wrapped the fingers of both hands tightly around the pommel of his cane, standing at parade rest as the elevator began to rise.
"I will defend the tower," he said quietly. "The rest of you may seek out what opponents you may."
"My hammer and I have a date with Cinder, if Ruby and Weiss don't get her first," Miss Valkyrie growled, her knuckles tightening on her weapon, and despite the very real gravity of the situation, Ozpin couldn't help but feel the ghost of a smile on his face.
After all, while he had not always been Ozpin, part of him had. The man who had once been Ozma merged with the souls of his hosts, and so with each new body, their minds met halfway.
Ozma would not recognize Ozpin's mind –nor many of Ozpin's predecessors– as his own, and yet Ozpin himself could acknowledge that his mind –that he was not the same as he had been on that fateful day when his predecessor had awoken within him. The line between who he was and who he had been was blurred, broken, and quite often distorted beyond recognition, and yet it persisted in moments of déjà vu and unfamiliar habits.
If Ozma and his first host became half-and-half, then his third host had been forced to unite with a mind that was only half Ozma. Then only a fourth. Then a fifth. At which point did the soul moving onwards, merging with each new host, become merely an equal conglomeration of all that had come before, and the knight Ozma one fraction of consciousness and memory among many?
…in any case, it was pleasing to Ozpin's ear to hear a threat against the woman who would have killed him in another future, and no matter that "he" would move on to a new host. This body was his, it was him, down to each strand of hair and callus on his skin. Whether that feeling came from the one who had been born Ozpin, the voice that had awoken in his mind, or their merged consciousness, it didn't make that feeling any less true.
"Don't worry," Jaune said as the doors swished open on the ground level and his teammates rushed out to secure the lobby. He paused on the threshold, giving Ozpin a look that he recognized from countless past comrades. "We won't let this happen again."
Ozpin gave him another smile.
"It comforts me to hear that, Mister Arc," he replied. "I wish you and your team the very best of luck."
The boy nodded to him, and then stepped out to join his team as the elevator doors hissed shut behind him.
As the cabin once again began rising upwards, Ozpin cracked his neck from one side to the other, loosening muscles and working out kinks. He rolled his shoulders, spun his cane, and landed it on the ground with a firm tap as the doors opened out on his office.
Nothing seemed amiss, and yet he was hesitant to call it so as he stepped out, considering Cinder's apparent takeover of the tower in the now-erased future and Salem's obvious interest in destroying as much of Beacon and its symbols as possible. Especially considering Miss Sustrai's Semblance, as told by Miss Rose and the others…
He let his eyes roam the office: Ozpin had dealt with illusionary Semblances –and magic– before. Illusions that worked on the subject rather than the world around them tended to self-correct: if Miss Sustrai was present and using her Semblance to make him think the office empty, she was creating a target… scene, for lack of a better word, and allowing his mind to fill in the gaps for vision and/or other senses. If her Semblance created illusions that the target(s) then saw or experienced, they would be static and unchanging.
As he reached the desk, he stretched out the arm not holding his cane and, without actually resting his eyes on the desk, flicked an empty thermos off the edge. It fell to the ground and bounced, cap breaking off from the rest of it as both sections clattered across the ground with a surprising amount of noise.
At the same moment, he stretched out his Aura sensing, letting it blanket both room and elevator, and found nothing. Unless Miss Sustrai's mastery of her Semblance extended to fooling that sense as well, the upper portions of the tower were empty.
Ozpin hummed at that, settling behind the desk and booting up his terminal. Switching onto the Atlesian channels delivered nothing but a fuzz of static, and he left them running as he picked up his Scroll and dialed James.
"General Ironwood here. Ozpin?"
"Speaking from my office," he replied, minimizing the radio channel and bringing up communication sites one after another, flicking through them rapidly. The CCT was abuzz with open lines, and Vale-based social media was likewise clogged with traffic. "What is the current situation, General?"
"Grimm Threat Level is holding steady at seven," James replied, and Ozpin could hear the grimace behind his crisp report. Team RWBY had reported that the original level had been nine, and being a mere two slots away from that was not a comforting margin. Particularly not when James's tone meant that the threat level was edging toward the upper level of seven, and especially not when the Grimm Threat Level Index went from 0 to 10 in magnitudes of severity.
Threat Level Seven was an extraordinarily large horde of Grimm –of mixed species– which could pose a significant danger to whichever settlement they were attacking.
Threat Level Eight was a Grimm horde that was capable of destroying said settlement.
Threat Level Nine was when volunteers had to be called for and lots had to be drawn, to see who made the valiant last stand and who got put on whatever transportation was available to try and make it out, because the settlement's destruction was close to inevitable.
Threat Level Ten was, as Qrow had so succinctly put it, "when you and everyone and everything else are so astronomically fucked, the only thing left to do is pray that the gods –whom you're about to meet– are nice guys."
While the index did go up to 10, the ninth level was really the one that people generally considered the most threatening, and the most applicable doomsday scenario for a settlement under attack.
Threat Level Ten was used to tell nearby combatants that rescue would be hopeless, and to inform the doomed settlement itself that no rescue would be forthcoming. It was less a warning and more a simple acknowledgement that any assistance at or after this point would only increase casualties: so the settlement under attack should consign themselves to the grave and die in whatever way they saw best fit to minimize damage to the surrounding settlements.
Mountain Glenn had been put under a Threat Level Ten. After the tunnels had been sealed, any efforts to aid the trapped citizens –whether by individuals or by armed forces– would have only spread the carnage. And so they were left to die, and so Ozpin was forced to face that fact again and again as the reports trickled in and the thought I should have done better filled his soul with bitter recriminations.
He was not the one to order the tunnels shut, but he could have prevented those orders being given in the first place. As the headmaster of a Hunter Academy, he was more or less politically untouchable, so long as he did nothing to call into doubt his suitability to run Beacon and/or train Hunters. He could have ordered, threatened, manipulated –even bribed.
But he had not, and now the hopes of Vale's prior generation had become a tomb.
"What of the White Fang?" Ozpin asked, shaking off the usual gloom that threatened to overcome him.
"We have confirmed sighting of Adam Taurus," James said grimly. "Not surprising, really, given as he was the likely spearhead for this operation from start to finish. My men managed to account for the presence of several other notable combatants before our comms went dead and we had to start using the damned Scroll network, which of course leaves us wide open to being listened in on."
"Notable combatants from Vale?" Ozpin asked with a raised brow, noting what James very much didn't say as he typed out a short message to be sent over the general Beacon student systems that he, as headmaster, perforce had admin access to.
"Negative. Sienna Khan herself is absent, but there's a worryingly high number of the upper hierarchy of Mistral's White Fang cells."
"Hmm. Well, coups aren't planned in a day, after all," Ozpin replied, sending the message. "I daresay a victory here would significantly repair the damage that the Mountain Glenn mission caused to their collective reputation, as well as pushing Taurus closer to her position."
"Which is why they won't get a victory," James said, his voice nearly a growl. "My men are doing their best to deal with the White Fang: our students seem evenly split between assisting them and beating back the Grimm. Most of the Hunters you called in are focused on keeping escape paths open to Vale, with Beacon's faculty keeping eyes on the ground here."
Ozpin digested that for a moment. He tried not to think about how all of this would have caught him and the others entirely wrong-footed if not for the returnees' warning, focusing instead on the good news. While the Grimm horde and the White Fang alike had fallen on Beacon, the Atlas military and his own students and staff had rallied quickly and were holding their own. Likewise, Miss Nikos had successfully managed to assimilate Amber, which would hopefully result in Salem's failure to (entirely) seize the power of the Fall Maiden.
The only clouds currently on the horizon were the sudden deadening of Atlas's military frequency and the still-unknown locations of Tyrian Callows and whoever had assisted him in making it to Amity. Everything else seemed to be going well, but Ozpin had been a combatant in nearly every one of his lifetimes, and he knew all too well how small things like this could rapidly balloon into catastrophic problems.
"Presuming you have a communication tree to send the calls down and have not done so already, I would warn your men that-"
"-hello? Hello?"
Ozpin blinked, and he doubted he was the only one to do so at that moment.
Considering his position as general, being in contact with one soldier might mean that he missed the crucial report of another, and so James's Scroll was configured to let any call through if they had his number, no matter if he was already in another call or not. Thus, the sudden additional presence was not altogether a surprise, though the caller themself was something of a shock.
"Miss Rose? How on earth did you get-"
Ah. Of course.
Ozpin's eyebrows bobbed up and then down as that realization led to another, and he shook his head with a slight chuckle.
"General, you didn't change your Scroll number even after that many years and disasters?"
"My military Scroll is an urgent line equivalent to emergency aid services," James replied stiffly. "I can't afford to change it when anyone in the chain of command might have need of that number."
"Um, ah, we've managed to restore communications from up here, I think," Miss Rose interjected, making Ozpin straighten a little in his chair. "It seems like Watts and Tyrian tore through the ship. We… haven't found any survivors yet. Cinder and her team are gone, too."
"Do any of them remain on the airship with you?" Ozpin asked.
"No idea. I don't think so. Knowing Tyrian, he's probably gone down to kill as many people as possible, and Cinder and Watts definitely have their own goals."
His mouth tightened, even as the Atlas channel still active on his desktop began to crackle and cascade with a series of rapid-fire orders from James. Miss Nikos had been right to call Amber's soul into herself, it seemed.
"Miss Nikos has undergone the Aura transfer process, and she and her team have gone in search of a certain mutual foe," he replied, knowing that Miss Rose and her partner would not be in communication with the ground yet. "The Grimm Threat Level remains at seven, although both they and the White Fang are currently being held back by the students and staff of Beacon –not to mention the Atlas Military."
"And thanks for restoring our comms, by the way," James cut in a moment later, in the midst of a brief pause from his stream of orders.
"No prob. Uh, if the sitch is stable, we –I mean, me n' Weiss are probably gonna be heading down to help now."
Ozpin's eyes narrowed a trifle as he caught the odd correction. We shouldn't mean anyone but Miss Rose and her partner.
"Over and out!" she chirped before he could bring that up, and the line went dead. Come to think of it, patching what Watts had no doubt done to the Atlas transmission system seemed far beyond what Miss Rose and her partner were capable of…
Ozpin mentally quashed his rising suspicions. Their trustworthiness was beyond reproach: it was far likelier that Miss Rose and her partner had simply gotten help from an outside source –the ship having no survivors did not mean that they wouldn't have brought a Specialist or technician with them. Despite lingering mistrust of Atlas, all of the returnees seemed practical and willing to trust when and where it was necessary.
"And on that note, James, I believe I will have to cut communications for now," he said, glancing over as he saw the elevator display light up. "I seem to be about to host some uninvited guests, and would appreciate it if you sent some reinforcements my way."
"Copy that, Ozpin." There was a moment of almost palpable hesitation, before James added "And don't die on us, this time. Please."
Despite the situation, Ozpin had to chuckle a little as he stood, adjusting his grip on Long Memory, which he still had not released this entire time.
"Rest assured, James, I shall endeavor not to."
"Roger that. Over and out."
"Over and out."
Watching the numbers –which had sunk down to the lobby– begin to tick upwards again, Ozpin exited the various communication applications and then, wishing to make life difficult on the off-chance he didn't survive, instructed his computer to uninstall all applications, log off his administrator's account, and then shut down.
There were a limited number of reasons for anyone to want to come up here. So far as he knew, only James, Team JNPR, and perhaps the other returnees knew that Ozpin was up here. Team JNPR had his Scroll number and would have alerted him if they felt the need to retreat up here, and neither James nor any of the Hunters James had perhaps passed his message on to would have had the time to react to Ozpin's presence here.
So this was likely an enemy, and one unaware of the fact that his office was currently inhabited. If it was the White Fang, this would likely be an effort to claim the enemy's command center: if it was any of Salem's minions, it was likely an effort to locate the Relic.
The doors chimed pleasantly a few moments after he moved to stand before his desk, and Ozpin sighed when he saw that they were empty.
"Miss Sustrai, please," he said, keeping his Aura up even though his pose was completely at ease.
There was a subtle intake of breath from the empty air slightly to the left of the open elevator, the only sign of her shock and unease. Aura sensing indicated two humanoid figures, about equidistant on either side of the room as they spread out to flank him, and he imagined them exchanging bewildered, even accusatory, glances.
Neither spoke, though, and Ozpin sighed, shaking his head.
The fact that they had both locked up after he'd spoken, though, and continued to do nothing now, belied their supposedly hardened criminal natures. Mercury Black was an assassin, and although Ozpin had implied that Miss Sustrai's Semblance had no effect on him, he had not mentioned the boy, and it would have been a perfect time to move in close and break through his Aura with a swift, unexpected attack.
That he hadn't meant that the boy was easier to take off guard than a professional assassin should be. Oh, ruthless enough, to be sure, and entirely mentally capable of killing Ozpin, but… not seasoned with enough experience to ignore Ozpin's rather off-puttingly omniscient attitude.
"A conversation is best shared when all participants can see each other's faces," Ozpin continued, letting his eyes flit from one of them to the other. "And that includes you too, Mister Black."
He didn't even need to entirely rely on Aura sensing: although Miss Sustrai's Semblance erased both her and her partner's actual images, they were still reflected in the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office. Interesting. That implied a degree of mesmerism and focus in her illusions: she could hide or create something in someone's mind, but she still needed to target each individual piece of visual information.
"So what if you know we're here?" the boy spat after a moment, ignoring the hissed "Mercury!" from his partner. "What are you going to do about it, old man?"
Ozpin let his head tilt ever-so-slightly to one side, taking in the scowl the boy's face showed within the nearest reflection.
Belligerent. Overly so. Performative?
Everyone dealt with fear and tension in different ways, and no matter what Team RWBY had reported of the future, that was then, and this was now. A boy like this –an assassin, trained to be a fighter and a killer– was no doubt taught that most forms of expressing fear were signs of weakness, to be avoided at all costs.
Anger was a great deal safer, and Mercury Black could not be calm, not now, not with everything that was going on and everything that was at stake.
"I suppose that depends a very great deal on what the two of you intend to do," Ozpin replied, smiling with a gentle charm that clearly nonplussed both of his opponents.
"We're here to kill you," Miss Sustrai responded as the two abruptly popped back into existence, both of her guns aimed towards him. If he could perceive them, then continuing to use her Semblance was clearly a waste of Aura.
"In that case, I shall be gravely disappointed. Team RWBY spoke highly of you, you know."
Her partner snorted.
"Oh my gods, don't tell me Red got a cute little kiddie crush from our talk at the dance," he said with a sneering grin.
"On the contrary, she spoke of you as a mature pair of Hunter trainees with an interestingly practical mindset and admirable team camaraderie," Ozpin replied, fibbing a little.
Miss Sustrai snorted.
"Mature? Him?" she muttered under her breath, the muzzles of her guns not wavering from Ozpin's position. "Were we even having the same conversation?"
"Aww, Emmy, I feel so loved," Mister Black replied out of the corner of his mouth, subtly settling into a readier stance. "Real team player, you are."
Another man might have been surprised, as their bantering conversation abruptly silenced in favor of an attack. Ozpin merely spun Long Memory in a rapid circle before himself, deflecting the sudden burst of gunfire from Miss Sustrai and the simultaneous sniper-like shots from Mister Black.
Knowing it was best to grapple with one half of a pincer movement before it closed, he moved towards Mister Black first, curious to see what Miss Sustrai would do about it. The returnees' reports indicated a bond between these two, and he had not failed to notice how the brief exchange of barbs had seemed to settle both of them. Perhaps the beginnings of the bond were tenuous at this stage, fragile and easily snapped –but they did seem to trust each other at an unconscious level, and for people such as this, trust was no small thing.
Mercury Black was impressively sharp –the second Ozpin even began to move in his direction, he had already kicked off against the ground and blasted himself backwards with a shot from both feet, kiting out of range. Chains ending in grappling hooks lashed at Ozpin's own legs as he followed, and he dodged the swipe of Miss Sustrai's weapon with a short leap and somersault.
Mister Black continued his retreat, and within moments Ozpin was very impressed with the two of them. By seizing on his opponent's initiative, Mister Black was using a feigned retreat to set Ozpin up for his partner's attacks, weaving in and out of her range as he constantly kept Ozpin focused on chasing him –sometimes faking an almost-stumble or nearly getting himself pinned down, other times rolling and kicking back in a reversal of momentum as he feinted a rush, planting several bullets into Ozpin's guard before "realizing" he was still outmatched and continuing to move backwards.
Miss Sustrai, meanwhile, was merely letting her partner maneuver Ozpin so that his back was to her and then swiftly taking advantage of it: but she slotted into the rhythm of Mister Black's attacks and retreats perfectly, so that Ozpin was constantly fending off one while the other attacked from an opposite direction. That was no mean feat, particularly when he was fairly certain that this was an improvisation on both their parts, and not the original plan.
That was interesting. They were relying on each other without true reliance –although it was a matter of each of them having no other support, these two still fit together more perfectly than they perhaps yet realized.
At the blistering pace set by such combat, this grueling hammer-and-tongs pattern that they created was perfectly designed to disorient and dominate whichever opponent was unlucky enough to be caught in it, and most trainees –and a number of graduated Hunters, to be frank– would have fallen for their ploy and been taken down quickly.
Ozpin, however, had been a skilled combatant since long before this pair's ancestors had knocked sticks together to make fire, and recognized this tactic for what it was within seconds. That did not mean he was in a position to stop it, of course –not immediately– but he knew what they were trying to get him to do, and that was more than half the battle.
The three combatants blitzed their way back and forth and around the office, ducking and spinning, advancing and blocking, chasing and dodging, in a breakneck whirlwind of constant movement as gunshots bellowed and roared over the ticking gears.
Ozpin saw his chance and took it, winding his cane in a sharp flick of movement around the end of one of Miss Sustrai's chains and moving with the swing of her strike as he seized control of its momentum and direction. Combining timing, speed, and angle together with a terrifyingly perfect synchronism, he then snapped his arm out, flicking the sickle-blade at the end of her chains off the end of Long Memory and sending it whizzing towards the office window.
With the force of his strike added to her own, the blade sunk hilt-deep into the glass with a sharp tink, cracks spiderwebbing out around it as the chain jangled to a swaying halt. She tugged at it –and then paled as she realized that the blade had hit the window so hard, it had wedged inside the glass rather than shattering it.
She was well-trained, though, and almost as soon as she made that connection, she was dropping that half of her weapon, retrieving the other chain with a flick of her wrist and snapping the remaining gun attachment out so that it formed something like a sickle, ready to meet the swing of his cane. She knew better than to struggle with a stuck weapon: any moment of hesitation or weakness would be capitalized on by her enemies.
She had a thief's quickness and steady hands as she and Ozpin met in melee, but experience told over skill and innate talent, and he tapped out a precise series of hammer blows against her guard and then her Aura, driving her back and eventually knocking her remaining gun-sickle out of her hand with a cry of pain. He reversed his grip on Long Memory, cracking it up under her skin with a burst of more Aura as she went limp, dropping instantly to the ground.
"Emerald!" her partner shouted, and pain tore across the back of Ozpin's skull as a bullet abruptly impacted his Aura. "Hey, old man, pick on someone your own size!"
Ozpin moved aside from the next volley of gunshots as they tore into the elevator doors and floor, quietly noting to himself even as he did that that shot had been precisely placed to hit where his spine met the base of his skull –an instant and irreversible kill shot, for someone without Aura. For all that that action had seemed involuntary –if Mister Black had thought that they were losing, it would've been wiser to flee while Ozpin was occupied with his erstwhile partner– his aim was impeccable.
The volley ended after it had driven Ozpin off some meters to the right, about halfway between his desk and the elevator, with Miss Sustrai collapsed near the latter. Mercury Black stood roughly opposite, panting slightly as he dropped his foot and swept it back in an unconscious defensive pose.
Ozpin was thoroughly interested when he watched the boy's grey eyes flick from his partner to the dented elevator doors, soundlessly calculating. With Ozpin balanced in the middle distance, he could either try to help her or he could try to save his own skin –but not both. The very fact he hesitated at all, though… he was more attached to her than he would probably admit.
"Mercury Black," Ozpin said aloud, testing the name on his tongue, and Mister Black narrowed his eyes in response, no longer leaning towards the door. Team RWBY has been sparse about his details, other than the fact that he worked for Cinder and through her Salem. But Ozpin had access to records they did not, and he felt a twinge of morbid curiosity. "It's a common enough surname, certainly, but considering our circumstances… any relation to the assassin Marcus Black?"
The boy stilled. That, more than anything, told Ozpin that he had struck deep: Mercury Black had been moving in subtle increments this entire time, always seeking to balance better, angle himself into an attack or defense, survive. Even if he gave absolutely nothing else away, this sudden freezing –the way he stopped rocking on his heels to maintain perfect balance while waiting for Ozpin's next strike, the way his shoulders went tight– told its own story, and it was an unpleasant one.
Poor boy. Poor, poor boy. Ozpin knew that the easiest way for Salem to find her recruits was to go looking for those that slipped through the cracks and that had anger burning in their souls, and assassins by definition were known for cutting off their emotional ties. Being raised by an assassin to become an assassin was likely done with neither kindness nor care, and the abrupt disappearance of Marcus Black a few years ago told of the inevitable grim conclusion to such a story.
You create a monster first by torturing the weak, then by giving them power.
"What's it to you?" Mercury Black scoffed not even a half-second after he froze, visibly –to Ozpin, at least– forcing himself to relax again.
"Nothing whatsoever, except that it gives me some insight into your combative style," Ozpin answered serenely, adjusting his stance so that he held his cane out and down like a sword. "I judge a man by his own character, not the sins of his father."
"Tch."
Mister Black scoffed at him, dismissing Ozpin with a curl of his lip, but there was a new wariness in his eyes as he sank down into a combative stance. Ozpin offered a slight smile in response, holding himself ready for what may come.
A swooping Nevermore shrieked as Miló blasted through its eye and came whirling back to her hand, and Pyrrha felt more than heard the boom of Magnhild on her left side as Nora took a knee, blasting rapidly into the oncoming horde of Creeps and Ursa. Ren guarded her other flank, StormFlower alive with the green light of Wind Dust as the rapid chitter of its gunfire mowed down rank after rank of Beowolves and Griffons.
Jaune had her back, his shield out and sword shining sharp and red in the light of the fires and broken lamps as Team JNPR made their way, meter by careful meter, away from the tower and towards the airships in the distance, hanging like gigantic frozen whales in the sky over the Emerald Forest. They didn't know if Cinder was still there or had already been executed, but it seemed like a fair place to start from –and anyway, there were so many Grimm, it didn't really matter where they started clearing them out.
Pyrrha felt… not fine, but… better. Almost like normal. She still felt oddly stretched, like someone had taken all of her muscles and kneaded and pulled them out like chewing gum, before letting them slowly relax back into their proper shapes. She felt different, but not… not noticeably weaker.
Not noticeably stronger, either, but Pyrrha wasn't called the best and brightest of Beacon for nothing, and Miló sang a song of death and blood as she tore through the Grimm with her team, heading for the closest point to the airship drop-offs.
Their Scrolls all chimed in unison, but Pyrrha didn't have the time or space to check, occupied as she was with a Griffon who shrieked and buffeted her with huge dark wings. Shortly after she delivered the stab and twist to end its life, however, she flicked her Scroll off her belt and saw that it was a notification pop-up from a Professor Ozpin on the Beacon app, informing all students of the situation and advising them how and where to either retreat to Vale or join up with the Hunters and Atlesian forces to defend the school.
That didn't apply to anyone on her team, of course, and they all gave each other a harried nod and continued on.
They passed civilians and other students –few of the former, now, as the evacuations had mostly finished– Atlas military units and scattered pockets of the White Fang. As much as it bit at her, her team tended to ignore the White Fang, only taking a few potshots at the most violent as they passed. She knew why, of course –getting dragged down into a fight against these people would delay them too much– but it still grated, to turn her back on the people making a unified effort to tear down her home.
It wasn't an entirely unified effort, though. Train all they like, indoctrinate their volunteers all they wanted, the faction of the White Fang attacking Beacon were still not soldiers. She'd be willing to bet that most of them weren't even battle-hardened veterans.
Even then –even now, as roars split the night and gunfire chittered in between– the instinct to help against Grimm was overwhelming. Show them a family running in panic from a Beowolf, trying desperately to reach the shelter of a nearby building, or a father standing between an Ursa and his son with nothing but a pole wrenched from a tent, and the White Fang's guns had a tendency to twitch.
Just for a moment, just for a brief spray of gunfire… it was only a few people, after all. It didn't really matter if the Faunus in question shot the Grimm to let them get away. Right? It was only a few stragglers… barely anyone at all…
This, she thought, was probably the reasoning in their heads when they were actually bothering to think. Most of the time, she knew, fighting like this was a matter of reflex, especially for newer recruits: see a danger, eliminate the danger, follow your training, stay alive. There was no time for moral or philosophical questioning, no time for doubts, no time for anything but white-knuckle focus on carrying out your orders and staying alive –not necessarily in that order.
And even for the White Fang, Faunus supremacists that they were, the overwhelming instinct was to shoot Grimm. Not people. It was what everyone on Remnant learned from the cradle: the Creatures of Grimm were the worst threat they could think of.
Even when their leaders had probably spent some time psyching them up for this attack, even when they had probably been indoctrinated for months on anti-human propaganda, the training and habits of a lifetime briefly took over all but the most zealous recruits when they saw people running for their lives from Grimm.
It was those zealous recruits that she and her teammates paused for. As far into Beacon's grounds as they had been at the beginning, there had been almost no stragglers from any side –but the further they pushed towards the battleships and the closer they got to the Emerald Forest, the thicker the fighting got. More Grimm, more Hunters, and more of the White Fang.
Her team's rapid flight slowed to a crawl despite their best efforts, bogged down by the unending ranks of Grimm and infrequent pockets of resistance from the White Fang. Beacon's defenders were holding their own, but at the moment, that was all they were doing, and even though the White Fang were falling fairly quickly –compared to the Hunters and soldiers, anyway– the horde of Grimm showed no signs of decreasing.
"Careful with your ammo!" Jaune shouted over the bellowing tide of Grimm and the constant roar of gunfire. "We don't know when we'll resupply next!"
"Right!" Pyrrha called back, twisting Miló from rifle back to spear with a flip of her wrist. Ren grunted acknowledgement beside her –his weapons were predominantly a gun, so he couldn't really afford to switch tactics in the same way– as Nora spun Magnhild like a cheerleader with a baton, barrel extending outwards as it telescoped back into a hammer.
"Gonna be tricky to cut through this way!" she shouted back, before bending her knee into a swing that took an Ursa's head clean off.
"Trust me, we don't want to challenge a Maiden with anything less than our best!" Jaune replied, raising his voice just to be over the tumult of the battlefield. Then there was a grunt and a thud of impact behind her, and then she heard the wet, rending crunch of Crocea Mors slicing into Grimm flesh.
Their pace slowed even more, going from a steady crawl to long periods of pause with intermittent movement. A few stray shots from the guns of the White Fang and buffets from the Grimm chipped some of her Aura levels away, but she and most of the others had yet to dip below 80% –Jaune had started at 60% due to his work on Velvet and Team SSSN earlier in the day– and they were going strong.
Another very real difficulty in engaging the White Fang, though, was what to do with them after being disarmed or knocked out. The Grimm were everywhere, and though they tended to ignore the White Fang as both sides pressed their attack, it seemed to be tenuous –if the Faunus were wounded, or scared, they drew the Grimm's attention, and the results were not pretty.
But of course, they couldn't just let the White Fang sweep past them and into the school.
It was a delicate compromise, fighting just enough to hold them back but not to the point of essentially killing civilian volunteers after they had been eliminated as threats. The very idea turned Pyrrha's stomach, and this kind of situation was exactly why she had been a fighter in clearly-defined tournaments and a Huntress trainee who targeted Grimm.
They had been fighting their way toward the cliffs this whole time, and had nearly made it all the way through the courtyard and to the docks when all four of their Scrolls buzzed again. This time it was the extended chime of a call, and Pyrrha saw a nearby patch of shrubbery that hadn't yet been too decimated and nudged the others toward it. With Jaune and Ren standing at the ready to defend them, Pyrrha opened what seemed to be a direct message from Professor Ozpin and hit speaker.
"Ah, Miss Nikos. The four of you are unharmed, I trust?"
"We're fine," Nora answered for her, still panting lightly as she braced her hammer against the ground in a resting position.
"Excellent. I rejoice to inform you that Miss Rose and her partner have succeeded in restoring the Atlesian communications hub from the General's ship, so the virtual airspace will begin to clear up shortly. I have also managed to restrain several uninvited guests who attempted to break into my office."
"Watts and Tyrian?" Pyrrha guessed, remembering how they had worked together before.
"Emerald and Mercury, rather."
Jaune stiffened slightly at those words, half-glancing over his shoulder.
"Is she- are they okay?" he asked.
"Mostly unharmed, although they are both unconscious and will no doubt regret trifling with me when they have awakened," Professor Ozpin replied serenely, although there was a rueful edge to his voice. It darkened further. "In less sanguine news, I'm afraid I must pass on the report that the airship was empty when Miss Rose found it, and that Cinder and her cohort have escaped."
Ren hissed through his teeth as Jaune muttered something that was probably a curse. Pyrrha frowned, and Nora outright bared her teeth in a snarl.
"That's gonna put a dent in our plans to put a dent in her," she growled, and Pyrrha shot her a look that was half grateful and half embarrassed.
"Knowing her, she's probably heading straight for the Maiden, and relying on Emerald and Mercury to distract whoever's coming to the center of Beacon to protect the tower," Jaune thought aloud. His eyes lifted to the sky: theirs followed, tracing a path from those distant-but-not-distant-enough airships to the tower behind them, and the elevator and basement beneath. "Guess we're doubling back again."
"Guess so," Nora said, straightening up again as she lifted her hammer from the ground. "Bitch can fly, so she'd probably head straight over, and not bother to land until she got there."
"Thanks, Headmaster," Pyrrha addressed to her Scroll, wishing to be polite even under these circumstances, and got a hum of assent.
"I shall remain within the tower itself, to guard it from any further interlopers. I called James –pardon, General Ironwood– to dispatch reinforcements to my location," Ozpin replied. "If you see said reinforcements before I do, I'd appreciate it if you could send them my way to retrieve these two, since I'd rather not endanger them with friendly fire."
"Roger that," Pyrrha nodded. "Good luck."
"And the best to you as well."
The call terminated, and Pyrrha tucked her Scroll back into her belt.
All the members of Team JNPR looked to their leader, and Jaune chewed briefly on his lower lip as he assessed the situation outside their little copse of trees. This close to the fringes of Beacon, there was still an appreciable amount of both the White Fang and Grimm, although anyone down at the festival grounds seemed to have –thankfully– been airlifted out by now. Loose squads of Atlesian soldiers and their fellow academy students stood shoulder to shoulder, many shooting down Grimm and holding the line against the White Fang, others dragging the injured or captured towards the landing pads on the outer strip of the courtyard.
"I think we can risk just going it at a run once we break through the front lines, if we head through the gardeners' pathways," Jaune said at last, decisively. "Ren, you're the lightest and the best at Aura-sensing. I want you to keep an eye on the skies and the surrounding area for Cinder: let Nora carry you for a bit, if you need to do it without distractions. Pyrrha, you n' me will keep them covered. If we don't see Cinder before we make it back to the tower, we'll figure our attack out then, but if we don't get time to plan between now and then… try to ambush, if we see her."
With a nod, Team JNPR steadied their stance and their grip on their weapons, looked to the seething battlefield, and waited for the best moment of opportunity. They saw it, and then seized it, bursting from the shrubbery and sprinting as a tight unit for the narrower way between the exterior buildings that led deeper back into Beacon.
Though some Grimm swiped or swooped for their team, Pyrrha and Jaune managed to keep them from the other two without slowing down too much as JNPR crossed the small diagonal of open ground they needed to before plunging back into the relative cover of the school interior, having drawn not a speck of attention from the people on either side in all this chaos.
They continued running, dashing along the lesser-used and private pathways of Beacon's grounds as they ran for the place that they had started at. This circular not-progress was frustrating, but not near as frustrating as the mere idea that Cinder might reach Amber's body unopposed.
Pyrrha felt rage flaring up like a bed of hot coals inside her, and didn't know if that was her –remembering that moment that now wasn't, the glass arrow on the tower– or someone else, thinking of cold grey skies and ambush on the road and a searing, scuttling horror that latched onto her and ate away at her face, her soul.
In either case, both nebulous maybe-sides of her were in complete agreement. If two potential Fall Maidens met tonight at Beacon, Cinder should be the one to die. Not her.
Not again.
And besides, they had made good progress –killing Grimm, disabling some of the White Fang. Their abbreviated attempt to reach the docks was not wasted, and their quick, sneaking flight back was not wasted either, as they ran across more Grimm. No White Fang now, not with battle thickening along the outskirts of Beacon and everyone, friend or foe, going to reinforce each other.
Their progress was also hindered by the need for cover: dashing from a stand of trees to duck around the corner of a dorm building, pausing to catch their breath and assess the terrain ahead, and then dashing out again. They saw any enemies before said enemies saw them, this way, but this pace also wore away at patience and endurance both, until sweat slicked her skin beneath the armor and leather and her lungs ached at the edges with each panting breath.
Still, her Aura had not dipped past 75% when Ren whistled sharply and jerked his chin up, and they all followed the line of his movement to the sky overhead, where a blazing streak of orange fire flashed overhead and was soon gone, the sight blocked among the trees and rooftops. It had been heading for the tower, however, and that was more than enough for them.
Team JNPR all veered towards the trajectory of that fiery light, drawing closer and closer to the open courtyard around the tower. Rather than bursting out into the open, however, they skidded to a halt and dove, one after another, behind the curving colonnade of one of the courtyard decorations.
Pyrrha put her back to the cool stone, letting the heat from their run sink out of her, as Ren crouched and Jaune likewise braced himself against another pillar. Nora whirled Magnhild into grenade-launcher form in a quick flicker of movement, taking a knee beside Jaune as he craned his neck, peering out.
"Right," he whispered. "She's- she's not here yet, but she was definitely headed this way. We need to plan this."
"Let her go into the vault and trap her there?" Ren suggested, but Jaune shook his head.
"Anyone else, that would work, but she's got at least some of the Maiden powers. If her Aura breaks, she can still use magic, and we need to be able to dodge all that fire."
Ren gave a short nod, accepting that response, and Nora tapped her fingers restlessly against her weapon.
"Catch her from behind and knock her head clean off her shoulders?" she suggested, her vicious expression at odds with her hopeful tone, and Jaune hummed.
"May as well. Doesn't really matter how we do this as long as we do ambush her, but…" His eyes flicked over them, then back to the courtyard, and his gaze grew steely. "Ren, Nora, you'll need to stick close to either me or Pyrrha the whole time. We can block some of it with our shields, but you'll be sitting ducks, and Cinder won't have an Aura limit on how much fire she can throw."
They all nodded.
"Her Semblance lets her superheat and manipulate material, and she's got a preference for weaving that with Dust magery, glass, and dirt to create temporary weapons or elemental effects," Jaune continued in a brisk undertone, still eyeing the courtyard warily. "It also gives her a leg up on the Maiden powers, since using magic fire to do the same thing works just as well. If her Aura's broken, she'll probably still throw out similar attacks."
Pyrrha nodded again, more thoughtfully. Her own Semblance wouldn't be much good, then.
"You guys all saw Jinn's vision, so you know…" Jaune then paused for a moment, visibly searching what was to him years of memory, rather than a few hour's worth of storytelling. "She's pretty controlled, but if you push her into a position where she might lose, her temper starts to flare up. She's arrogant. She doesn't like being on the back foot. If she's down here now, then it means she probably flew off the airship before Ruby and the others found her, which means we might get reinforcements before it's over."
There was a certain smug tinge of anticipation in the air at those words. Pyrrha liked to think of herself as a good person, a decent person, and ordinarily the idea of killing someone would at least make her shiver… but these weren't ordinary circumstances. Cinder was supposed to kill her and tear her team apart with grief, and Pyrrha would be glad –glad!– to see Ruby and Weiss (and maybe even Neo) swoop in to help them rip that wicked woman apart.
"Ss!"
That was Nora, hissing a warning as she peered out at one of the courtyard entrances, and they all pressed closer to their makeshift hiding place. Knowing where the enemy was coming from made it easier to angle themselves away from her line of sight, though, which in turn gave all four of them a chance to peek out and see what was happening.
Cinder Fall strode out into the courtyard, her pace brisk, but not unwary –nor, frankly, all that steady. Why she had landed before actually reaching the tower was fairly obvious: layered incongruously over her gold-embroidered crimson dress was a White Fang jacket, tied tightly around Cinder's abdomen in a makeshift bandage and with red leaking through the cloth on the left side.
Pyrrha's heart jumped as she saw that slow seep of blood: not only had someone managed to break Cinder's Aura, but they had also managed to actually hit her into the bargain –before she'd fled, anyway.
Given the circumstances, and the skill level of her friends, Pyrrha was fairly sure who had struck that blow.
Cinder's off-the-shoulder dress exposed a wide sweep of her skin, as well, and every inch of skin she showed was flushed –not with exertion, but as if it had been scraped red and rough by a blast of scouring sand. It was also marbled with weeping cracks and shinier blotches of exposed fat and tissue, like she'd been blasted with flames. The injury to her side Pyrrha could understand –both Ruby and Weiss and Neopolitan all had melee weapons capable of stabbing or slicing– but this raw, burned appearance was very odd, particularly when Cinder had some control over fire.
Injuries or not, though, Cinder's amber eyes blazed a luminescent gold that tore holes through the night, and her back was straight and her chin set high as her glass heeled clinked against the ground, chipping away the distance between herself and the Fall Maiden with single-minded purpose. Wounded though she may be, conventionally defenseless without her Aura though she was, Cinder would not be stopped, would not be swayed from her goal.
Pyrrha had seen it, in Jinn's vision –how this woman was powered by pride and determination both, constantly scourged by one or the other, driven onwards by them whenever anyone else might have faltered and given up. Cinder had come to Beacon for the Maiden, and her pride would not allow her to accept anything less.
But that selfsame nature was leading her directly into a trap –too determined to turn back; and too proud to admit that with her Aura broken and herself covered in injuries, it would have been better to flee or surround herself with bodyguards– Cinder had come into the heart of Beacon alone.
Pyrrha looked at the others, rolled her shield on her arm, and tilted her head to one side. They nodded in response, tightening their grips on their weapons, firming their stances.
As one, they burst into movement –Pyrrha swinging out to one side of the pillar as she hurled Akoúo̱ at Cinder's back like a razor-edged discus, Ren and Jaune bolting out from the other side with Jaune keeping himself between Ren and Cinder. Nora stayed by her side, somersaulting behind Pyrrha in a tight roll to come up with Magnhild's grenade-launcher at the ready.
Cinder caught the sound of Ren and Jaune running –as she could hardly fail to– and swung around. Fire boiled at her hands and ran up her arms, but she was forced to throw one out to deflect Akoúo̱. Without Aura, her flame-sheathed arm was knocked aside with a wrenching cry of pain, but she did manage to avoid taking the edge directly to her face.
At the same moment she caught the flying shield on her wrist and half-turned it aside, however, StormFlower rattled, and the Dust-based bullets struck Cinder in bright bursts of green that left behind streaming trails of red, further knocking her off balance.
Cinder staggered back –but credit to whoever trained her, it was only for a few steps, and she was unguarded only for the first half-dozen bullets. The flames on her arms suddenly roared, expanding outwards to surround her in a cone of heat and force that ate the Wind Dust Ren used for ammunition and blunted the impact of Nora's volley of grenades a moment later.
She snarled at them all, blood leaking from the ugly pockmarks on one arm to join the blood seeping from the rough-bandaged wound at her side. Pyrrha felt a visceral shudder of recognition run through her at that sight as she flexed her fingers, calling Akoúo̱ back to her as it whirled around to land in her grasp and she moved to guard Nora at the same moment.
Champion that she was, tournament fighter that she had been, Pyrrha knew blood in the water when she tasted it. Cinder was injured, off-balance, ambushed, and every warrior's instinct in Pyrrha was urging her to capitalize on this moment. If she was Faunus, her ears would be pricking up, her talons unsheathing on their own.
"You…" Cinder hissed, golden eyes alight with fury as she swiveled her head to take them all in, her teeth grinding as she clenched her jaw in loathing recognition. "You fucking children just can't leave well enough alone."
She clutched at her wounded arm with the opposite hand, still glaring at them all, and there was a hiss as her sleeve was burned away. Oddly enough, the burnt and scalded skin from… whatever had hit her previously… seemed to sweep all the way down to her hands –but Pyrrha was swiftly distracted as Cinder's blazing palm and fingers moved up her arm, leaving bubbling pink scar tissue behind.
Pyrrha grimaced at the makeshift cauterization as Cinder brutally and efficiently sealed the wounds Ren had caused, leaving her right arm a ropey patchwork of blood and burned skin. She flexed it, gasping, and the tears standing involuntarily in the corners of her eyes belied the venomous hatred that shimmered within them.
"Less talking, more dying!" Nora shot back from behind Pyrrha, her normally bubbly energy subsumed into fiercely protective anger, and fired again, explosions of pink Dust rippling across the battlefield and momentarily obscuring both Cinder's view and their view of Cinder. "Nora's Arc!"
Pyrrha heard a sharp pulse of Gravity Dust from Jaune's shield in response, and a moment later a heavy clanging crunch of impact as his flying body hit Cinder full-on from the opposite direction. The smoke from Nora's grenades cleared a moment later, and Pyrrha saw the light from the flames flash brightly off the edge of his sword as Jaune swung for Cinder's neck.
She dodged with the agility of a viper, swaying backwards despite her bruised face and the way her wounded shoulder dangled –Jaune's shield must have caught her on that side– as she stepped out of range. A moment later, the designs of her dress glimmered, and Dust congealed in the air in the shape of a sword that she swung to block his next strike.
Standing in the flames surrounding her was wearing through Jaune's Aura, though, and Pyrrha sank into a one-knee crouch and fitted Miló's rifle form to one of the notches in her shield, staring to pick off shots. Nora adding her own volley would be a waste of time and Dust, and so she chose to join Jaune in direct melee, rushing out as she switched Magnhild into its typical war hammer form and swung –of course– for the legs.
Forced to engage on multiple fronts, with Jaune and Nora both ducking in and out of her shrouding mantle of flames and Pyrrha sniping every opening she found –hitting knees, elbows, even her hands, once or twice– Cinder was constantly forced to move, an enemy attacking her from behind every time her back was turned. The flames she conjured were hot enough to melt and mostly deflect the bullets from Pyrrha's gun, but a decent amount of the force still bled through, and Cinder stumbled or buckled every time she hit.
Pyrrha heard the scuff of a footstep and felt Ren's presence just behind her, waiting patiently for his own opportunity to attack –or defend. His weapons limited what he could do here, but it was no bad thing, to have one of their team ready to jump in wherever he might be needed, fresh and undistracted. If Nora or Jaune faltered, or if Grimm came to interrupt them, Ren would be able to see this through.
Great twisting coils of molten glass and lava –melted from the dirt and grass at their feet– flew around Cinder, being treated as whips and swords both as her eyes blazed with Maiden power and she lashed out at Pyrrha's teammates.
Jaune could block them with his shield and Dust, but Pyrrha's heart skipped a beat as she saw Cinder beginning to drive Nora back, slowly but steadily edging her away from Jaune in a flurry of blows that Nora spun away or otherwise deflected with Magnhild, which was already coated with several layers of cooling glass and rock.
Pyrrha saw Cinder drive Jaune back with an explosion of flames that sent him flying halfway across the courtyard, turning to Nora in the same movement as she brought her hand up and squeezed. The splotches of molten material glowed brighter, and Nora barely had time to widen her eyes and toss her weapon away before it burst in a roaring explosion of Dust and liquid metal.
Leaving Nora with no defense but her Aura –and Jaune too far away to help her.
Pyrrha's eyes widened as Cinder regarded her teammate with a feral, tightened sneer and raised her hand higher, fire kindling inside the cage of her fingers. The sight seemed to fill her vision –and something else filled Pyrrha in the same moment as she gave a great cry of anguish, seeing tower-Grimm-glass and courtyard-Nora-flames flickering back and forth before her eyes. She could not allow this to happen. She could not.
Hate and fear and love for her teammate rose in Pyrrha like a tidal wave, overwhelming all other thoughts, all other instincts, everything but the all-encompassing need to save her friend. She was not even aware of the individual movements as she pulled her rifle to her shoulder and snapped off a shot at Cinder's head, operating on years and years of muscle memory in the desperate hope to do something before it was too late.
And she certainly did.
Pyrrha felt something –bloom, unfolding like a flower inside her, and when the bullet flew from her gun, it was wreathed in a crackling bolt of electricity.
But she hadn't been using Lightning Dust.
The bullet and the bolt of lightning it carried crossed the space in an instant, slamming into Cinder and taking its turn to send her flying, crashing into one of the courtyard's far walls. Pyrrha grasped at the sensations welling up inside her and spread one hand, holding out her free arm and pressing down as she… settled the fires left behind, snuffing them out with but a mental command and the mental image of an envelope of dead air.
Shocked as her teammates clearly were, Nora was quick to scramble across to rejoin Jaune, who covered her protectively with his own body, angling his shield towards where Cinder had landed.
"Pyrrha, did you just…" Ren began, stunned. Pyrrha was just as surprised as she moved to properly grip her rifle with both hands, aiming at Cinder's last known position.
"I… I think I did," she replied, her eyes wide. She wanted to touch the edge of them, somehow see if her sockets were blazing with an emerald flame, but trigger discipline forbade it. Pyrrha thus took a deep breath and wrestled down all her shock, all her emotions. Right now, they needed to fight, and she needed to do her best to figure out how these powers worked so that she could capitalize on them to the utmost.
So far, it had seemed instinctive. She had wanted to reach out, attack Cinder and save Nora, and so whatever mental block that had prevented her from recognizing that the Maiden powers had been added onto her soul faded as they reached out alongside her reflexive desire to help her teammate. She'd been so ready for some sensation of presence, of power, that she hadn't actually tried to use the powers and find out that they were there before that moment. But now…
A stream of fire poured out of the settling dust where Cinder had landed, and Pyrrha lashed out without quite meaning to, meeting it with another fantastic bolt of lightning. It burst the first attack, sending gouts of molten material in all directions, and Pyrrha surged to move across the scoured courtyard, spinning Miló into short-sword form as she closed the distance on her enemy.
Why she did so, she could not have quite explained –years of experience and native talent let Pyrrha read the flow of battle like a map, and she often knew without truly thinking about it that now she must push in, retreat, dodge, circle, bait.
Her instincts told her that now was the time to push Cinder into melee, and Pyrrha did so without hesitation. She crashed into Cinder with sword and Semblance and power at the ready, swinging Miló out and shoving the flames that surged for her away with a gust of wind. Her sword slashed across Cinder's cheek as she belatedly dodged, but with the boost her magical fire gave her no longer an equalizer, Cinder was slowing, faltering, more in danger by the moment.
Unable to burn through Pyrrha's Aura or push her back with flames, Cinder had to fight her with more concentrated attacks –but all of the cuts and slashes and burns were taking a steady toll, to say nothing of the still-bleeding wound beneath her makeshift bandage. Well-trained and resistant to pain as she may be; she had still come to them injured, her Aura broken, and then seared the bullet wounds on her arm shut. Body-to-body combat was not one of her strengths, right now.
And yet unless she was willing to simply let Pyrrha kill her, she had no choice.
Cinder still fought, though. She still summoned swords that were melted from the flagstones at her feet and swung to meet Pyrrha. But compared to how Pyrrha had seen her fight in the practice ring, and in the future that didn't exist, it was slow, clumsy, stiff. Honestly, it was a bit pathetic.
Well, no wonder, with one arm perforated like that –even if Cinder had sealed the wounds shut.
Their blades clashed and tangled together. Fire surged down Pyrrha's arm, and she whipped that arm away, letting the turn move her whole body as she drove Akoúo̱ in a concussive slam against Cinder's side. Cinder gasped, nearly buckling in pain as Pyrrha saw blood spreading faster beneath the tight-tied jacket.
That was a distant distraction, however, compared to Pyrrha's focus as she wove around Cinder's panicked return strike and drove Miló home, putting all of her energy, all her force, all her feelings into the thrust as she remembered that autumnal day with Jaune and the future that he had returned from.
Cinder's Aura was barely a flicker, and Pyrrha's sword pierced through it without a moment of resistance as the gold and red blade sank deep into Cinder's neck, shearing through flesh as a wet spray of blood spattered out, coating Pyrrha's face and hands and evaporating in the dancing flames around them.
This time, as Pyrrha buried Miló in Cinder's throat and the wicked woman gurgled out her last, eyes blazing up at her killer in a kind of dumbfounded shock and rage –this time, Pyrrha felt a surge of power suffuse her body as Cinder's body dropped and a light the color of a harvest moon leaped from her, slamming into Pyrrha's chest.
The winds swirled around her in a reflexive rush as Pyrrha felt herself swept up in that surge of power, cradling and lifting her body like she weighed no more than a leaf as the flames that had surrounded her and Cinder died away. As she hovered there a few feet above the ground, she saw, from the faint light leaping off the flagstones, that her eyes flickered with a verdant green glow.
It appeared as if the power of the Fall Maiden had been made whole again.
The winds slackened almost in the next second, as she recognized the situation for what it was and relaxed, bringing her feet back down against the flagstones of the courtyard. Her team approached her cautiously, wonder and awe –and in Jaune's case, fear– in their eyes.
"Pyrrha?" he asked, and she moistened her lips.
"I… I think I'm fine," she said. "The two halves of the Maiden powers rejoined when one host died."
Jaune looked down at the sprawled corpse of a Cinder at her feet, and his face twisted, expression turning to stone. For a moment Pyrrha wondered if he would spit on the corpse, but the moment passed and was gone as he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and looked up at her again.
"Good," he said, and tried a smile. "That's great. But… now what?"
"Cinder's taken care of, Mercury and Emerald are caught, Atlas and everybody are beating back the Grimm, Yang and Blake are dealing with the White Fang…" Nora ticked off on her sooty fingers aloud. "Seems to me the only things we've got to worry about are that Tyrian guy and his friend Watts."
"Ruby and the others are probably investigating the ships to make sure they won't cause more trouble up there," Jaune said, pulling out his Scroll. Pyrrha noticed worriedly that his Aura meter was deep in the orange, perhaps at 30% or less. Those magic flames had taken their toll. "I'll give 'em a call."
"Ruby isn't answering her Scroll," Ren spoke up, making their eyes all snap to him as he stared at his own already-extended Scroll with a worried expression. "I can't get through to Weiss, either."
"…They might be busy with a fight," Pyrrha suggested hesitantly, although she was frowning too as worry clenched at her heart. "They didn't say they'd rejoin us after they came back down, after all."
"Maybe they went to go reinforce Blake and Yang?" Nora asked, and Jaune gave a nod, relief visibly suffusing his expression as he tucked his Scroll back onto his belt. Ren copied him a moment later.
"Yeah. We'll check out the situation on the ground first, and give what help we can," Jaune said briskly, taking control and giving them all a direction. "Tyrian and Watts weren't on the ship when Ruby and the others showed up, and that probably means they went to go cause problems elsewhere. The center of Beacon's pretty well locked down now, so let's catch up with the others and see if they need any help or learned anything else. After that, well… we'll see what we see."