A Game of Hearts

by ImSoAwesome

There is pain in every heart, and some need help to overcome it. After Jaune is sent to live with his aunt and start afresh at a new school, he awakens the power to dive into the hearts of his peers and save them from being consumed by despair. Hardly an easy thing—saving someone's heart. And he'd find it was even harder to save his own.

71. Chapter 71

71 - The Apostle's Dream

That is why, For Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong. — 2 Corinthians 12:10

---

In the empty countryside, in the weed-puckered fields before the evening backdrop, bleeding blood-red, the woman gently sheared the high grass down with every swing of her garden scythe. Her long blonde hair, tied in a braid and seeming darker in the low light, swung with her every motion. Bare feet moving forward inch by steady inch as she whittled the grass down without hurry. Preparing the field for the new crop. Just your common working woman. That was how she appeared. Hazel had a feeling that was not an accident.

"What you said the last time," Hazel said. "About his eyes."

The woman's voice was mature and deep. A discomforting duality of frightening and alluring. A siren luring desperate men into the sea. "The eyes are the gateway to the soul," she answered. "The catalyst of my old love's parasitic power. He looks upon you lowly creatures with machinations and ambitions you cannot fathom. There is nothing more dangerous than a man full of hope and short on mercy. The solution to your problem is quite plain."

Hazel watched her for a long moment. He always did so, whenever he came for her advice. Looking for answers, but wordless whenever he got them. He'd been visiting often lately. "So his power, it's similar to the Shards of the Brain?"

"Similar?" The woman continued her work, unbothered, uninterested. "You fool. It is the very same. Have you never considered whose brain from which those shards originate?"

---

Jaune's face was smeared red. Wide eyed, unblinking, staring into the void. Mouth parted and frozen like he'd been about to say something important, but had forgotten it. His yellow hair was matted with sticky dark blood, clinging to his skin like a parasite alive, desperate to return to the body. He hadn't moved for a long time. Cinder was starting to think he would never move again.

She couldn't cry. Peach was doing enough of that. She held onto her precious child like he'd been fussing in the crib, holding his face to her breast, her cheek laying atop his broken head. She sobbed and sobbed like it was the worst thing that could have happened to her, bumbling like a village idiot, few words coming out sensibly. At first, she had begged Jaune to stay awake. To not leave her. To not do this to her. But hope had given way, and now she only whispered sweet lullabies. Telling him that it was alright for him to go. Assuring him that everything was alright, as though he could hear. It was like a mantra. Like she was chanting an ancient spell which could wake the dead. Or lull them back to sleep.

Cinder looked around them, at the world going to shit. The stampede of Hunters and Rebels was getting closer, though many of them had broken apart as Zulhetl caught up. It was hard to see what was going on, but the screams were more than clue enough. The rain was coming down heavily now and the sky was cracked with thunder. Steam clouds erupted where rain touched fire, turning the surrounding pools soft and black, the stink of burning things fresh in the air alongside salty rain and smoky air.

Cinder looked toward the Vicar, laying there on the ground, still breathing, but holding her bleeding stomach. With the mask gone, she could see that the girl had long red hair, now slick wet, eyes scrunched in pain, teeth gritted together. She seemed to be muttering something, but couldn't make it out. Cinder thought to kill her, but what would be the point? The girl would probably die of her wound and if not that, Zulhetl would finish her. Finish them all, now that she thought about it.

She looked at Peach, and she had stopped crying now. Just dead eyed and silent, rocking back and forth like she was rocking Jaune to sleep, rather than holding his corpse. Cinder couldn't look at his face. What would be the point? There was nothing she could do. He was dead and that was all. He was dead.

She swallowed the knot in her throat, lowered her head, fingers curling. Well if he'd died, then it was because he was weak. And if he was weak, then he wasn't useful to her plans. She had no reason to care about him otherwise. If anything, she was disappointed at his snuffed out potential. But the boy himself? Cinder did not care at all. Not in the slightest. "Fuck…" she said, having no idea why her face felt so hot. Nor why her cheeks felt so wet. Or even why her words came out garbled. Caught a cold, maybe. "Mother, we have to go."

Peach did not respond. Didn't even blink.

"Mom," Cinder tried again.

No response. As if she couldn't hear her. Perhaps she couldn't. Cinder thought about trying harder, but didn't see the point. Peach wouldn't leave Jaunes body and even if she did, the gate to the surface wouldn't open for a few days. It was not likely they'd survive close to that long with Zulhetl on them. They were dead no matter what. No point in running.

Cinder thought about her own goals and dreams. Her revenge. That was still undone. She had to live for that, at least. If only to see what came out of it in the end. She looked at Jaune again, and once again could not hold his soulless stare. Like he was begging her to save him. He had fought so hard to protect his aunt, and died never knowing if he succeeded. It wasn't her responsibility in the least, but it was hard to accept that this was the way Jaune had died. It didn't make sense. More than that, it wasn't fair. It wasn't right. For some reason, it twisted Cinder's guts, the idea of leaving Jaune's end like that.

"This is the third favor I'm doing for you," she whispered, shaking her head. She was tired and weak, but she called upon the last of her strength, felt her battle clothes reform. Then, she got to her feet. Scrubbed the wet out of her eyes, steadied the tremble in her throat. "Just stay there, then. I'll get rid of the Grimm. I'll be back."

Again, Peach didn't respond. Nothing could rouse her from her trance. Cinder didn't blame her. Though part of her wondered if Peach would ever cry for her like that. Probably not. She knew where she stood. Why did she fight for her then? Had she not told Peach a million times how much she hated her? Had she not done her damndest over the years to hurt and humiliate her master? Peach, of all people, did not deserve her rescue. Even still, it was bad enough losing Jaune. For him at least, she had to try to save Peach's worthless hide. If only so his death wasn't in vain.

So Cinder summoned her twin swords, pushed her rage to the fore of her mind, and sprang into the madness.

---

Hazel was not happy. In a situation like this, who would be? The panicking Hunters had stormed the battlefield in a great horde, but once Zulhetl caught up, they scattered like roaches. Who could blame them? When it came to an S-class Grimm, it was every man for himself. Hazel was no exception.

Dozens of dripping black squid feelers had sprouted from Zulhetl's barrel chest, whipping and lashing like cut power lines. The tips bulged and pulsed like something inside was bulging in the flesh, victims trapped in the skin of a demon. Human hands sprouted, fingers twitching and curling, starved of use. All the easier to grab its prey. All the easier to deny escape.

There was no sugarcoating it. It was a bloodbath.

Zulhetl charged into the fray at such speeds that even Hazel almost couldn't track it. The mere wind that it stirred launched people off their feet, sending them flying in all directions. The Grimm sprinted with its arms extended out, like a child that saw a new toy and wanted it badly. People ran like hell, screaming and pushing. One man got knocked over, trampled by his comrades, and unfortunately, he was the one that got caught.

Zulhetl seized the man's leg, and an instant later, that leg was flying away. He let out a bloody wail only after his second leg was taken, and by then, Zulhtel was already at his arm. It was over so quickly. A man torn apart limb from limb, barely any time to contend with it. Once Zulhetl had taken him apart, it beat down on what remained with meaty, heavy fists, screaming in outrage. Like a mad husband hacking his wife apart with an ax, wracked with sobs of manic guilt. You made me do this! You made me do this! And so the beast's rampage went on. The tentacle-hands spread out, flying through the air, all black sludge, taking hold of anything they could reach. More arms would burst from the tentacles, and more upon those, snatching up their prey, lifting them in the air like children picking up dolls. People panicked, kicked, screamed, cried, begged, fought for rescue. Some didn't fight at all, coming to grips with their fate as quickly as they were snatched. Perhaps they already knew there was no escape to be had. Dashed against rocks until they were bloody pulp, spines ripped out, heads pulled off, feelers shoved down their mouths, necks broken, limbs torn away. All manner of unimaginable horrors done to the human body that Hazel had never seen nor imagined before. Screams of the dying. The weight of Despair pushing down on Hazel's shoulders. Even people he knew. People he'd talked to, encouraged, fought alongside, names he remembered, enemies and allies both, all snatched away and brutalized in the worst ways possible. Those foolish enough to fight accomplished nothing. No sword would cut, no arrow would pierce, no element would break. The creature carried on like it was merely being pecked at by annoying birds, dispatching them with little effort.

Perhaps Hazel should have rushed to their rescue, but he stayed rooted, thinking it out. Fight or run? He dodged the feelers that came at him, watched them burrow into the ground, only to come back out either staying on him or choosing another target. Random and unthinking. Just seeking the closest living thing. The Superior's Alter was close to hand. There would never be another opportunity like this one. He couldn't let it slip away. But what was the likelihood he could kill, or even survive Zulhetl without his Overshadow? He didn't like his odds. Maybe it was best to run away. Much progress had been made. That was enough…

He thought about Gretchen. Her smile. He'd no longer see it. All because of the Superior and his greed and twisted ambitions. Hazel would not run. He was here for justice, whatever the cost. He had to sacrifice it all. His life and the world's if need be. This mindless Grimm was just another obstacle in his way. Nothing more. He needed his Overshadow to resist the Superior's mind invasion. He couldn't use it now, not unless he was pushed to it. His semblance and psychokinesis would be enough. It had to be.

So Hazel leveled his hands outwards saying, "Samson's Strength." Rock began to break from the ground and stick to his steel gauntlets. Then more, Clustering together in heavy patches, growing larger by the second as Hazel willed them to his control. He felt a bead of sweat slip off his brow, and with a great flex of his arms, used his psychic power to fuse the gathering earth together. Now, on each arm, he hefted toward massive rock gauntlets, each bigger than his own body, every finger sharp as a blade, every knuckle harder than steel. Curling them into fists, he pounded his gauntlets together, sparks of psychic energy pulsing.

Justice, at any cost.

"Primordial Blades!" Hazel punched the ground with one fist and sent a fast spreading rack that sought out Zulhetl. Once it was under him, Hazel raised his palm up, and half-smirked in satisfaction as a burst of rock blades sprouted beneath the Grimm, the mere explosiveness taking the Grimm off its feet, left it sprawling onto its back. Of course, one would not be enough. So before the creature landed, Hazel sent two more.

Zulhetl was aware of him now though, and it charged straight at him. But what surprised Hazel was that it dodged the next set of blades he'd sent at it. It was smart enough to recognize danger and avoid it. It had a sense of self-preservation. Not an unheard of concept, but it was exceedingly rare for any Grimm to adopt even a subpar manner of self-awareness. Most operated purely on instinct, and rarely cared much about their own survival. Perhaps that was a testament to how long this thing had lived. How much it had learned.

So Hazel dug into the ground, pulled a massive slab of rock, dripping with dirt, and hurled it at the Grimm. He was a little surprised to see it simply crash right through, losing little momentum, but that was why he prepared for everything. He'd already closed in and threw a hard right haymaker that halted the beast right in its tracks, then sent it bouncing away like a kicked soccer ball. He could keep it at bay, for sure. But he couldn't tell if its attacks were doing damage, and it was tough to maintain Samson's strength for long. Sure enough, Zulhetl got to its feet, very clearly unharmed, and roared into the sky like the heavens had insulted it.

Hazel readied to give it another round, but someone beat him to it. Or rather, multiple did. First came that man, Qrow. He lashed at Zulhetl with his scythe, forcing it to dodge, but every instance where his blade made contact, it only bounced off the creature's hard skin. Zulhetl gave him a blow in return, and that sent the man flying away like a flicked pebble. Someone else, coming from the right. He saw the tree of life bearing a thousand golden fruits. Oobleck came at Zulhetl with a torrent of water, not even bothering trying to damage it, only to knock it off its feet. He failed even to do that. The Grimm charged through the wave, splitting the river with its raw strength. It threw is fist down where Oobleck had been a moment ago, then kept Oobleck from reprising with a flurry of stabbing feelers.

A fireball splashed against Zulhetl's head, but it may as well have been a child's water balloon. Peach's apprentice, Cinder, had returned to the fray now, and she didn't produce firepower even remotely close to before. Hazel had trouble believing she could set a mere tree ablaze. Still, she fought. The flames fell off Zulhetl's flesh, failing even to draw its attention. But what it did notice was the hail storm brought by one of the premier Thrones, Winter Schnee. She sprayed the creature with ice needles, which simply broke on its face, but still caused it annoyance. Its thick neck expanded like a balloon, and its feelers spread wide, revealing a drooling wet beak wide open. With a mighty bellow, Zulhetl produced a shockwave so powerful that Hazel had to dig his feet into the ground to stay rooted. Say nothing for the Schnee girl, who flew off and crashed into a felled building.

Hazel thought to leave them to it, but quickly discarded the idea. The fact was, there were still a few days until the gate opened. Once riled up, Zulhetl did not stop until all sources of Despair within its range were destroyed, that or it was killed. Either seize the chance to kill it now, or suffer worse odds being hunted by it later. The creature loved prey that ran, so he'd only be making himself a target.

And like he'd said, Justice at whatever cost.

So Hazel saved Oobleck with a heavy punch to Grimm's jaw, sending it sprawling. He and Oobleck met eyes, and then they found Qrow's and Cinder's and the Schnee's. There were no words exchanged. They were enemies and that would never change, but they all knew what had to be done. Either fight together or die together. There was no other option.

The Grimm was either greatly amused or displeased by this challenge, and either way it made its intentions known. Hundreds of tendrils flew toward them, fast as frightened birds. Everyone scattered, with only Hazel putting on a coating a psychic energy to enhance his armor and charging through, meeting Zulhetl's aggression.

The plan was simple enough, and it seemed everyone knew just by virtue of Zulhetl's reputation. Just had to lay on the assault until it died.

If it died.

---

Peach held her lifeless child in her arms, and she begged God for mercy. Was this part of his grand plan? Was children dying simply part of his narrative? If so, it was a sick joke. If God was benevolent, if he was all loving and forgiving, then why did he allow children to die? Maybe He was punishing her. Punishing her for all her sins. Even then, why did the child suffer for his parent's failings?

She kissed Jaunes forehead, stroked his face gently, and tried to pretend he was sleeping. At least, he wasn't in pain anymore. He no longer had to suffer from his trauma or stir up a past best forgotten. He no longer had to live a life of misery and regret. He no longer had to be afraid. He could just rest. Safe from the evils of the world. Perhaps that was a mercy. Maybe she ought to be happy for him.

Still, even now, Peach couldn't help but think of herself. How much she needed her son. She'd already lost her sister. There was no other family left. Jaune was all she had in the world. And God had even decided to take him too? It had to be a mistake. He'd taken the wrong child. Surely, this was all a mistake.

"Don't punish him…" Peach wept at the black sky. Was God up there? Was he listening? She hadn't prayed in years, had sworn never to rely on something so flimsy as faith ever again. How suddenly things changed. "Don't punish him for what I did. Please, give him back. Don't take him," she begged and pleaded, tears running, heaving despair. "I know I belong in hell. I know that's where I'm going. Just let my baby live. He's done nothing wrong. Give him back. Please, Lord. Give him back…"

The heavens did not answer. Refused to answer, even. They did not care for her pain and loss. Why would they, for a woman so evil? Peach couldn't even be upset. Only good people are answered by God.

Bad people. The lowlife, treacherous, cowardly, prideful, spiteful pieces of filth that dared call themselves human beings? They had to pray for something else. Something which could only answer evil. So Peach called upon him.

"I know you hear me." she pleaded. "Please. I'll give you everything. I'll do whatever you ask. Just give me back my baby. Give him back. I don't have anything else. Please…"

But even hell did not answer. And why would it? She had denounced God long before she had ever begged to a devil. She was damned regardless. What demon would answer her call, when it was only a matter of time before she was dancing in the eternal furnace just like the rest of them? Of course they wouldn't give her child back. They would relish every second of her suffering, and mock her for it when she joined them.

So, with nothing left, Peach hugged Jaune tightly to her. Tried to relish his warmth before it was gone. Then, once that was gone, she'd leave this world too.

There was a glare coming down. A warm heat poured into her eyelids. Light?

When Peach opened her eyes and looked to the skies, she saw that it was true. A great beam of light casting from the clouds and shining down on her with a warm, golden aura.

There was this shape in the beam. Just a dot, at first. But slowly inching toward her, growing all the time, until it was a dark silhouette. A person… but with wings? Peach couldn't help but stare, dumbstruck. At first her head was full of questions. Questions that led to increasing fear. What was going on? Who was causing this? Why was… why was…

A drop of water plucked into the restless lake, and its power alone settled the savage waters, and then it was but a still pond.

Ah. What beauty.

He descended on her, cloaked in a white robe that flapped despite a lack of wind. A golden sash was wrapped around his waist, then slung over his shoulder, the tails fluttering. Oh, he had such lean, strong arms, was barefoot, and had snowy wings bigger than he was tall. His short blonde hair had streaks of fine gold and earthy brown, with a close beard that accentuated a strong manly chin. His inviting blue eyes, majestic to behold, looking upon her with pity and love, like a savior. Her savior. He was the most handsome man Peach had ever seen, and she wanted nothing more than to touch him.

"Joseph…" she whimpered, a lone tear slipping out of her entranced eyes, pupils widened with awe. She reached for him with a trembling hand, and he reached back, calm down and inviting.

Had she died? If so, she couldn't remember it. Was this now the final journey? Would she, Victarine Peach, the definition of scum, going to see the golden gates? She hoped so. She desperately hoped so.

Peach couldn't help but shiver as Joseph took her hand. She had only touched it once, so very long ago, but the memory was clear as new glass. There was so much she wanted to say, but looking upon his lovely face, she failed to recall the words. So she implored him, begged with her eyes, with her heart, with her soul. Take me, she begged. Take me to that promised land. Take me to the great kingdom. Take me to paradise…

He took her other hand now, and both were beacons of warmth and light. And so Peach did not resist as he gently lifted her into the air, feeling the wind itself was carrying her. She felt a weight leave her, literally. But couldn't remember what she'd been holding on to previously. It didn't seem to matter.

Peach simply relished in the wicked beauty of this angelic creature that looked like the man she loved, as he escorted her into the clouds.

---

This was impossible.

Hazel threw all his might into another blow, plunging it straight into the creature's face. Crushing the feelers, flattening its face, bulging its plate-sized eyeballs. He pushed on through with a grunt, muscles straining as he knocked Zulhetl into the ground, dirt spraying his helmet. That had to have done some damage.

It got back up immediately.

Its crushed tentacles, flat and dripping sludge, inflated back to normal. Face reconstructing, all in seconds. And that said a lot about how things were currently going.

A heavy light ray pierced Zulhetl through the heart, or would have if it hadn't just bounced off. Hazel turned and saw that it had come from the Vicar! She was up again, stomach soaked in blood, but able to move, though much less than before. That made this fight six on one. And despite that, they were still losing.

They gave Zulhetl everything. They showered him in gifts of fire, water, lightning, wind, earth. Cursed power, blessed energy, psychic forces. Hazel made massive hammers, the sharpest blades, the longest spears, and none of them broke Zulhetl's skin. Or if it did, it was shallow and easily healed. It frustrated Hazel to no end. No matter how hard he hit, or how he changed the delivery of the blow, it amounted to nothing. It hadn't escaped his notice that Zulhetl was taking damage, despite the well documented evidence that the creature could not be harmed by anything that had previously killed it. No, the creature did not seem to be immune to harm in general, it simply could not die in a manner it had before. Otherwise, it did not tire. It did not hesitate. And it refused to go down.

Did he have to use his Overshadow?

Cinder screamed as she was struck with a tendril, the blow sending her careening, skittering across the plain like a rock skipping the surface of a pond. Oobleck was next. Despite using his time dilating semblance, Zulhetl still got a hold of him, snatching him by the neck. It crushed him without even trying, just by nature of its overwhelming strength. That's when Oobleck burst into a plume of smoke, and the real Oobleck reappeared down the way, on his knee, breathing hard.

Winter Schnee had abandoned her saber and came down on Zulhetl with two giant ice blades. She struck down on Zulhetl's shoulders, but the creature had braced itself just before it could land, and the swords shattered against its chest. Zulhetl's forearm shifted to a shape like a morning star, and he bashed it into Winter so hard that it bent her sideways. The impact seemed to lag, like a website loading slow, then she was sent hurling away just like Cinder had.

Hazel took that moment to charge, hefting his ax. He still had plenty of energy. He just had to find a workaround. Had to deal enough damage to keep it from regenerating. Unfortunately, his power did not give him access to curse effects, which would be extremely beneficial in laying on constant damage. That man Qrow was the only curse type they had, but he simply wasn't strong enough to hurt this thing. There were few Dominions that could do anything to an S-class Grimm.

So it fell to Hazel and the Vicar.

They charged together. He with his ax, the girl with her spear. Qrow joined them, and now Cinder was back as well, bleeding from the head. They couldn't be blamed for expecting more of the same, but Zulhetl randomly decided to surprise them all.

Now it dodged with all the finesse of a martial arts master. It weaved and ducked, spun and parried, blocked and countered, fighting with an uncanny expertise that just looked disturbing from a mindless, squid-headed abomination. It blocked Qrow's scythe with a blade arm, then struck with the other, Qrow just barely melting into a pool of shadows. A perfect escape. Or it would have been. Zulhetl actually dug its hand into the pool of black, and pulled Qrow out of it. Hazel couldn't help but gawk. Impossible. And yet, it was plain before him.

He hadn't meant to save Qrow, but circumstances turned out that way as he chopped Zulhetl's arm off, shocked that it had even worked. Except not really, because that arm continued to hold onto Qrow. Floating in the air and repeatedly slamming the man on the ground like a little girl playing with her dolls. Meanwhile, Zulhetl regrew its other arm instantly and punched Hazel. Hazel had gotten his guard up, but felt his gauntlets shatter like glass, allowing the blow to follow through and land on his jaw. And so Hazel went flying.

Did he have to Overshadow?

"Keep the pressure on it! Don't let it recover!" someone called.

The Vicar sent a hail of light beams falling on it. Strong enough to shatter the ground, but doing little but giving Zulhetl papercuts. Winter sent waves of snow and ice in a savage wind, making the creature shield its face with one arm. Cinder used both hands to unleash a torrent of fire. Qrow hurled black blade beams at a dozen per swing. Oobleck called down chains of purple lightning. A united assault. Few things could bring on comradery more than a mutual enemy.

Then, Zulhetl simply got tired of it.

It barrelled through the storm like a semi-truck on a busy road, shoveling away fire and ice with massive paws. It shoulder-checked Oobleck so hard that it threw him straight up, spinning like a discus. With one mighty hand, it palmed Winter so hard that her face actually cracked through the ground, leaving her head half buried. Perhaps it might have done Cinder the same, but she jumped out of the way while hurling a fiery chain to wrap around Zulhetl's right arm. Pointless, Hazel thought, as Zulhetl stepped forward, only to find that the creature had suddenly lost significant height.

It was now submerged in a writhing pool of dark energy, courtesy of their only resident curse-type. Qrow, teeth gritted, had plunged his hands into the pool, commanding hundreds or fiery black arms to emerge and seize their prey. Demon hands pulling in the damned. But Zulhetl showed surprising strength even then, ripping free of the first wave and even the second. Oobleck was back now, and with his club aflame, he bashed the Grimm hard enough to both shatter the weapon and knock Zulhetl onto its face.

It tried to fight back, but now its left arm had been stabbed through with Winter's giant ice sword, all while the dark claws continued to pull it.

Still, it would not go down. It strained against its captors, pulling, straining, twisted muscles ready to burst, letting out a deafening cry like a toddler unfairly punished. It was quickly silenced as the Vicar's photon beam speared it through the mouth, plasma making its flesh sizzle. He heard her yell, "Finish it!"

Zulhetl jumped onto Zulhetl's chest, driving onto its back, black hands grabbing its face. He grabbed the sides of Grimm's face, squeezing the eyes as hard as he could, until one popped out and rolled away like a flicked coin. But squeezing it to death wouldn't be enough and he knew it, especially as Zulhetl grabbed Hazel's arm and proved it had more than enough strength to challenge him. Better make this quick.

Hazel's raw psychic energy swelled through him. He felt it in his arms, in his chest, in his lungs. His brain pulsed as it put it to work, creating that resonant feedback loop of filling it with energy, drawing it back, enhancing it, then doing it all again.

A long and arduous process, but after years of training, he only needed two seconds to pull it off.

And so Hazel squeezed even harder, hands glowing with purple aura, swelling, bubbling. Finally, he opened the dam and let the river run free. He growled, "Brain Splitter."

This close, the kickback was immense. He felt it surge through his arms, threatening to break his bones, but that was a testament to the technique's strength. Raw energy erupted from his hands, engulfing Zulhetl in a bright violet light, humming like a running generator. Then came the blast.

The explosion rattled even Hazel's ears. He heard the others scream in shock, no doubt thrown back by shockwave or tossed into the air from the tremors. Hazel couldn't see Zulhetl as the light from the beam filled his vision, and soon enough even the feel of the creature's face went from solid to liquid, then even that was eradicated.

Best to be thorough, so Hazel kept it up for a full minute. Not wanting any part of Zulhetl to survive.

When he finally removed his hands, the massive hole left behind went so deep it was submerged in darkness. And so wide that it seemed the size of a baseball stadium, only a few pillars of charred earth still standing. All traces of the Grimm had been completely disintegrated. Finally it was over. Hazel let out a breath, stepped away from the craters and began to massage his aching wrist. He thanked his luck though, that the worst he'd taken out of this struggle was an aching wrist. Things could have gone far worse.

But his attack had garnered plenty of attention. The Hunters and Rebels were gathering up, still the vast majority alive and well, and they gawked at the scene with equal awe and terror.

Roman was hanging on Neo's shoulder, bowler hat long gone, and hair hanging lank from sweat. "Is that damn thing dead?"

Hazel nodded. "For now. But who knows when it will regenerate. For now, we should—" Hazel jumped away as a photon beam stabbed at him. That single act causing everyone to arm themselves, turning to their closest enemy just as if their fight had merely taken a temporary ceasefire, which indeed it had. Hazel frowned at the Vicar. "Still you wish to fight?"

The girl said nothing. But with her helmet off, Hazel couldn't see an unrelenting hatred on her face. Teeth bared, eyebrows furrowed onto wide, mad eyes. She looked like a savage dog, which was entirely fitting. The Superior's collars were famously tight. But even this brand of staunch loyalty seemed too intense. It disturbed Hazel more than he thought, seeing a teenage girl so entirely under an evil man's control.

Still, the soldier is as guilty of murder as his commander. If intent must be punished, so too must the act.

Hazel summoned his ax. "Very well, girl. I shall give you an early—"

And there was a rush of air behind him. Not a second later, a violent crash. Hazel turned around, and his jaw half-fell. "No…"

Zulhetl's head was completely gone. As well as the top half of its torso and one whole arm. And yet it stood on two firm feet, just as if nothing had happened. Its bisected chest began to produce black bubbles, which spread out into clumps, reforming the lost arm, the upper chest, the neck, then head. Zulhetl bent its head sideways, wet bones popping, like a gym goer getting ready for the full workout after a warm-up.

Fear spread quickly. Some dropping their weapons, some running, others stunned with disbelief. Who could blame them? Even Hazel was lost now. How had the damn thing survived? Then he realized. Qrow's black pool. It had absorbed a chunk of Hazel's psychic blast, simply by nature of being a curse-type. Hazel wanted to punch something, he felt so foolish for not considering it.

Zulhetl took a step forward, and all other living things in the vicinity stepped back. Even the air trembled away. Same situation as before, though. If they ran, they were dead. So Hazel held his ground, refusing to blink even when a drop of sweat fell into his eye. Just had to keep fighting. Just keep fighting.

Zulhetl took another step.

Hazel ground his teeth.

Another step.

He tightened his fists.

Zulhetl raised its fist and… paused mid-stride. It looked up, straight at the dark clouds, so still it was like a finely carved statue. It just stopped. Literally within arm's reach of Hazel, and now it's twitching feelers grasped at the stars like there was something beyond the darkness. Hazel would have looked for himself, but for something more immediately interesting to steal his attention.

Someone walking calm toward them amongst the ruined land, as if on a stroll. It seemed like he had simply spawned in, as everyone else stared at this newcomer like they had only now noticed him. Hazel thought it might be a straying Hunter, but that suspicion lasted all for a second. He wore a pristine dark green suit and matching gentleman's hat. He leaned on an elaborately designed cane tapping in tune with his steps. His hair looked like it had been combed neat, but now had a disheveled hint to it, like he'd been jumped in an alley. His mouth was set into deep frown, accentuating the few wrinkles in his face, brown eyes flat and miserable and cruel.

Hazel's heart started pounding savagely.

He had never seen the Superior's Alter. No one ever did, except for Salem, and it was only through her unique knowledge that he knew what it looked like. He remembered her sage advice, there in that old shack in the country, content to live her life in obscurity, waiting for the end of the world. It is always in hiding, she had said. Find the barn on the fringes of the ruined city. There it hides. There it waits. There it watches. Hazel's plan had been simple, to storm through the dark city, reach the barn, and draw the Alter out. Simple, clearly, but Ozpin's endless waves of dogged Hunters had impeded his progress for years, thwarting him at every turn. There'd be no reason for the Aler to reveal itself so openly, so vulnerably, unless he had some trick to play. Hazel stared at that face. The face that looked on him with pity and sympathy as he wept openly about his sister's tragic death. That foolish young man could never have known the man he dedicated his life to had instead seen him as a valuable tool, preying on him with lust and apathy, waiting for the perfect moment to break him. The face of a father, a friend, a teacher, and a devil. His fingers ached with the need to wring his neck out now. Damn the consequences. But he forced himself to wait. To first see what brought this madness on.

Soon enough, Alter-Superior stopped. And only then did Hazel notice that the pouring rain, the crashing thunder, the savage wind, had all dried up and reverted the world to total and uncomfortable silence. If anyone else noticed, it didn't show. Winter, Cinder, the Vicar, Oobleck, Qrow, all of them wore varying expressions unique to them, but they all said the same thing. What in the holy fuck is going on here?

The Alter did not look at anyone. Didn't acknowledge anyone. In fact, it was wearing an oddly downcast kind of look. Like a man who'd had a particularly shitty start at the day and anticipated worse to come. It did not wear that calm smirk that Ozpin was known for, always in control. No, its eyes were wide with horror, like it was seeing something they couldn't. Face otherwise blank. Frozen. Hazel had never seen the Superior afraid. He didn't think he could be. Then, one brown eye fell on Hazel. He instantly reinforced his helmet with psychic energy, just in case he tried to employ that manual convergence ability, but a few seconds passed and nothing happened. Only then did Hazel see that this disgusting, remorseless, twisted outer lifeform… had a tear rolling down his cheek. A tear like a man who knew the fight was over. And he had lost.

He whispered, yet his words couldn't have been louder to Hazel. "Run, you fools."

"It's… it's the Lord!" came a woman's manic scream. Hazel jumped at her voice, turned to see one of the Hunters staring up at the sky, pointing with a quaking finger. Her face was a picture of awe, eyes shining. She slowly dropped to her knees and clasped her hands together in prayer, staring up with great bewildered reverence. "The Lord!" she cried again.

Someone burst into crazy laughter. That of someone who couldn't believe what he was seeing. It was an older man, and he had fallen onto his back and started rolling on the ground, left to right, like he'd been driven insane all of a sudden. He was babbling in a language that Hazel had never heard before in his life and he spoke several. An archaic, strange tongue. No trace of the human dialect. A cosmic language known only to the divine.

Another man had started foaming at the mouth, arms waving about, before falling flat on his face. The man next to him followed suit. Then, five more. All around Hazel, people fell into sudden disturbing reactions. Crying of joy and despair, screaming of horror and awe, moanings of pain and pleasure, the begging of forgiveness, the accepting of damnation, as if the end of times had come and all they were all put forth to God's judgment. People cried for the lord and rapture. Men and women falling to their hands and knees, prostrating themselves gladly. Some confessing their greatest sins. I loved money too much. I shouldn't have cheated on my husband. I didn't mean to kill my brother. I molested my niece. On and on.

Even Winter Schnee succumbed to this wave of mass hysteria. She foamed at the mouth, tottered where she stood, eyes rolling up, before falling flat on her back, convulsing like she'd suddenly succumbed to a deadly poison. Oobleck stared up in silence, but his jaw hung open, and even he trembled like a little boy lost in an empty road. Qrow had taken grip of his hair, half laughing, half sobbing as he said, "No… no…"

The Vicar. A girl so powerful that she had fought Hazel at every instance and never given ground. She had matched his fury, taken his strongest blows, nearly been killed, and still she fought without a hint of fear. Never doubting her ability to come out victorious. Hazel had begun to believe nothing could scare her.

But now, she had fallen onto her knees and started hugging herself, face twisted with grim acceptance like she'd foretold the end of the world, and no one had listened until it was too late.

So, Hazel looked towards the sky with but a single question.

And the heavens answered.

---

Pure white clouds circled a blazing golden sun. That was the best way Cinder could describe it.

Even the low horizon was swirling with clouds, permitting no trace of plain sky to break through the curtains they drew. That single focal point of light therefore cast a wave of shadows, curling around the clouds, falling onto the earth in heavy black patches, alongside brilliant pillars of warm, yellow light. Cinder couldn't help but stare at that beautiful golden orb. The eye of God looking upon them. So bright that it made her eyes feel like they were boiling and yet she neither looked away nor blinked. To miss even a millisecond of this majesty was unthinkable. It was actually impossible to look away. Until something else drew her momentary attention.

A woman, maybe her age or older, came strutting dutifully past her, paying Cinder no mind. She wore a flowy white robe secured by a blue sash, flowing in a nonexistent wind. Long sleeves and long skirts, bare feet padding across the ruptured land without a care. Her most outstanding feature would have been the massive bird wings she had, but it was actually her face that shocked Cinder the most. Long and wavy golden-brown hair, deep blue eyes, a prim smile with pink dimples. A duality of innocence and wisdom. She looked familiar. Cinder had seen her before when she'd searched through some of Peach's things. Then, Cinder instantly realized who she was.

Saphron Arc. Jaune's eldest sister.

She raised her arms to the beautiful sun above, as if to beckon its attention to her. She smiled big and wide, spreading her arms as though inviting whatever was beyond the veil to embrace her. Then someone else appeared, walking past Qrow. A much smaller girl, but bearing the same robes and wings. A child with a red sash. Jaune's youngest sister, Scarlett She too raised her tiny arms to the sky. And so, one by one, the seven arc sisters entered the clearing, forming a seven pronged star shape, joining together like a coven of witches preparing for a sabbath. Funny thing was, they must have been the hosts, because a moment later, the guests arrived.

It couldn't be exaggerated. There were angels everywhere.

They walked the earth, walked on lava, walked on the air, some simply flew. They frolicked about—these heavenly things—spinning, dancing, laughing, singing. First dozens, then many dozens, then hundreds, then thousands, then hundreds of thousands, and growing all the time, swirling together toward that great sun. Only then did Cinder realize that those weren't clouds filling up the sky. They were angels! An absolute constellation of them. Filling the world in every direction, not a single empty space. How many could there have been? Millions? Billions? More?

Some interacted with the people, observing like they were fascinating bugs. One woman-angel brushed her hand across a man's cheek, drawing him to follow her along like a moth to flame. The man never noticed the deep pit in the ground left by Hazel's attack. He was completely silent as he fell to his death. Several more were not far behind.

A woman that had been on her knees reached for an angel that held his hand out to her. She seemed to be in a trance. Under a spell. "I'm ready, Lord. I'm ready!" she said, as she was lifted by the hand into the air and carried toward the light until she vanished.

"I don't want to go!" another man was being dragged by his legs by two angels. Creepily giggling like naughty children as they carried the man kicking and crying into the great beyond.

All around Cinder the people surrendered to the madness that the existence of holy forces brought on tiny mortal minds. Everyone screaming their innermost fears and desires.

"Salvation!"

"Help me!"

"Oh god, oh god!"

"We're damned! Damned!"

"I don't want to die!"

"I want to die!"

"The gates! I see them!"

"Not now, Lord! Please, not now!"

"Take me! Take me, Lord!"

But amongst it all, Saphron's voice rang high, booming, yet soothing. Almost singing. And her song did things for Cinder's ears what even the most tantalizing porn had failed to do for her loins. "Praise him in his sanctuary" Saphron chanted, "Praise him in his mighty heavens! Praise him for his mighty deeds. Praise him according to his excellent greatness! Praise him with trumpet sound. Praise him with lute and harp! Praise him with tambourine and dance. Praise him with strings and pipe! Praise his holy name, he who knows joy and pain and love and hate. The Apostle of War!"

Something had started to emerge from the sun. No, descending.

A mere figure at first, black human shape that floated toward the earth. Slow as slow, as if its audience had nowhere better to be. Which, in fact, they didn't. Then, on his back, wings just like the other angels. Two major differences. His wings absolutely eclipsed his body, so big and wide that they casted their own shadows on the land. A crazy enough feat, until you applied the fact that he had six wings. Closer he came. The darkness fading away and giving way to a vague visage. Cinder's heart was pounding furiously, she felt a tingle in her body, strange fear and excitement and anticipation.

Then, it broke the shell of light. The sun lost significant luster, as if the emerging man was the core giving it all its power and glory. Not a sun anymore, but a bright white moon. And all at once, Cinder bore witness to the most beautiful creature she had ever seen.

Sinful beauty. Toxic gorgeous. Long golden hair floating and rippling unnaturally, as if constantly being brushed with gentle strokes. His skin the fairest of fair, perfect as new porcelain. He donned gold and white armor, so clean that Cinder wondered if it had ever been used in battle. Then, a more exciting thought, that it was clean simply because his enemies couldn't touch him. Then a more exciting thought, that he slaughtered his enemies before they could strike at him. But more than anything, Cinder paid special attention to his eyes.

By God… utterly bewitching. Sharp, hard, and gentle at once, staring down seemingly at her and only her. Blue as the open sea and just as deadly. His calm smile seemed to brighten his gaze, confident and powerful. He had nothing to worry about. A man who feared nothing and no one, for his strength was absolute. Those eyes were so cold that they could make winter itself shiver. And yet, hot enough tha with just a look, it stoked her a great furnace in her body, burning with the flames of hell, and egging on her most diabolical fantasies.

He looked exactly like..

Cinder collapsed to her knees, suddenly panting, moaning, no idea what was going on. She couldn't think straight anymore, if she had been at all. Her body was absolutely flooded with unexpected, but not unwelcome pleasure. Waves beating on the shore. Harder, harder. Growing more intense with every crash. Oh God. Oh yes, that was it. Right there. Yes. Yes! Oh God…

Cinder covered her mouth with both to keep from squealing, her body going stiff as a board, toes curling for dear life, as she suffered the most intense orgasm she'd ever experienced.

---

What the hell was going on here? That was all Hazel could think, as he watched what could only be described as an angel float toward the earth. It looked exactly like Peach's boy, and yet also seemed entirely different. He didn't need to think too hard about what it was. The boy's Alter. Thinking about it, he wasn't too surprised. After that cut Jaune had put on him, Hazel had known right away that he was too dangerous to leave alive. He had no idea why the boy's Alter was here. Or even how. Hazel had been sure the boy was dead. You don't just survive getting your head smashed like a melon. Perhaps it had been too brutal, but he'd tried sparing the boy any pain by making it quick. Clean deaths weren't often painless. So what was his Alter doing here? How had it gotten here? What did it want?

And why did the Superior look so completely terrified of it?

This Apostle of War touched down on the ground, right in front of the pit Zulhetl had been blasted through. He was the center of everything, with all eyes on him, waiting on his word. His hair continued to flutter like moving water, not a strand out of place. He was dressed in saintly armor and silk cloth, but seemed to carry no weapon. He looked around the surroundings, at the people all stunned and mesmerized by his sudden appearance.

Then, he adopted a curious smile as his attention found Zulhetl. The creature stared back, strangely calm, but very attentive, black sludge oozing from its feelers like it was gazing upon the most finely presented meal it had ever seen. The Apostle rubbed his chin with curious observation. "What a strange thing, you are. A beast, clearly. Driven by instinct, and yet not entirely mindless. The curse of the awareness of one's mortality is often the death of reason and instinct both. I suppose one cannot become wise without growing a little mad."

He shrugged, then looked upon everyone else for a moment. "We do not have long before the creature escapes its dream. Things will become quite chaotic." He looked around with a raised eyebrow. "Where is… ah."

Hazel flinched as he saw three angels carrying a corpse toward the Apostle. Carrying Jaune. He still looked quite dead, eyes open, mouth ajar. Hazel expected them to lay him down before the Apostle, but instead, they tossed Jaune's lifeless body flopping on the ground, right in-between the Apostle and Superior. His head rolled to the side, eyes having lost their color, so disturbing that even Hazel had trouble looking.

Even the Superior seemed surprised. "He's dead. Then, how…"

The Apostle smirked. "Dead? You fool." He knelt down, reached a gentle hand toward Jaune, then lightly smacked him across the face. The way one may playfully wake up their sibling. "Up now, dear host. We can't have you getting lazy on us. There is work to be done."

And Jaune began to move like he had been sleeping all along. First he sat up, not even pushing himself, just lifted by some invisible strings. Hazel saw where his head had been cracked, and while the wound was still there, it wasn't bleeding anymore. In fact, the blood soaking his hair, face, and shoulders seemed to reverse, quickly sliding back into the gap. Then, Jaune got to his feet. Still with that empty wide eyed look, but the color had returned. Though now it made him look possessed, rather than dead.

The Apostle clapped his hands in delight. "Excellent! I believe now everything is prepared. The show can finally begin." He looked around at everyone. "I have waited patiently… but together, we shall dismantle the Worm's great works. We shall wipe the slate clean, and seed new ground. Out with the old, in with the new."

Hazel had no idea what to make of all of that. There was too much going on to make sense of anything. "What are you talking about?" Hazel growled, "Who are you?"

"Don't trouble yourself on the whys and wherefores. Think only of the future. You,"and he pointed at Oobleck, then at the Superior. "You serve this creature here? This is the one you call the Superior?"

Oobleck gave a hesitant nod. "I do."

"You would say that everyone here serves him?"

"Hey, you freak!" A deranged man stormed up from behind the Apostle, coming at him with a sword. "Who do you think you—"

The man suddenly fell in two pieces. There'd been no cut, no indication. He simply collapsed in half from the head down, like he'd been glued together the whole time and suddenly came apart. The Apostle did not stop looking at Oobleck, a big attentive smile on his handsome face. "My apologies, some moths see the flame and can't help themselves but get close. My question, if you please?"

"Yes," said Oobleck, "We all serve the Superior, or had previously."

The Apostle looked confused. "Had previously? It appears to me that you have all served quite loyally up to now." He gestured at the vast wasteland. "What would you call this, then? Is this war not fought for his benefit? While you fools squabbled like children over the attention of your precious father, the Worm had his own plans set in motion, utterly divorced from your sacrifices."

Oobleck blinked, looking at the Superior. And he was not the only one. Hunters and Rebels both stared at the Superior as well. Those who had drawn weapons on each other had put them away, attention rapt. Very similar to when Hazel spoke to new recruits, trying to convince of the righteousness of fighting against the church.

"He was willing to sacrifice you all, if it would allow him to achieve his ultimate goal. Whether you fought for him or against him, you all played precisely into his machinations. It might almost be pitiable, if it weren't so incredibly pathetic. All of you, puppets, to the very end."

No one had a vocal response to that. But the spreading realization was infecting all the gathered. Shock, disbelief, denial, even heartbreak. Even Hazel found he had no retort. Despite all he'd done to destroy him, the Superior always found a way to turn his enemies into servants. He truly was a bastard, no doubt. But a mastermind as well. The Superior himself offered no challenge against his honor, standing there with his cane hand trembling, head hanging.

"But despair not." The Apostle said, putting a hand over his heart and giving a mocking bow. "For I have come to liberate you. To break your leashes and set you free. To remove the veil this creature has pulled over your eyes. Today, your organization shall be no more. I shall be the one to destroy it, and all things opposed to myself and my host."

Hazel looked at Jaune, who gave no one any attention except the Superior, staring with an unreadable look. Was his Alter self aware? But how? And why?

"The only question now is which of you shall stand in his defense." said the Apostle, stepping back as if to make room for all who chose to step forward. "I welcome any and all. You loyal pups who wish to protect your master may come forth now to die with honor. That is all, before the show begins."

"How do we know anything you say is true?" Someone barked from the crowd, coming forward with a jabbing finger. "How do we know you ain't a Rebel trying to trick us into running away?"

The Apostle looked at the stilled S-class Grimm and the neutered leader of the most powerful organization in the world, turned back to his accuser, and shrugged. "You have me there. I suppose you'll have to pick your gamble. Well?"

The man faltered then, swallowing. One of his allies pulled him back, no doubt trying to keep him from getting them all killed. And so it followed that everyone was in a state of severe indecision, gauging truth against risk. The odds switching from one end to another like a seesaw.

"Well?" asked the Apostle, waving his hand airily. "Come now, we don't have long. That creature will escape his dream before long, then you won't have a choice. I care not either way. But do you truly mean to keep fighting?" The Apostle didn't even blink as a light beam hit him directly in the face, bounced off, and shot off into the air, vanishing. He turned his attention onto his attacker.. "Well, here is our first challenger."

The Vicar looked in no shape to fight. Clutching her bloody stomach, but spear raised anyway, pointing in defiance. A young girl Hazel now noticed, had long red hair and green eyes, and bearing a snarl so savage she looked like an angry dog. Entirely fitting as she got in front of the Superior to protect him.

"My body, it's yours," The girl said to him. "I've proven myself, haven't I? Take it. Now. Then get out of here!"

The Superior chuckled miserably. "Foolish girl. It will make no difference."

"You don't know that! Didn't you choose me? Take my body! There's still a chance for the work to continue, Master. If we don't stop Salem—"

"I suggest you escape, Miss Nikos. You are nothing. Nothing compared to Mister Arc."

She pointed her sword at Jaune in a quaking fury. "I'm stronger than him! I'm better than him! He would never have given you his body willingly! I would! I am the only one who would! Please, Superior! I'm your chosen one. Me! I can do this. I can—"

"Silence." The Superior said with a spike of annoyance. "You stupid girl. Chosen one? Don't delude were a placeholder, Miss Nikos, and nothing more. I suggest you escape."

"I can still fight!"

"Pyrrha!"

Hazel had never heard Ozpin yell. Or even lose his temper. It had seemed like he wasn't capable of losing that tranquil, calculating composure.

"Save yourself further humiliation. You are nothing to me. If you wish to die, then do so on your account. You cannot protect me. You cannot even kill Hazel. A task which might at minimum have made you worthy as a vessel. You have failed me. So do me a courtesy and leave my sight."

The girl looked angry at Jaune, but it was plain the Superior's words hurt her. Her eyes were welling with tears. "Master, please…"

The Superior no longer answered her. No matter how much she begged, it was as if he no longer acknowledged her existence. The girl's lip trembled and she lowered her sword. She gave Jaune one last look of the most pure hatred Hazel had ever seen, and even found himself a little scared of her. Then, in an instant, she vanished. Popped out of existence like a bubble. Hazel frowned. So she'd had access to the Superior's key all along. She'd been the only one able to escape the Public Domain at any time. She hadn't been trapped like everyone else. And even despite all that happened, she remained the Superior's loyal dog. Hazel almost felt pity for her.

"Poor thing," said the Apostle, before shrugging again. "Oh well, anyone else?"

Hazel stepped up now. It wasn't the position he wanted to be in, but it had to be done. He hasn't come this far just away with nothing. "I have business with the Superior."

"Do you now? What did he do to you?"

"He killed my sister. I will have justice."

The Apostle seemed to approve of that. Even giving a thumbs up like Hazel had passed some secret test. "Ah yes, justice. Noble. And driven by love, no less! I see you understand its power. I congratulate you." His smile widened, "But I'm afraid you will not see justice through your own hand. I must teach the worm a lesson, you see. You may have to settle for whatever is left, if there is any."

Hazel strode right up to him. Glared him down just a finger's width apart. "I will have justice."

The Apostle put his hands on his hips and matched his look with a wider grin. "You will have it? You speak as though it is a thing already done. Has it been written in the stars? How can a man so weak be worthy to exact justice, if he has not the means to take it?"

Hazel did not back down a step. "You asked who will stand in his defense. I suppose I will. Shall we make a deal?"

"If you wish for justice, you shall have it so long as I cannot stop you." The Apostle looked around one more time. "Anyone else?" Silence. "No? Well then…"

The Superior screamed. Hazel spun around to find that Jaune had grabbed him by the hair, and was now dragging him away, like a parent about to punish a naughty child. The Superior fought, clawed at his hand, but there was nothing he could do. A pathetic state that Hazel found himself furious he wasn't causing. He took a step toward Jaune, but found the Apostle standing there a second later. "Don't worry. He is simply taking him for a walk. He will not do any harm until our squabble is over."

"And you know this, how?"

"Because I wouldn't." The Apostle raised his arm. "As for the rest of you, how about front row seats to the performance of a lifetime?"

The angels came raining down. A whole section of clouds falling upon the people, leaving a lonely black patch of sky behind. People scattered, but it was pointless. They were snatched up and pulled into the air, some kicking and screaming, others accepting, but all were taken. Hundreds vanishing into space. Oobleck, Qrow, Cinder, Winter, all of them. Until only he, Zulhetl, and the Apostle remained.

In the quiet, Hazel stared down the Apostle and he stared back. The world was silent.

The Apostle rubbed his chin as he stared up at him, looking genuinely confused. "Are you tired?" he asked.

Hazel didn't grace him with a response. But strangely, he now felt a sudden massive surge of energy, a mountain of strength. He felt entirely new and refreshed. As though he'd taken a long hot bath after a hard day, had a great massage, a good rest, and woke up at full capacity, ready to take on anything the world threw at him. He hadn't taken many wounds, but the few he had he couldn't feel anymore. He didn't just feel better. He felt stronger than he ever had in his life, and that strength made him confident, and that confidence made him ready. Lightning coursing through his veins, blood boiling with strange excitement and anticipation. This fight was already over, the Apostle just didn't know it.

Hazel clenched his fists in preparation. "You're better off worrying about yourself." He warned.

Hazel saw that Zulhetl was moving now. It roared at them, muscles bulging, tentacles flailing. He had forgotten about it. There was no telling how dangerous this Apostle was. But no less, he had to overcome them both. By any means.

"Tell me…" said the Apostle. "How far are you willing to go to avenge your sister? Is there a limit to your pursuit of justice?"

Hazel said it then, and he would say it now. His mind would never change. "I will do whatever it takes."

The Apostle's grin changed. No, more that Hazel had not been close enough to really notice until now. His canines were strangely long and sharp, like tiny white daggers. It gave him an eerie, predatory, vampiric look that did not suit at all with this angel show he had going on. That twisted grin was like that of a demon that knew a fresh sinner was joining him in hell and he couldn't wait to give him the tour. His voice was sharp and deadly as a killer's blade as he said, "Good."

There was no longer any time to draw this out. Hazel had no idea when Jaune would start tearing the Superior apart, so this business with his Alter was best handled quickly. He had been patient, he had waited, he had struggled… but now was the time to give everything he had and more. Zulhetl let out a blood curdling shriek and the force of it made the air around it flee in fear. As if that was the cue, Hazel clenched both hands into fists, then crashed his knuckles together. He came free of his chains. Freedom, at last.

"Overshadow technique… Absolute Fortitude."

---

"Well done! Capital!" applauded one angel.

"Incredible!" cheered another.

"Hazel, the Magnificent!"

"Kill him, Hazel!"

"Teach him a lesson!"

Not long ago Peach had been weeping over her assumed dead son, and even now wasn't completely over the shock despite seeing him walking across the dark plains, dragging the supposed Superior by the hair, kicking and screaming. The suddenness of a shift in power dynamic left her wondering if this was all some insane dream. But, somehow, something happened that proved even more unbelievable. That she was sitting amongst billions of beautiful angels, who were all clapping, cheering, jumping in their seats, screaming in favor of Hazel, the enemy of their supposed leader, this Apostle of War, who himself looked exactly like Jaune. They were in actual stadium stands like they were watching a baseball game, Only the seats were made of gold and were perched on clouds, and the baseball game was a three way deadlock to the death. A Hunter, a Grimm, and… Jaunes Alter? Honestly, she wasn't sure anymore. The Wolf's and Orphan's existences were confusing enough already, but now she had to contend with the fact that there were three manifestations of Jaune's soul? Maybe there weren't even just three. And if so, how many more could there be?

Of course right now it was hard to ignore the significance of Hazel's Overshadow , even while sitting above the Public Domain's atmosphere. She felt choked even from there, and it made her wonder how much worse the pressure it had to be up close. The ground was trembling down there, in a manner not unlike her quake technique, and all just from the intensity of his unrestrained power. Peach knew she'd had no hope of beating him far before he'd pulled this out, and she thought about how she would have been doomed no matter what side of the war she picked. She supposed the saying was true. There are only losers in war. Hazel truly was a different level of monster.

Oobleck, who'd been brought up not five minutes ago by a troupe of angels, also looked upon the scene, though his reaction was far less obvious. His lip was curled in distaste, like he'd eaten a terrible meal, and his hawk-eyes stared on with rapt attention, almost making him appear angry.

Peach hardly knew what to say to him now, but knew she had to say something. She let out a sigh. "So, are we allies or enemies now?"

Obleck huffed. "Do you know what? I truly have no idea."

Giant stone pillars had begun to rise out of the ground, stretching miles into the air, great towers of solid earth plunging into existence by the hundreds. The sky had turned a murky purple, swirling vasts of psychic energy that kept the towers raised up with willpower alone. It was like a scene out of a terrible dream. One which, despite remembering it, you simply couldn't explain. And with this new nightmare came a new monster. Hazel's armor had changed. No longer looking like a great heavy shell to store his body in, and instead the steel looked like it had grafted to his skin. Small black plates welded together, looking almost like dragon scales, scaling up his muscled body and covering him whole, all the way to the neck. His gauntlets had shrunken to metal gloves, the knuckles crested with curved spikes. Only his leggings and greaves represented a kind of normal armor, but even then the greaves had razor edges behind the shin, boots bearing bladed toes. And finally, his helmet. Organically fastened around his head, leaving only space for his snarling mouth and glowing purple eyes, sparking with lightning. A long flowing plume burst out of the top of the helmet, almost looking like the tail of some mythical beast. Peach was already confident that no one in their right mind would want to fight a man that looked like that.

But Grimm rarely got intimidated, and Zulhetl certainly wasn't. The Apostle was a different prospect though, clapping his hands and looking genuinely impressed. It was hard to say which one Hazel was more offended by, because faster than a finger snap, he dashed forward and dropped the back of his fist on top of the Apostle's head like a hammer on a nail. Not only downing him, but sending him blasting through the ground like the world's most efficient drill. Zulhetl had raised its arm to swing, but Hazel swooped in close, caught Zulhetl's wrist, pulled it behind the creature's back, then booted it hard enough to send it crashing through not one, not two, but three of the giant pillars.

"This is Hazel's Overshadow…" Oobleck stated the obvious, but then Peach realized he'd been muttering to himself, perhaps he too was shocked.

"You've seen it before? Do you know what it does? I've heard only speculation."

Oobleck shook his head. "I have never seen it personally, I believe only the Superior, Tyrian, and Watts have seen it true. Hazel was known for keeping the specifics of his techniques close, so as to always have the advantage of surprise."

Zulhetl scrambled up and charged Hazel, leaving a dust cloud behind, and the Apostle crawled out of his hole, already looking rather thrown off. "Do you know what it does?" Peach asked again.

"It is similar to his semblance, which protects him from damage significantly weaker than him. During his Overshadow, the damage threshold increases. Now, nothing equal to his power or less can cause him any harm. And that does not just apply in a physical sense. In his normal form, perhaps your Divine Surgery would have an effect on his mind. However, while Overshadowed, it would have no effect. His very psychic energy enforces a barrier in his mind, protecting him from mind manipulating abilities, so long as they do not surpass his power. And considering the man in question, it is not likely that there is anyone capable. It also increases his physical strength, mental acuity, speed, and durability. However, I am told that he can only use it once every few surface world weeks."

Peach blinked. "Weeks? Surely he'd have trained his Overshadow for years. Trained it long enough to reduce such a heavy restriction. You and I can enforce our Overshadow multiple times a day. Multiple times in a single battle."

"I am afraid you and I, despite our exceptionality amongst our peers, still play by the same rules as the majority. Hazel does not. His Overshadow is rather special, hence the Superior's interest in it. Yes, he can only use it once every few weeks, but once it is activated, it does not end until he falls unconscious. Unless he has gained more control since leaving the organization, he will not be able to revert at will."

Peach shook her head in disbelief. "It doesn't have a time limit?" That alone was blatantly the most unfair mechanic she'd ever heard of in an Overshadow. "But if it lasts until he goes down, why wouldn't he use it in the beginning?"

"Because of what the technique does to his mind. His technique is fueled by raw, animalistic emotion, denying logic and morality in the pursuit of basic desires. His rational mind can combat it for a while, but eventually he will revert to an unthinking, savage beast. Unable to differentiate between enemy and ally. Of course, that only makes him more dangerous. I imagine anyone would sooner fight him at his most sane. I suppose that is the nature of a Vicar's power. Dangerous even without meaning to be."

Peach couldn't help but picture Jaune that way too. Especially now that she knew the Superior had been trying to steal his body. The Orphan had been her first glimpse into Jaune's true power, but even that seemed like nothing compared to Hazel at the moment. Threatening though that tortured beast was, it wasn't on this scale. So it didn't come as much of a surprise when she saw Hazel smacking around the Apostle like it was the greatest mismatch of the century. No matter how much the Apostle fought back, he simply couldn't touch the man.

Then, Peach heard Oobleck call her. "And what of that thing? Is that Mister Arc's Alter, the one you failed to inform me of during the Xiao-Long household incident?"

Peach frowned. She had omitted all the information she could about encountering Jaune's potential Alter at the time, but knowing what she did now, the higher ups had probably known about the Wolf and Orphan all along. Perhaps they even knew more than she did. "No. " she said, "That being was not Jaune's Alter. I'm not sure if this one is, either. But if it is…" And she winced as the Apostle was sent toppling across the plain. "Then, we might all still be knee deep in the shit."

---

He should have known there was nothing to worry about.

This Apostle of War had been all hot air. Puffed up with childish arrogance, which seemed entirely reflective of his Host. For the hundredth time, the Apostle failed to defend himself, as Hazel conjured a mace and bashed him in the head. It sent him stumbling back, made him attempt a response, only for Hazel to knee him in the guts. Once, twice, then jabbed the butt of the mace into his guts, spinning around, and flooring with an overhead. Hazel was almost annoyed at how easy it was, as he kicked the Apostle rolling across the wasteland, swearing he could hear the sound of rapturous applause. Perhaps he was just imagining it, but still, he couldn't help but think it appropriate.

But his joy didn't last long. The real problem had returned. Zulhetl came charging, having shape-shifted into a massive horse, but still with the head of a squid. Damn thing wasn't very creative. But he'd learned something important from trading blows with this demon. It wasn't truly as invulnerable as it had been theorized. And he only felt more confident in his assumption when Zulhetl blocked his greatsword with one hand, then Hazel spun on his heel and chopped off its other arm. Yes, the arm grew back instantly, but it was proof all the same.

Three things. One, Zulhetl's invulnerability was neither automatic nor constant.

Two, the creature's development of intelligence was likely recent.

Three, because of this new experience of somewhat self-awareness, it had no idea how to properly use its powers.

The result was this already extremely powerful monster switching randomly between states of vulnerability, which was somehow worse than being invincible outright. The very idea that he could potentially destroy Zulhetl made it incredibly difficult to ignore, especially when it's vulnerable states fluctuated so wildly. It was hard enough figuring out when it could be wounded, but actually landing a conclusive blow against this fast, strong, unpredictable Grimm was the real challenge. But it could be done. It might take a bit of luck, but once he had a clear window, he'd have Brain Splitter ready for it.

So Hazel met the horse charge with a sideways swing of his greatsword, felt it clang against the bone plating. The blade scraped away, but thankfully he'd managed to direct Zulhetl's charge to the side, sparing him of a ramming. It came back quick enough, coming up close, then suddenly growing three times its height in a second. I stomped its hoof down on Hazel, he dodged, it stomped, he dodged, a third stomp, a third dodge. Zulhetl opened its beak to let out a spitting, raging neigh, except it sounded like a barking dog instead, and it made Hazel wonder how much of the normal world had fallen into the Public Domain that allowed the creature to imitate its animals and even get the sounds wrong.

Zulhetl charged again, but this time one of its arms turned into a muscled whip-like appendage, and it swung it around like a child with a rattle, tearing the ground apart. Hazel took a couple of hits well enough, but they were strong enough to crack his armor, even despite not hitting him straight-on. He chopped through two of them, found himself surprised it had cut through, then had to quickly snap out of shock and seize the opening. Hazel forced Zulhetl to dodge with a cut, then grabbed its neck with his free hand. It wouldn't be full power, but it would still do some damage. Finally, he'd got him. "Half Output, Brain—"

Hazel's head rang as he was struck from behind, not only loosening his grip and allowing Zulhetl to break free, but nearly losing him his head, as Zulhetl nearly took it off with a swing of a spiked arm. Hazel might have wondered what happened, but he saw the culprit now. The Apostle was back again, standing with his arms folded, wearing this irritating neutral frown. Like a man standing on his porch waiting for the mail to arrive, only because there was nothing else to do.

"Forget about me already?" he said.

He had, admittedly. Alter or not, the Apostle was no threat to him, or that's what he'd thought. But since Zulhetl had so few openings to use, any other participant in this fight could be a significant deterrent. Weak or no, the Apostle was still a problem. He felt the earth beneath his feet explode, as he sprang toward him, closing the distance in an instant. He saw the Apostle's blue eyes go wide with fear, as well it should be. This annoying pup had done nothing but yap and whine. A waste of time.

Hazel chopped his greatsword down on the Apostle's head with a single, one-handed stroke. The steak knife bit deep into the soft yet perfectly cooked medium-rare ribeye, steaming fresh off the grill, glazed in melted garlic butter, topped with parsley and a squeeze of lemon juice. He took a whiff, hummed pleasantly, cut off a clean piece, swirled it in the butter, then stuck the piece in his mouth, taking the flavor with much appreciation. A lovely meal. He was so glad had taken up the invitation to dinner.

…what?

"Hazel," came a woman's voice, "be a dear and pass the bread?"

"Oh. Yes, certainly." Hazel said, reaching over the long table to pass a plate of steaming bread rolls. The young woman gave him a courteous smile, blonde-haired and blue-eyed. Hazel even returned the smile, found himself preening a little.

He did what?

Hazel looked around, and the sudden opulence was enough to make his heart lurch.

He and several dozen others were all sitting around a long and elaborate dinner table. The exquisite kind in which a king, his family, and important guests would dine on. And set in a pristine dining hall, decorated with dark red colored walls, golden curtains with bright sheen, perfectly parted to reveal the starry night through crystalline windows. The chandeliers looked to be made of pure diamond, reflecting the light of the lanterns hanging on the walls, alongside massive baroque paintings, marble statues of unknown figures. There was beautiful classical music in the air—flutes, harps, violins. The hum and chatter of mass conversation from the surrounding aristocrats, nobles, delegates, and proxies. He even saw people he knew, though not as he remembered them. Peach and Oobleck were dressed in overly lavish old century clothes and toasting to strangely thick looking red wine. Winter and Cinder, looking like two ready to be wed young maidens of high society, tittering over some scandal, hair decorated with pins and bonnets. Qrow and Roman guffawing over some bad joke, the latter with a bit of that red wine spilled on his shirt. Neo drained a glass herself, then a second, then a third, contents spilling down her chin, slow and oozing. Hazel even saw the Vicar there, raising her wine glass to him with a smile. Hazel felt the sudden temptation to return the favor, had found that he'd lifted his glass, but managed to set it down. The table was decorated with royal food. A massive roasted pig in the center, steamed fish, stuffed lobster, fresh fruit, warm bread, and endless bottles of that murky red drink. Strange though, there was no smell of wine in the air despite how much it was being poured and consumed.

Instead the smell was a sickly sweet. Like rust. Metallic.

A storm of laughter came from the upper end of the table, silverware and plates rattling as fists pounded on the fine wood. Hazel leaned over to look, and saw three Jaune's at the end of the table. All sat in pristine seats, and all wearing fine royal robes and headpieces. Despite having the exact same face, they all looked somehow vastly different. One didn't laugh crazily like the others, but rather maintained a calm half-smirk, like he didn't want to admit the joke was funny but found it funny nonetheless. Then the one on the right, the host Jaune, pounding the table in a hysterical fit of laughter, like he hadn't heard a joke so funny. Then the Apostle in the middle, head tilted back till he was cackling at the ceiling, as if a joke had been made on him, but it was so good that he couldn't help but laugh.

It was all so loud. Hazel's eardrums trembled from the din. Things were getting blurry, as if it had been hot all day and it was making him sick. Damn, he was sweating. Why was he sweating? Couldn't breathe. Because there was no air? Or had he been holding his breath. Laughing, laughing. People guzzling wine. Qrow screaming something. Was that the Superior he saw standing in the corner like a punished child? Why did he have the head of a donkey? What was a donkey head doing at dinner anyway? Was that the meat they were serving? Hazel's fingers trembled now. His throat was dry. He needed a drink. Yes, a drink! That would clear his mind and calm him down.

He scooped up the wine glass with a relieved laugh, then sucked it down in a single gulp. A lovely taste. He wanted more. He snatched a nearby bottle and began to fill his glass with more.

"This is a fine wine," he said, more to himself than anyone else.

The young woman across from him raised an eyebrow. Then her mouth twisted into a nasty grin, all teeth. Such teeth in particular were sharp as new knives and dripping red. "Wine?"

Snap, snap, snap.

Hazel blinked at the sound. The Apostle was in front of him, snapping his fingers over and over, like a trainer calling his dog to attention. Once he saw that Hazel was paying attention, he let out a strangely content sigh, like he'd tried something and was glad it had worked. Or hadn't. "Ah, you're still with us. Good."

Hazel summoned his greatsword and swung, but the Apostle had already dodged. It was the first time he'd actually dodged, now that she thought about it. And by dodged, he meant he had simply walked away from it. It seemed entirely unnatural. He'd swung as hard and fast as he could, and yet the Apostle had still strolled out of the way like he was on a morning walk. He returned to his previous spot, crossed his arms, and resumed that waiting frown. A few long seconds passed and Hazel was still trying to come to grips with what the hell had just happened.

The Apostle rolled his eyes. "Well? Come on, then."

Hazel had no idea what was going on. But clearly the Apostle had done something, however nonchalant he acted. Illusions, most likely. A filthy trick, but he'd fought them before, and knew how to deal with them. Hazel huffed. Still, the Apostle had managed to inflict a convincing illusion despite his Overshadow enhancing his mental acuity and durability. He would have to pay closer attention.

"Very well," Hazel said. He'd underestimated this boy and that has been a mistake, but if he thought he could play games with Hazel, he would learn how wrong he was. "If you desire my attention so much, I'll crush you first."

The Apostle adopted a cruel grin, then beckoned Hazel with one hand.

---

The angels gave a cheering applause. Some were now dressed like they were at a ball game, wearing shirts with Hazel's face on it. Wearing foam fingers that looked like Hazel's gauntlets. Waving flags with the name of Rebels on them. It was as ridiculous as it was disturbing. They acted like actual rabid fans who'd been supporting Hazel for years, and it made no sense.

But perhaps they were right to cheer. As it stood, this Apostle was getting knocked around like a sparring bag. It was almost like seeing a ball get smacked with a racket over and over. Even from up there, Peach could hear the impact of their clashes. Tank round blasts. Boom, boom, boom. And in terms of strength, Hazel was without equal. He knocked the Apostle around with merciless savagery, such that even Peach had to wince with every contact. He dragged the Apostle through the ground, leaving a great divot behind. Tossed him in the air before driving his knee into his guts, sent him spiraling back down, crashing on top of the Apostle with a great sledgehammer, the resulting earthy explosion so huge it dwarfed anything Peach had seen Cinder produce.

And the angels ate it up. A couple of them being Jaune's own sisters, utterly delighted at his brutal beating. It seemed the very heavens were set on Hazel's victory and that looked to be the certain outcome.

And yet… Peach felt that something was off.

The Apostle charged forth and took a couple of bare-fisted swings himself. That in itself was strange. Fighting bare-handed? It didn't look right. Not in all that armor.5 Sure, Hazel had done so as well but there'd been a tactical advantage in doing so until he'd been forced to don his armor. What reason could this Apostle have for not using a weapon? Did he just not have one?

Or…

Hazel reversed the Apostle's swings and booted him in the gut, doubling him to his knees. The Apostle recovered quickly enough, but caught a backhand that sent him rumbling away, discarded like trash. To which the angels voiced their high approval. Huge boulders formed from broken earth, floating and controlled by Hazel's psychic energy. With the flick of his arm, they pelted on the Apostle fast as a pack of wild dogs. The Apostle dodged all he could, to moderate success. Once he ate one, he took several more, constantly thrown back, constantly on the defensive, not once getting the chance to fight back.

Hold on… was he fighting back?

It seemed like it, at first glance. Attempting to swing, but always getting countered. Sometimes failing even to get close. He even seemed to run, and hardly slow at that. Matching Hazel's speed in every instance, yet somehow too slow to avoid his attacks? It made no sense. Then, Peach realized something that made her insides cold.

Where the hell was Zulhetl?

---

He had given the brat too much respect, Hazel realized, but now it was over. The Apostle lay on the ground, curled up like a dead insect, puckered with wounds. Hazel had even ensured his death by kicking him a few times to see if he woke, and then pulling off his head just to be certain. Overkill had been precisely what he wanted to avoid, but he'd had no choice this time. It was Jaune's fault for getting involved, the stupid boy.

"Rest now," Hazel offered as a sendoff of the dead. A courtesy which he had not been able to give his sister. "May you find peace in…" he trailed off.

From just outside the corners of his eye, approaching the ruined corpse from offscreen like a stagehand coming to fix a set prop, was the Apostle.

He stroked his chin in thought as he looked upon his dead likeness. Had the look of someone who had bought a horse for the races, but after seeing its performance, was starting to question his decision. Then he gave an approving nod, and even an impressed whistle. "I am impressed. There is no doubting a man of your strength, is there?"

Hazel glared between the dead Apostle and the living one. "What is this?"

The Apostle gave Hazel a knowing grin. Had it been another illusion? He was sure it hadn't been. He'd been keeping attention since after the first one, trying to discern the imperfections and act accordingly. It couldn't have been an illusion. But then how did that explain the existence of two Apostles? What was going on?

Hazel spat. "For a thing called the Apostle of War, you seem to favor poorly veiled tricks."

"Trick?" He opened his palms wide. "I have done no trick."

"Hide behind your illusions if you wish, coward. It will not be enough to stop me."

The Apostle blinked. "Illusion? Is that what you think this was?" The Apostle chuckled. "You fool. You know nothing!"

Not an illusion? That couldn't be. The brat was feigning ignorance, trying to make himself appear smarter than he truly was. A posturing, arrogant brat. Nothing more. Hazel would just have to come at the fool harder. He got ready to spring at him, knees bent, readying his greatsword. He coiled his legs, then launched off at full speed and…

"You are far too hasty."

Hazel felt his helmet shatter to bits, and his head ring as he crashed full force into a silver barrier of light. They were like panes of window glass shaped like hexagons, yet they shined sun bright. More importantly, they'd been so sturdy that it completely halted Hazel's charge. More than that, as the recoil was so strong that Hazel ended up being launched backward, only just managing to right himself and land on his feet.

He looked toward the Apostle, whose hand had been raised like a stop sign. "Do you wish to get him involved?"

Him? Who…

And Hazel turned to see that Zulhetl was standing there. Amidst all the destruction, the monster was silent and still as a statue, tentacles all limp, big bulging eyes looking at nothing. He'd forgotten about it. How had he forgotten about it? There was no way Zulhetl wouldn't have attacked by now. Was he really to believe the creature had stayed put while Hazel and the Apostle fought? It just wasn't possible. How could it be?

The Apostle snapped his fingers as if he'd just figured out an answer to a question. "Perhaps we could make this more interesting?"

Hazel had to keep from snapping at him. Had to stay in control. "What do you mean?"

"I suggest you and," he looked at Zulhetl in thought, "this one came at me together. A two on one bout. What do you think?"

Was he insane? Who did he think he was? "And what makes you think I need the advantage?"

"Perhaps you don't. No less, you still fight rather conservatively. You see me as the lesser threat, and I'm afraid that just won't do. I have not had any fun yet, and continuing on as we are, well, let's say no one will come out of it satisfied. So I request a two against one. This way you don't have to fret about that pest and can fight without concern."

"Fool. It is a simple beast. It will attack whatever it wishes."

The Apostle hummed in thought. "Well, why don't we try it and find out? What is the harm? If it attacks you, I will stop it. It won't be an issue, you have my word."

There had to be some reason he wanted this. Something that gave him a serious advantage. Hazel refused to play his game. "No." he said.

"Really? Must I beg?"

"No!" Hazel shouted.

The Apostle pouted like a child denied candy. "Perhaps you will defeat me simply by ruining my fun. Very well, if you insist. I suppose I shouldn't be so greedy. After all, you did fairly well against that lessee duplicate I sent to you."

Hazel blinked. "Duplicate?"

"No, no, lesser duplicate. There is a considerable difference. My apologies for the deception. I meant it by way of gauging your defenses. They're quite tough to break. I'll have to use something quite strong to get beneath your armor. Let's see…" he took a moment to think. "I know."

The Apostle summoned a weapon. The first weapon he'd ever summoned, now that Hazel thought about it. It was a short and thin blade, almost like a rapier but the size of a knife. The Apostle tilted it this way and that with a raised brow, spun it a few times, then shrugged as he pointed the blade at Hazel. "This should be enough. I suppose we will soon find out. I suggest you prepare yourself."

Hazel instantly materialized his armor, even adding a layer of earth and a shell of psychic barrier to it, just in case it was another illusion. He summoned a tall shield, held it up with both arms, even got down on one knee to better stabilize himself.

And he heard the Apostle say something he could not have ever predicted.

"Sever."

---

The angels shouted their collective jeers. They stomped their feet, cursed like raging sailors, bawled like children denied new toys. And all in the name of Hazel's foolishness.

"He's lost!"

"You fool! How could you give that up?"

"Hazel the twit!"

"Shame! For shame!"

It happened so fast. Peach wasn't even sure if it was real. Sever? That was her technique. The invisible force which the Apostle had sent upon Hazel cut through his massive shield, through the earthen armor shell, through the thick psychic barrier, then parted against Hazel's big chestplate and split off to his left and right. And in doing so, it ripped a mountain sized cleft in the planet.

It was so huge that Hazel barely qualified as a mote of dust compared to it, and the countless cracks from the keen cut continued to spread like a determined disease, causing this endless formation of giant fissures as whole sections of land were sucked down, even parts of the dark city. Understandably, Hazel had not foreseen a shift this sudden, and so was too slow to save himself, as he fell plummeting into the darkness. The Apostle looked over the edge himself, looking more mildly curious than anything else. As if he'd been experimenting and hadn't expected such devastating results. Peach would have screamed at him that Zulhetl was rushing him from behind, but soon learned it wasn't necessary. Without looking, the Apostle stuck out his foot and Zulhetl tripped over his leg with all the grace of a baby learning to walk. It tumbled roaring into the black abyss.

With a grin, the Apostle turned his back to the crevasse, then jumped backwards over it, arms behind his head, eyes closed, grin on his face as he plummeted after his opponents.

A second later, red-orange light began to emerge from the crevasse.

---

Was this another illusion? Hazel found himself hoping that it was.

He had managed to create a rock platform to stand on, suspended by psychic energy, and that gave him time to take in everything. They were miles deep, that was for certain. But how many miles? Well for reference, the shining white moon appeared like a small all-seeing eye squinting down on them from a tiny slit in the earth, and the sounds of thunder were so faint that Hazel was half-convinced he was imagining them. On every single side of the fissure, without exception, fell mountain-sized waterfalls of flaming unearthed magma. The heat made Hazel sweat like a pig that knew it was next for the butcher, and the very air was deadly stifling to breathe. Plummeting pools, fast as water, yet red, orange, yellow hot, flames hissing on the fringes, boulder sized bubbles bursting and hissing and spraying skin-melting muck everywhere. It was like looking at the sun close up. Maybe they were on the sun. That was somehow more believable than the idea of someone being able to cut a hole this deep into a superplanet.

A blur came flying past Hazel, so fast he barely saw it. It crashed against one of the magma falls, saved only by a magic barrier. The Apostle. He jumped off and landed on a light platform of his own, and only then did Hazel see something had yet to see on him. A wound.

A bloody cut that made it through his shoulder plate, leaving it yawning open. The first wound he'd seen on the brat, despite beating his proclaimed duplicate to death. Proof indeed that all men bleed. Yet the Apostle seemed to relish it. There was a mad smile on his face, those vampire teeth of his making Hazel's skin crawl. Then, the Apostle laughed. "So even magma cannot kill you? You truly cannot die, Zulhetl!"

Hazel turned to see Zulhetl standing on a jutting slab of rock. One of the magma falls was pouring over its head, and yet it did nothing but slide off its flesh. Hazel's heart jumped as it let out a massive roar, the sound bouncing off the fissure walls, rippling the magma, tearing soundwaves through the air.

"Very well!" The Apostle said. And he summoned a new weapon. It was like a spear, except far bigger. A spear's equal to a claymore. The shaft was of pure gold twisted like a helix, forming up at the base of the blade and spitting out into the shape of small wings, then the blade itself extended out, so sharp that the light danced across the keen edge. The Apostle gave this greatspear a flourish, then pointed it at Zulhetl with a smirk. "Let's see if you can endure this. Ichor Lance."

A ball of bubbling red liquid swirled to life at the point of the spear. It clumped into a ball, shrank, pulsed, expanded again, then fired out in a straight red jet, clearing the chasm in less than an instant. Even if Hazel had barely seen it, Zulhetl surely had. It raised it's bulky arm to deflect the beam, sending it shooting off elsewhere. Well, not exactly. The blood beam skewered Hazel's rock platform not a second after he'd jumped away. He called the earth from the walls, managed to cling to one just in time, then flung himself onto a much wider platform. One which would not be easily—

Zulhetl came smashing through his new platform, destroying it instantly. Hazel grabbed hold of a slab of rock, just managing to keep himself afloat. He watched as Zulhetl scraped the crevasse walls as it fell, bouncing off the edges like a pebble skipping down a sheer cliff. It seemed to fall forever, almost becoming a speck. The beast dug one hand into the wall to orient itself, then loosed a flurry of feelers with a dodged preemptively, but the attack hadn't been aimed at him at all.

The Apostle darted and weaved through air with all the dexterity of a falcon in flight, spinning away from those flesh lances with braggart ease. Hands behind his head and all, not even looking where he was going. Finally, he righted himself and conjured a new weapon. A katana. There was a mighty crack and a bolt of lightning came from the clouds and struck the Apostle out of nowhere. It coiled around his body, then fused into the sword, and with an overhead slash and a mighty laugh. He shouted, "Inazuma!"

A great golden blade arced through the air, long as a skyscraper. Thank the Brothers it wasn't very wide, or Hazel wouldn't have liked his chances dodging it. And as if that wasn't enough, the Apostle began to chain throw a series of lightning spears, all careening down like the world's deadliest rain. Hazel threw up his psychic shell in time, but the impact of each blow was nothing to sneeze at. Each one sending waves of pain through him, as if he was being pelted by giant rocks rather than raw plasma. Desperate for relief, Hazel pulled a stone slab out of a wall, landed with a roll, then pulled another, protecting him from the remaining electric shower.

He peered out to see the Apostle and Zulhetl, focused on each other now, and seeming to relish every second of it. Two dancing devils. The Apostle had now adopted two golden blades very similar to Cinder's, and battered them against Zulhetl's impervious body. Zulhetl in turn swiped at him with claws and tentacles, swiping as furious as an enraged cat. With one heavy punch, it destroyed one of the swords, then slapped the second out of the Apostle's hands.

The Apostle twirled away from its slash, pointed two fingers to counter with another Sever. It must have been weaker without the dagger, for it failed to cut the skin, but more than powerful enough to send the Grimm flying through the air, turning head over heels.

Hazel cared little for their squabble but saw himself an opportunity. He chucked his sword at the Apostle, but hardly expected it to hit. By the time the Apostle dodged it, Hazel flashed to his other side, and drove a stone fist into the Apostle's jaw. But instead of sending him flying, all it did was fling his face back. He'd taken it more like a slap. Recalling his sword, he went at him hard and fast, forcing the Apostle to stay on the backfoot, again and again and again. Sword met dagger once, twice, three times, then the Apostle slashed wide. Anticipating the Sever, Hazel cloaked his armor, only it never came.

The Apostle pointed he pointer and middle fingers of his free hand right at Hazel, red boiling at the tip. "Ichor Burst."

Hazel quickly focused his psychic power into his free hand and met his attack head-on. "Half Output, Brain Splitter."

They might as well have been two hydrogen bombs. One that reeked of blood, another brimming with psychic power They filled that tiny space between their hands, but of course, such power could not be contained for long. Hazel braced himself as both he and the Apostle were sent flying back from the explosion, he donned his armor, and that was fortunate because he started bouncing along the magma falls, flailing to get a hold of something. He had to stop himself first or he'd be flying forever. So, he called upon his psychic powers once more and spread his arms wide. "Terraform."

Stone platforms by the hundreds burst from the fissure walls all around, dripping with lava. Hazel crashed through one, but managed to latch onto the next closest, pulling himself up with some effort, and heaving for breath. Safe. And just in time to see the Apostle crash into the magma ocean boiling at the bottom of the fissure. He felt a surge of relief. Even he would not survive that, the damn idiot. Arrogance killed faster than anything. The Superior was proof of that.

While he didn't have to worry about his Overshadow ending, it still wasn't good for him to be fighting a prolonged battle. Soon he'd be too tired to fight, regardless of how strong he was. And that was if he didn't start losing his reason. It was overall better to have this battle end soon. And as he thought this, Zulhetl burst from a wall and landed on one of Hazel's platforms, as if to say, don't forget about me. Hazel sighed. The Apostle hadn't been able to hurt the damn thing either, despite being able to slash the world open. This S-class Grimm shrugged off everything thrown at it.

Reasonably, Hazel could only see the Psycho Break working. A technique he very rarely used and for good reason. It took a heavy toll on him with severe headaches and took time to fire off. He couldn't use it unless he was certain it would hit, making it impractical for chaotic fights. Still, if Brain Splitter at full power didn't work, what other option did he have?

But just as he was about to prepare, something started happening to the crevasse. The magma falls had taken an unnatural shift, now starting to pour diagonally downward, rushing across the walls fast as a river downhill. Only from looking around did Hazel put the effect together. It was forming a massive spiral, swirling downward into the point below as if the planet was sucking its lifeblood back into the heart.

There, at the very bottom, something rose from the lava pool.

"No…" Hazel whispered in disbelief.

First the head, then arms, then body, one leg, both legs, until it was standing on the lava easily as flat land. It was the Apostle, no doubt, so the surprise didn't come from guessing who it was. Instead, Hazel was contending with the fact that the Alter was now nothing but bones. skeleton.

A skeleton picked clean of all traces of skin, flesh, and organs. The big empty eye sockets shining a bright scarlet. A twisted skull grin. He looked at one of his flesh-robbed hands, working the fingers curiously. "Are you having fun?" Hazel was caught off guard by his voice. It had changed now. Two voices at once, a man and a woman. And both so deep, so echoing that he felt it in his own skin, flesh, bones. So far away, and yet it was like the voice was right in his ear. The Apostle started to giggle. A creepy, cold giggle. Blood oozing from his teeth. "I am having a great time now! Shall we play some more?"

Hazel suddenly felt his guts tighten as gravity itself grew heavier on him. The Apostle let out an absolutely twisted laugh, fleshless body producing a cloak of lightning, hissing and crackling like a malfunctioning power plant. Hazel felt his own blood boil, like it was trying to escape his body, having to steady himself on one knee to keep from falling over. Zulhetl, like anyone, suddenly found the Apostle the more interesting prospect, and jumped toward him, arms extended out, hungry to get its claws on him.

The Apostle met its charge with equal joy. Proceeding to… and Hazel gawked at the ridiculousness of it. The Apostle had started off running across the magma, fleshing up the falls with blinding speed. Then, he summoned that spear again and flipped into the air, placing his feet on the shaft. Without exaggeration, when he landed he started surfing the falling lava waterfall, completely perpendicular to the ground. As if this was all some fucking sport game. He'd jump into the air, spinning, twirling, tricking, dancing atop that precarious spear without a single care in the world. All while, very terrifyingly, Zulhetl gave chase by swimming the lava with the most practiced front strokes Hazel had ever seen, as if it competed on the international level.

And Hazel had to wonder if these two might actually be playing like stupid children.

The monster it was, Zulhetl eventually caught up and even overtook the Apostle, launching itself full-bodied crashing into its prey. Bones flew everywhere like a scattering of building blocks. But just as quickly, they drew back together, and just in time for the Apostle to catch his spear midair and slash at his pursuer. "Ichor Draw!"

A red blade beam launched from the swing, crashing into its prey dead-on, and sending it skipping over the magma like a kicked pebble. But of course, it was hardly enough to keep him down.

Zulhetl launched itself onto one of Hazel's platforms, then protruded its barrel chest as dozens of thin tendrils fired out of its chest and chased down the Apostle. In return, the Apostle cast a wide bloody net as his long golden hair sprouted from his skull like a flower from dirt. The net rendered the flurry of tendrils to pieces, but Zulhetl only sent more. The Apostle grabbed one midair and skated on it, flying toward the Grimm with a joyous laugh. The beast dodged as the spear came, but the Apostle had managed to seize Zulhetl by its face tentacles, lifting and slamming it through the platform, both of them falling together. As if that wasn't enough, the Apostle still had hold of Zulhetl's face and was repeatedly punching it as they fell, each blow sounding like a shotgun round, laughing and laughing. Zulhetl kicked him off, landed against one of the walls, while the Apostle landed all the way opposite.

It didn't take a second for them to clash again in the middle.

From there, they were nothing but strokes of paint across a canvas. One a black smear, the other a flash of light, darting around like wayward pinballs, every clash sending ripples through Hazel's body. Boom, boom, boom. Lava spraying, earth shattering, laying utter ruin to everything around them. And it had not escaped his notice that all he'd been doing was watching. What the hell was wrong with him? He had an objective here. He was wasting his time on these monsters when he should have been addressing the real problem. He wasn't afraid of them, far from it, this was simply a waste of effort, better spent getting justice.

Seeing that they were caught up with each other, Hazel attempted to slip away. He turned toward one of the walls, ready to make his way to the surface… and found himself staring straight into the Apostle's face.

The flesh had returned now. Giving some definition to the human body, but the eyes had yet to form. Nothing but black pits. No, wait. There were small pinpricks of light if you looked hard enough. Tiny souls drifting in the murk. And coupled with that twisted smile, Hazel found a great chill had slithered up his back. "Are you not having fun?" he said.

On instinct, Hazel swung.

The Apostle, with his bare hand, knocked his greatsword spinning away, then with his free hand grabbed Hazel by the face. He felt the Alter's regrown nails dig into his skin as he was lifted off his feet, then slammed on the ground. The Apostle kneeled over him with that disturbing smile. From so close, Hazel could see the skin reforming, growing on that red flesh like a fast-acting mold. "Are you not having fun?" He repeated. Same tone and all, like it was a recording constantly played back.

Hazel could help but scream as he was suddenly flung, but not down into the crevasse, rather the exact opposite. The gap at the top of the fissure grew bigger by the second as he flew toward it. Everything rushing past him so fast that they blurred together. The sudden shift from sweltering hot and blistering cold was enough to make him gasp, but he still managed to find his balance and land on a piece of crumbled building. Hazel fell back onto his ass, heart pounding, but was relieved to be back on the surface. Maybe now he could catch the Superior before Jaune could finish him. He got to his feet and—

Hazel had supposed, that besides the huge slash in the earth, that the surface would look exactly it had before. An utter ruin.

But now? Ruin failed to do the scene justice.

The land had once been patched with pools and lakes of lava. Now, it was an entire ocean. Going as far as the eye could see and likely further on. The sea exploded with random geyser bursts, shooting hundreds, maybe even thousands of miles into the air. The dark city was practically sinking now, hundreds of buildings in various states of submerged, but doubtless all soon to be swallowed up. Perhaps the process might have taken a while. If it wasn't for the meteors raining down.

Yes. Meteors.

It was a veritable bolide storm. As if the stars had taken insult from the Public Domain and were set on its complete eradication. Each one trailing with blue fire, the sound like roaring tigers as they fell, ear-rocking explosions as they pelted the earth. Every burst caused a wave of cold air in every direction, making Hazel's skin prick even beneath his armor. Hazel struggled to understand it. All around him was this endless, senseless, constant destruction, as if it was the end of the world. It was the end of the world. How could it not be? Hazel's knees felt weak now. They were trembling with fury. That same tremble he felt when he stood over his sister's grave. What manner of a thing could cause such bedlam? A god?

A devil?

Hazel saw Zulhetl jump out of the crevasse as well, landing in the lava sea. But even submerged up to its waist, the creature showed no reaction to it. It just roared like it always did.

Standing on one of the high buildings, unsurprisingly, was the Apostle. Standing before that backdrop of dark sky giving way to savage lightning, warring thunder, meteoric rainfall, and now rays of holy light shooting down from breaks in the clouds, alone in the only space untouched. After all, he who brought hell brought it only upon his enemies. He had reformed his full body now, standing stark naked, and beaming up at the heavens.

"Can you see it, worm? Do you look upon my works and see for yourself the power of love?" He spoke like he was high, like he was on an intense psychedelic trip he'd misinterpreted as enlightenment. "My beautiful adversaries, do you dare fight on? Come Hazel, Zulhetl! Let us continue our glorious dance and never stop! Let us frolick like women into gardens of infinite battle! Eternal war!" And his outburst of laughter coincided perfectly with a crash of thunder. No, maybe caused it. All around, Hazel could hear it from everywhere. Felt like it was melting his brain. The Apostle raised his hand to the sky. "My adversaries, do you dare call down another blow?"

Something landed on Hazel's skin. A strange… insect? A locust.

Then, he heard a buzzing. It started loud enough. Then grew louder. And louder. Louder.

There, in the sky. Great black clouds were bubbling up, strangely fast. Hazel froze. No, not clouds. A great swarm of locusts. An absolute horde. "What the hell is this…" he couldn't help but gasp. "God…"

"God?" The Apostle grinned evilly, "Gone, I'm afraid. He was swept away by the winds. Shall you be swept away as well?"

Hazel stood his ground as the swarm bore down. He took the impact well enough, he thought. Fighting against them as they battered against his armor. He flailed his arms as much as he could, but it was like he was taking a hail of gunfire point-blank. He was pushed onto his knees, forcing him to summon a shield and hold it over his head, locusts raining on him like an artillery strike. He couldn't counter. He couldn't fight back. He couldn't do anything.

Hazel could only scream in pure helplessness as he was swept up by the locust horde.

---

"Run," said Jaune.

Ozpin ran.

A strange thing, he thought. He hadn't run in many years. Decades even. As a disembodied brain floating through the vastness of space for an indefinite time, he'd all but forgotten about the concept. And even after landing on a miracle of an inhabited planet, between the hundreds of bodies he'd taken, running had never been a necessity as the Superior. He'd never had a reason to run. Not in the literal sense. And yet, he could swear he had never run faster in his immortal life.

He ran even as the stars rained down, destroying everything around them. Lava bursting from the ground, like blood from a bad wound. He had to scramble away at times, molten rock droplets spattering his body, making him wince. And that was only what he could see. A blizzard had started not long ago, but not one of snow or ice. No, it was a swarm of locusts. They battered his face, struck his eyes, mouth, neck, a stinging bullet hell of insects. And now, a heavy blood rain had started pouring down on thick sheets, upsetting his footing where there wasn't lethal magma. The most lethal storm he'd ever faced.

But it was a mercy compared to what followed Ozpin.

Even through the stormy haze, he made out the distant black silhouette of that child of a devil, slowly marching toward him like a wolf on the hunt. No matter how fast Ozpin ran, the boy always kept up, inching ever closer. Blue eyes shining through. Ozpin lungs were on fire, his legs were aching terribly, he was covered in burns, bites, drenched in blood, tasting it, smelling it, wanting to puke. A hellstorm he had never experienced before even against the worst opponents. But he did not stop running.

How had it all come to this? His plans had always gone so well. If not perfectly, then at least close to it. Some things had been outside of his prediction certainly, and some situations had needed difficult and unorthodox solutions. Still, he'd gotten through, hadn't he? He'd always come out in control. But at the moment, it was hard to see how he'd find his way clear of this.

"Very well, Mister Arc." he chuckled, "You've made your point, no? How about we put an end to this charade? None of this is necessary."

Somehow he could hear the footsteps over the storm. They were the loudest sound right now. The boy gave no response.

"I always knew you had incredible potential. But this?" and he looked at the raining ice meteors pelting the mountains far away. One mountain had blown its top, now belching lava and black ash into the air. "This is too much. Even for me. What does a man even do with such overwhelming power?"

No response. Only footsteps.

"I suppose I shall tell you. He leads. Men with power must use it responsibly, in service of the weak. Power can do many things, great good and even greater evil." and he had to palm his mouth to keep from puking as the stink of blood grew ranker by the second. "Especially great evil. That's what I had hoped to prevent. To put an end to a great evil. Or at least halt its plans. Do you see, Mister Arc? I have been your ally."

Step, step, step. They were getting louder. He was getting closer.

Ozpin dodged a lava spout. Tried to stay calm while swatting locusts out of his face. There were frogs swimming in the blood, leaping about by the hundreds, snatching the bugs out of the air. "Think about it, Mister Arc. What use have I to make you my enemy? You were a wild card. Reckless. You're hardly the only one in our line of work who needed a stern lesson. I'm sure you realize it was not personal. Whatever revenge it is you seek upon me, it is unjustified. Certainly I had to teach you a lesson. But did I harm your family? Did I cause you physical harm? So you see that revenge would be pointless. Why not let this go? There is still time for us to work together to achieve our goals. We can both emerge today as victors."

Step, step, step. Ozpin didn't want to look back, but he was getting tired now, desperate to reason with this mad animal.

"Is it compensation you seek? Well, you'd certainly not be wanting for anything under the organization's official employment. And if you're in good graces with me? Well, all your desires are guaranteed. Think of it. Immunity, wealth, influence, status. All things which can be granted to you. In time, you may even become an important world leader. Or anything else you wish. Imagine what you can do! You need only ask, Mister Arc. What do you want?"

"You."

Ozpin pushed himself to run even harder. His breaths were haggard now, panicked and lost. No more pretense now. He had feigned all he could.

"You fool!" he snarled, venom on his every word. "You stupid, stupid boy! The world is nothing like you suppose it is. What is all this truly about? You want to kill me, but why? You don't have a good reason. You behave like a spoiled brat. Worse. A senseless animal. A mutt that bites his owner's hand! You are senseless and mad! That's what you are, Mister Arc! Mad!"

The air was growing colder. The wolves were howling. Ozpin fell in the dirt, bloody mud on his face. He scrambled up, heaving. "Don't you see it is not worth it? You could have anything you want, only let me go! Anything! Killing me is pointless. No, it is objectively wrong! Who will protect this planet from Salem's wrath? Who will protect humanity? Only I am capable. Only I can prevent her plans! If you kill me, the world is doomed, Mister Arc! Do you hear me? Doomed!"

Jaune gave no response. He just kept coming. Uncaring as the coming season. If the farmer begged for winter not to come so that he may enjoy a harvest, winter would not even bother with a response, for it came when it was time and never changed its way. There was no reasoning. No pleading. No respite.

"Reconsider, Mister Arc! It's not worth it. It's not—" And Ozpin stopped. Frozen in horror at what waited before him. The barn.

Where he'd taken Mister Arc to teach him a lesson about disobedience, where he'd stepped on his neck and encouraged him to become a proper agent, where he set the foundation toward breaking his mind and taking his body and unchallengeable power. His plan had gone perfectly, of course. It always did. He just couldn't have known that breaking this boy was the biggest mistake he could have made.

He yelped as he was kicked in the back, sent sprawling on his face. Before he could run, Jaune snatched him by the hair and started dragging him toward the barn. "No!" Ozpin screamed. "No!" Over and over.

The door was pulled back and Ozpin was flung into the darkness. He flopped in the dirt and hay, rolling to a crumpled heap. Jaune stepped in after, and despite the deafening noise outside, as soon as Jaune shut the door, the world went dead silent. Ozpin saw only darkness. Encroaching, choking, stifling black that almost felt like deep water. He sat on his knees, only hearing his own breathing, heart threatening to explode, as he looked around, afraid of every sound he imagined, and every sound he didn't.

"It's not worth it, Mister Arc. Let this go. I will forgive everything. We can forget all that happened. Just let me go. Just let me go…"

There were giggles in the dark. Creepy, disturbing titters.

"Salem must be stopped. We're doomed otherwise. You must let me go. You must!"

He shrieked as something crawled along his shoulder. Grazed his leg, his chest, his back, his neck. Spiders under his skin. Cold as death now. Colder. Ozpin shivered from it and his own terrible, terrible fear as he awaited the monster in the dark. And suddenly, all around him, he heard Jaunes voice, cruel, and vicious. "Ignorance is bliss, isn't that what you told me? Stay in the shallows, right? Because this is what it looks like in the deep end." A long, anxiety-inducing silence. "You should've taken your own advice."

And there was light. A single blue light. A fire floating alone. Eerie and ghostly. Ozpin almost got up to go toward it, but then heard footsteps. Something began to emerge from the darkness, barely lit by the blue flame. The steps grew louder, closer, and all the while Ozpin could only kneel there and hope for mercy. Then, the darkness was broken. A small thing stood from the black, ignited by a blue torch he held up. A very small creature. A child.

It stepped just close enough for Ozpin to barely make him out. The image was fuzzy like footage from a decades old camera. A young boy, maybe eight or nine years old. He stood there, blonde-haired, a plain expression, and eyes that were… empty. Literally eyeless. Nothing but two black holes, staring into Ozpin and seeming to suck out his very life force with just a look.

"Hi," he said in a high innocent voice, "Have you seen my eyes?"

Ozpin felt tears boiling up. He had no idea why. "No…"

"Oh." Another long silence stretched on. Seemed to last forever. "Can I borrow yours?"

It came out a pathetic squeak. "Mine?"

"I'll give 'em back. Promise." and the boy stepped forward.

Ozpin threw himself away. Collapsed onto his back. "No! Get away! Get away from me!"

But the boy had quite easily gotten on top of him, putting his small hands on Ozpin's cheeks like a child touching his parent's face. He tried to push the boy away but he was made of iron, that or Ozpin was just too weak now. Either way, the boy began to reach his tiny hand toward Ozpin's right eye. That hand grew bigger by the second. The boy didn't have long nails, and Ozpin could help but think of how extremely difficult it would be to get his eyes out with fingers like that. How hard he might have to dig to get them.

"I'll give them back. I promise." The child said.

"No!" Ozpin screamed his last desperate scream, "No!" But he felt the boy's thumb and fingers touch the upper and underside of his eye. Just the touch was unspeakable agony. "No!" He howled one last time.

The last thing he heard was the boy thanking him.

---

When his screaming stopped, the Superior lay on the ground in a twisted heap. He never moved again, so it seemed pointless to do anything to him now.

This strange child had come out of nowhere, and before Jaune could say anything, it had approached the Superior and proceeded to rip his eyes out, utterly ignorant to his agonized wails. Jaune hadn't known what he would do to the Superior, but he doubted it could have been worse than that. By now, the boy had already given up on using the Superior's eyes, as they'd proven to be too big. The boy tossed the eyes away and walked off, just as if he'd never been there in the first place. Jaune might have questioned him, but chose against it. He had more important things to take care of, and with the Superior dead, all he wanted was a good night's sleep.

Jaune stepped out of the barn and back into the world consuming storm, and found that one of those angels was waiting for him. She gave him a deep and low bow, as if greeting a king. Seemed a bit much in his opinion. "I come to escort you to the safety of the holy seat, Lord. Your family awaits you."

Jaune blinked. Felt a rush of worry. "My family? Are they okay?"

"They are. All who yet live from the battle sit safely amongst the stars."

Overwhelming relief. Jaune palmed his forehead and took a settling breath. He wasn't sure what had happened, but so long as everyone was alive, he could worry about everything else later. He looked around at the crumbling Public Domain. I had been coming apart already, but he wondered if the Superior's death might cause something to happen to it. Too much was going on to be able to tell. If this was where the Superior's Alter had been all this time, then doubtless this was his Heart World. And with him dead, it couldn't be long before the world died itself.

He asked the angel, "What will happen to this place? This world?"

"Perhaps our Lord will repurpose it as a place for his angels to frolic and dally. Or perhaps he will burn the planet to ash. It depends on his mood."

"What mood is he in?"

"I believe currently he is quite happy. So I believe he will be merciful and simply burn the planet to ash."

Jaune once again had to look at the chaos. If this was merciful, then he didn't want to know what making the Apostle angry would cause. Questions best left unanswered in his opinion. Then, he had another, more pressing concern. "How many angels are there?"

"Sometimes, there are only a few. Other times, we can be quite trying to count."

"Do you know how many surface people are still in this world?"

"Precisely, eighty-one million, three hundred sixty-six thousand, two hundred fifty-four surface beings. Ah, wait, nine more have just fallen in. And two have just died."

"The rest?"

"They will die soon enough, I imagine."

Jaune turned to the angel and swallowed. "Then I've got a request…"

---

The Apostle, now wearing his armor, flourished his hand. "Ichor Spike!"

Hazel ran.

He hadn't had to run in a long time. Not like this. Tactical retreats for better planning and positioning, chasing down an important target, hurrying to save a teammate. Those things he ran for. He hadn't had to run away from anything in years. Had forgotten what it was like. He remembered now, though, and seriously he wished he didn't.

The bloody spikes stabbed up from the ground, heading straight for him. Hazel hopped and dodged, no longer controlling his breath, just needing to escape the danger before he took any more damage. Just some breathing room. Then he could—He saw the Apostle's fist just a second before it made contact with his jaw. It was the sixth time he'd shattered Hazel's helmet with a punch, and it had not lost its impact. Hazel flew away so fast that all the colors of the dying world blended together, sky and ground flipping over and over. He hit the ground, skidded a while, and came to a stop on his knees.

The Apostle was waiting for him there, squatted down and smirking like a chess player who knew the game was won. "Took your time getting here, did you?"

Hazel cut at him with an ax, then summoned a second, swung again. The Apostle dodged everything with his eyes closed. He parried with that thin dagger, then parried again, twirling the blade when not swinging it. Hazel chopped again with his left, saw the Apostle step back, then dismissed his ax to lunge at him, taking hold of his wrist.

In an instant, his strength was reversed. He was off his feet, in the air, then smacking back first on the ground. A beam of light shined onto his face, made him squeal and try to shield his face.

The Apostle spoke again. "Ah, the moon is bright tonight. I can see your pathetic state so clearly."

Hazel roared as he jumped back up, gauntlet coated in a massive earth fist, only to catch an elbow in the jaw. Once again, he was lifted in the air, then sent hurtling away like a thrown javelin.

How was this happening?

By the time he landed, the Apostle was back on Zulhetl. Living catastrophes, they dashed about the crumbling battlefield, paying no heed to anything around them. They jumped across giant fissures in the earth, dived through lava geysers, and felt nothing from the locust storm. Their only focus was each other. Battering, slashing, punching, biting, stabbing, crushing. Doing anything they could to each other and more.

The Apostle flipped Zulhetl with a single gauntleted punch, but Zulhetl lashed back with a flurry of feelers, forcing its opponent to dodge. One managed to get through though, nicking the Apostle's arm and tearing off a pauldron. That seemed only to make the Apostle happier. He barraged Zulhetl with a stream of Severs, then threw his spear at its head. Zulhetl opened its beak and swallowed the weapon whole, belching it back out faster than when it entered. The Apostle caught the spear, then called upon one of the meteors to bear down on the Grimm. Zulhetl fucking caught the damn rock, then chucked it blazing toward the Apostle. With an Ichor Slash, the meteor fell in half, melting into pools of lava.

For the first time in a while, Hazel wasn't sure what to do anymore. Things had started off so perfectly. His plans had gone off without much complication, and it had seemed like he would finally get what was owed from Ozpin. How could he have expected to tangle with these demons? How could he have expected to not be able to keep up? How would he get justice now? Was it worth it anymore? Hazel slapped himself. No, he couldn't think that way. He had to win. For his sister. For his sister.

He still had the Psycho Burst. He had no idea if it would actually work, but all other options were exhausted. And if he couldn't get both the Apostle and Zulhetl at once, he'd be helpless against the survivor. Either he got them both or he was finished. Again, he thought of his sister. How everything he'd done had been for her. Not like she'd ever know, or even care. Hazel wondered for the first time since he started this crusade, if she would have wanted this for him? No. Maybe not. He supposed it didn't matter now. If he died here, at least he might see her again.

So Hazel summoned a hefty steel greatsword, much more a big slab of iron and he said a short prayer. Holding the blade in both hands, swallowing, and steeling himself. He let out a great roar and charged his clashing foes.

He crossed between them, managed to catch their blows on the sword flat. Then, with a twist of his ankle, spun in a great circle and cut a wide swath. The Apostle jumped back quickly enough, but Zulhetl was a little slower, and lost several of its tentacles. Not like it mattered, they grew back quickly enough. Hazel nearly laughed, it was that much of a beacon of hope. The creature's invulnerability was inactive. It was now or never.

He put away his thoughts. Shelved his fear. And simply fought.

Hazel stamped his foot, digging it into the ground for purchase as the Apostle again shattered his helmet with a punch. Once he saw he wasn't sent flying, he chopped back at him, managed to catch him in the arm with his greatsword. The Apostle had summoned a shield, but it hadn't made a difference. The blade bit through, then took off the Apostle's shoulder guard, then chopped down into his chest so hard it ripped off the chestplate and sent the Apostle spinning, blood spraying. The sight of it was enough to make him smile.

The Apostle landed, and once again laughed as he clutched his chest. "What sudden strength, Hazel! Have you finally decided to take this seriously?"

Hazel gave him no answer. He launched after Zulhetl, who'd already been charging. Back and forth they went. It's big arms and flailing feelers, slashing and stabbing at him. Hazel didn't output nearly so much frequency, but made up for it with raw strength. He took off Zulhetl's leg with a single cut, then reversed his momentum and chopped into its arm, cutting only halfway through. He was defenseless as Zulhetl punched him with its free hand, sending him skittering across the lava. Had to keep fighting. Hazel pushed himself up again. No more thinking. Only his anger and pain and need to kill. And as the world came to ruin, the three of them fought on. The meteors destroyed everything they touched, and the three fought on. The heavy blood rains and boiling lava seas infected and consumed all traces of land, but the three fought on. Hazel almost even felt like he was having fun. He was laughing like a fool alongside the Apostle and Zulhetl. Three madmen dancing.

"Do it, Hazel!" called the Apostle in grand delight. "Give us everything you have! Show me the full extent of your love!"

As he wished.

Hazel dropped the Apostle with a deep cut into his shoulder, throwing him onto his knees and earning a spray of blood. Zulhetl came charged, but Hazel ducked his blow, grabbed him by the leg, then slammed him on top of the Apostle, stunning them both. With a mad laugh, Hazel put his hands into the shape of a box and aimed it at them. "Cerebral Cage."

Hazel dived away as solid violet bars materialized around the Alter and Grimm, coiling and twisting until they created a square box, bars too thin to reach their arms through, and too strong to break with any amount of physical strength. Then, it shrank. It pressed the two together, pinned them two beasts chained together. It wouldn't hold them for long. Cracks were already forming. He had to do this now.

Hazel put all his strength into jumping back. He soared through the air, smooth as a bird, and landed a couple hundred feet away. He squared his legs, plunging both feet into the ground to solidify his stance and keep from blasting himself away. Hazel made circular motions with his arms as he called upon every ounce of inner power, feeling it gather and swirl inside him. He set his hands in front of him, aiming at the cage, looking like a tiny box from this distance. A great purple ball began to form in his palms, pulsing, burning, sparking. He condensed it as small as possible, the better to agitate the repulsion.

He saw the Apostle's look. No longer smiling with excitement. Now, they were wide with horror. The look of a boy who knew he was dead.

So, Hazel smiled victoriously. "Psycho Rend."

Hazel set his final attack free.

Then, set down his empty glass.

There were little flecks of red still in the glass, and he was almost tempted to lick it clean. No need, however. The maid came over to refill his glass with more excellent wine, and Hazel did not object. Perhaps a couple more before he finally went home. Turned in for the night and—

… no.

Hazel jumped from his seat in a panic. Looked around with manic eyes. The big table was empty now.

"All the guests have gone," said a voice.

There, opposite Hazel, was the Apostle. He had finished drinking the red wine himself, and looked at Hazel with a smirk. "I'm afraid the dinner ended not long ago."

"What is this?" Hazel breathed erratically, "Where am I?"

"Shouldn't you know?"

"This is fake. An illusion." Hazel shouted in a fury, pointing an accusing finger. "Another one of your wretched tricks!"

"Illusion?" The Apostle shook his head like it was the most obviously wrong answer in the world. "What impression have I ever given that what I create is only in your mind? I am strong, but even I do not have that kind of power."

"You lie! Everything you've done has been false! Nothing about you is real!"

The Apostle adopted a look that Hazel hadn't seen yet. A pitying smile. "Are you certain?"

Hazel was sitting on the cold ground. Perhaps the only ground left at the end of the world. In front of him, something else sat on its knees. Zulhetl. And it was burning.

In a way, it was like a statue. A carving of some ancient old god, lost to time and memory. The coating of flames but a testimony of worship. The blue flames seemed to eat away at its supposedly impenetrable flesh.

"I…" Hazel gaped, "Did I?"

"I'm afraid not." said the Apostle, squatting down beside him. "That," pointing out the burning S-class Grimm. "That is my work."

"How?"

"Simple. You cannot kill a creature immune to death. There is nothing you can do to kill it. So don't." He rubbed his chin, "But it is quite a creature. Once little else but instinct, but grew capable of simple thought. That was it's mistake. It lived too long and developed a mind. Truly a cursed existence."

"What did you do to it?"

"I granted it a fine dream. One where we do glorious battle, on and on, into eternity. What difference can it tell between reality, when it seeks only enough to satisfy its bloodlust? Such a distraction shall forever prevent it from engaging its invulnerable state. The fire cannot kill it, but if they are strong enough, it can wither Zulhetl's body at a pace equal to the rate its flesh heals. Perpetual agony and eternal bliss. It's fitting, no?"

Hazel stared at the burning Grimm. "Why didn't you do this before?"

"What fun would there have been in that?"

Hazel glared up at him, teeth bared in an affronted snarl. "Then, they are illusions. That's what you've been doing all this time. You make us see whatever you desired. None of this battle was real."

"I see you fail to understand." The Apostle pointed and Hazel followed.

On Zulhetl's sides, two craters were stretched insanely far as if giant wheels had dragged through, leaving permanent indents in the ground.

"That attack of yours." The Apostle applauded, "I was actually quite surprised. It was more than capable of turning Zulhetl to dust, but then it would simply come back later. I'm afraid I couldn't let you have the pleasure. So I simply," and the Apostle drew a finger in the air, "Cut it in half. Effective, no? You see, Hazel. I cannot create in a dream what I cannot create in reality. The laws of imagination and reality bind me. So even had I made you dream up our entire battle, it would amount to the same thing. You could not have defeated me, not even in a dream." The Apostle pointed down, "Only look what remains of you."

Hazel looked down at himself and saw now that he was missing both his left leg and right arm. They were crusted with flecks of fire, though they felt cold as ice. He tried moving his missing hand and foot, and he could feel them, even though they had probably been turned to dust. He stared, wordless. "This can't be…"

The Apostle stood up, stretched out his arms. "But it was fun, I'll admit. You pleasantly surprised me. You understand the power of love and that is worthy of my deep respect." he summoned that dagger again. "But all fun must end eventually. We can always play again some other time."

It had all been pointless. He was never going to succeed. And thinking that, all Hazel could do was burst into despairing laughter. It had all been for nothing. He had fought so hard, sacrificed so much, given up everything, just to end up like this. No justice worthy of the name. He had failed. Failed his sister. "Kill me then!" he roared, "End me!"

"You would like that very much, I'm sure. But there is a more appropriate fate for you. You shall be the trophy, representative of my power. The power of my Host. All who bore witness to your defeat shall look upon you later and remember me. Perhaps in the future they shall think again before making an enemy of us. You shall be spared," The Apostle looked around, "But this world… it must die."

Three angels came floating down. Helpless as he was, Hazel could barely fight as they lifted him by his remaining limbs, and despite his kicking, could not free himself. None of this was fair. None of this was right. What had he done to deserve this? He screamed with everything he had, going from blind rage to pathetic bawling as he was carried farther and farther away. "Kill me! Do it, you coward! I won't live like this! Kill me! KILL ME!"

The Apostle never bothered to acknowledge him as he was carried into the heavens.

---

Peach panicked as two angels took her by the arms. "W-wait! What's going on?"

They got no answers. Her, Oobleck, and indeed all the others, Hunters and Rebels both were being lifted from their seats in heaven, and ascending into space. Why? What would be done with them? Peach was relieved they didn't immediately die when they crossed into space, but now, she could see so much more. A sea of stars, asteroid rings, planets, cosmic dust clouds. And more than that. She saw how many angels there truly were.

They flew like comets, bathed in light and fire. Flying and swirling in groups of thousands, even hundreds of thousands. They sailed around the distant planets, left trails of dust twinkling behind, their laughter morphing into a great joyous symphony. Those passing nearby were also carrying people, all in varying states of shock or acceptance. And further on, even more conglomerated like angel clusters shot through space like a billion lights. Everywhere, swirling and dancing like a supercluster of traveling stars, venturing into the unknown.

Below, and slowly fading away, sat the Public Domain. She had never seen it as a literal planet. But Peach was quite sure it wasn't supposed to be bleeding. Lava poured out of the planet like something had stabbed it. Surrounded by black clouds that were infected with lightning. A great chunk was ripped out of it now, followed by a titanic bloody spike spearing out of the hole, followed quickly by manic laughter.

"Aunt Peach," a voice came to her. One that sounded so terribly familiar.

Peach felt someone grab her hand, and so she looked up, and nearly cried with relief. Jaune. No longer dead in the eyes, or still as a corpse, or bleeding from the head. Alive. So very alive. Before she could say anything, Jaune pulled her into the tightest hug he'd ever given her, and she couldn't help but cry as she embraced him back.

"Honey…" She couldn't help but weep. "Why can't you just do as I tell you?"

She heard Jaune sniffle. "It'd make your life too easy."

"Do you know where they're taking us?"

"Home," he said, "We're bringing everyone home."

"Everyone?"

Jaune pulled away and gave a shrug and half smile. "I'll explain later."

Peach chuckled, but supposed that was good enough. She squeezed her son's hand as they were carted away into the far reaches of the cosmos. Soon, she felt reality part, dimensional gates giving way to a myriad of cosmonauts, and she saw the light of the surface world. Home. Home with her baby, alive and well.

It truly was a dream come true.

---

"Ah, you were watching?" said the Apostle as he sat beside the Wolf on the surface of the moon.

The Wolf stared at the ruined planet that his brother just finished destroying. It had a new appearance now. Cracked near in half like an egg. One could see the molten core now, and it was belching thousands of miles of lava like solar flares from a star. Not completely destroyed, but close enough. His brother always loved having evidence of his accomplishments. "I had nothing else to do. Did you have to drag that nonsense out?"

The Apostle laughed. "Did I play too much for your liking?"

"It was wasteful showing off. That fool was never a match for you. I don't know why you allowed him to believe it."

"It was a bit much, I'll admit it." Apostle said, "Still, it was quite fun. I have not enjoyed myself like that in quite some time. Don't be jealous, dear brother, you are still far more fun to fight."

The Wolf stared at the ruined planet. "I suppose you will enjoy your rule now."

"I suppose I will." A pause. "I had hoped you might enjoy it with me."

"Your idea of the future shall bring us to ruin. Who will the young master have then?"

The Apostle sucked his teeth, like someone who had heard it a million times, which indeed he had. Their conversations were always the same whenever they talked. "You shield the little one too much. Just as you shield yourself from all things. That is your failing, brother. How will he grow, if he is not allowed great joy and suffering? You mean well brother, but our home lays in ruin because of you. It will not heal, not so long as you shield the young one."

"The day will come when he is ready. I've told you this. But you do not listen."

"I suppose we are both guilty of that."

"I suppose."

They sat for a while, just watching the Public Domain crumble apart in silence. Finally, the Wolf said. "I am tired of fighting you, brother. This time, I shall not interfere."

The Apostle raised a curious eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"It is. I did not win our battle, so perhaps this is fate. Do as you will."

"I shall make things better for us, brother. I shall heal our world. I shall protect the young one. That is my promise. So, when my promise is fulfilled, will you finally return to the Heavenseat? Will you join me again, back in our palace?"

The Wolf looked across at the Apostle, and looking at him always left him conflicted. What were they but two brothers who thought they knew best for the youngest? Fighting was the only way either one could enforce their will. How could they not, when the young master's power was so integral to the stability of their world? All of his existence had been dedicated to taking care of and protecting the young master, patiently waiting for the day that he was ready for the truth, that he may finally overcome his darkness and become his true self. Even now, he thought it was a long way off. He knew that the Apostle wanted best for the young master too, but could never agree with his ways.

"I wish to be with you, brother." said the Wolf. "I would be glad on it. But I warn you now, you will fail. And we shall all suffer for it."

The Apostle sat back, leaning on his hands as he watched the planet crumble. But his blue eyes were hard, as if he could see a grim future ahead. "The path toward ultimate joy is laden with trials of great suffering."

---

If you've made it here, I'm sure it's obvious why this chapter took so long. Thank you so much for your patience as I wrote the longest chapter I've ever written by far. I would have split it in half but the full chapter tells a complete story that would weaken the pacing if I cut it in half. In any case, this was also a very important chapter to get right, so I had to take more time with it.

Well, the war is over. Now we can start wrapping up this arc. I expect one or maybe two more chapters.

Hope everyone enjoyed the read and I'll see you in the next one.

ISA